Homily for Sunday, 5 August 2018

18th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Exodus 16:2-4, 12-15; Psalm 78:3-4, 23-24, 25, 54; Ephesians 4:17, 20-24; John 6:24-35

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

What is a sign, and how might a sign point toward the quality of our relationship with somebody?

When we think of signs, we might start with the simplest examples: Traffic lights, for instance. Regardless of where we are in the world, or the language spoken there, the colours of traffic lights and their order are consistent: Red, yellow, green, from top to bottom or left to right. Another simple example of signs might be when we are in an airport in a foreign country with a different language. We need simple picture signs to point us toward the baggage claim, through customs, to our connecting gate, to the bathroom, and so forth.

Yet it is difficult to form a relationship with a sign at the airport or a traffic light. That is, unless I were to consider my impatient grumbling of a few days ago as I sat in front of an interminable red light, with the crossing arms down, lights on and bells sounding (speaking of signs) as three LRT trains passed in front of me. It is difficult to consider this to be an example of a relationship with a sign, unless maybe one of disdain! But this is not usually what we mean by relationship.

When we enter into relationship with somebody, more complex signs allow us to gauge the health of the relationship. When my mom and dad, after forty-two years of marriage, embrace lovingly in what we call public displays of affection, totally focused on each other and the moment, those PDAs are a clear sign that their relationship is healthy. When my brother Basilian priests gather together with joy in one another to pray, eat, or to recreate in community, we see a clear sign that relationships among us and with God are healthy.

One especially important, and undeniably complex, sign of healthy relationship, is the giving and sharing of food. Our Scriptures offer us many instances of the giving, receiving, and sharing of food, and our readings today from Exodus and John’s Gospel are no exception. The ability to give, receive, and share food is an essential measure of the health of relationships in Scripture. The sharing of food is at the centre of our celebration of Eucharist here and our Christian living by works of kindness, mercy, and justice that flow from this celebration. There may be no greater sign of the health of relationships, of love and trust among people and between us and God, than the frequency and quality of our fellowship around food.

Food is essential to love, bonding, and building trust from the first moments between a mother and her newborn child and maybe even before then, while the child is in the womb. Moms and dads: Your children’s dislike of broccoli and love for the Sunday brunch here at St. Joseph’s College probably goes way back! As an uncle, I think of the first time I met my nephew Liam, when he was about two months old, at Christmastime. While the amazing smell of Christmas dinner wafted through the house, my sister Deanna, Liam’s mom, handed Liam and a bottle to me so that I could feed him. How delighted and relaxed Liam was! A few years passed and, once again, my family was together at Christmastime. Liam had developed a taste for corn tortilla chips (a boy after my own heart). My then-toddler nephew, who is now almost seven years old, made a game of repeatedly circling the living room, charming and soaking in the love from everybody, and then, with great anticipation, opening his mouth wide in front of me so I could fill it with a chip. Deanna made the astute observation to me that the way to Liam’s heart was through food. This was nephew-uncle bonding time at its finest!

If only the people of Israel in Exodus or the crowds following Jesus in John’s Gospel had been as appreciative of what God fed them as Liam was of tortilla chips! Instead, when God feeds the people of Israel with a dewy, “flaky substance” in the desert, they look at it sideways and ask “What is it”? They call it “manna.” This strange name the Israelites give God’s food to them is one of the fairly frequent instances in most if not all languages in which a word used one way—in this case “man” or “manna” introduce a question, as in “What?” in Hebrew—may be used in another way, as in the name for something. Here, the Israelites’ question on encountering the food God gives them becomes their name for it: Manna? What is it?

At least by this point in their exodus from Egypt, the people of Israel have progressed beyond complaining about being hungry, longing to sit “by the fleshpots” and to eat their “fill of bread” they had enjoyed in Egypt. But they still do not understand the sign value of the manna in the desert: What did the manna signify about God’s relationship with his people?

God could have abandoned the people of Israel when they “complained against Moses and Aaron” and God, or scolded them, as God did at other times when they complained. But God does not abandon his people or scold them. Instead, God tests them: “Alright, Israel, your constant complaining is driving me crazy! But if I give you food, even a strange kind of food you will not know I gave to you or what it is until you try it, will you recognize me as the God who delivered you out of slavery, who has sustained you for forty years in the desert, and who will lead you back to your homeland? Will you at last learn to trust me”?

And Israel still does not quite pass God’s test. They do not quite understand the sign behind the manna from heaven: That this nourishing if strange food is yet another sign of God’s promise to be with them always, to sustain them, and to save them, whether from slavery or their own ignorance and complaining, no matter what. God’s promise, called a covenant, is greater than the bread that only points to God’s promise of salvation. And so, even if the people of Israel fail the test; fail to understand the covenantal sign of the manna in the desert, God and God’s salvation, and not the people’s failure, will have the last word.

The same is true of Jesus’ encounter with the crowds in John’s Gospel, who continue to look for him after the sign of the multiplication of the loaves and fish. The crowds look for Jesus “not because [they] saw signs, but because [they] ate their fill of the loaves.” Again, they fail to understand the covenant value of Jesus’ sign of the multiplication of loaves; how this fits into God’s ongoing promise to us of sustenance toward eternal life. They fail to understand that God has upped the sign ante, so to speak: Jesus’ multiplication of the loaves shows that Jesus, in our human form, is the same God who saved the people of Israel from slavery in Egypt, formed a covenant relationship with them and guided them through the desert under Moses and Aaron to their homeland. Again, the sign points us to something, or better yet somebody, beyond the sign itself: God; relationship with God; God’s continued offer of salvation. No longer should it be any question of “manna”?—“What is it”?—but of our relationship with God, who is behind these earthly signs leading us to salvation, “the food that endures for eternal life.”

The question, then, becomes how well we understand the signs God gives us today to point us toward relationship with God; toward the unbreakable covenant God has made with us to save us. Maybe if God were to try to give us tortilla chips instead of manna or loaves and fish, we might understand the promise of salvation God has tried since the first moments of creation to communicate to us. My nephew Liam would certainly understand that God wants to save us if God were to send us tortilla chips!

How well do we understand God’s signs of salvation, greatest of all our Eucharist, in our lives? Even if we struggle or fail outright to understand God’s signs, as the episodes of the manna and after Jesus’ multiplication of the loaves and fish show us, God will keep trying to strengthen his relationship with us; to point us toward eternal life. And so our failures; our ignorance; even our sin will not have the last word. God and God’s salvation, loving relationship with God forever, will. This is God’s promise to us; God’s covenant with us.

Homily for Monday, 23 July 2018– Ferial

Monday of the 16th Week in Ordinary Time


Optional Memorial of St. Bridget of Sweden

Readings of the day: Micah 6:1-4, 6-8; Psalm 50:5-6, 8-9, 16bc-17, 21, 23; Matthew 8:18-22

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

What is the minimal requirement for something, anything?

I am now into my third summer here at St. Joseph’s College as a sessional instructor. A significant part of any course outline I prepare details the minimal requirements for the course: Which courses students must complete, if any, before taking my course, the assignments required in the course and what percentage of the final grade each assignment is worth, and so forth.

Today, the prophet Micah imagines the people of Israel complaining to God that they do not know what God expects of them. Micah structures this section of his book as a trial speech or dialogue, in which God is the defendant and the people of Israel are the plaintiffs. The people of Israel, in Micah’s time, are being overrun by more powerful nations surrounding Israel and, as Micah and other prophets warn Israel, are about to be overtaken completely and taken into exile in Babylon.

But Israel protests to God through Micah: You say we must change our ways; that our sacrifices of “burnt offerings, with calves a year old” are not enough to stave off conquest and exile. What, then, God, do you require of us? What is required to pass this course, and how much is the final exam worth?

In these kinds of trial speeches, which are fairly common in the prophetic books of the Bible, an important feature is that, when the plaintiff begins by presenting the case against the defendant, in this case God, immediately the defendant has a chance to defend himself. In our reading today from Micah, God does just that against the charge of being unclear to the people of Israel as to God’s ethical expectations of them in order not to be exiled to Babylon.

We hear God say essentially through Micah that he has done everything to uphold and save the people of Israel in their worst moments in history, and now the onus is on Israel to behave ethically, especially by defending the dignity of the most vulnerable and in need of this land, Israel, God has given them. “I brought you up from the land of Egypt, and redeemed you from the house of slavery; and I sent before you Moses, Aaron, and Miriam,” God pleads with the people of Israel. What more could Israel want from God?

As an instructor, if I were challenged on clarity of requirements in my course, I might be tempted to say to a student: “The requirements for the course are in the syllabus. Please download and read it”! Might we imagine God saying, “The ethical requirements to avoid exile have been made clear by the example of my relationship, called a covenant, with you in history.”

And yet, as in many prophetic trial speeches and like a good instructor in class, God patiently and repeatedly answers the people’s questions as to what is required of them: “To do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.” God is our living example of justice, kindness, and humility; of doing more than what is minimally required of us. God is just, kind, and humble (which is always poignant to me, because how often do we think of God as humble?). God’s lived example to us of how to behave ethically is better than any course outline on paper could ever be.

Homily for Sunday, 22 February 2015

1st Sunday in Lent

Readings of the day: Genesis 9:8-15; Psalm 25:4-5, 6-7, 8-9; 1 Peter 3:18-22; Mark 1:12-15

What are some of the things we do during Lent? Maybe Lent is a time for us to focus more deeply on prayer. Maybe during Lent we might commit more intently to ministry to and with the poor; the sick; the elderly; the homeless; the homebound; others in need. Maybe the Lenten discipline of abstaining especially from meat on Fridays may help us to grow spiritually. Then again, meat-free Lenten Fridays are a light penance for me. I look forward in particular to our parish’s Fish Fry every Friday during Lent. I like fish, but even more I enjoy meeting and being with all of us, the people of St. Kateri Parish. And I enjoy supporting our parish’s Boy Scouts by whose generosity we have our Fish Fry every Friday during Lent.

Maybe during Lent we might give up something other than just meat on Fridays, like sweets, coffee, or social media… One year, before I became a Basilian, my roommates suggested that I give up puns for Lent. This was a heavy penance for me; my roommates probably lamented that it was only for forty days!

All these Lenten activities are excellent, especially if they help to deepen our relationships with one another and with God: Works of mercy and justice; increased commitment to prayer; abstaining from meat on Fridays during Lent, and possibly giving up something else we enjoy but that is not essential to us. But, even if we do all these activities during Lent, what if we were to focus simply on remembering more profoundly God’s loving kindness; God’s saving, sustaining presence in our everyday lives?

The people of ancient Israel; the people of the Bible had a special word for God’s loving, kind action toward us and our responsibility, in light of God’s loving kindness toward us, to act with loving kindness toward one another. This word is “covenant.” 

Several times we hear this word, “covenant,” in our first reading today from the Book of Genesis. God calls “Noah and… his sons” out of the ark after the Great Flood, and then immediately makes a covenant with them and “every living creature” that has survived the flood. “I will establish my covenant with you,” God says to all who were on the ark. The rainbow will be “the sign… for all ages to come of the covenant between” God and Noah “and every living creature” for all time. Nothing, especially no flood, will ever destroy this new covenant God has made with all creation. “I will recall the covenant I have made,” God promises.

But what is a covenant? Is it some kind of contract? Perhaps we might understand a covenant as a contract. Many of the Biblical covenants between God and the people are written like contracts: God makes a promise to bless and to save the people; the people are responsible for keeping God’s commandments; for remaining faithful to their end of the bargain with God in return. If the people fail to remain faithful to God, they may incur a curse or destruction, like a forty-day flood!

But a covenant is more than just a contract. Imagine us signing on a line for the following: Divine parts and labor: Salvation of humankind and all creation. Cost: Infinity dollars, plus applicable taxes and unwavering faithfulness to God’s commandments; ark building materials sold separately; available while supplies last.

Fortunately for us, a covenant is more than this. But what is a covenant, among ourselves or between us and God, if not merely a contract? We might look to the sacraments as signs of what covenant means, especially for us as Christians. Sacraments are signs to us, much like the rainbow was to Noah, of God’s loving and kind presence to us; God’s saving and sustaining care for all of creation.

Do any of us remember when, a few years ago, concern about legal re-definition of marriage and the rate of marriage breakdown in this country led our sisters and brothers in some Protestant traditions to enter into so-called “covenant marriages”? Their concern was that our society understands marriage too much as a limited, breakable legal contract and not enough as an unbreakable covenant bond; a sign of something even more than wife and husband give to one another in a marriage. We might call this “something more” God’s presence; sustenance; strength; grace; loving kindness. “Covenant marriages” (I think rightly) struck at our social reduction of marriage to a mere contract. My concern is that they fell into this same trap of reducing marriage to a mere contract and so have not really solved this ongoing social problem.

Is not marriage a covenant relationship, not only a one-time contract offer on the wedding day but lived throughout a married couple’s life together? The same might be said of all our Church’s sacraments: They are visible signs of our relationship with God and with one another. Our sacraments are visible signs of God’s present, loving, and saving kindness toward us and all creation. Here we celebrate together one of these visible signs of God’s presence and loving kindness; of covenant relationship, our Eucharist.

In the same way, our second reading from the First Letter of Peter speaks to us of baptism in terms of covenant. “A few persons… were saved by water”; by the flood in Noah’s time. Now we are all offered salvation in Jesus Christ by baptism into Christ’s suffering, death, and resurrection. Baptism is not just a one-time contract with God. It is our entrance into covenant relationship with God and with one another, the Church. It is our entrance into the life of “the Kingdom of God” that our Gospel reading today says is “at hand,” here and now. We enter into this relationship with God and with one another in baptism and in every sacrament; a relationship through which God’s loving kindness is made present through our community of faith.

Baptism, like any sacrament, is not a mere contract. It is more than a contract. Indeed, I think a covenant relationship is more difficult for us to maintain, let alone to understand, than an ordinary contract. All is well if we honor the terms of a contract. And if we do not honor the terms of a contract, we may pay a penalty. In Biblical terms, we might (although I believe instances of this are rare) be cursed or destroyed. 

Try as we might, we cannot break the covenant we have now with God; the covenant God has made with all of creation. But what can we do to honor this covenant relationship with God and with one another? What does God invite us to do to honor this covenant?

God invites us simply to remember our covenant relationship with him and with one another; to remember that God is always faithful to this relationship: “I will recall the covenant I have made,” God promises. God invites us to remember and to be confident in God’s mercy for the times we fail to live up to the same covenant.

This remembrance of covenant is the high point of our Mass. We hear the words of Jesus in our Eucharistic Prayer: “Do this in remembrance of me.” And then our Eucharistic Prayer continues in remembrance of “the saving Passion of [God’s] Son, his wondrous Resurrection and Ascension into heaven” and our looking “forward to his second coming.”

We remember covenant, not a mere contract. We remember; we celebrate; we live this covenant with God and as one community of faith. We remember especially through our sacraments: Visible signs of covenant; visible signs of God’s loving kindness; of God’s sustaining, caring, saving presence to us and to all of creation.