Homily for Friday, 19 February 2021– Friday after Ash Wednesday

Readings of the day: Isaiah 58:1-9a; Psalm 51:3-4, 5-6ab, 18-19; Matthew 9:14-15

Memorial Mass for Barbara J. Schmidt

Here we are, as of this past Wednesday, Ash Wednesday, into the season of Lent, so is it not appropriate that we speak about the discipline of fasting? But what is fasting, why do we (or should we) fast, and what kind of fast does God, let alone the Church, ask of us?

Isaiah’s message is clear enough: The people of his time in Israel, who thought that all their religious rigour and discipline should be more than enough to please God, were mistaken. And, while by outward appearances they were fasting and practicing acts of humility and penance, inwardly they were carrying on the same old acts of sin and injustice that Isaiah denounces. What kind of fasting; what kind of penance or humbling of ourselves does God want of us?

God, through Isaiah, asks the people of Israel: “Is not this the fast that I choose: To loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke”? Here I think of our Lenten practice of giving something up for Lent, something not necessarily bad or sinful, but maybe something that we enjoy yet we do not really need. Giving something up for Lent is a good and noble practice; I certainly do not intend to criticize this. Yet I (mea culpa!) have never been very good at giving up something for Lent.

I do not wish to justify my difficulty with this Lenten discipline, a kind of “fasting” from something I do not really need. Still, though, does God want us to do something more than giving up something enjoyable but not really necessary for Lent? This tends to bring to my mind, instead of, or in addition to, giving something up for Lent, adding something to my usual spiritual routine, if you will. Is there somebody or a group of people we have recently encountered or become aware of who has a particular need? Have we become increasingly aware lately of a relationship that needs mending or maintaining in love, or a broader social problem that a little more prayer; a little more Christian care and charity; a little more perhaps going out of our way to encounter somebody disadvantaged or on society’s (or the Church’s) fringes in some way, could help?

My sisters and brothers, today we offer this Mass in memory, in prayer for the repose of the soul of, and in celebration of the life of my grandmother, Barbara Janice Schmidt. Today would have been her ninety-fifth birthday.

In many ways, Grandma’s lived example spoke to what God asks of his people through the prophet Isaiah: The number of charitable causes, in defense of human life and dignity truly from conception to natural death, especially of people in need or disadvantaged, which Grandma supported is astounding. She was, I have no doubt, much better than I am at fasting and penance as Lenten disciplines, but what marked her life were the acts of justice, charity, and humility she added on, often without other people knowing, and not only during Lent but all the time. Grandma was constantly seeking bonds of injustice and “thongs of the yoke” to undo, as God invites us to do through the likes of Isaiah.

It is, I think, quite easy to become fixated on outward appearances, especially during a time like Lent. This was the problem with “the disciples of John” in Matthew’s Gospel today. By appearances, they and the Pharisees were fasting; giving something up. But, Jesus reminds them (and us), they were missing the point: “The wedding guests cannot mourn as long as the bridegroom is with them, can they”?

As we celebrate, remember, and pray for our sister in Christ, Gramma, Mom, friend, Barbara Janice Schmidt, may we take something from her example. In this celebration, even (maybe especially) in the midst of Lent, the Bridegroom; the Christ, is among us and is in us, too. The death of God’s faithful, especially one as close to us as our Barbara, naturally causes us to mourn. But we are united in the Bridegroom, the Christ, with our Barbara by the bonds of Christian love; the bonds of having added something to make our world better. This is cause for joy. This is the reason we celebrate, we remember, and we pray here and now.

Homily for Saturday, 15 November 2014– Memorial Mass, Holy Sepulchre Cemetery

Readings of the day: Wisdom 3:1-6, 9; Psalm 23; Colossians 3:1-4; Luke 23:44-49, 24:1-6

This homily was given during the monthly memorial Mass at the Christ our Light Mausoleum Chapel of Holy Sepulchre Cemetery, Rochester, NY.

“Why do you search for the Living One among the dead”?

Whenever I hear these words from Luke’s Gospel, spoken by the “two men in dazzling garments” at the tomb of Jesus to the women who had gone with burial spices for Jesus’ body, I am always deeply moved. How would the women at Jesus’ tomb have responded to the men’s presence and to these words? How would we respond, if we were in the women’s place?

In one word, our Gospel reading captures the women’s reaction to encountering the “two men in dazzling garments”: The women are “terrified.” Their terror is understandable; they had just witnessed our Lord’s horrible suffering and death on a cross. They had stood “at a distance watching everything.” This was the end for somebody they had considered Lord and friend.

I wonder if they were any less terrified after the men’s words that came next: “He is not here; he has been raised up.” What the men say is incredible; the dead do not simply rise from their tombs in the flesh! But then, while the women; these first witnesses to Jesus’ resurrection are terrified and probably unconvinced that Jesus “has been raised up,” the men ask the women to do something. What do the men ask the women to do? “Remember what he said to you while he was still in Galilee.” Remember how Jesus said that he would suffer, die, and rise again.

“Remember.”

Is this not why we are here in this chapel of Christ our Light Mausoleum; here at Holy Sepulchre for our monthly memorial Mass? We remember. Most if not all of us remember a loved one who has gone to God before us; perhaps a loved one buried here in this place. It is a tremendous act of courage to be here amid the sadness; the confusion; even the terror of death to remember. For your courage I and the Church thank you; we pray for you, for your consolation. And at the same time we remember…

We remember that “first day of the week, at dawn,” when the women at Jesus’ tomb heard the news from the “two men in dazzling garments”: “He is not here; he has been raised up.” We do not remember Jesus’ resurrection because it was a one-time event. We remember because in Jesus’ resurrection is the same promise of resurrection to eternal life for every one of us. These are the words we will hear in a few moments at the beginning of our Eucharistic prayer, as gifts of bread and wine are brought to the altar to be transformed into the Body and Blood of Christ: “In [Christ] the hope of blessed resurrection has dawned, that those saddened by the certainty of dying might be consoled by the promise of immortality to come.” Christ’s resurrection is our hope of resurrection. That first “dawn,” “the first day of the week,” is our first dawn, our promise of eternal life with our loving God. This is why we are here. We remember.

We remember, in the words of our first reading from the Book of Wisdom, our loved ones who are loved by God; who have gone to be with our loving God. We remember that “they are at peace.” We remember that are loved ones are among “those who trust in” God. What does the Book of Wisdom say about our loved ones who have trusted in God; who await their resurrection from the dead? Wisdom says that “those who trust in him shall understand truth, and the faithful shall abide with him in love, because grace and mercy are with his holy ones, and his care is with his elect.” This we remember.

While we celebrate the entry of our loved ones into eternal life and hope for the same eternal life for ourselves, we remember in the words of St. Paul to the Colossians: Our beloved have been “raised up in company with Christ” and “when Christ our life appears,” we “shall appear with him in glory.” Remember…

Let us remember, as we celebrate our departed loved ones with this memorial Mass, the act of courage that has brought us here. We remember the Lord who “is our shepherd… from death into life” as we pray this response to our Psalm. Let us remember this amid our sadness; our loss; our grieving, when we “walk in the dark valley.” God is with us. Our loved ones are with God, whose “rod and staff give [us] courage” in these difficult times.

We are not a people who “search for the Living One among the dead.” We remember that our Lord Jesus “is not here; he has been raised up.” Our loved ones have also “been raised up.” We, too, will be “raised up” after our Lord Jesus Christ. This is the promise given to us by our Lord “while he was still in Galilee”; while he walked this earth among us. We do not “search for the Living One among the dead.” We are here, the living ones among the living ones, in the real presence of the Living One; those raised from the dead together with those awaiting the same promise of resurrection. This is why we are gathered here. This is the purpose of our memorial Mass.

We remember.