Homily for Sunday, 31 December 2023– Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Year B

Readings of the day: Genesis 15:1-6, 21:1-3; Psalm 105:1-2, 3-4, 5-6, 8-9; Hebrews 11:8, 11-12, 17-19; Luke 2:22-40

Today we celebrate the Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Yet our readings today invite us to a broader understanding of three related realities: Family, holiness, and blessing. The word of God invites us to see the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph as the culmination in human history of family, holiness, and blessing.

For Jews, Christians, and Muslims, the faithful of the three great Abrahamic religions, that history begins with Abraham. It is difficult, I think, for us not to feel badly for Abraham at the beginning of the reading we hear this evening from the Book of Genesis. God promises Abraham a son with Sarah, an ancestor to many nations, several times within a few chapters of Genesis. By the time Genesis introduces us to Abram, he is seventy-five years old. He is one hundred years old when Sarah gives birth to Isaac. So Abraham has had to wait a long time for God’s promise of descendants to become reality. Abram begins to feel like God has abandoned him and Sarai. His slave “Eliezer of Damascus” is, so far, his only heir. At this point, Abram has no family, no descendants of his own blood. “Maybe,” Abram could have thought, “I or Sarai have done something wrong. Maybe we have been less than steadfast in holiness.” God certainly seems, so far, to be denying Abram and Sarai the blessing of a child, of descendants.

So, what does God do with Abram? God does not ask Abram to look upon Sarai with love and imagine her expecting a child with him. And Genesis is clear that Abram has been nothing but faithful and patient with God. Abram’s faith and trust in God’s promise of descendants is “reckoned… to him as righteousness.” God does not ask of Abram any greater sign of his faith toward God. So, why does God continue to delay (or deny) Abram the only blessing he really longs for, a child, a family, descendants to populate all nations?

God asks only one thing of Abraham in the reading from Genesis we have just heard: Go outside; “look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them… So shall your descendants be.”

So, what does this encounter between God and Abram—God’s renewed promise (again) to Abraham of a great number of descendants—say to us about family, holiness, blessing? Sisters and brothers, family, holiness, and blessing are not things to be counted in the biblical imagination. In the Bible—the epics of Abraham and Sarah, of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and all the people and generations in between them—family is not limited to blood relationships. Holiness and blessing, too, are from God. So these are uncountable, infinite gifts to us of God’s grace.

God asks of us that we live according to the holiness and blessing that has been ours since the first moments of our creation. God saw that we were—humanity was—“very good”; God had created us in God’s image and likeness, blessed us, and given to us the care of everything God had created.

For Abraham and Sarah, to live according to this original state of holiness and blessing meant to trust in God’s promise of descendants, a family of nations in faith. It meant to go outside and look up with awe into the limitlessness, uncountable as the stars are uncountable, of God’s blessing to them and all people, all creation for all time. For this, Sarah’s and Abraham’s trust in God, Genesis says today twice, God blesses Sarah, places her and Abraham at the head of God’s historical family in faith.

For the people who hear the Letter to the Hebrews—for us today, hearing this proclamation anew—to live in good faith according to our original state of holiness and blessing is to recognize in God’s faithfulness to his promise to Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, and Jacob the prefigurement of God’s restoration of us to that original state of holiness and blessing in and through Jesus Christ. In Jesus Christ we have the human manifestation of “God [who] is able even to raise someone from the dead.” God has raised Jesus from the dead, giving us a share in the blessing of eternal life.

For the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph in Luke’s Gospel today, to live according to our original state of holiness and blessing is not so much to look up in awe at the limitlessness of the stars as Abram did, but to look and travel toward the temple of Jerusalem. In the time of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the temple was the centre of the Jewish faith, the dwelling place of God on earth, centred on the Holy of Holies.

Mary and Joseph set out, obedient to God’s call and their faith, to present Jesus in the temple. There is some ambiguity here: The Holy of Holies of the temple is the Holy Family’s destination, the dwelling place of God on earth. Yet Mary and Joseph hold God in human flesh, the infant Jesus, in their arms as they set out on their pilgrimage to the temple. Once the Holy Family arrives at the temple, the Holy of Holies, the baby Jesus, meets the Holy of Holies. But then the focus of this encounter of the Holies becomes the arms of the “righteous and devout” Simeon.

At that point, Simeon has nothing more on earth to live for. God’s Holy Spirit had “revealed to him… that he would not see death before he had seen the Christ of the Lord.” God’s promise, God’s blessing to the holy Simeon has been fulfilled. So Simeon is able to praise God, Luke’s Gospel says, with one of the most beautiful prayers in all of Scripture. For those of us who pray the Breviary or Liturgy of the Hours, at Night Prayer (Compline) the Church still prays Simeon’s prayer: “Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.”

This moment of prayer is a moment of encounter: Blessing, holiness, family all meet in this moment. Now, Simeon may depart this life for eternal life in heaven. He who has looked upon the presence of God, who has held God in the Christ Child in his arms, is an heir to God’s promise to Abraham, who looked up at the limitlessness of God’s promise, God’s holiness, God’s blessing of family: “Look toward heaven and count the stars… So shall your descendants be.”

There is only one thing on earth left for Simeon to do as he returns the baby Jesus to Mary and Joseph: Simeon blesses the Holy Family as he sends them on their way back to Nazareth, their hometown. It is a strange sort of blessing, I imagine unnerving if we had been Mary or Joseph in that situation. “This child,” Simeon says, “is destined for the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

What is Simeon talking about? And how are his words to Mary there a blessing? Simeon’s words are a blessing, but with a dose of reality. God has given us every blessing possible under heaven. God has created us with holiness, in God’s own image and likeness. And God has given us the gift of a Saviour, who has restored us to the dignity of being called members of God’s holy family, the People of God.

Yet our mission is to accept these gifts from God. Our mission is to hand on these gifts to still other people, so that all people for all time become heirs to God’s blessing, God’s holiness; all become members of God’s family of peoples and nations. The Christ Child, the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph stand as “a sign that will be [and to this day continue to be] opposed” by many who want to exclude from God’s blessing, God’s people on the grounds that these are somehow not “worthy” of God’s grace, God’s blessing, being called God’s people: The poor, refugees and migrants, people whose relationships are irregular by Church law, and so on. This is the cruel reality present in our world. Yet the encounter between Simeon and Anna and the Holy Family in the temple, prefigured by the encounter of Abraham and Sarah with God, shows us that God’s grace, God’s blessing, God’s holiness, God’s call to us to be universal family of God’s chosen people, will not be so easily limited.

The leaders of Jesus’ own people, of his own time, would try to limit God’s grace, God’s blessing by crucifying the Lord of all grace and all blessing: “A sword will pierce your own soul too.” But life, grace, blessing overcame even that violent attempt to limit it, to limit God. So God continues to call us forth, now from this place of encounter with God to be heralds of God’s blessing, God’s holiness with which we have been created and that is our original state of being, in God’s image and likeness. In the name of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, God invites us to bless the world, to exclude nobody from God’s blessing, so that we become ever more perfectly and universally the holy family of the People of God.

Homily for Sunday, 4 April 2021– The Resurrection of the Lord, Mass of Easter Sunday

Readings of the day: Acts 10:34a, 37-43; Psalm 118:1-2, 16-17, 22-23; Colossians 3:1-4; John 20:1-9

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

Christ is risen! He is truly risen! Alleluia, alleluia!

If I can name one person, besides our risen Lord Jesus, my family, friends, or brother Basilians, who especially drew me toward religious life and priesthood, simply by the example of holiness she lived, it was perhaps my great aunt (my maternal grandmother’s sister), Jeanne d’Arc Brunelle. Aunt Jeanne was a sister of the Congregation of Holy Cross, in religious vows for 71 years. Just before and during my time in seminary as a Basilian, and for my first years of ordained ministry as a deacon and then a priest, I lived near enough to Aunt Jeanne while I was in Toronto and Rochester and she in Cornwall and then Montreal that I could drive to see her fairly often. And, for as long as I can remember, Aunt Jeanne would call our home at Christmas, and we e-mailed back and forth constantly.

Especially if it had been longer than usual since Aunt Jeanne and I had heard from or written each other, she would apologize for having taken so long to show “signs of life from your old, great aunt”! Aunt Jeanne, suffice it to say, lived with an attractive, holy, and fearless joy. She suffered with cancer for the last fourteen years of her life, but the disease never took away her joy and mildly sassy edge; it never took away those “signs of life” from our Aunt Jeanne. Her funeral, at Pavillon Saint-Joseph, the Holy Cross infirmary in Montreal, four years ago this past November, was about as joyful as a funeral could be. In fact, I do not remember a wake service, ever, with as many peals of laughter and tears of joy as from the (mostly) elderly sisters at Pavillon Saint-Joseph at Aunt Jeanne’s wake service, as memories of Aunt Jeanne’s 71 years of religious life, living and ministering in countless countries in the world (some very poor or marred by violence) were recounted.

A funeral, we may think, is a strange place to encounter “signs of life.” Yet I had a feeling I would encounter just this when the Superior of Pavillon Saint-Joseph contacted me to let me know Aunt Jeanne had died, so I could plan to attend her funeral. Today, our Gospel recounts another event, one central to our Christian faith, when the people involved, Mary Magdalene, Simon Peter, and Jesus’ beloved disciple, go to the scene—the tomb of Jesus—not expecting, we can be sure, to find “signs of life” there.

We have the gift of hindsight. We know this is just what Mary Magdalene, Simon Peter, and the beloved disciple find: The ultimate sign of life; the empty tomb; our Lord Jesus, risen. But Mary Magdalene, Simon Peter, and the beloved disciple did not know that they would find any signs of life at Jesus’ tomb. After all, it was a tomb; a resting place of the dead, not a place to encounter signs of life. So unexpected was it for each of them to encounter our risen Lord that this encounter, in a different way for each of Mary Magdalene, Simon Peter, and the beloved disciple, was truly jarring.

Each of them—Mary Magdalene, Simon Peter, and the beloved disciple—encounter signs of life where they expected to find death. Yet, in a way none of them realized in the moment, each of them brought their own “signs of life” when they went, that first Easter morning, to Jesus’ tomb. They brought with them signs of life in the depths of their hearts; signs of life that, as John’s Gospel recounts this event, anticipated the resurrection of Jesus.

How is this so? John’s Gospel is not clear why Mary Magdalene goes to the tomb at first, only that she goes to the tomb “while it [is] still dark” and finds the stone removed from the tomb’s entrance. But there is a tradition in our Church, from Mark’s and Luke’s Gospel accounts of Mary Magdalene’s Easter morning arrival at the tomb, of Mary as the first to bring spices to anoint Jesus’ body. Even the name Mary derives from myrrh, which was used then as a burial spice.

My sisters and brothers, the Easter morning visit to Jesus’ tomb by Mary, the “myrrh bearer” of Magdala, is a supreme act of love; a first sign on the part of Mary Magdalene of the risen Lord’s own life deep within her, before she even realizes it is there. And this love of the “myrrh bearer” and the Lord’s life source within Mary Magdalene overwhelm and overflow from her. She cannot remain at the empty tomb, but returns to tell Simon Peter and the beloved disciple, with some alarm: “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” The three disciples of Jesus, Mary Magdalene, Simon Peter, and the unnamed disciple “whom Jesus loved,” return together to the tomb. But only Mary remains there, weeping, until she is able to encounter her beloved; our beloved, the Risen One, Jesus. Maybe just as unnervingly for Mary Magdalene as it was to find the stone rolled away and the tomb emptied of the Lord’s body at first, we hear Jesus command Mary sharply, “Do not hold onto me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’”

“Do not hold onto me”: It is as if Jesus says to Mary Magdalene, “Do not hold onto the source of love; the sign of life that is already within you and that you communicated so freely and beautifully already by going to the tomb to anoint my body with myrrh, and then by returning to tell my disciples that I had risen. “Do not hold onto” Love; I must be free to ascend “to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God,” Jesus says. This is the only way that the source of love, the sign of the life of the risen Lord that is already within Mary Magdalene, may be received by God the Father and then showered on the whole world in the person of God the Holy Spirit.

My sisters and brothers, what we begin to celebrate today—our Easter time that runs from today’s celebration of our Lord’s resurrection, through the celebrations of Jesus’ ascension to heaven and the sending of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost—Mary Magdalene and then Simon Peter and the beloved disciple experience in an instant. They are able to experience this entire Paschal mystery in an instant and then to found our Church on it because, in a sense, it is only possible to encounter love of this magnitude if we who set out to encounter love, to encounter the Lord’s “signs of life” in our world, already have that love within us and are willing to give it to the world freely, not to “hold onto” it simply for ourselves.

“Do not hold onto me”: At this point the risen Jesus gives Mary Magdalene the strength to release God’s love already within her, the love that enabled her to go to the tomb that first Easter morning in the first place, upon the world with an attractive, holy, and fearless joy. And amid these events at the empty tomb, Simon Peter and the beloved disciple are given this same strength, which they show in different ways: The beloved disciple arrives ahead of Simon Peter and enters the tomb. This “sign of life,” the disciple “whom Jesus loved,” enters a place of death and finds it, physically, empty of any body; empty not only of life or death, but simply empty. Biblical experts have commented on how this encounter of the beloved disciple with the emptiness and utter absence of the tomb may be John’s way of directing our memory back to the earliest tradition of Israel of the Ark of the Covenant of the Old Testament. The ancient people of Israel traveled with an empty box under a tent; emptiness in which God was believed to dwell.

So the beloved disciple encounters ultimate presence in utter absence. The beloved enters the absence of the tomb, as the Carmelite reformer St. John of the Cross would write centuries later in a poem in which he is the seeker, “seeking love.” And the beloved disciple finds the ultimate presence of the Love he seeks in the absence. “He saw and believed,” John’s Gospel says. Simon Peter does not enter the Presence of the empty tomb that has become the new Ark of the Covenant; the new Holy of Holies. Instead, he contemplates from outside. Simon Peter is set on a mission to understand these “signs of life” by which God chose to save the world; “to understand the Scripture, that he must rise from the dead.”

We, too, celebrate today because we love and have come to encounter Love Risen. We seek to understand this encounter in light of the Scripture, “that he must rise from the dead.” We believe once we realize we have encountered ultimate, saving love in utter emptiness. And our faith drives us to release the “signs of life” we have deep within us already, the love of the risen Christ, upon our world with attractive, holy, and fearless joy.

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 Saturday, 21 February 2015‒ Saturday after Ash Wednesday

Readings of the day: Isaiah 58:9b-14; Psalm 86:1-2, 3-4, 5-6; Luke 5:27-32

Who does God call to follow in God’s ways, and how are we to do as God invites us?

Jesus answers the “who” question through his calling of Levi in today’s Gospel reading from Luke. Jesus says at the end of the meal scene: “I have not come to call the righteous to repentance but sinners.” And Isaiah answers the “how” question in our first reading. How are we, all redeemed sinners who have been called by God, to respond to this call?

Isaiah gives us some practical ways in which we can respond to God’s invitation to us. “Remove from your midst oppression, false accusation, and malicious speech,” Isaiah says. “If [we] bestow [our] bread on the hungry and satisfy the afflicted,” then we will be living our calling from God; our divine vocation as baptized Christians.

This is not a vocation we somehow deserve. After all, let us return to Jesus’ call to Levi, a tax collector. We are Levi; we are all sinners, but we are all called to something; called to radical holiness by God. Like Levi, God calls us, “Follow me.” I recall especially Pope Francis’ words in the interview with America magazine a few months after his election as pope. The interviewer, the Jesuit Antonio Spadaro, asked his first question: “Who is Jorge Mario Bergoglio?” Our pope responded, “I am a sinner whom the Lord has looked upon.” And later in the same interview, Pope Francis repeated, “I am a sinner, but I trust in the infinite mercy and patience of our Lord Jesus Christ, and I accept in a spirit of penance.” What a great Lenten message for us! Our pope; I; all of us are Levi. We are all redeemed and invited sinners. Do we “accept” God’s invitation in a true “spirit of penance”? How do we accept God’s invitation?

“Remove from your midst oppression,” Isaiah says. Still today, many are oppressed, even right here in our own country; our own communities. God, through Isaiah’s prophetic words, invites us to stand up for the dignity of human life from conception to natural death; to stand especially in favor of our society’s most vulnerable members. God invites us to raise the poor out of poverty; to stand for the rights of workers to a living wage; to stand against ideological divisions.

“Remove… false accusation and malicious speech.” This includes gossip and passive-aggression. Pope Francis continues to denounce gossip and the damage it causes to human relationships.

“Bestow your bread on the hungry and satisfy the afflicted.” Charity is nothing if it “costs nothing and does not hurt”; if it does not take us beyond ourselves; beyond our comfort zones, Pope Francis again said just days ago on Ash Wednesday. St. Basil also reminds us of how radical Christian charity is: “The [excess] bread you keep belongs to the hungry; the cloak you store in your closet belongs to the naked… The [extra] shoes” you store “belong to those who are barefooted; the money you keep hidden belongs to the needy.”

We are sinners, and yet we are redeemed. We are Christians called to radical charity; holiness. We are Levi. Jesus calls to us, “Follow me.”

Homily for Friday, 21 November 2014– Memorial of the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Friday of the 33rd Week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Zechariah 2:14-17; Responsorial Canticle: Luke 1:46-47, 48-49, 50-51, 52-53, 54-55; Matthew 12:46-50

Does anybody here know of somebody who has arisen from poverty or social obscurity to become rich or famous? Do we not enjoy a good rags-to-riches story from time to time?

If we want to hear a good rags-to-riches story, the story of the Mother of God, the Blessed Virgin Mary, is not one of them. Mary probably came from very humble beginnings, raised by her parents Anne and Joachim, belonging to the peasant class. Beyond a few elites, the people of Israel at the time were poor and socially inconsequential. Mary’s presentation in the Temple of Jerusalem, which we remember today, was probably like most other presentations of children in the Temple.

In our Gospel reading today, even Jesus seems to minimize the importance of his own mother. Jesus addresses not Mary and his close relatives, but his disciples in our Gospel reading: “Whoever does the will of my heavenly Father is my brother, my sister, and my mother.”

So why do we celebrate today’s memorial of the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary?  We could think of several answers to this question. We celebrate the Blessed Virgin Mary because she is the mother of our Savior, Jesus Christ. Mary is the Mother of God. Mary is first among Jesus’ disciples, present at his birth, during his life, at his death, his resurrection, ascension, and when the Holy Spirit descended upon the disciples at Pentecost.

But all of what makes Mary important she did not do on her own. God made this all possible for her. Mary’s own hymn, the Magnificat, which we pray today in our responsorial verse from Luke’s Gospel, points to this truth: “The Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is his Name.” Any importance we ascribe to Mary is really about God.

But all the reasons why Mary is so important to our faith are also about us. “Whoever does the will of my heavenly Father is my brother and sister and mother,” Jesus says. Mary is the model for us in doing “the will of [our] heavenly Father”; model for us of Church. She is first among Jesus’ disciples.

And so we celebrate the moment when Mary was presented by Anne and Joachim in the Temple, God’s holy place. She became God’s holy place in which, to borrow the words of our first reading from Zechariah, God made human first “stirred forth from his holy dwelling,” all because Mary said “yes” to God’s work within her. This is why today we celebrate her presentation in the Temple; holy presented to the source of holiness, hers and ours.

We also celebrate today the anniversary of the founding of the Basilian Fathers. I pray especially today for my brother Basilians. Let us pray for all of us here. We present ourselves here in this holy place, a holy people before God, the source of our holiness. With Mary as our model, may we say “yes” to God’s work in us, in whatever vocation we are called to; “yes” to God, who is why Mary is so important to our faith; why we celebrate this feast of her presentation.