Homily for Sunday, 27 December 2015– The Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph

Readings of the day: 1 Samuel 1:20-22, 24-28; Psalm 84:2-3, 5-6, 9-10; Colossians 3:12-21; Luke 2:41-52

This homily was given at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Parish, Sherwood Park, AB, Canada.

Are we not right to celebrate the Holy Family, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, as a timeless model of family life? And yet for how many of us does the Holy Family seem like an unrealistic model for our families; our households here to take after?

I think of my own family members; of their gifts and acheivements. I think of all the ways in which being with my family, especially in this Christmas season, brings me great joy and even a sense of awe in their presence. My parents will celebrate forty years of marriage in May. Dad’s logical mind is in constant dialogue with his commitment to deepening his faith; his clear awe of God’s creation in dialogue with his love for science as a retired meterologist. Dad will often say how often he turns to me for the advice of a priest; as or more often, as independent as I can be, I turn to Dad for the advice of a father. Mom has the uncanny ability to discern the character of other people accurately and to bring calm, reason, and listening skills to any conversation. My sister and brother-in-law, both engineers, are two of the most talented mathematicians I know. They have given our family and our world the gift of two beautiful children, my niece and nephew. My brother is the easy-going one; reserved yet humorous, and he is your go-to person if you need your car windows replaced. I was born with neither the mechanically-inclined gene nor the math gene; my talents are elsewhere.

And yet, as far as I know, unlike in the Holy Family, nobody in my family or any of our families here is God. Just think of the disadvantage this would be if one of our family members were God made human! A cartoon of three couples of proud parents on donkeys on their way to Bethlehem circulates on the Internet at this time of year. Each of the donkeys displays a bumper sticker. The first says, “Our son is an honour student.” The second donkey’s bumper sticker reads, “Our son is in medical school.” And on the back of the third donkey, bearing a pregnant Mary with Joseph looking on, says, “Our Son is God”! Those on the other two donkeys scoff, “Well, if it isn’t Joseph and Mary”…

So it is probably fortunate for us that none of us have been tasked with raising the Son of God, as Mary and Joseph were. But for us to take after Jesus, Mary and Joseph in our lives of faith; in our households, our families, may be more realistic than we think. The Holy Family may have more in common with our families here now than we realize at first.

Our Gospel reading today ends with twelve-year-old Jesus returning home with Mary and Joseph to Nazareth, where Luke says he “increased in wisdom and in years, and in favour with God and human beings.” To their joy and relief, Mary and Joseph have just found Jesus safe and sound among the teachers in the Temple of Jerusalem after three days of searching for him in the crowded city during the Passover festival. Is it not a temptation for us, when we speak reverently of Mary and Joseph (as is right of us), to gloss over incidents like this in which Mary and Joseph are anxious, even frantic?  “Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety,” Mary says to Jesus.

Parents here, especially of teenagers or pre-teens: Might you be more likely to relate to Mary’s experience of anxiety than, for instance, those of us without children? At this age, children begin to assert their independence. They need the space to question and to listen as Jesus did in the Temple of Jerusalem; to discern their faith on their own terms; to build a peer group. This in itself does not mean they love you any less as parents. Teenagers and pre-teens: Please do not take this as permission from me to become lost for days at a time. Your parents will never stop worrying about you when you are not with them, even well into your adult years. And Luke’s Gospel does say that, when Jesus returned to Nazareth, he “was obedient to” Joseph and Mary. Here the Son of God models for us obedience. But if you ever become lost, few places are better in which to become lost than a temple or, in this case, a church. May our Church always be a place of welcome for you, young people; young families!

Might we be able to relate in still other ways to the experience of the Holy Family, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph? After Mary and Joseph find Jesus in the Temple, Joseph is not mentioned again in the Gospels. Joseph models for us the prayerful, silent love of a father. And Luke says of Mary that she “treasured all these things in her heart.” Even amid times of anxiety, of being unable to understand why Jesus “must be in [his] Father’s house”; of accompanying Jesus from manger to cross to resurrection to his sending forth of his Holy Spirit who gave birth to our Church, Mary models for us the contemplation; the pondering, treasuring heart of a mother. And so Mary is Mother of God. Mary is our mother.

Mary, Joseph, and Jesus together model for us the gift of attentively hearing; discerning the presence of God in our day-to-day experiences, in particular our experiences of family relationships. I imagine that few if any of us have the “perfect” family. Our families experience anxiety. Our families experience illnesses, even deaths. Our families experience physical distance among members. Our families experience conflict, sometimes to the point of division, stemming from our sin. And still God invites us; our families, through the example of the Holy Family, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, to be holy people; holy families ourselves.

And so how might we hear God’s invitation to us, as individuals; as households; as families, to holiness? How might we hear and discern God in our day-to-day experiences and relationships? Besides taking after Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the most perfect model we have of family life, we might take up the example of Hannah and Samuel, mother-and-son of our reading today from 1 Samuel. The name “Samuel” is Hebrew for “God has heard.” Hannah recognizes that God has heard her prayer for a son. Her grateful response to God is to dedicate Samuel for life to God. “God has heard,” and so Hannah and eventually Samuel, through his mentor Eli, hear God. Hannah and Samuel model for us; for our families the gift of hearing God with gratitude. Their example in the Old Testament sets up for us that of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph in the New Testament.

And how else might we build holy families for our time? Prayerful gratitude is an essential, timeless value of holy families, says the Letter to the Colossians from which we hear this morning: “With gratitude in your hearts sing Psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs to God.” Jesus, Mary and Joseph; Hannah and Samuel prayed with gratitude to God. And God calls us, too, as families and as a Church, to pray with gratitude.

The Letter to the Colossians gives us a long list of other essential values of holy families: “Compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.” And when, in our weakness and sin, we fail to live up to our God-given holiness, Colossians invites us to forgive. Forgiveness (and our honest discernment of our need to be forgiven) is a must for holy families: “As the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.”

Forgiveness is the foundation of love. Forgiveness is the foundation of the “perfect harmony… peace” and “wisdom” to which God calls us through the Letter to the Colossians. Forgiveness is the foundation of unity in our families; our Church; our world. Forgiveness is so often the way to gratitude; to hearing the “Word of God” that dwells “in [us] richly.”

Forgiveness, harmony, peace, wisdom, and gratitude; compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience: These are challenging but not unrealistic values that God asks us to treasure in our hearts and to live out among ourselves and within our families. We have the Holy Family, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph; Hannah and Samuel, and countless saints and holy families through the ages as models of these values on whom to draw. They, and we, the Church, make these gifts of holy families; of the Holy Family, real and active in our world here now, today, forever.

Homily for Friday, 25 December 2015– Nativity of the Lord

Readings of the day (for Christmas Mass at Night): Isaiah 9:1-6; Psalm 96:1-2, 2-3, 11-12, 13; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-14

This homily was given at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Parish, Sherwood Park, AB, Canada.

From the prophet Isaiah we hear tonight [this morning]: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness‒ on them light has shone.” And from Luke’s Gospel we hear of shepherds, about to travel to Bethlehem to meet our newborn Saviour, Jesus Christ. These shepherds are “keeping watch over their flocks by night” when their night watch is interrupted by “an angel of the Lord” who announces Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem, “City of David.” Their night watch is interrupted by “the glory of the Lord” that shines “around them.” And we hear from Luke that these shepherds “were terrified” at this light breaking into the darkness surrounding them.

And yet is this not what our celebration of Christmas is all about: light breaking into; interrupting our darkness? Yet, unlike the shepherds outside Bethlehem on the night of Jesus’ birth or the people of Israel of Isaiah’s time, I imagine not many of us are terrified at light taking the place of darkness. In fact we celebrate it; we celebrate him, Jesus Christ, with a joyous song of thanksgiving: “Today is born our Saviour, Christ the Lord”… “A child has been born to us, a son given to us… He is named Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

We celebrate the Birth of “our Saviour, Christ the Lord,” in many ways. We celebrate by gathering together with family and friends. We celebrate by decorating our homes and often our workplaces and public spaces. We celebrate by exchanging gifts. Very importantly we celebrate by gathering here as a community of faith; a People of God to worship. Most of us here are anything but terrified.

But how many of us have experienced darkness as a reality deeper than physical, literal darkness? I think that here, in the centre of Alberta, we are somewhat privileged. We live far enough north to experience Christmas as near the shortest day of the year. I am now living and studying in Paris, France, and so on my way home to visit family here I have been keeping a close eye on the weather in the Edmonton area over the last few days, maybe like those shepherds near Bethlehem so many years ago, but for more selfish reasons: I wanted to be prepared for any extreme weather on my way here. Now, I expect cold weather in Alberta at this time of year. But in the corner of my computer screen, a reminder of the shortness of late December days here would stare me back in the face: Sunrise 8:50 am; sunset 4:15 pm. I love you, Alberta; even at your darkest and coldest you are my home; our home!

And still, amid not even seven and a half hours of sunlight each day this time of year, at Christmas we celebrate. The sun is unconquered by darkness. The unconquered Son of God, Jesus Christ, also promises to return. Christ promises once again to break into and interrupt our darkness, as he did more than two thousand years ago, to complete God’s work of our salvation at the end of time.

We celebrate, even though Christmas brings many of us face-to-face not with joy and light, but with our world’s darkness and, for some of us, the darkness in our families and among our loved ones and in our own experiences. Our world faces an unprecedented number of refugees and of people displaced within their own countries by violence and persecution: A record sixty million people worldwide who have been forced to flee their homes! More wars begin than end in our world today. The dignity of all human life; of creation is so often disregarded. This has led even the ever-joyful Pope Francis to lament recently that our world’s violence threatens to reduce our celebration of Christmas to a kind of charade!

But this does not need to be. Our celebration of Christmas, of Christ’s Nativity, has meaning if we renew here and now the Biblical call to welcome refugees and migrants; people who experience physical, mental, or spiritual illness; people who have lost family members or loved ones; people living in poverty; the unemployed; people with disabilities; people who are alone, without family or loved ones with whom to celebrate Christmas; people who are estranged from our Church... This parish, Our Lady of Perpetual Help, is a place where all these people are supported and given dignity. OLPH has sponsored refugee families. Through a wide variety of ministries OLPH supports the economically disadvantaged; the bereaved; those who are alone; those who are searching in their lives of faith. Here the heart of the Christmas message is lived out.

And our celebration of Christmas is meaningful as long as we do our best, knowing our imperfections; even our sin; our darkness, but also the light of God’s grace and mercy, “to live lives that are self-controlled, upright, and godly,” in St. Paul’s words to Titus. Our Christmas celebration finds meaning in our response to God’s call to welcome all who are on the same pilgrim’s path that we are all on, back to a manger scene in Bethlehem and forward to Christ’s return in glory.

Luke’s Gospel renews this call to us today by the simple remark that, when Jesus was born into our world, Mary and Joseph “laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.” There was no place amid the darkness of our world for our Saviour. In fact our world would reject its Saviour. Life that began in a manger would be nailed to a cross, in the greatest act of darkness and sin ever known. Yet even death would not stop Jesus Christ, the Light of our world. The manger, a place beneath human dignity where animals fed, would be transformed into a place where our God entered our world in human flesh from the Virgin Mary’s womb. The cross, a place beneath human dignity where common criminals were publicly tortured and killed, would be transformed into a place where our God gave his very life to save us. Likewise, are we allowing our lives, our experiences of light, goodness, and peace but also of darkness and sin, any experiences we have that are beneath our human dignity, to be places into which Christ is welcome? Are our hearts the “inns” into which Christ enters to transform; to redeem us?

Sure, our lives; our hearts probably are not, even by some of our own standards, fit to welcome the King of the Universe; our God. Fear not! Jesus is not asking us for a five-star hotel. After all, he first entered our world “wrapped… in swaddling clothes,” lying “in a manger.” Even there, in the darkness and stench of a manger, Jesus brought light. Even there, Jesus brought peace. Even there, Jesus calmed the fears of the shepherds who left their flocks and fields at the invitation of an angel, an invitation that left them “terrified” at first, to welcome Jesus into our world. Even there, from a manger, Jesus brought heaven and earth, angels and all “people of good will” to joyful song, a song we still hear in our world today; a song we still hear from the beginning of today’s celebration of our Eucharist: “Glory to God in the highest”!

Glory to Jesus Christ, Light of our world! Do we dare to join in this song of joy? Is our song too much of an interruption; a breaking into our world’s violence, hostility, and darkness for it to bear? Are we in need from time to time for Jesus to interrupt our own darkness with his light; his mercy? Is Jesus Christ; is his Gospel proclaimed and authentically lived in ways that are “self-controlled, upright, and godly” a danger to the security and comfort of some who would prefer to bar his way into our countries; our public spaces; our hearts; our relationships; our lives?

Yes, but this has yet to stop God in Christ. If Jesus must, he will enter as he has already entered our world in the deepest of darkness to bring us God’s own light. This is why Isaiah proclaims so boldly that  “the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light”; that “those who lived in a land of deep darkness‒ on them light has shone.”

And this is why today, on this Christmas night [morning], we sing just as boldly as of old to welcome the Light that interrupts and breaks through our world’s darkness: “Today is born our Saviour, Christ the Lord”… “A child has been born to us, a son given to us… He is named Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

Homélie du samedi, 12 décembre 2015– de la férie

samedi de la 2ième semaine de l’Avent

Mémoire facultative de Notre Dame de Guadalupe

Lectures du jour: Ben Sira le Sage 48:1-4, 9-11; Psaume 79 (80):  2ac, 3bc, 15-16a, 18-19; Matthieu 17:10-13

Les disciples de Jésus lui posent une question bizarre dans notre Évangile d’aujourd’hui de Saint Matthieu: «Pourquoi donc les scribes disent-ils que le prophète Élie doit venir d’abord»?

Pourquoi, avec Jésus présent devant eux, et alors qu’ils le croient déjà Messie, ses disciples lui posent-ils cette question à propos du second avènement d’Élie? Qui était Élie dans l’esprit juif de l’époque de Jésus, l’esprit par lequel les disciples de Jésus pensaient et agissaient?

La Bible témoigne de la grande importance d’Élie. Celui-ci était le premier prophète d’Israël de l’Ancien Testament, un personnage «pont», on peut dire, entre les origines tribales d’Israël et l’époque d’Israël comme nation sous des prophètes et des rois. Notre première lecture, de Ben Sira le Sage, raconte l’assomption, nous pouvons dire, corps et âme, d’Élie aux cieux parmi un «tourbillon» et des «coursiers de feu». (Nous croyons alors dans notre tradition catholique en l’Assomption de la Vierge Marie. Mais plusieurs juifs, même avant Jésus Christ, croyaient déjà que Dieu pouvait élever quelqu’un de spécialement digne intégralement aux cieux, bien que ces assomptions étaient rares). Ces juifs croyaient qu’Élie, qui avait été porté corps et âme aux cieux, allait revenir sur terre un jour pour annoncer l’arrivée imminente du Messie. Ceci est le contexte de la question des disciples à Jesus sur le second avènement d’Élie.

Cependant la réponse que donne Jésus à ses disciples leur est au moins aussi bouleversante que leur question: Élie est déjà revenu, mais en la personne de Jean le Baptiste! Comme Élie, Jean est aussi prophète; aussi un personnage «pont» de la Bible. Jean devient l’annonciateur de l’arrivée au monde de notre Messie, Jésus Christ. Mais ni Élie, ni Jean-Baptiste sont venus pour eux-mêmes. Ils sont venus pour nous, pour être prophètes de Dieu dans notre monde. Et Jean-Baptiste, comme Élie, nous donne une mission d’être prophètes à notre tour.

Donc de quoi et de qui sommes-nous prophètes? Nous ne sommes pas, prenant les paroles du pape Jean XXIII en ouvrant le Concile Vatican II, «prophètes de malheur». Nous ne sommes pas prophètes de la peur; de la violence; de l’exclusion de l’étranger, du réfugié ou de l’immigrant; de ceux et celles qui diffèrent de nous en religion ou en pensée. Nous sommes prophètes de bonheur; de joie; de justice; de bonté; de charité. Je suis donc confiant qu’il y en a parmi nous des prophètes, choisis par Dieu pour être, comme Jean-Baptiste et Élie, des personnes «ponts». Parmi nous sont celles et ceux qui nous amènent par parole et exemple vers notre rencontre avec Jésus Christ notre Sauveur à la fin des temps, ce que nous espérons en célébrant ce temps d’Avent.

Homélie du mardi, 27 octobre 2015– de la férie

mardi de la 30ième semaine du temps ordinaire

Lectures du jour: Romains 8:18-25; Psaume 125 (126): 1-2ab, 2cd-3, 4-5, 6; Luc 13:18-21

«À quoi le règne de Dieu est-il comparable»? «À quoi pourrais-je comparer le règne de Dieu»?

Jésus nous pose ces deux questions dans l’Évangile d’aujourd’hui, de saint Luc. Et puis Jésus répond à ces propres questions avec des paraboles: La parabole d’«une graine de moutarde» et puis celle du levain qui lève une grande quantité de pâte.

Nous comprenons facilement, comme ceux dans le temps de Jésus qui l’ont écouté en premier l’ont compris, le point central de ces paraboles. Ce point central est que «le règne de Dieu» est maintenant dans son état tout petit, pas encore en notre expérience développé jusqu’à sa splendeur maximale et parfaite. Nous vivons l’expérience du règne de Dieu encore comme une graine de moutarde ou une petite portion de levain. Et nous espérons, et puis Dieu nous donne le pouvoir de construire ici sur terre, l’amplitude du règne de Dieu imaginé par l’arbre qui donne un abri aux «oiseaux du ciel» ou par l’immense quantité de pâte levée.

Ces deux paraboles de Jésus nous appellent à l’espérance, une vertu chrétienne si important. Nous pouvons penser à plusieurs images qui se comparent au règne de Dieu, auquel nous espérons à la fin du temps en sa splendeur complète. Pour moi c’est peut-être l’image d’il y a plus de six ans d’avoir tenu pour la première fois ma nièce nouveau-née dans mes bras. Ce faisait des années que je n’avais pas tenu un bébé si petit, en train de se tortiller dans mes bras si elle ne dormait pas, donc j’étais un peu nerveux. Et puis je me souviens de ce qui a dit ma mère en ce moment-là, qu’«on oublie comment petits que sont» ces nouveau-nés après tant d’années sans en tenir dans les bras!

Nous oublions peut-être après plusieurs années comment petits et fragiles sont les nouveau-nés, mais j’espère au moins (voici le mot clef: espérer) que nous n’oublierons jamais l’expérience de tenir, de manière figurative, le règne de Dieu maintenant tout petit comme un nouveau-né ou bien comme la graine de moutarde ou le levain, dans nos mains; dans nos bras; dans nos cœurs; dans notre communauté de croyants, l’Église.

Nous parlons de l’espérance. À chaque fois que nous acceptons de Dieu de vivre notre vocation particulière, que ce soit la vie en famille (sur laquelle le synode des évêques à Rome qui vient de terminer en a passé des semaines à réfléchir, à discuter, et à prier), la vie religieuse, le sacerdoce… Ce sont tous des signes puissants parmi nous que nous espérons l’avènement de la plénitude du règne de Dieu que, par la grâce de Dieu, nous construisons actuellement dès son état de tout-petit.

Homélie du mercredi, 30 septembre 2015– Mémoire de Saint Jérôme

Ceci est ma première homélie donnée en France, de ce matin à la chapelle de la Maison Mère de la Congrégation de la Mission (Lazaristes), Paris.

Here is my first-ever homily given in France, from this morning in the chapel of the Motherhouse of the Congregation of the Mission (Lazarists), Paris.

mercredi de la 26ième semaine du temps ordinaire

Wednesday of the 26th Week in Ordinary Time

Lectures du jour/readings of the day: Néhémie/Nehemiah 2:1-8; Psaume/Psalm 137:1-2, 3, 4-5, 6; Luc/Luke 9:57-62

De quoi s’agit-il suivre Jésus?

Nous entendons aujourd’hui de l’Évangile de Saint Luc l’histoire un peu bizarre (pouvons-nous même dire exagérée?) de trois disciples aspirants de Jésus. À l’un de ces disciples Jésus lui demande de le suivre, mais il s’excuse en voulant enterrer son père. Les autres deux disciples ont d’encore moins bonnes excuses. Ils disent à Jesus, «Je te suivrai», mais eux aussi en mettent d’autres priorités devant celle de suivre le Christ.

Nous pouvons prendre ceci comme point saillant de notre Évangile d’aujourd’hui: Être disciple de Jésus Christ veut dire de n’avoir aucune priorité plus grande que celle-ci; de nous dévouer entièrement et sans réserve au Christ.

Cette suite de Jésus sans réserve est au fond l’histoire de la vie de Saint Jérôme, la fête de qui nous célébrons aujourd’hui. Saint Jérome avait une personnalité; une spiritualité dite dans notre collecte (notre prière d’entrée de cette Messe) «intense». Jérôme a vécu les plus de trente dernières années de sa vie intensément à l’oeuvre, nous pouvons dire, utilisant comme moyen de suivre au Christ son don de traduire les Écritures Saintes‒ la Bible‒ de l’hébreu ou le grec en latin.

Mais comment pouvons-nous devenir, comme Saint Jérôme peut-être, de meilleurs disciples du Christ au quotidien; faire notre priorité suivre le Christ? Le monde est plein de distractions, parfois des distractions bonnes et nécessaires. Mais pourrait-cela être notre prière d’aujourd’hui; notre prière de disciples: «Jésus, je te suivrai. Je veux être ton disciple. Aide-nous à réaliser mieux ce but à chaque jour». Déjà cette prière démontre notre volonté de suivre avec fidélité notre Seigneur Jésus-Christ.

Homily for Tuesday, 8 September 2015– Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Tuesday of the 23rd Week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Micah 5:1-4a; Psalm 13:6ab, 6c; Matthew 1:1-16, 18-23

How many of us recycle?

I am speaking primarily of a different kind of recycling than the kind that is good for our environment. I speak of the recycling, over and over again, of God’s love from the first moment of creation. Today we celebrate the Feast of the Birth of the Blessed Virgin Mary. I cannot help, on today’s feast day, to do a bit of recycling of my own.

It was this past December, a few days before our celebration of the Immaculate Conception of Mary. (This Feast of Mary’s Nativity is, of course, connected with the Solemnity of her Immaculate Conception, when Mary was conceived without original sin by Sts. Anne and Joachim. Today we are exactly nine months after the Immaculate Conception, December 8). On that day I was, as on most days during the school year, greeting the children as they entered St. Kateri School to begin their school day. This one day, a child stopped me in my tracks with a brilliant question: “How did God create Jesus and Mary”? Only occasionally is a priest completely outwitted by a third-grader!

A few days later, I had recovered enough from this St. Kateri School edition of “Stump the Priest” to try to answer the girl’s question in my homily for the Immaculate Conception, also last December’s monthly St. Kateri School Mass. “How did God create Jesus and Mary”? In short, my answer is this: God recycles.

God is a master recycler of love. Mary’s conception by Anne and Joachim, her protection by God from original sin and, about nine months later, her birth, was only one instance of God’s love for us. Through Anne and Joachim; through Mary, God was putting the finishing touches on his work of our salvation through Jesus Christ. But this was far from the first act of God’s love for us. Our Gospel reading today from Matthew includes a lengthy genealogy from Abraham, our father in faith, through to Joseph and Mary, “of [whom] was born Jesus who is called the Christ.”

Matthew’s genealogy includes three parts or “cycles”: Abraham through King David, David through “the Babylonian Exile,” and the Babylonian Exile through Jesus’ Nativity. Each cycle begins well but becomes tainted with human error and sin; with some questionable historical figures involved. And each time God, out of love for us, recycles. God constantly renews us: In Abraham, our father in faith, in Israel’s kings beginning with David (Matthew does not mention David’s predecessor King Saul, perhaps a false start), in the rebuilders of Israel after the Babylonian Exile, and finally in Jesus Christ.

God recycles. And today we celebrate one very significant step in this divine recycling of love for us, the Birth of Mary; the last step necessary for the Birth of Christ, the fullness of our salvation. But this was not the first time God recycled. Nor does God intend it to be the last. An Orthodox Christian prayer for today’s Feast proclaims: “From you,” Mary, “arose the glorious Sun of Justice, Christ our God.” The work of justice; of reflecting the light of Christ, the Sun of Justice; of God’s recycling of love in our world is now ours. And so I highly encourage us to recycle.

Homily for Sunday, 6 September 2015

23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Isaiah 35:4-7a; Psalm 146:7, 8-9, 9-10; James 2:1-5; Mark 7:31-37

“Ephphatha”! …“Be opened”!

How many of us remember our own baptism or have been to a baptism that we remember? Most of us here were probably baptized as infants and so do not remember our own baptism. But if anybody here has attended a child’s baptism recently, do you remember this strange but beautiful prayer over the ears and mouth of the newly-baptized child? We pray, touching the ears and mouth of the child: “The Lord Jesus made the deaf hear and the mute speak. May he soon touch your ears to receive his word, and your mouth to proclaim his faith, to the praise and glory of God the Father. Amen.”

This prayer is called the “ephphatha,” or “be opened” prayer. It is one of the oldest prayers of the Rite of Baptism of Children as we know it. The “ephphatha” in our Rite of Baptism is drawn from the Gospel reading we hear today, from Mark. We hear of Jesus’ encounter with “a deaf man who had a speech impediment.” Jesus takes this man “away from the crowd.” He puts “his finger into the man’s ears and, spitting, [touches] his tongue.” Jesus says to the man in Aramaic, “ephphatha”‒ “Be opened”! The man is able to hear and speak again. The crowd is astonished: “He has done all things well,” they exclaim. And the people who witness Jesus’ healing give us the words we hear to this day at children’s baptisms: “He makes the deaf hear and the mute speak.”

For me as a priest, at least some of the beauty of the “ephphatha” prayer at baptisms is not so much in the words of this prayer. But often at the moment I touch and pray over the child’s mouth, the baby will try to suck on my thumb. It is as if the baby, newly alive; baptized into Christ, is saying, “I’m opened, alright… And your thumb tastes way better than my pacifier”!

Is it not most beautiful that, from the moment of Jesus’ healing of the deaf and mute man; from the very moment of our baptism, we are called to “be opened”? And in what ways are we called by our baptism to “be opened”? What are some of our obstacles to being “opened”; to hearing and proclaiming the Word of God; the faith of Jesus Christ?

I ask you these questions. But in my two years here at St. Kateri, my diaconate and first year of priesthood, you have shown me; shown one another; shown our communities and our world in countless profound ways what it means to “be opened.” You show time and again by word and action what it means to live out the baptismal calling we have in common. The number of ministries and devotions here at St. Kateri is truly astounding. We have people here who visit and bring communion to the sick and homebound. We have people who accompany those who have lost loved ones; who help to prepare and assist at funerals. We have people who prepare the many aspects of our liturgies day after day; weekend after weekend. We have people who care for our young people; who prepare “care packages” for our college students; who are involved in Faith Formation and sacramental preparation. We support a lively parish formed from five parishes. We support St. Kateri School. We have the Ladies’ Guild, the Knights of Columbus, many other groups who build friendship; build social justice; build up the Kingdom of God. So many times I have entered one of our churches and seen a prayer group meeting here; a rosary or a novena being prayed there; somebody praying in private; in silence…

It is impossible for me to list all the ways in which we live here at St. Kateri by Jesus’ words: “Be opened.” If I have not named you here I certainly hold you in grateful prayer. I am blessed to be ordained a priest for you; for our universal Church; to have served here for these past two years. Yet my and my brother priests’ ordained priesthood exists to lead; to unite us in our common priestly, prophetic, and royal baptismal vocation. And if I may say this again, I believe we live this vocation very well here at St. Kateri. By ordination I am your priest; in baptism I am forever your brother in Christ.

Sisters and brothers in Christ, you are my great teachers in being “opened” as we are called in baptism. And yet we still may experience obstacles to fully living out our baptismal calling. What are these obstacles, and perhaps some remedies to what keeps us from being fully “opened”? One of the greatest obstacles we face to being opened, to hearing and proclaiming Christ, is fear. Isaiah speaks in our first reading to a people living in fear; people who were living in exile in the prophet Isaiah’s time. Isaiah says, “Be strong, fear not”!

What or whom might we fear? Do we fear speaking the truth; speaking for our faith in Christ, even if (as hopefully is the case) we speak and act with love? Perhaps we fear somebody with power over us. Perhaps we have experienced fear of those who disagree with us; those who are different from us. Perhaps we fear our own weakness; our own sin. Isaiah speaks to our fears the same words he once spoke to the people of Israel in exile in Babylon: “Be strong, fear not”! Here is your God. He comes with vindication. With divine recompense he comes to save you.” Isaiah’s prophecy of the deaf hearing, the lame leaping with joy; the tongue[s] of the mute singing is realized in Jesus’ healing of the deaf and mute man in our Gospel reading today.

Even more importantly, this prophecy is realized in us. In baptism we are called: “Be opened”! But there is another obstacle, related to fear, to our being “opened” to hearing and proclaiming Christ. This obstacle is undue “partiality”; exclusion of people or groups. St. James speaks in our second reading today of this kind of partiality in our churches; the temptation to give the rich places of honor while poor people, if they are present in our worship spaces at all, are sidelined and excluded: “‘Stand there’ or ‘Sit at my feet.’”

I do not see this kind of exclusion here at St. Kateri. Yet I invite us, in light of St. James’ words, to continue and to strengthen our effort to welcome those who are poor. I invite us not only to go out to our streets; to the House of Mercy; to Bethany House and the Catholic Worker to meet those who are poor and homeless but to take increasingly active steps to welcome the otherwise socially excluded into this worship space. In this way we make St. Kateri Parish not “our” space into which we allow a foreign group of people (“they” or “them”), but God’s space in which “they” become part of “us.” This takes a constant conversion of our hearts to be welcoming; a constant effort to “be opened.”

But if the horrific image this week of a drowned Syrian refugee boy on the shore of the Mediterranean Sea is any indication, our world presents us with many temptations against being “opened.” We hear cries from many countries to close borders; to limit the number of refugees and immigrants accepted; to build walls and prisons to keep the unwanted out. We hear attitudes, spoken or silent, shouted forth in their increasingly harmful effects on our society: Be closed to the right to life from conception! After all, some regard the unborn as mere commodities to be bought and sold. Be closed to those in need of social assistance! Be closed to racial integration! Be closed to the elderly; to the sick! Be closed to those who struggle to practice every teaching of the Church to my satisfaction! Be closed to reconciliation in our relationships; our families! Be closed to peace! Be closed to protecting the dignity of all creation! “Be closed”: This attitude is a direct countersign to the Gospel that calls to us, “Be opened”! And only death can result from being closed.

Our Gospel calls us to life. Christ’s Gospel; our Christian baptism calls us: “Be opened”! Isaiah’s prophecy of the deaf hearing; the mute speaking; the lame leaping; social need being met with justice and kindness; God’s “vindication” and “salvation” present and alive in our world is not something of the distant past. Isaiah’s prophecy was not only realized once, two thousand years ago when Jesus healed a deaf and mute man. This prophecy is being realized in us here and now, to the extent we live our Gospel; our baptismal calling: “Ephphatha! …Be opened!”

Homily for Thursday, 3 September 2015– Memorial of St. Gregory the Great

Thursday of the 22nd Week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Colossians 1:9-14; Psalm 98:2-3ab, 3cd-4, 5-6; Luke 5:1-11

What are some of the emotions and images that run through our Gospel reading today, from Luke? Luke’s Gospel gives us today a lively account of Jesus’ call of his first Apostles, the fishermen Peter, James, and John.

We begin with emptiness: An empty boat “belonging to Simon” that Jesus enters while “the fishermen” are on shore “washing their nets; the empty nets of the fishermen after a long, fruitless night of fishing. This emptiness is filled: Jesus enters Simon’s boat. From this waterborne “pulpit” Jesus teaches the crowds, filling them with the Word of God. Jesus asks Simon Peter, James, and John to “put out into deep water and lower [their] nets for a catch.” And their nets, too, are filled, with a miraculous catch of fish.

We begin with a wide range of emotions; perhaps everyday distractions. What were the crowds thinking when they arrived at the shore of the Lake of Gennesaret to listen to Jesus? What were their concerns, both material and spiritual? Did they have questions for Jesus about their faith? Were they simply trying to make an honorable living; trying to care for their family and other loved ones? Peter, James, and John feel deep frustration: “We have worked hard all night and have caught nothing.” But this Jesus is not a complete stranger to the fishermen; Simon Peter calls Jesus “Master.” And so Simon takes Jesus up on his invitation to “put out into the deep.” And he, James, and John are rewarded with a great catch of fish. For a moment, this miracle only increases their fear; their insecurity; their sense of their own weakness. “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man,” Simon Peter says to Jesus. But this fear gives way to a trust in Jesus almost as astonishing as the initial catch of fish: “They left everything and followed” Jesus.

Do these vivid shifts in images and emotions not seem to be a lot for us to absorb in a short episode of our Gospel? And yet I think the liveliness of our Gospel reading shows us something of who we are as human; as Christian disciples. We are alive, and our experience of Jesus Christ in the Word of God; in our Eucharist; in our love for one another and works of kindness and justice makes us all the more alive.

This brings us to the heart of our Gospel reading today. Jesus says “to Simon: ‘Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching men.’” This saying is especially strange in the original Greek of Luke’s Gospel. Jesus’ words to Peter are closer in meaning to “from now on you will be catching people who are alive.”

Only if we are alive can we experience the images and emotions the people in Jesus’ time; Jesus’ first Apostles did: Concerns of everyday life; fear; insecurity; the effects of our human weakness and sin; all this giving way to trust; to following Jesus without reserve. And because we are alive; because we are human Jesus calls us, too, to trust; to put aside fear enough to work with him in his mission; to be fishers of others who are as alive as we are.

Homily for Tuesday, 1 September 2015– Ferial

Tuesday of the 22nd week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: 1 Thessalonians 5:1-6, 9-11;  Psalm 27:1, 4, 13-14; Luke 4:31-37

Do any of us ever find readings like those we hear today a bit frightening? Paul speaks in 1 Thessalonians of inescapable “sudden disaster” that will befall all who are not on their guard. Paul compares the end of time, “the day of the Lord,” to the “labor pains” of “a pregnant woman” in childbirth. And in Luke’s Gospel Jesus contends with “a man” possessed by “the spirit of an unclean demon.”

But our readings today from 1 Thessalonians and Luke do not need to frighten us. How, then, are we invited to respond to God’s Word today?

I imagine St. Paul trying to find a balance between two groups of people: Those who are frightened about what will happen at the end of time, or maybe about being persecuted for their faith, and those who are lulled into indifference by their prosperity, “peace, and security.” We know both types of people today. On the one hand we know the people who continually sound the alarm; those stereotyped by the image of the person on the street corner preaching or holding a sign that says, “The end is near”! Short of this extreme, we know people who are constantly complaining; who live in and on fear; who yearn for “the good old days”; who are convinced of our world’s path to moral destruction. On the other hand, we know of people whose prosperity has lulled them into a false sense of “peace and security.” These people become indifferent to social needs; to our responsibility to meet these needs and to uphold the dignity of human life and creation.

St. Paul is not trying to frighten us, but is inviting us to find a balance; to “stay alert,” neither alarmist nor indifferent but faithfully waiting for our Lord’s return in glory. If we are truly “alert” in our faith, we will not be surprised or frightened by Jesus’ return at the end of time. St. Paul speaks to us with great confidence in our faith: “You are children of the light and children of the day.” And so what is the faithful balance St. Paul asks us to seek? St. Paul says, “Encourage one another and build one another up.” Our common goal; God’s goal for every one of us; for our Church, is our salvation “through our Lord Jesus Christ.” God, through St. Paul, asks us to help one another toward this goal.

“Encourage one another and build one another up.” We hear a similar message to this today from Luke’s Gospel. The people  who hear Jesus teach and witness his healing of the man with a demon are “astonished at his teaching, because he [speaks] with authority.” The people spread “news of” Jesus’ healing “everywhere in the surrounding region.” The next step, for the people of Jesus’ time and for us who spread the Good News of Jesus Christ “everywhere,” is to realize that we are given the same “authority” with which Jesus spoke and acted. So many of us are realizing this already by accompanying those in need; by being a joyful presence to one another; by praying and by worshipping here. We are neither fearful nor indifferent. We are “children of the light and “of the day” building “one another up” toward salvation in Christ together.

Homily for Sunday, 30 August 2015

22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Deuteronomy 4:1-2, 6-8; Psalm 15:2-3, 3-4, 4-5; James 1:17-18, 21b-22, 27; Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23

If we were to capture our readings today in pithy phrases or slogans, what would these phrases or slogans be?

Imagine Moses, long before it was popular in small towns to appoint somebody with a powerful voice as “town crier,” standing before the people and crying out loudly, “Hear ye! Year ye!” Moses does essentially this in the first reading we hear today, from Deuteronomy. “Now, Israel, hear the statutes and decrees, which I am teaching you to observe,” Moses says to the people he is leading through the desert into Israel. Moses’ message is more important than that of any town crier. Moses, unlike a town crier, is not simply reciting the daily news aloud in the town square for all to hear. Moses is asking the people to hear the Word of God; the Law of God. In the Hebrew culture of the time, before the Word of God was widely read or seen, it was primarily a message to be heard.

“Hear ye! Hear, O Israel!” For the people of Israel, whether or not they hear Moses’ message attentively is a matter of life and death. It is a matter of whether or not they will be able to inherit the land God has promised them and to prosper in it. “Hear the statutes and decrees, which I am teaching you to observe,” Moses says, “that you may live.”

What are some life-and-death messages we might hear today? I suppose that if a disaster were to strike where I am and I had a chance to avoid it and maybe to help others to safety in the process, I would want to hear: How long until disaster strikes? Where can we go for safety? If we or one of our loved ones were to become severely ill, and some kind of medical treatment were able to increase quality if not time of life, would we not want to hear this message from a doctor?

Yet most messages we hear, see, or read today are not, at least immediately, life-and-death. I do not mean by this that to hear, see, and read the daily news is not important or to be encouraged. I and many if not most of us read the newspaper; watch newscasts on television; connect to the internet on a daily basis. Our news is interesting; informative when it is not infuriating or distressing, like seemingly continual news about recent violence in our city; our nation; our world. But our daily news is usually not life-and-death. Yet how many of us would think of the Word of God as a life-and-death message?

I do not wish to discourage us if we have difficulty hearing God’s Word as life-and-death. Most if not all of us are here because we receive what we would not receive if we were not here. We receive nourishment of body and spirit from Christ really, truly present in our Eucharist. We are here in the presence of God and of one another as beloved friends; ourselves “one Body; one Spirit in Christ.” We receive the gift of the Word of God. And then we are sent forth from this celebration strengthened to act with truth, justice, and kindness in our world and in our everyday relationships.

But for Moses, for the people he leads through the desert to their promised land, and ideally for us, God’s Word; the Law, God’s Commandments means more than nourishment. To hear the Word of God well means more than impressing other people or nations, although Moses promises that other nations will say of Israel if they hear God’s Word well: “This great nation is truly a wise and intelligent people.” To hear God’s Word well means more than the recognition by people of other faiths of how close our God is to us: At the same time our best friend and our Savior. God’s Law, or any law, means more than the greatness of the rule of law in and of itself. For Moses; for the people Moses leads through the desert; for us, the Word of God; the Law of God that we hear in Scripture is life-and-death. “That you may live”: This, our salvation, is Moses’ goal; God’s goal for us in inviting us to “hear”!

“Hear ye”! If this is Moses’ message in Deuteronomy captured in a pithy saying or slogan, St. James’ message in our second reading might be summed up as, “Just do it.” This predates Nike and its sales of high-quality shoes with a simple yet fashionable “swoosh” logo by almost two thousand years. Go James!

“Just do it,” we hear from the Letter of James today. To hear the Word of God is not enough if we do not act upon it. To hear but not to act on the Word of God, James says, is to delude ourselves. In this same part of his letter (this verse is left out of today’s reading), James compares the hearer of God’s word who is not also a doer to one who “looks at his” or her “own face in a mirror” and “then promptly… forgets what he” or she “looked like.” This image is absurd, and so we become absurd if we hear the Word of God but do not act on it. For us to hear and then not to act on God’s Word is impossible.

So how does James ask us to act on the Word of God we hear; “the Word of truth” that “is able to save [our] souls”? First, James says, care for society’s most vulnerable: “orphans and widows in their affliction.” We could add in our time refugees and migrants, those who are poor, especially the working poor; the underemployed and unemployed; those who are sick; people whose lives are marred by violence; the homeless… James does not say, “Check their papers to see if they are legally entitled to our care; to be in our country.” James invites us to hear and to act on the Word of God. “Just do it”! And do not act in ways contrary to the Word of God. “Keep oneself unstained by the world”; unstained by gossip; by passive-aggression; by violent actions or speech; by ideological polarization; by indifference to those in need; by any form of indignity toward human life and creation.

“Just do it”! Better yet, James says, if we hear the Word of God attentively we will naturally act on it. Jesus’ message in Mark’s Gospel is similar to that of James: Hear and then act on the Word of God. If James cautions those who hear and then do not act on God’s Word, Jesus addresses perhaps a much more common problem, both in his time, with the Pharisees, and in our time: Those who act without properly hearing the Word of God that is the foundation of all we do as people of faith. The Pharisees’ ritual purification of vessels; of beds; of their own bodies was not wrong. But it had become an obsession. Many had not paused to ask a brief but important question: “Why”? Why do we wash our “cups and jugs and kettles and beds”; our hands? Are we paying enough attention to what is within us that needs purification? Are we attentive enough to purify ourselves of the “evils” Jesus lists in our Gospel reading; of our prejudices and unjust judgments of one another; of divisions among races, among Christian people, among nations, and among and within families?

If Moses says to us today, “Hear ye,” and James says to us, “Just do it” (better yet, if you hear rightly you will also naturally do, but this slogan loses its pithiness), might Jesus be saying: “Hear and do, but for the right reason”?

Jesus invites us to discern; not be afraid to ask, “Why? What are  our reasons; our intentions for acting in a particular way; for our acts of personal devotion; for gathering here to worship; for any of our good works”? As individuals and as Church, we can only be strengthened by this careful discernment of our intentions. And so indeed, “Hear ye”! And when we hear the Word of God as Christians, “Just do it”: Act on the Word of God we hear, but for the right reasons and with the right intentions.

Homily for Thursday, 27 August 2015– Memorial of St. Monica

Thursday of the 21st Week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: 1 Thessalonians 3:7-13; Psalm 90:3-5a, 12-13, 14, 17;  Matthew 24:42-51

How many of us love somebody so much that, when we are apart from this person, we long deeply to be with her or him again? The people we love could be our wife or husband, parents, children, or other family member, or close friends.

This, I imagine, is the longing St. Paul feels for the Church at Thessalonica. The Thessalonians had been among the first Christian communities established by St. Paul. And Paul, who had been away from Thessalonica for some time, says this today in our first reading: “Night and day we pray beyond measure to see you in person.”

And for what else does St. Paul “pray beyond measure” for his Thessalonian friends, some of the earliest Christians whom he longs to see again “in person”? St. Paul prays for those who are already strong in their faith; strong in their leadership of the Thessalonian community in their faith. “We have been reassured about you, brothers and sisters… through your faith.” St. Paul prays for those whose faith is weak, “to remedy the deficiencies of [their] faith” with prayer and with patience. We can imagine St. Paul praying for people not directly mentioned in our reading today from his first letter to the Thessalonians: Those who are prosperous, that they may use their wealth to support the community; those who are poor; those who are sick or grieving or in need in any way.

St. Paul prays out of a deep love for the Thessalonian Church. And he invites the Thessalonians to the same love for one another: “Abound in love for one another and for all, just as we have for you.” Jesus’ prayer in Matthew’s Gospel is borne out of the same love for us; the same longing for us. Jesus’ love is the source of his prayer for us “beyond measure”: That we may love Jesus and one another as he loves us and, because we love, that we may “stay awake” waiting for the return of Jesus, our beloved, at the end of time.

To “stay awake” is a sign of love. Those of us who are parents, especially of teenagers or young adults: How many of you have stayed awake, unable to sleep until your child returns home after a late night out, even if your child was probably not into any trouble? Your love for your children is what Jesus speaks of when he says, “Stay awake.” This is the same love with which we are able to “stay awake” for Jesus’ return and to live our lives accordingly until one day we are with God and one another in heaven.

Today we celebrate the feast of St. Monica, the mother of St. Augustine, whose feast day is tomorrow. But St. Augustine would not have become the great saint he is without his mother’s unceasing prayers and love for him. The love between Sts. Monica and Augustine is one of our Church’s greatest-ever love stories. St. Monica stayed “awake” in prayer “without measure” for the conversion of both her son Augustine and husband Patricius.

Monica models love for us: The love of St. Paul for the Thessalonians; the love of Jesus for us; the love that stays “awake,” praying “beyond measure” because we long for our beloved.

Homily for Monday, 24 August 2015‒ Feast of St. Bartholomew

Monday of the 21st Week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Revelation 21:9b-14; Psalm 145:10-11, 12-13, 17-18; John 1:45-51

What is in a name? 

Today on this feast of St. Bartholomew, one of Jesus’ first Twelve Apostles, our readings center on the importance of names. The Book of Revelation gives us an image of the heavenly Jerusalem. This city, appearing “out of heaven,” has twelve gates, three facing each of the four directions and each inscribed with a name of one of the Twelve Apostles.

The names of Jesus’ Twelve Apostles, a reflection of “the names of the twelve tribes of Israel” in the Old Testament, are important in Revelation. But one difficulty is that neither the Book of Revelation (in which the Apostles are not actually named together) nor the four Gospels agree on the names of Jesus’ Apostles, only that there were twelve. John’s Gospel today highlights one of the most significant differences among the Gospels in names of the Apostles.

Today, on St. Bartholomew’s feast day, Bartholomew is not even mentioned in our Gospel. Instead we hear of Nathanael, who is found by Philip under a fig tree and introduced to Jesus, and then joins the other Apostles. But who is Nathanael (or Bartholomew?) but the kind of follower and friend Jesus seeks: “a true child of Israel”; honestly seeking God and what is right, without “duplicity”? Beyond this, we cannot know much about who Nathanael (or Bartholomew) was or were.

Yet this and other differences in the Apostles’ names among the Gospels is not necessarily a problem for us. It is possible, even probable, that Jesus’ Apostles had multiple names. We know that Peter, “the rock,” was also known as Simon, “God has heard,” and as Kephas, “the head.” After Jesus’ Ascension into heaven, his Apostles are traditionally understood to have spread our faith to faraway lands and cultures. St. Bartholomew is said to have gone as far as India. Could Jesus’ Apostles have acquired names and nicknames in these places? This, too, is possible. Having served in several countries as a Basilian, I have acquired nicknames and variations on my own given names. Colombian Basilians will often call me by my middle name, Roger, because Warren can be difficult for them to pronounce. Most moving is when they add “Hermano” (“Brother”) to Roger. Since my ordination, my Colombian confrères have delighted in stringing together excessively pious nicknames on top of “Hermano Roger” when calling me. This would irritate me if it were not clearly a lighthearted mark of affection from my Basilian brothers in Colombia.

And so it is possible for Jesus’ Apostles to have had many names. Bartholomew, the “son of a ploughman,” could also have been Nathanael, meaning “God has given.” But does this matter to us?

Our names matter. God called us to birth; to his service in this world by name. God will call each of us home to heaven by name. In baptism, before the priest or deacon asks what the parents and godparents seek from the Church for their child (presumably baptism), we ask, “What name will you give your child”?

We have one name that matters: That of Christian. From our baptism we Christians, like Nathanael (or Bartholomew), have been called to serve God as “true” children “of Israel”; children, friends and Apostles of Christ, with “no duplicity in” us.

Homily for Thursday, 13 August 2015– Ferial

Thursday of the 19th week in Ordinary Time

Optional Memorial of Sts. Hippolytus and Pontian

Readings of the day: Joshua 3:7-10a, 11, 13-17;  Psalm 114:1-2, 3-4, 5-6; Matthew 18:21-19:1

“How often must I forgive”? Jesus answers this memorable question from St. Peter: “Not seven times but seventy-seven times.” In other words, show unlimited forgiveness toward other people when they sin. But is this not easier said than done? What becomes of moral accountability when we forgive another person even when this person commits the same sin against us multiple times?

If we struggle with these questions, I think we can take comfort that even popes have had the same struggles. We begin with St. Peter, by tradition the first Bishop of Rome, who asks the question of Jesus that perhaps many of us have thought at some point: “Lord, if my [sister or] brother sins against me, how often must I forgive [this person]? As many  as seven times”?

Today we also celebrate the feast of two obscure saints, Hippolytus of Rome and Pontian, who were martyred in Rome in the early 200s. A fascinating detail about Hippolytus and Pontian is that for many years they were angry with each other; could not forgive each other until they were imprisoned and killed together by the Roman Emperor Maximus. Pontian had been pope. He and the two popes before him, Callixtus and Urban I, allowed people who had committed adultery and other serious sins back into the Church without, in Hippolytus’ eyes, a long and rigorous enough time of penance. Hippolytus was so outspoken against Popes Callixtus, Urban, and Pontius that he accepted election as an antipope (a rival claimant to the papacy of Rome). This got Hippolytus excommunicated. Thankfully, Hippolytus reconciled with the Church, probably under Pope Pontius while both were in prison, before he was martyred.

Hippolytus and Pontius were canonized together and share today as a feast day. Might we call this a great feast day of forgiveness, “not seven times but seventy-seven times”? Today is the feast day of a pope and the first antipope, who both were named saints and are examples to us of (eventual) forgiveness.

But how late is too late to forgive? How long before we become like the servant in our Gospel reading who is forgiven his debt but then refuses to forgive his fellow servant’s debt? Jesus invites us to be free and not to delay in forgiving one another. If we wait to forgive, we may not have the fortune of Hippolytus!

Who are the people in our lives whom we have most difficulty forgiving? Occasionally I hear people who are angry and have difficulty forgiving somebody in leadership: A president, a bishop, even a pope! But most often are not the people we have most difficulty forgiving those dearest to us: Close friends and family members?

I have seen over the last few days a saying on Facebook I find rings true. It says that to hold a grudge is to let somebody live rent-free in your head. The Church does not need to say this; psychologists will say this first. Jesus invites us to forgive. If we wait to become martyrs like Hippolytus before we forgive, it will become too late. And so make the demons of lack of forgiveness and unchecked anger in our heads and hearts pay the rent! This is all about accountability for our own mental and spiritual health.

Homily for Tuesday, 11 August 2015– Memorial of St. Claire

Tuesday of the 19th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Deuteronomy 31:1-8; Responsorial Canticle: Deuteronomy 32:3-4ab, 7, 8, 9, 12;  Matthew 18:1-5, 10, 12-14

To all grandparents here especially, and to all who have seen grandparents in action: Have you ever noticed how grandparents delight in their grandchildren? Is there not something special about a grandparent-grandchild relationship? Perhaps, unlike parents with their own children, a grandparent can spoil their grandchildren and then return them to their parents (all wound up, of course) at the end of their stay with Grandma and Grandpa.

In our first reading today, Moses has developed a grandfatherly relationship with the people he is leading home to Israel from Egypt. At “one hundred and twenty years old,” Moses is finally ready to retire; to hand over responsibility to Joshua for leading the people of Israel into the land God has promised them. Clearly Moses delights in the people of Israel. He shows concern for them and for young Joshua. The grandfatherly Moses’ parting advice to the people of Israel and to Joshua is to trust always in God: “He will never fail or forsake you.”

We know that Jesus did not have his own children or grandchildren. And yet he, even more than Moses, shows great delight in and concern for children; for the “little ones.” We hear in Matthew’s Gospel Jesus’ response to his disciples’ question, “Who is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven”? Jesus places a child in their midst and says: “Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven. And whoever receives one child such as this in my name receives me.”

Jesus’ concern for and delight in the “little ones” reaches to those who have gone astray like lost sheep. Jesus is the Good Shepherd who will leave “ninety-nine” sheep in the hills to search for and to bring home the one lost sheep. Jesus is like the father or grandfather who loves his children; his grandchildren without condition; who delights in them.

In this respect my grandfather (Mom’s dad), Frank Salt, who would have turned eighty-nine years old today, was a lot like Jesus or Moses. My Grandpa perhaps did not quite have the patience of Jesus or of Moses, but like them he delighted and had great loving concern for his children; his grandchildren; his great-grandchildren.

During one of my last visits to my grandparents’ home before they moved to be closer to my parents, Grandpa was, like Moses in our first reading, more noticeably unable “to move about freely.” But one sure way to increase his energy was to speak with him about his grandchildren or his great-grandchildren.

Not long before this particular visit, my sister Deanna and brother-in-law Tyler had visited with my niece Molly, who was then just old enough to walk and to get into everything! Grandpa and Grandma put out old magazines so that Molly wouldn’t get into the new ones, and then watched with great sport (and laughed about it weeks later when I visited) as she shredded all their old magazines.

What delight Grandpa had in his new great-granddaughter! It was like the delight Jesus and Moses had in the children; in those they led; the delight of a grandfather. Grandparents: I only ask that you take more time than Moses to enjoy your grandchildren. Do not wait until age one hundred and twenty to retire!

Homily for Sunday, 9 August 2015

19th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: 1 Kings 19:4-8; Psalm 34:2-3, 4-5, 6-7, 8-9; Ephesians 4:30-5:2; John 6:41-51

This homily was given at the House of Mercy, a homeless shelter in Rochester, NY.

How often do we think of our senses as ways of describing our relationship with God? Could touch, smell, sight, hearing, and taste be means for us to strengthen our relationship with God?

Our readings today all speak of our experience of God in terms of our senses. Our Psalm praises God beautifully, inviting us to “taste and see the goodness of the LORD.” When Elijah, in our first reading today from 1 Kings, is in such deep despair that he asks God to take his life, an angel twice touches Elijah to wake him and then orders him to eat. And so God makes God’s presence known to Elijah through Elijah’s senses of touch and taste. In John’s Gospel Jesus speaks of himself as “the bread… from heaven.” Jesus is no ordinary food. Even the manna with which God fed the people of Israel in the desert while they were fleeing slavery in Egypt does not compare to the food Jesus offers. Manna had offered temporary relief from hunger. Jesus offers himself as the food necessary for our salvation; food that is eternal; “the living bread… from heaven” and “flesh for the life of the world.” Jesus offers us salvation we can sense: touch, smell, see, hear, and taste.

Yet Jesus invites us not just to take in God’s presence in our world by our senses. The Letter to the Ephesians from which we hear today says that “Christ handed himself over to us as a sacrificial offering to God for a fragrant aroma.” But immediately before this we hear in Ephesians, “be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love.” Ephesians asks us to make God’s presence felt or, better yet, smelled as “a fragrant aroma” by the way we live “as beloved children” of God, “in love.”

And so my question is this: How does God smell in our world? How, by the way we live, are we making God smell in our world? Is God being smelled; touched; seen; heard; tasted; more fully experienced as a God of goodness and love; a “fragrant aroma”; “the living bread… from heaven… for the life of the world” because of the way we live as Christians?

Many if not all of us here at the House of Mercy could answer truthfully, “Yes,” to this question. God lives and is experienced here. We hear God; the Word of God in our Scripture readings and here at Mass. We hear God in our lively celebration of Eucharist each Sunday; the participation of all of us in our beautiful music at our Sunday Mass. We see God in one another gathered here and then going forth from here to act in justice on the gift of God we receive in our worship. We taste God: Jesus Christ really and truly present under humble bread and wine in our Eucharist. And we taste and smell God present when we are fed and provide food here for many of this city’s homeless and otherwise hungry. We touch God in our sign of peace here; our works of peace out in our streets. These are powerful signs of God’s presence especially in this part of Rochester still beset by poverty; homelessness; hunger; violence.

God lives and we sense God present and alive here at the House of Mercy! But I would be missing one of the means in which God has been present and alive here if I did not mention my late Basilian brother priest and regular presider at our Mass here, Fr. Joseph Lanzalaco. Today I stand in Fr. Joe’s place, since he was first scheduled to preside at this Mass. In his own humble, friendly, and loving way, Fr. Joe brought people; brought us together to where God could be experienced: Smelled; touched; seen; heard; tasted. Many of us met Fr. Joe and sensed God present at his funeral Mass a-week-and-a-half ago at my home parish, St. Kateri, at Christ the King Church. Those of us here who could not be bussed to Fr. Joe’s funeral were with us in spirit and in prayer. I cannot speak for Fr. Joe (and he will without doubt correct me if and when we meet in heaven), but I picture him on the day of his funeral with all of us; with God present, smiling down on all of us there. I can imagine Fr. Joe speaking words to us from heaven similar to those of St. John Paul II to the crowds gathered in St. Peter’s Square in Rome in the moments before he died: “I came to you, and now you have come to me. And I thank you.”

God was present among us in Fr. Joe’s life and priesthood among us, was present on the day of Fr. Joe’s funeral, and is present here now: Smelled; touched; seen; heard; tasted. But is it not a bit arrogant and irreverent for us to reduce God to something accessible to our human senses; to something material? 

I do not believe so, for two reasons. First, God has made God’s self human, one like us in all but sin in the person of Jesus Christ. Yes, God is entirely “other”; spirit and not something material we can sense. But, in the person of Jesus Christ, our God “humbled himself to share in our humanity.” Our God chose freely to share in our ability to smell, touch, see, hear, and taste in order to raise us up to a “share in the divinity of Christ.” Would we fear a God who takes on our humanity; our senses in this way? I would hope not. We could fear God becoming human, but this fear is itself a kind of arrogance and irreverence; a way to limit God. At its extreme (this error has been committed and condemned in our Christian history), this fear makes matter; the world; all of us whom God created as good out to be somehow bad. This is a lie. We know and so God invites us not to fear a God who, as Pope Benedict XVI says of Christ, “worked with human hands… thought with a human mind… acted with a human will, and with a human heart he loved.” So that we might be saved and so that, through our senses, we might glory in the love and goodness in God’s creation, Jesus Christ made himself like us, able to smell, touch, see, hear, and taste.

And here lies the second reason why I believe we are right to seek God by our human senses; that this is neither arrogant nor irreverent. God did not stop at sending an angel to wake Elijah from his sleep of despair with God’s touch. God did not stop at feeding Elijah on Mount Horeb so that his prophecy might continue. God did not stop at feeding the hungry people of Israel with manna in the desert, or at Jesus’ feeding the multitudes on a hillside in Galilee. God did not even stop at sending us his own Son, Jesus Christ, our “living bread… from heaven”; “flesh for the life of the world.”

No, our Psalm urges us to “taste and see the goodness of the Lord.” But may we not stop at this. God still has not stopped working in and through us. God has given us our senses so that, in the love and goodness of God’s creation we may smell, touch, see, hear, and taste the presence and work of God the Creator. And yet we, with God, are co-creators. We have a mission: Make God seen and heard by our worship as one community of faith. Make God somebody we can touch by extending to one another a hand of peace; by working for peace and justice; nonviolence at all costs. Make God tasted by feeding those who suffer poverty and hunger; by inviting more people to the table of the Eucharist. Make God smelled; breathed in and out of us in everything we say and do. “Be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love,” Ephesians says today.

This is our mission. At the end of time, when Jesus Christ returns, we may stop. Until then, we will not stop because God will not stop in each and every one of us. In Christ fully human God took on “flesh for the life of the world”; took on our senses: touch, smell, sight, hearing, and taste. God has given us the gift of these same senses to bring us salvation and for us to make God’s goodness and love known; experienced; touched, smelled, seen, heard, and tasted.