Homily for Sunday, 24 December 2023– Fourth Sunday of Advent, Year B

Readings of the day: 2 Samuel 7:1-5, 8b-12, 14a, 16; Psalm 89:2-3, 4-5, 27, 29; Romans 16:25-27; Luke 1:26-38

I do not wish to dampen our mood too much. But traveling around this City of Edmonton—walking around the neighbourhood where I live, seeing the poverty and the homelessness; seeing the encampments of homeless people whenever I drive through downtown—quickly makes me sad these days. How do we respond to the many complex social problems that lead to more people without adequate shelter, more people with mental and physical health challenges, addictions; more people living in tents where their safety and sometimes the safety of the public is at risk?

Sisters and brothers, there are no easy answers to these questions. But I often wonder: If I; if we were able to contribute to enough social services and to the building of enough affordable housing for everybody who needs shelter in this city—or even just one person each—would we?

Today, on this Fourth Sunday of Advent, which happens to fall this year on the day before Christmas, we hear the noble idea of King David in the Second Book of Samuel: He wants to build God a house! Now, if King David lived in our time and place, I might want to ask him if I were in the place of, say, his prophet Nathan: It is wonderful that you want to build a house for God. But are all the poor, the marginalized in your kingdom sheltered, fed, cared for?

Old Testament tradition presents David as a good king (with some very significant flaws). So it is probable—and the Bible points to this in places—that David did care for, feed, and shelter the poor, as well as look after the spiritual needs of his people. If any king in ancient Israel were close to worthy to build a house for God, having done his best to care for his human subjects, it was David.

In 2 Samuel the prophet Nathan seems to agree with this. He approves David’s plan: “Go, do all you have in mind, for the LORD is with you.” But then, that night, we hear, God appears to Nathan and vetoes the king’s plan. David is not to build God a house. Instead, God will “make for [David] a great name,” an everlasting reign. God will do this by coming to dwell in our homes and our hearts.

Until the reign of David’s son and successor, King Solomon, who built the first temple—God’s first stationary house, we can say—in Jerusalem, God’s earthly dwelling was a tent, the Ark of the Covenant. And the Ark of the Covenant and the tabernacle at its centre were mobile. The Ark of the Covenant traveled where the tribes of ancient Israel traveled. God was always with God’s people.

Now, there are advantages to building God a stationary house, a temple, over having God dwell under a tent that traveled around with the tribes of Israel. The temple that David planned to build (and Solomon had built) would be imposing and ornate. It would call to mind God’s greatness, God’s sovereignty over the people and leaders of Israel.

On a much smaller scale but still beautiful, this chapel here at St. Joseph’s College serves the same purpose. The lovely stained-glass windows draw our attention upward toward heaven. They tell the story our Scriptures tell, from God’s creation of our universe through the ascension and reign of Christ the King in heaven, but in glorious bursts of colour, sunlight filtering through them. The Blessed Sacrament chapel invites us, right at this chapel’s entrance, to stop a while, pray, adore Jesus present in the tabernacle (and sometimes in the monstrance on the altar, especially every Friday evening when classes are in session). The altar centres our attention during Mass, calling to us with the Lord’s own invitation, “Come and eat.”

But there are possible disadvantages to building a stationary house for God. King David surely knew this; King Solomon and his successors would know this all too well. There is an ever-present temptation to immobilize, to limit God to our imaginations, our boxes, our houses that we build for God. So, in our comfortable enclosures, God can only fill with grace and blessing those who are somehow worthy of that divine grace and blessing. That bread and wine only becomes the real sacramental presence of Jesus Christ—body, blood, soul, and divinity—at that specific point in the Eucharistic prayer when the priest prays the words of institution…

If we begin to think in these ways, we have begun to forget God’s warning to King David through the prophet Nathan: It is not up to us to build God a house, stationary and static. No, God will make of us, sisters and brothers, a house. We are God’s dwelling when we emerge from this place, having partaken of the Eucharist, and we bring God’s grace and blessing out to the world by how we act with kindness, with love, with peace, with joy, especially toward those on the margins. Let us heed God’s reminder to King David at his most noble: “Are you the one to build me a house to live in”?

God wants to make of us a house, a living, moving Ark of the Covenant in which he will dwell. And the realization in history of God coming to dwell with us as one of us in all things but sin begins with the message of the angel Gabriel to a humble virgin, Mary of Nazareth. Mary is the first and most perfect model of the living, moving Ark of the Covenant, the earthly dwelling of God that God wants us all to be.

Now imagine us going out to our world, encountering somebody in special need of hearing the words Gabriel spoke to Mary: “Hail, full of grace; the Lord is with you.” And let us speak those words to at least one person today, tomorrow, this week in which we celebrate the Nativity of our Lord: “Hail, full of grace”; “May God bless you.” Our greeting can be as simple as that! And then let us enact that grace and blessing, that real presence of God that dwells in each of us, especially as we leave this Eucharistic celebration, as we celebrate Christmas tonight and tomorrow: Be kind; be at peace; forgive and be reconciled with somebody who needs forgiveness and reconciliation through us; try to remind ourselves to see and experience God’s presence primarily in somebody who lives on the margins, somebody outside the fixed houses, the places of worship we build for ourselves and for God.

If we are wondering or, in our Gospel’s words today to describe Mary upon hearing Gabriel’s greeting, if we are “perplexed” at why I am insisting on this, in a way this is good. Mary is “much perplexed,” Luke says, “by [Gabriel’s] words.” She says “to the angel, ‘How can this be, since I am a virgin’”? Who am I to bear the Son of God in human flesh into this world? Who am I (and who are we) to be the focus of God’s blessing into the world right now, God’s living, moving Ark of the Covenant here and now?

I am sure that St. Paul, as he traveled and wrote his letters—the magnificent conclusion to his Letter to the Romans we have heard today—felt the same perplexity that Mary did. “Who am I,” St. Paul asks in a few places in his letters, “to be the messenger of peace and salvation, the apostle to the Gentiles? Who am I but a persecutor and a murderer (at first) of the disciples of Jesus”?

Who is St. Paul to be an ark, a living and moving home to bear God, to write about this new promise (covenant) of salvation in Christ to the ends of the world?! He is as worthy of that mission as Mary was, as we are. That is, not worthy at all, because this mission to be God’s living, moving home in this world does not depend on our worthiness. It did not depend on how noble King David was, or how perfect and humble Mary was (except that God made her exceptionally humble and sinless), or how fit Paul was to be an apostle.

God calls us, invites us, now with less than a full day to go before Christmas: “Who are you ‘to build me a house to live in’? I will make of you (of each of us, of our Church as a communion of faith) a living, moving house of grace, of blessing, of peace, of reconciliation, of joy, of welcome and shelter to those on the margins. And I will send you (all of us) to the ends of the earth to be home to my presence, my salvation that first entered the world in human flesh just over two thousand years ago through the Virgin Mary in Bethlehem.”

Homily for Thursday, 1 August 2019– Memorial of St. Alphonsus Liguori

Readings of the day: Exodus 40:16-21, 34-38; Psalm 84:3, 4, 5-6a, 8a, 11; Matthew 13:47-53

Thursday of the 17th Week in Ordinary Time

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

What kinds of homes do we live in, and with what kinds of keepsakes or treasures do we fill our homes?

Is it fair for me to presume that, since we are near the middle of a major city, most of us live in houses, apartments, or other, say, permanent dwellings? Having said this, I think of and invite us to pray for everybody, especially in the midst of our city of Edmonton but around the world, who are homeless or who otherwise do not have a permanent home; a permanent and safe place to keep even a few treasures.

As a member of a religious order under a vow of poverty, my experience is nowhere near the experience of poverty, of uncertainty as to where to find safe shelter, food, and other necessities that homeless people experience. Yet, as a Basilian, I have had the experience of moving from one place and one form of ministry to another often enough that this tends to minimize the amount of material goods I and my Basilian brothers might accumulate. We have in our Basilian houses decorations that show both that these are religious houses and that they are places of warm hospitality, not only toward fellow Basilians but anybody who may visit our homes.

Today, the Book of Exodus features Moses, who builds the tabernacle that is to house the Ark of the Covenant, and all this within a structure called the Tent of Meeting. The impermanence of this structure, even though it was to be the dwelling of God himself among the people of Israel, is remarkable to me. The Ark of the Covenant and its tabernacle within the Tent of Meeting was designed to be disassembled and reassembled as the people of Israel under Moses’ leadership journeyed from Egypt to their more permanent homeland of Israel. It would be many more centuries before the home of the God of Israel on Earth would become a more permanent structure, the Temple of Jerusalem, and even this first temple and its successor would not last forever.

Our Gospel reading today, from Matthew, focuses on our most permanent dwelling of all: The Kingdom of Heaven. It is to be the dwelling of “the righteous,” those people who have acted according to God’s love for us toward one another, especially people most in need. The Kingdom of Heaven will not be a place for people with the greatest number of earthly treasures, but for people who have made in their hearts a permanent dwelling for our God, our ultimate treasure, “beauty ever ancient yet ever new,” as St. Augustine of Hippo once prayed.

Through the likes of Moses and Jesus, God proposes for us today a dwelling that is much more permanent than anything we have ever known. God proposes to make God’s dwelling, heaven, forever our home. All God asks of us is to make of our hearts God’s home on earth—a tabernacle of sorts, meant to move about, to change, to be disassembled and reassembled as our earthly pilgrimage progresses—but still God’s home on earth. As St. Alphonsus Liguori, whom we celebrate today, once said, “The human heart is, so to speak, the paradise of God.” Jesus, too, asks us to make of our hearts “the paradise of God,” the storehouse of “what is new and what is old,” while God prepares our permanent home in heaven.

Homily for Wednesday, 22 April 2015– Wednesday of the Third Week of Easter

Readings of the day: Acts 8:1b-8; Psalm 66:1-3a, 4-5, 6-7a; John 6:35-40

Has anybody ever experienced somebody who is joyful, even when this person is experiencing great suffering or distress?

Ever since my first time serving as a Basilian in Cali, Colombia, seven years ago, the Easter season has brought to my mind many experiences there of people who showed great joy amid the suffering and distress of deep poverty. My first Palm Sunday in Colombia was especially moving. We Basilians were carrying bundles of palm branches we had cut through the poorest neighborhood of the parish we serve in Cali. Along the way, children left their shelters (often made of scrap metal or even cardboard) three; four; five; six at a time to embrace us and greet us with bright smiles. These children showed so much joy and gratitude for the service of the Basilians in their neighbourhood; their parish. This remains one of my most moving moments of my life as a Basilian: Great joy amid such great distress; suffering; poverty!

I see similar joy amid suffering and distress when I minister with the poor in our own inner city of Rochester: House of Mercy, Bethany House with the Sisters of St. Joseph… On Easter Sunday at Sanctuary Village, a tent city relocated to a loading dock, over one hundred fifty people, most homeless, joined us in worship with lively song to greet our risen Lord. How beautiful, this joy amid homelessness; poverty; hunger! I also see this joy amid suffering when I visit the sick in hospitals and homes; when I anoint the sick with blessed oil.

This joy amid suffering; distress; persecution is the experience of the people in our first reading today, from the Acts of the Apostles. The persecution led by Saul (who would later be converted and become the great St. Paul) had “scattered” all but the Apostles “throughout the countryside of Judea and Samaria.” Facing persecution, the Apostles do not give up their ministry. We hear in Acts especially of the ministry of the Apostle Philip: Preaching, healing the sick and those with “unclean spirits.” And we hear of how the people responded to Philip’s ministry in Samaria: “There was great joy in that city.”

The people of Samaria recognized the presence of Christ risen in the Apostles, even amid great suffering; distress; persecution. They recognized and hoped in the presence of the Lord who says in John’s Gospel to us today: “I am the bread of life… This is the will of my Father, that everyone who sees the Son and believes in him may have eternal life, and I shall raise him on the last day.” They recognized and hoped in the signs of eternal life that were already with them in the Apostles’ loving service. Our Psalm response today was the song of these people, even amid their suffering: “Let all the earth cry out to God with joy”!

And the risen Christ invites us to make this song our own, by serving especially amid those who suffer; who are sick; dying; homeless; displaced; persecuted. Many of us know already, I am confident, how, when we serve with joy, we receive joy, even from people who suffer; people in distress; people whose only gift (but what a gift!) to us is joy.

Homily for Tuesday, 3 March 2015‒ Tuesday of the Second Week of Lent

Readings of the day: Isaiah 1:10, 16-20; Psalm 50:8-9, 16bc-17, 21, 23; Matthew 23:1-12

Is there any way to soften the harshness of our readings today? Perhaps this is the wrong question to ask. And yet today our Liturgy of the Word presents us with two of the most scathing criticisms of people supposedly of faith, of religious authorities especially, in the entire Bible. Are not our readings today difficult for us to hear? They are shocking and also challenging to me as a priest!

Our first reading, from Isaiah, is a tale of two nations, or the same nation present and future. The nation present, Israel of Isaiah’s time, is prosperous but has forgotten the prime importance of justice toward the least well-off: the poor, “the wronged… the orphan” and “the widow.” Could I say that, without trivializing the problem of addiction and substance abuse in our own society, the people of Israel of Isaiah’s time had become addicted to injustice? Isaiah forewarns his people that they, like an addict, will hit rock bottom if they persist in evil, oppression, and injustice toward those most in need.

But Isaiah’s message is unsuccessful at first; Israel hits rock bottom. Only then will the people, the nation future, possibly be willing to listen to Isaiah. And so we hear the second half of our reading: “Come now; let us set things right.” Sins that were once “like scarlet” and “crimson red” may now become “white as snow” or “as wool.” God waits with open arms and heart of mercy to lift the sinner, the addict to evil habits, oppression, and injustice, up from rock bottom. Do we accept God’s mercy when we have sinned; misused our prosperity; not acted justly toward the least well off: The working poor; the migrant or refugee; the unemployed; the homeless person? Or do we allow ourselves to hit rock bottom? Do we allow “the sword to consume” us?

And Jesus is just as scathing as Isaiah before him toward “the scribes and the Pharisees” of his time. They have become prosperous and proud of their teaching position, seated “on the chair of Moses”; guardians of religious law. They have taken fancy titles, “places of honor at banquets” and in places of worship. They wear garments that draw attention to themselves instead of toward God as these “tassels” and “phylacteries,” which contained short passages of Scripture for prayer and meditation, were intended. The “scribes and Pharisees” will not help others to observe the religious law, and in fact make the law more difficult for all to observe.

Are not the same temptations present in our world and even in our Church? I am challenged to pray constantly that I do not succumb to any prestige of the priesthood, of ordained leadership in our Church.

I ask all of us: Pray for me. I ask us to pray for our society’s leaders; for one another. Prosperity, prestige, wealth, power: These are not in and of themselves bad. But without recourse to God’s grace and mercy, these can pave the way to rock bottom; to addiction to injustice; to consumption by “the sword” in Isaiah’s words. With God’s grace and mercy, these can be used justly; rightly; to benefit especially those in most need.

Homily for Wednesday, 25 February 2015‒ Wednesday of the First Week of Lent

Readings of the day: Jonah 3:1-10; Psalm 51:3-4, 12-13, 18-19; Luke 11:29-32

This homily was given at Bethany House, Rochester, NY, a shelter for homeless women and children. 

What is the “sign of Jonah” of which Jesus speaks in our reading today from Luke’s Gospel? What or, better yet, who is the “something greater than Solomon here”? The “sign of Jonah”; the “something” or somebody greater than King Solomon in all his wisdom is Jesus Christ, our Savior, the Son of God.

We know this. But how well do we really recognize Jesus as “sign of Jonah”; as all that wise Solomon was and more? This is Jesus Christ who calls us to repentance; to renewal. And yet here we stand, in one of the poorest neighborhoods in one of the poorest cities in these United States. This is a scandal that cries out to us, “Repent,” much as Jonah and Jesus once cried, “Repent! Turn your hearts to God! Believe in the Gospel”!

Today’s Gospel reading has always troubled me. I stand before us here at Bethany House, never having suffered from substance abuse and addiction; never having been homeless, let alone in this frigid climate; never having been a refugee or forced migrant.

I recently read a reflection from the Jesuits at Creighton University in Omaha, Nebraska on today’s Gospel reading,[1] which always evokes in me a deep sorrow for how some people suffer unnecessarily, while others stockpile goods with greed. Even so, the reflection I read seemed somewhat cynical to me at first. It spoke of how Jonah’s preaching, with “the threat of total destruction” of Nineveh, was enough “motivation” for them to repent immediately; to proclaim “a fast” and “put on sackcloth,” in the words of our first reading.

And then the same reflection spoke of our society: Today “the threat of the approaching end times, or any threat of catastrophe, doesn’t seem to change minds and hearts. These threats only increase the numbers of ‘preppers’‒ folks who are stockpiling supplies, food and water, and preparing for self-sufficiency.”

Is this our society, beyond a greedy few that, yes, are the “preppers”? I would like to hope not. But, if not, why the grinding poverty we see around us; right here in this nation; in this city? Why the high and rising number of working poor? I realize that I do not speak to most if any of us here. I speak to those who oppress by greed; who stockpile resources beyond what is necessary to live comfortably. I speak to my own heart; I examine my own conscience. One “prepper” is too many!

But where is the good news in all this? The good news is that it is not too late to repent. It is not too late to turn to God and away from sin wholeheartedly. It is not too late to seek help if we are mired in addiction or otherwise not helping ourselves to grow and nurture mind, body, and spirit. It is not too late for those who have stockpiled and not helped those in need. It is not too late to welcome. Here at Bethany House, we find welcome: One another’s welcome; God’s welcome. It is a welcome that, I pray, is transforming us; is renewing us. It is the welcome of Jesus Christ, the “sign of Jonah,” or the sign of Solomon, and greater still.

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[1] Diane Jorgensen. “Daily Reflection: February 25, 2015.” http://onlineministries.creighton.edu/CollaborativeMinistry/022515.html. Accessed 24 February 2015.