Homily for Tuesday, 30 August 2016– Ferial

Tuesday of the 22nd week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: 1 Corinthians 2:10b-16; Psalm 145:8-9, 10b-11; Luke 4:31-37

This homily was given at the chapel of Frassati House, a residence of the Basilian Fathers in Toronto, ON, Canada.

Is it not remarkable how St. Paul describes “the Spirit of God” in our first reading today, from 1 Corinthians? St. Paul begins with a somewhat distant description of the Holy Spirit as the one who “searches everything, even the depths of God.” Might this sound almost frightening to us?

But then St. Paul says to us that “we have received not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit that is of God.” Paul says to us in his first letter to the Corinthians that “we have the mind of Christ.” These are bold statements, that somehow we have the very presence of God; the Spirit of God dwelling within us!

And so the Spirit is not something distant; a being that watches us and is beyond our comprehension. Each of us, and together as a Christian community of faith, the Church, we have the Spirit of God with and in us. This indwelling “Spirit of God” makes possible for us the most intimate of personal and communal relationships with our God.

We have the freedom to reject this indwelling of the Spirit, although I believe this kind of total rejection among anybody who has ever truly experienced relationship with God is exceedingly rare. St. Paul may be speaking of those who have rejected God; have rejected the Gospel when he speaks of “those who are unspiritual” and so “do not receive the gifts of God’s Spirit.” I am not sure of this. And yet, between St. Paul’s message to the Corinthians and our Gospel account today of Jesus’ healing of the demon-possessed man in Luke, I think we might say that “those who are unspiritual”; those who, knowingly or not, have. become possessed or controlled by anything that is not of God, may be able to discern and even name God’s presence (as the demon in Luke’s Gospel is able to do: “I know who you are, [Christ] the Holy One of God”), but is no longer able to enter into relationship with God.

Yet a far greater problem in our world than the few who have rejected God and God’s Spirit are those who have never known relationship with God; the presence of the Holy Spirit within them as we do. There are still many, even in “Christian” parts of the world like ours, who long for the spiritual. This is an invitation to us to satisfy this longing while keeping our own relationship with God strong.

How do we do this? Our response to God’s invitation to make God’s Spirit and our relationship with God’s Spirit known in our world (what we call evangelization) begins with prayer. It begins with our prayerful celebration of Eucharist as we are doing here. But it does not end here. Our celebration here calls us to work in our world for justice and peace; for unity among Christians; among people of faith; among all people. These are works of the Spirit. These are works that show our world that “we have received… the Spirit that is of God” and that, as one, “we have the mind of Christ.”

Homily for Monday, 29 August 2016‒ Memorial of the Passion of St. John the Baptist

Monday of the 22nd Week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Jeremiah 1:17-19; Psalm 71:1-2, 3-4a, 5-6. 15ab, 17; Mark 6:17-29

This homily was given at Anglin House, Cardinal Flahiff Basilian Centre, Toronto, ON, Canada.

What would have been the response of John the Baptist’s and of Jesus’ disciples to the news of John’s death at the hands of Herod? I imagine John’s and Jesus’ disciples as having been heartbroken and probably afraid. John’s beheading would have been a great blow to the earliest Church, second only in devastation to Jesus’ own death.

Might we not imagine John’s and Jesus’ disciples thinking about abandoning their lives as disciples out of fear; wanting to return to their former livelihoods; wondering whether their own deaths at the hands of the authorities of their time and place were at hand? This was certainly the case for these same disciples after Jesus’ death.  But, had the disciples of John the Baptist and of Jesus fled after John was killed, their story and ours as Christians would have ended there. And even though most of Jesus’ disciples fled after his death, they reassembled, even if in fear at first, to witness to Jesus’ resurrection and to take up the Christian mission with the strength of the Holy Spirit.

These first disciples’ story; our Christian story continues because these first disciples, of John and then of Jesus, did not give into fear. They accepted their own vulnerability, the finiteness of their own earthly lives, their sin and their need for God’s mercy and forgiveness. The disciples’ example is in marked contrast to that of Herod, who would not accept his own vulnerability and finiteness of his rule or his life. He would not accept John’s speaking truth to Herod’s wrongful marriage to his brother’s wife Herodias, beyond a superficial level of liking “to listen to” John. Herod’s lack of acceptance of vulnerability and of truth led him to commit murder.

John the Baptist’s and Jesus’ disciples’ example of acceptance of vulnerability and of their need for God is an invitation to us to follow suit. Our world gives us many reasons to be afraid. Over this summer, while I have taught in Edmonton and so far travelled here to Toronto, I have been asked many times about the response in France to several terrorist attacks: Those in Paris last November; the killing of Fr. Jacques Hamel in July while he was presiding at Mass near Rouen; the Bastille Day attack in Nice… I have been encouraged that many French have not retreated in fear after these attacks; they have back out on the café terraces, living as French people do, within days of these awful events.

This is not to say that the French, nor we nor anybody, are or should be completely without fear. But may we not allow our fear, our vulnerability, even our sin to break us. May what could break us instead be what brings us together and brings us closer to God, after the example of the disciples of John the Baptist and of Jesus, and of John and Jesus themselves.    

Homily for Wednesday, 24 August 2016‒ Feast of St. Bartholomew

Wednesday 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

This homily was given at Anglin House, Cardinal Flahiff Basilian Centre, Toronto, ON, Canada.

The other day I was reading a fascinating article on Mother Teresa about an interview with the priest promoting the cause for her canonization. We might ask: What does Mother Teresa have to do with St. Bartholomew the Apostle, whose feast we celebrate today?

The priest in the interview says of Mother Teresa that she “did ordinary things extraordinarily well.” I think that this is the connection between Blessed Mother Teresa and St. Bartholomew and indeed all the saints: They “did ordinary things extraordinarily well.” How well does this describe us? After all, we are all called to holiness; we are all called to be saints.

God does not expect us to do the extraordinary. If God did expect this of us, I do not think that St. Bartholomew, or Mother Teresa or anybody else for that matter, would ever become a saint. St. Bartholomew is so ordinary that the Gospels differ on his name. St. Bartholomew is called Nathaniel in John's Gospel. Whatever his name, or whether or not Nathaniel and Bartholomew were two different Apostles, John speaks of a man who is completely ordinary. Nathaniel, or Bartholomew, is completely transparent in his need to be led to the Lord by St. Philip; completely open and without “deceit” in questioning whether “anything good” could “come out of Nazareth”; but also completely truthful to Jesus as to how he comes to believe that Jesus is “the Son of God... the King of Israel.”

St. Bartholomew is an example to us of a completely, refreshingly ordinary saint. He is not after his own glory, but the glory of God. Our Psalm response describes people like St. Bartholomew fittingly: “Your friends tell the glory of your kingship, Lord.”

Our calling is like that of St. Bartholomew, Blessed Mother Teresa, all the Apostles and saints: To point to and to point one another toward “the glory of the Lord.” Our calling is to “do ordinary things extraordinarily well.”

Homily for Sunday, 21 August 2016

21st Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Isaiah 66:18-21; Psalm 117:1, 2; Hebrews 12:5-7, 11-13; Luke 13:22-30

This homily was given at St. Joseph’s College, Edmonton, AB, Canada.

Is it not easy to admire the candour of the person in the crowd who asks Jesus in our Gospel reading today, “Lord, will only a few be saved”? How many of us have asked or at least thought similar questions?

Today’s Gospel reading is part of a section of loosely-connected sayings of Jesus in Luke’s Gospel on the Kingdom of God. And Jesus never quite answers the question of the person in the crowd, “Lord, will only a few be saved”? Instead, Jesus gives us three somewhat unclear, inconsistent images of God’s Kingdom: “The narrow door,” the locked door, and the great banquet at which “Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and all the prophets” are joined by “people… from east and west” and “from north and south.” The images of the narrow door and the locked door suggest that, yes, it is likely that “only a few” will “be saved.” But the third image of God’s Kingdom, the banquet scene, suggests that more than “only a few” will “be saved.” Yet, here again, Jesus says that many, even among the people who have followed him from village to village, will find themselves “thrown out” of the great banquet. And so does it not seem that to “be saved” will be difficult for us?

In light of these three images of God’s Kingdom, it would be difficult to fault any of us for thinking this way; for asking questions like, “Lord, will only a few be saved”? To take the harsh edge off of Jesus’ parables of God’s Kingdom, we might understand Jesus as drawing a line between those who were for and those who were against his message. Jesus’ images of the entrance to God’s Kingdom as a “narrow door” that would eventually be locked, and of God’s Kingdom itself as an exclusive banquet, were directed especially at the the religious and political elites of Jesus’ day. Many of these elites were not acting with justice; were not living in an upright way. They were oppressing and excluding the very people they were supposed to be helping; making sure they had the basic necessities of life; leading toward God and toward salvation by their own teaching and example. These were the people who would arrive at the Kingdom of God before a locked door, not be able to enter “through the narrow door,” or be “thrown out” of the banquet. And those least expected to enter the Kingdom of God would enter ahead of those who would have expected to enter first: “Indeed, some are last who will be first, and some are first who will be last.”

Nowadays, who are the people we would name among the “first” to enter God’s Kingdom; to “be saved”? Who are among the “last,” or those who will not enter the Kingdom of God at all? Part of our answer to who is “first” is easy. Especially as good Catholics, we might answer, “the saints.” But even the named (canonized) saints, those we recognize officially as in heaven; experiencing eternal life, are far from the total number of people already in heaven; already saved. And people who are not Catholic or who are not Christian are not necessarily to be counted among the “last” or those who will be excluded from salvation. We cannot even be sure that people who have done great evil will not ultimately be saved. And so to answer the question of who “will be last” or who will not be saved is even more difficult than to answer who “will be first.” In fact for us to answer either question is impossible.

“Lord, will only a few be saved”? We cannot answer this question. And Jesus does not give us the answer. We can answer, faithfully to our Christian tradition, that God wills everybody to be saved, but this is as much as we may know and believe. Our Church names a few of the many, mostly anonymous, saints through the ages, and does not place anybody in particular in hell, for good reason.

But can it still not be tempting for us to speculate on who might be saved; on which actions or choices might place a person definitively beyond salvation? Have any of us ever been asked a question like, “Have you been saved”? I have been asked this question a few times, by well-meaning Christians. Questions like this tempt me to make a snarky reply like, “I don’t know. Have you”? This is when I believe most deeply that biting one’s tongue should be added as the eighth corporal work of mercy!

Humour aside, I think that to make our salvation out to be an individual pursuit like this (“Have you been saved”?) or to become otherwise obsessed with salvation, with whether we or anybody else “will be first” or “last,” is dangerous. What do I mean by this? If and when we become obsessed with salvation and make it individualistic, about whether I will be saved, we neglect key aspects of salvation.

First, our salvation is God’s gift of grace to us; God’s choice, not ours. This is not to say that our works; our words and our actions do not matter to God. Our second reading, from the letter to the Hebrews, calls us to accept with humility “the discipline of the Lord.” Moral accountability is vital to our salvation. Are we yielding “the peaceful fruit of righteousness” by the way we live? Are we working in some way for peace and justice in our world; our nation; our communities; our households; our Church? Without concrete works (words and actions) that strengthen our relationship with God and with one another; without works that show the Kingdom of God dwelling within our world here and now, salvation becomes an empty obsession with a distant reality.

Second, the key word in all this is “we.” Salvation, building the Kingdom of God here and now so that we might inherit it in its fullness by the end of time, is not an individual but a communal, relational effort. This is the message of the prophet Isaiah we hear in our first reading today. Isaiah encourages the people of Israel to return to their homeland after a long exile in Babylon. But God, speaking through Isaiah, not only calls individuals, or only the people of Israel, home. No, God says through Isaiah, “I am coming to gather all nations and tongues, and they shall come and see my glory.” The message is the same in Luke’s Gospel, in Jesus’ sayings about the Kingdom of God. Who will be present at the great banquet of God’s Kingdom? Jesus says that “Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and all the prophets,” and then “people from east and west [and] from north and south” will be at this great feast. All will celebrate together not their own glory but the glory of God; the fullness of relationship with God and communion with one another.

“Lord, will only a few be saved”? Perhaps, yes, “only a few,” if any, will be saved if we try to be saved as individuals, alone, before God. But I dare say that this is not what God wants of us. God wants all of us; all of creation to be saved. God is gathering “all nations and tongues” together to “see [God’s] glory.” And God has given us signs here, now on earth, of the future fullness of God’s Kingdom. The greatest of these signs, of these sacraments, is this Eucharist we celebrate; our communion in God and in one another. Salvation is not distant reality, but starts right here, not for a select few but for all of us.

“Lord, will only a few be saved”? “Will only a few” be able to “enter through the narrow door” before it is locked? Not if we work and if we entrust ourselves to God’s saving grace and mercy together…

Homily for Thursday, 18 August 2016– Ferial

Thursday of the 20th week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Ezekiel 36:23-38; Psalm 51:12-13, 14-15, 18-19; Matthew 22:1-14

This homily was given at the chapel of Kateri House Women's Residence of St. Joseph's College, University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB, Canada.

Our Gospel reading today raises many questions for me: Why do the first slaves “invited to the wedding banquet” of the king decline the king’s invitation? Why do they not simply decline politely, but instead “make light of” the invitation, while some go so far as to mistreat and kill the king’s other slaves? Why is the king so harsh toward the unfortunate man who shows up at the wedding banquet without his “wedding robe,” casting this man “into the outer darkness, where there [is] weeping and gnashing of teeth”?

These questions are difficult to answer with only the information that Matthew’s Gospel gives us. Maybe the first slaves thought their master, the king, to be harsh, and so they had planned a way of opting out of attending his wedding banquet. And maybe they mistreated his other slaves out of added spite. The king’s slaves would seem to have been right about his harshness and short temper, if the king’s treatment of the man without a wedding robe is any indication of this.

Then again, maybe we are asking the wrong questions if we are wondering why the slaves behaved the way they did or why the king in Jesus’ parable is so harsh. After all, the king is meant to be understood as God. And God would not be unduly harsh toward his people, would he? Perhaps we interpret God incorrectly as harsh for destroying the slaves and their city after they had mistreated and killed other slaves. Perhaps God, the king, has reason to cast the man without his wedding robe “into the outer darkness, where there [is] weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

But maybe we are being invited to focus less on the apparently harsh actions of God; of the king, and more on our own choices before God and one another. Now, I am in favour of the belief in a loving and merciful God who gives sinners and even serious evildoers almost infinite chances to turn from sin. And yet all of us are created with complete freedom, which includes the freedom to accept or to reject God’s mercy; God’s gift of salvation; God’s invitation to the wedding feast, the Kingdom of Heaven definitively, as it were.

And so might we direct these questions not toward God but toward ourselves: If we are given an invitation to the wedding feast, will we choose to accept God’s invitation? Will we go “into the main streets” and invite still others, without partiality, to the wedding feast? Will we wear the wedding robe of salvation given us by the king, God, at our baptism, when we were first invited to “bring” the “dignity” of this garment “unstained into the everlasting life of heaven”?

Will we pray with the humility and penance of the Psalmist: “Create in me a clean heart, O Lord,” even if our creation and re-creation by God entails breaking down our sin; our acts against God; against love; against one another, in order to rebuild dignity with which we were first created? Will we listen to prophets, of our time or of old, who call us to accountability; to repentance when necessary?

These choices are ours to make, with the freedom God has given us to make them.

Homily for Wednesday, 17 August 2016– Ferial

Wednesday of the 20th week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Ezekiel 34:1-11; Psalm 23:1-3a, 3b-4, 5, 6; Matthew 20:1-16

This homily was given at the chapel of Kateri House Women's Residence of St. Joseph's College, University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB, Canada.

What is justice? In our lives as Catholics; as Christians, how might we live in a way that is most just? How does God show himself to us as just?

Our readings today provide us with two key images of justice: That of the shepherd and, especially in our Gospel reading from Matthew, that of the vineyard owner. The prophet Ezekiel directly scolds the elites of Israel of the time who have kept the land’s wealth and resources for themselves instead of ensuring that the needs of the people, particularly the most vulnerable, are met.

What is justice, then, according to Ezekiel? He urges the “shepherds,” the powerful political and religious figures “of Israel” to “feed the sheep,” and rebukes them for not having done so: “You do not feed the sheep. You have not strengthened the weak, you have not healed the sick, you have not bound up the injured, you have not bound up the strayed, you have not sought the lost, and with force and harshness you have ruled them.”

I find the closeness between Ezekiel’s marks of a good shepherd (actions the elites of ancient Israel were not taking) and many of what we call the corporal and spiritual works of mercy remarkable: Feed the hungry. Give drink to the thirsty. Clothe the naked. Shelter the homeless. Visit the sick and the imprisoned. Bury the dead. Instruct the ignorant. Counsel the doubtful. Admonish sinners. Bear wrongs patiently and forgive offenses willingly. Comfort the afflicted. Pray for the living and the dead.

This connection between Ezekiel’s description of a good shepherd (or not) and works of mercy suggests to me an important connection between justice and mercy. I am reminded of Psalm 85: “Love [sometimes translated as “loving mercy” or “loving kindness”] and truth will meet. Justice and peace will embrace.”

Love, mercy, truth, peace and justice are all interconnected. They find their perfect meeting point, at which they “embrace” one another, in God, the Good Shepherd. And yet we, too, are called to connect these virtues in our own lives; to lead one another to God by our works of love; of mercy; of truth; of peace; of justice.

Might it seem, though, that the vineyard owner in Jesus parable we hear from Matthew’s Gospel today does not quite exemplify the best; the interconnection of these virtues? After all, the vineyard owner pays the workers who arrive latest to work the same daily wage as those who arrive at work first. But if we think of the vineyard owner’s wage policy as unjust, I think we miss the central point of this parable about God’s justice, which we are invited to emulate. This central point about justice, God’s or ours, is that justice must mean that nobody has need of anything. Justice does not mean that wealth is good or evil in and of itself. Justice does not stipulate a fair wage for workers, which depends on many economic, geographic, social, and other factors. But, in a just society; a just world; a just Church, nobody has need of anything.

And so, if we are acting justly, we are leading one another to God, the Good Shepherd so that, as we pray in our Psalm today, we “shall not want” for anything.

Homily for Sunday, 14 August 2016

20th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Jeremiah 34:4-6, 8-10; Psalm 40:2, 3, 4, 18; Hebrews 12:1-4; Luke 12:49-53

Who enjoys a confrontation every now and then? I do not imagine many of us enjoy or go seeking confrontation with other people. Our Christian faith favours a non-confrontational, certainly non-violent approach to resolving disagreements and conflicts. Does Jesus himself not teach us to “love one another,” even our enemies; people we find disagreeable, to be kind, to control our anger, and to forgive others’ wrongs generously? Does Jesus not show us the way of love to its fullest by giving his life on the cross for us; submitting meekly to the worst of human evil? The God of the Old Testament is first and foremost a God of mercy; of “steadfast love”; of “loving kindness.” Confrontation and destruction, even of the worst sinners, are the last resort of the God of the Old Testament.

Not many, let alone God, enjoy confrontation. But then why do our readings today seem to suggest otherwise? Jesus seems ready to confront those who choose not to hear his message and to act against him; against his Gospel: “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the world? No, I tell you, but rather division”! The “division” he brings will affect even families: “Five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three.” What kind of Saviour is this? Here, Jesus is looking for a fight. And he seems to realize that his divisive message will cost him his life. We hear Jesus speak of bringing “fire to the earth” and of a “baptism,” his own passion and death or perhaps the final judgment at the end of time, for which he longs to be “completed.” This is hardly the nice, peaceful Jesus with whom we’re comfortable.

And the prophet Jeremiah in our first reading is no more nice and peaceful than Jesus is in our Gospel. Jeremiah works from a position of privilege: He is an “official” prophet of several kings of ancient Israel; a member of the royal court. Israel’s kings often would hire personal prophets to guide them in government. David and Solomon had Nathan as prophet. Nathan is famous for convicting David of his wrongful relationship with Bathsheba (later Solomon’s mother) and for having Bathsheba’s husband Uriah killed in battle in order to take Bathsheba as his wife. Nathan is to David and Solomon whom Jeremiah is to Uzziah through Zedekiah, of whom we hear in today’s first reading. Jeremiah is Zedekiah’s personal prophet. For those of us who are into sports or fitness, we could think of the royal prophet’s role as like the “personal trainer” of heart, soul, and conscience to the king and his officials.

The kings’ personal prophets were expected to confront kings or their officials if they were doing serious evil. But Jeremiah goes too far for the liking of Zedekiah’s officials. By the time Zedekiah becomes king of Israel, the nation and its monarchy are in deep trouble. Several prophets have been warning Israel’s kings and people for years that Israel is more and more in danger of being taken over by the more powerful nations around it like Assyria and Babylon. The way to avoid being taken over, its people being deported to these other lands, and the destruction of Jerusalem and its temple especially, was to trust in God to deliver them and to look after the most in need in Israel with justice and mercy. Do not make alliances with other nations and worship their gods, the prophets would say. Many kings and other elites would not listen to the prophets.

Yet Jeremiah goes too far for the liking of Zedekiah’s officials, who listen to him but do not like what they hear. Jeremiah’s message is that it is now too late to turn from their worship of foreign gods and trust in other nations instead of in God. They are better off accepting a time of exile in Babylon (which actually happened), where they would repent of their sins of injustice and worship of false gods.

To Zedekiah’s officials, Jeremiah’s message that the people of Israel should “go out to the Chaldeans,” to Babylon; into exile, and abandon their homeland is treason, and so they demand that the king have Jeremiah put to death. In this way, Jesus’ story is similar to that of Jeremiah: Jesus, like Jeremiah, risks his life by confronting the people of his time with a message they did not want to hear.

Jeremiah was not dropped into a cistern by Zedekiah’s court officials, and Jesus was not crucified; taken outside the city and made to die the shameful death of an outcast, without reason. What was in Jesus’ message that made many of his hearers so angry? What drove these people to have Jesus killed?

These questions are difficult to answer based only on today’s Gospel reading. But we know, because Jesus himself predicted this: His message would cause divisions even within the closest of human relationships, families; households. Jesus will “bring peace to the earth” at the end of time. This is God’s promise to us for which we praise God every time we pray at Mass, “Glory to God in the highest and peace to people of good will.” Yet until then we have a decision to make: Are we for or against Jesus Christ; for or against the core of his message; of his lived example; his Gospel?

Our answer to this question will either unite and bring us peace or divide us, from the most distant to the most intimate of relationships. And what is at the core; the foundation of the Gospel of Jesus Christ? Let me propose that at the foundation of the Gospel of Jesus Christ is and has always been the most essential of human rights: The right to life from the moment of conception to natural death, without exception.

And defense of this human right to life is not limited to any one particular issue. Nor is it a permission to speak for the right of a person to be born, but then not to defend this person’s basic dignity: The right of children to be cared for and raised by her or his mother and father; the right to adequate water, food, and shelter; the worker’s right to a living wage; the right to social assistance in situations of poverty or other crises; the right to freedom of movement and expression; the right of migrants and refugees to be treated with dignity, not to have their families separated or to be subject to policies that put their lives in danger.

Defense of these human rights is defense of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. This means for us to confront any injustice, near and far; any affront to the human right to life and rights that flow from it; from the Gospel. And the Word of God we hear calls us not to enjoy or seek out confrontation; not to gossip; not to create undue division, whether in our world; our Church; our families and households. To seek out division and confrontation on purpose is sinful. Yet the Word of God; the Gospel of Jesus Christ; the message of Jeremiah we hear today call us to face confrontation; to face any abuse of human life and dignity; any sin, individual or social, with courage.

Our second reading today, from the Letter to the Hebrews, reminds us that we “have not yet resisted to the point of shedding [our] blood.” Fortunately for us, Jesus has already resisted in this ultimate way to the point of death against sin. His resistance has redeemed us; has made our salvation possible. Not many, if any, of us will be called to be martyrs in the sense of being killed for our faith, although I encourage us take time to pray today for the people in our world who do continue to witness to our faith; to give their lives in the confrontation in our world against sin; against evil.

They, like us, do not seek out confrontation. But the martyrs, Christ’s witnesses who have given their lives, like us, recognize the stark choices before them: Good or evil; trust in God or trust in false gods; unity and peace or division within human relationships; eternal life or death. And the closer we are to the core; the foundation of the Word of God; of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, which is our human good; our dignity; our salvation, the less there is a middle ground in these choices we have before us.

Homily for Wednesday, 10 August 2016‒ Feast of St. Lawrence

Wednesday of the 19th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: 2 Corinthians 9:6-10; Psalm 112:1-2, 5-6, 7-8, 9; John 12:24-26

This homily was given at the chapel of Kateri House Women's Residence of St. Joseph's College, University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB, Canada.

“God loves a cheerful giver,” St. Paul says in his second letter to the Corinthians. And Jesus says “to his disciples” in John’s Gospel, “Whoever serves me, the Father will honour.”

Who here is able to name “a cheerful giver,” somebody who is known for generous service to others; to our Church; to the world? When I think of a generous, “cheerful giver,” I think of a person like Mother Teresa, who founded the Missionaries of Charity to serve the poor around the world. Here in our own country, and longer ago than Mother Teresa, we might include Canada’s saints: Marie de l’Incarnation, who  established the Ursuline Sisters in Québec; Marguerite d’Youville, founder of the Grey Nuns; the Canadian Martyrs; many missionaries; more recently André Bessette… We may think of philanthropists who have given to their communities.

But so many “cheerful,” generous servants and saints are unheralded. Although he is named (many, even, I imagine, the vast majority of saints are not even known by name), we might consider St. Lawrence, whose feast we celebrate today, among these unheralded cheerful and generous servants. Most of what we know about St. Lawrence is legend or at least second-hand. Tradition back to the Acts of the Apostles was to appoint seven deacons to help the pope in Rome to serve those in need in the city. Under Pope Sixtus II, also a saint and martyr, St. Lawrence was one of these seven deacons during the reign of the Roman Emperor Valerian.

We might be familiar with St. Ambrose’s humorous, if graphic, account of The Martyrdom of St. Lawrence: As St. Lawrence was being burned to death, he asked his executioners: “Would you turn me over? I’m not done yet on the other side”!

Dark humour aside, I think another story from the same work by St. Ambrose even more beautifully captures the spirit of St. Lawrence, the kind of “cheerful giver” and generous servant of God whom Jesus promises “the Father will honour.” After Pope Sixtus was led to his death, three days before Lawrence was martyred, Valerian demanded the treasures of the Church of Rome be brought to him. On the day he was executed, Lawrence (we might imagine tongue-in-cheek) brought with him a delegation of the suffering, the poor, the sick, and the crippled of Rome, and announced to a furious Valerian, “Here are the treasures of the Church”!

Who are the cheerful givers; the servants among us whom “the Father will honour”? Who will present before God “the treasures of the Church”: The people of God most in need of our service; the people whose dignity is most vulnerable to being exploited? Perhaps the better question is to ask ourselves to what extent we are prepared to be servants ourselves; to recognize the suffering, the poor, the sick; people with disabilities; the unborn; the elderly as “the treasures” of our Church; of our world; of God’s creation.

We will most likely not be martyred for our efforts as St. Lawrence was. We may not even gain a name for ourselves, except before God. And yet, if we serve not for our own glory but glorifying God, we can be sure that God will love and honour the cheerful givers; those who serve generously.    

Homily for Sunday, 7 August 2016

19th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Wisdom 18:6-9; Psalm 33:1, 12, 18-19, 20-22; Hebrews 11:1-2, 8-12; Luke 12:32-48

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

Imagine if you were stranded on a faraway island. You have all you need to survive for the time you will be on the island: Water, food, shelter, warm clothing, and so forth. You have your family and closest loved ones with you. But on top of these minimal necessities to survive, you are only able to keep with you one thing. What is this one thing you would keep with you? What is your greatest treasure; the thing your heart most desires?

Jesus says this in our Gospel reading this evening [morning] from Luke about our greatest treasure; the thing our hearts most desire: “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” And so what is our greatest treasure; the one thing we would keep with us on this faraway island?

Children, maybe the treasure you would keep with you would be a favourite toy, or maybe a favourite children’s book, or video game, or equipment needed to play your favourite sport. For older children, teenagers, and adults, maybe our treasures would include what we need for our favourite hobbies: Craft material, a musical instrument, a good novel, unless you’re into non-fiction… Some of us might want to bring a television, or your dream sports car. Some of us who are handy might want to bring along our best power tool; after all, the shelter provided on the island is good enough for survival, but could always use some upgrades. For many of us, thinking more of spiritual survival, maybe we would bring a rosary or a Bible…

These (and others I have not mentioned) would all be great treasures we might consider bringing to a faraway island if we were only able to take one thing there with us. But in Luke’s Gospel Jesus is asking us to consider something more as our greatest treasure: The Kingdom of God. Jesus says “to his disciples…, ‘It is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the Kingdom.’”

We have only a small problem: Would it not be a bit far-fetched to fit the entire Kingdom of God on one faraway island? It would have to be a very large island! This is where we need to use our imagination… After all, if we were stranded on a faraway island, God would have had to make the island. God, as maker of the island, makes the rules as to the one thing, our hearts’ greatest desire, which we could bring to this faraway island. And so God could make this island as large as he wants, even large enough as to fit the whole Kingdom of God on it.

Trust me on this or, better yet, as God invites us, trust him! God constantly invites us to have faith in him; to accept this gift of the Kingdom of God that Jesus says the Father wants to give us. This treasure, God’s Kingdom, is worth selling “our possessions” and giving of our time; our talent; our treasure to help people who are poor, sick, troubled, or otherwise in need. If we had God’s Kingdom we would be ready for anything, on that island or here at home. And is this not what Jesus asks of us? “Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit… You also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour,” Jesus says.

How many of us are still not convinced; still trying to imagine the great big Kingdom of God somehow fitting on this little faraway island? Fair enough; the Kingdom of God is enormous and the island is probably tiny. And so God does not give us his whole Kingdom all at once. We will only have and be in the fullness of the Kingdom of God at the end of time, when there will be no worry about having to cram the entire Kingdom of God onto a little (imaginary) faraway island.

For now, God gives us small yet important (not imaginary, but real) signs of the future fullness of God’s Kingdom. What are these signs? First, God gives us the sign of his being with us in history. This history is spoken of especially in our readings today from Wisdom and the letter to the Hebrews. God was with God’s people, making freedom, “deliverance from Egypt” under Moses, possible. God shows himself in our history, the events of our world, as great and powerful, destroying Israel’s “enemies” in the time of Moses, but also as good and merciful, calling Israel; calling us “to himself,” back to the glory of our creation, when God made us and called us “very good.”

God then gives us the gift of faith; the faith God first gave Abraham; the faith or “conviction of things not seen.” Faith is especially important. Let us be honest: Can it not be difficult to perceive signs of God’s Kingdom; of God’s presence in our world through acts of violence and of terror; through brokenness of human relationships that many of us experience; through the suffering of innocent people? How many of us know somebody with the faith of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob, and then some, through sometimes the most awful situations in their lives? This faith God gives us is a sign of God’s “promise,” a sign that God is working in our world to bring us the fullness of God’s Kingdom; God’s reign of mercy and peace over our world, even when God’s action is not easily seen through our world’s events.

God gives us the gift of faith. God is with us in our world and its history; in our story; our lives. Even better, God has personally become a part of our world’s history. God has shown himself to us as human in every way we are human except without sin, in the person of Jesus Christ. This is God’s greatest sign yet of the Kingdom. And this greatest of signs, God made human, Jesus Christ, asks only one thing of us in today’s Gospel: “Be ready.” Be ready for the fullness of God’s Kingdom.

But how can we be ready for the fullness of God’s Kingdom, a reality of peace; of goodness; of mercy; a treasure that surpasses even our wildest desires or imagination? It is absurd enough to imagine ourselves stranded on a faraway island, able to keep only one thing with us. The fullness of the Kingdom of God is still more beyond our understanding; we have never experienced anything like it. Yet it is real. It is Jesus’; God’s promise to us.

God gives us signs that point us to the “treasure” of the Kingdom of God: God’s actions in our world (in the unexpected, in miracles, but most often in little, everyday occurrences); God’s gift to us of faith; God entering our world as human in the person of Jesus Christ. And Jesus gives us, until he comes again, another sign; a sacrament of himself really present here in our Eucharist; our action of thanksgiving to and communion in God; in Christ...

I pray for all of us that, through this celebration, the Table of the Lord; our Eucharist, sign and sacrament of the fullness of God’s Kingdom, our greatest treasure and our hearts’ greatest desire will become nearer to you, little by little; not imaginary like a faraway island or even hoped for in the distant future, but real and present.

My sisters and brothers in Christ, we celebrate, here and now, signs that are real of the promise of the fullness of the Kingdom of God that is real: God’s action in our world and its events and history, our story; God’s gift of faith to us; God having sent his Son, Jesus Christ; Christ who gives himself to us in our Eucharist. Here is where our treasure is. Here is where our heart is. We are “dressed for action”; dressed for celebration. And we are ready.