Homily for Monday, 23 February 2015‒ Monday of the First Week of Lent

Readings of the day: Leviticus 19:1-2, 11-18; Psalm 19:8, 9, 10, 15; Matthew 25:31-46

How many sets of commandments do we know of in the Bible? Most if not all of us know of the Ten Commandments. In fact there are two sets; two very similar versions of the Ten Commandments in the Old Testament, one in the Book of Exodus and the other in the Book of Deuteronomy.

Are not most if not all of us familiar with Jesus’ distillation of all the Old Testament commandments, the Law and the prophets, down to two commandments: Love God and love neighbor?

Our first reading today from Leviticus presents us with a series of commandments. These commandments in Leviticus are similar in style to the Ten Commandments. We hear them as a series of laws against particular actions: “You shall not…” After every few laws is the divine emphasis: “I am the LORD.” If we love God and believe that God is the beginning and end of these commandments, we will keep these commandments.

Without changing the substance of the many Old Testament commandments or the sense that God is their beginning and end, Jesus simplifies them while framing them in a positive way: “You shall” in place of “you shall not.” We hear this simplification and positive re-framing of commandments in our Gospel reading today.

But let us not be taken off guard by the simplicity; the positive, even inviting, tone of Jesus’ words. Are there not still stark consequences to acting in favor or against what Jesus teaches? Jesus words are still commandments that we are urged to follow. They are every bit as significant as the Old Testament commands of “you shall not.”

Jesus, as in Leviticus (although perhaps more clearly than in our Old Testament reading), bases his teachings on pressing social concerns. Who are the most vulnerable in Jesus’ time; those most in need of protection? They are “the hungry… the thirsty… the stranger… the naked… the ill” and those “in prison.” The manner in which we act toward these most in need is the manner in which we act toward Christ himself.

Who are the most vulnerable; the most in need in our time? Perhaps they are the unborn; small children; the elderly; the poor person; the person working for a minimum wage that does not suffice to feed, clothe, and shelter her or his family members; the sick; the person with disabilities; the homebound.

“Whatever you did for one of these least… of mine, you did for me.” Jesus’ commandment still stands today: Protect those most in need as though they were Christ. Most if not all of us do well at heeding these teachings of Jesus. Some if not all of us have had experiences in which our actions toward those most in need, or at least our intention behind them, are in need of some purification: Am I acting for my own gain, or because I see Christ in the other person, or a bit of both?

Lent is the great time for this kind of purification of both action and intention; of praying for the strength to follow God’s commandments, especially for the benefit of “the least of [our] brothers” and sisters.

Homily for Monday, 9 February 2015– Ferial

Monday of the 5th week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Genesis 1:1-19; Psalm 104:1-2a, 5-6, 10. 12, 24, 35c; Mark 6:53-56

What was the beginning of our universe, or the beginning of our earth, like? Was there ever a time before suffering; before death; before sin?

Our first reading today from Genesis responds to questions like these, but not in the same way science or philosophy would respond to these kinds of questions.

Let us go back to the beginning; I mean literally to the beginning of Genesis. “In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth,” the Book of Genesis starts, “the earth was a formless wasteland, and darkness covered the abyss, while a mighty wind,” God’s own creative Spirit, “swept over the waters.”

The creation stories in Genesis move from image to image to speak of the beauty and goodness of God’s creation. “God saw how good [it] was,” Genesis 1 repeats no fewer than six times, four in today’s first reading. Genesis’ goal is not to confirm scientific theories like the Big Bang or evolution. These theories may be right, or may be shown one day by science to be outdated.

Genesis points us to another, universal, transcendent truth: That what God created (the universe; the earth; animals and plants; the sea and the sky; us) is, intentionally on God’s part, good. And this good that God created can be observed by the humblest of human beings because we are made in God’s image and likeness. English philosopher Sir Francis Bacon once spoke of our ability to observe God’s goodness both in “the Book of God’s Word,” the Bible, and in “the Book of God’s works” (creation). We are capable of knowing and sensing God’s goodness through God’s creation and giving thanks for it. It does not take a scientist to give thanks to God although, as a microbiology lab technician before I became a Basilian, I often saw God’s awesome goodness in the microscopic creatures I studied.

“God saw how good it was.” We can see this in relationships with one another: Within our households, with friends, within our parish; across oceans and borders between countries and languages. We can see this when we selflessly help other people in need. We can see God’s goodness when we look up at the stars on a clear night. What marvelous expanse; what enormous goodness! We can see this in our beautiful town of Irondequoit and State of New York; the nature and activities that I occasionally get a chance to explore. We can see God’s goodness in the falling snow… Wait: The six inches of snow forecast yet to fall here today and tomorrow may be evidence of the effects of Original Sin (I kid. We will hear more about Original Sin and its effects in the daily readings later this week, though). Please be safe.

“God saw how good it was.” This is the truth of which Genesis 1 speaks to us: A truth that is universal; transcendent; timeless. “God saw how good it was,” and now and forever we can sense how good it is and give thanks to our God for his Word both of Scripture and of creation.

Homily for Tuesday, 4 November 2014– Memorial of St. Charles Borromeo

Tuesday of the 31st Week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Philippians 2:5-11; Psalm 22:26b-27, 28-30ab, 30e, 31-32; Luke 14:15-24

What is humility? Imagine this: Who here, if we had the chance, would like to be God? I think that to be God, even for a short time, would be superb! Just think: If one of us were God, we would know everything; be all-powerful; could create things from nothing… Who would not want this?

Would there not be temptation to abuse this knowledge, power, and creativity if we were God, though? Would we be tempted not to be humble? When I was a seminarian and children’s catechist at St. Basil’s Church in Toronto, I would often ask the children to place themselves in the Bible stories we would discuss in sacramental preparation. The children could be anybody they wanted to be in these Bible stories except Jesus or God. I thought that this would avoid the temptation against humility associated with wanting to be God.

One year, an astute teenager I had preparing for confirmation questioned me on my rule: Why can we not be God, if we imagine God as humble? The boy’s question is still one of my favorite questions I have ever been asked.

Today’s readings show God as humble. St. Paul uses what was probably a well-known hymn among the earliest Christians to emphasize the humility of God made human in Jesus Christ. The core of this hymn is a verse borrowed from Isaiah: “To me every knee shall bend; by me every tongue shall swear.” In Isaiah, this verse stresses the power and oneness of God. St. Paul and the early Christians still understood God as one, although in three persons, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. But now this verse from Isaiah, as the centerpiece of the hymn in St. Paul’s letter to the Philippians, emphasizes God as humble.

Our God made himself like us in all but sin in Jesus Christ. Jesus “did not regard equality with God something to be grasped,” but instead became “obedient to death, even death on a cross.” This is the ultimate humility; one St. Paul invites us to emulate.

This “same attitude” as Jesus Christ that St. Paul asks us to have is one of humility. It is an attitude that seeks out, as in our Gospel reading, not primarily the people who could repay our kindness; the rich; those who participate faithfully and frequently in the Mass and other sacraments, but “the poor and the crippled, the blind and the lame”; those out in the “highways and hedgerows”; the broken; the lost… To seek these people out is a Godly act; a Christ-like act; an act of humility.

Who would we be, then, if we were to be anyone we wished in today’s readings? Because of St. Paul and the boy in my confirmation preparation class at St. Basil’s, I have decided to relax my own rule. I encourage all of us to be God, or at least like God; not all-powerful or all-knowing (we cannot match God’s power or knowledge), but humble as God is humble.

Homily for Tuesday, 28 October 2014– Feast of Sts. Simon and Jude

Tuesday of the 30th week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Ephesians 2:19-22; Psalm 19:2-3, 4-5; Luke 6:12-16

What do we know about Jesus’ Apostles? The Gospels give us many details about some of the Twelve, for example Peter, James, and John, who were with him at most significant events in Jesus’ life. We know of Thomas as the one who doubted Jesus’ resurrection, but then believed. From the beautiful scene in John’s Gospel of Nathaniel (named Bartholomew in the other Gospels), whom Philip calls from under the fig tree to “come and see” Jesus, we know of these two apostles. We know of Matthew the tax collector-turned-apostle. Especially if you are of Scottish ancestry, you may have a devotion to St. Andrew. And of course, for all the wrong reasons it seems, we know of Judas Iscariot, “who became a traitor.”

But what do we know of Simon and Jude, whose feast we celebrate today? It would seem that we know very little about these two apostles.  

In Luke’s Gospel from which we hear today, Simon is called “the Zealot.” Was Simon a member of the Zealots, who are thought by some scholars of our time to have been a political movement during and after Jesus’ time intent on asserting Israel’s independence from Roman rule by force? Or is this a nickname given him in the Gospel simply because Simon was a passionate Apostle of Jesus Christ (although this could describe all twelve Apostles)? We cannot be sure.

We know even less about Jude, or “Judas the son of James,” than about Simon. Did his thought give rise to the New Testament letter that is named after him? Popular devotion makes Jude the patron saint of hopeless causes. Perhaps we could pray to St. Jude to help us with the hopeless cause of knowing who he was…

Despite our inability to know who the Apostles were beyond the little that Scripture gives us, our first reading today gives us some idea not only of the significance of the Apostles, but of who we are as Church. The Letter to the Ephesians says that we, the Church, are “built” together “upon the foundation of the Apostles… with Christ Jesus himself as the capstone.” We are “fellow citizens with the holy ones and members of the household of God.”

These two verses from Ephesians say a lot about the Apostolic beginnings of our Church; that the Church, headed by Christ, is “built upon the foundation of the Apostles.” The bishops, with the pope as both head and brother bishop, are an image of this first group of Twelve Apostles. They are successors of the Apostles, and so we pray in our Creed that we are “one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church.” And we, like the Apostles, are “fellow citizens with the holy ones.”

What dignity God has given us! A few of us may be well known; “big names” in our communities; our workplaces; our parish… But are not most of us more like Simon and Jude? We are, for the most part, lesser known beyond a close circle of loved ones, but together we are “one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church.” We are “fellow citizens with the holy ones,” those well-known and those not so well-known.

Homily for Wednesday, 13 August 2014– Ferial

Wednesday of the 19th week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Ezekiel 9:1-7, 10:18-22; Psalm 113:1-2, 3-4, 5-6; Matthew 18:15-20

What does Jesus mean when he says to his disciples in our Gospel reading today: “Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven”? How does Jesus’ saying apply to the situation of having to correct a sister or brother in Christ who has done wrong? Have any of us ever had to stand up to someone who was doing wrong (for those in our Faith Formation Summer Intensive Program here today, what about someone who was bullying another who did not “fit in,” for example?) What if the wrong action creates discord between individuals or within families, or even public scandal? How does the power of binding and loosing that Jesus gives to us apply then?

There is right and wrong, and so we are called to stand up for what is right and against evil and sin. And yet the power of loosing the bonds of sin is balanced with the power of binding; of holding others and ourselves accountable for sin.

And yet this power to bind and to loose is not meant to lead us to a sense of superiority, as though each of us are not ourselves sinners. Binding and loosing; the power to forgive sin and also the responsibility to hold one another accountable for good and evil actions, is meant to be both the exercise of individuals and of the whole Church community. Above all, when we must correct a member of the Church, we are invited to ask ourselves: Am I correcting the other person to stoke my own pride, or to strengthen the Christian community; the Body of Christ; the Church?

How often do we think of the good of the whole Church community when we correct somebody who has committed a sin? And yet this is what Jesus asks of us: If the sinner does not listen to one other person who corrects her or him, then bring witnesses. If the sinner will not listen to witnesses, then bring the case before “the Church.” Only when the sinner will not listen to the Church community might she or he be excluded from it; treated “as… a Gentile or a tax collector,” in Matthew’s words.

To bind and to loose; to forgive sin and to hold one another accountable for sin is not primarily about the sinner or even about the sin, but about the good of relationships; the good of community; the good of the Church. And even if one must, as a last resort, be excluded from this community for sins especially damaging to the community or persistent, serious sin, this exclusion (what we might call “excommunication”) is always meant to be a step toward healing; toward bringing the lost member back into community; back to the Church.

On binding and loosing, St. Augustine once said that, if we need to rebuke a sister or brother in Christ who has sinned, “our rebuke is to be in love, not eager to wound but anxious to amend.” May we let this be our test as to how we respond to sin, sisters and brothers in Christ. “Whatever [we] bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever [we] loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven,” not for our own gain but for the strengthening of the Church; the Body of Christ.