Homily for Friday, 4 August 2017– Memorial of St. John Vianney

Friday of the 17th week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Leviticus 23:1, 4-11, 15-16, 27, 34b-37; Psalm 81:3-4, 5-6, 10-11ab; Matthew 13:54-58

What is authority, and how do we gain authority?

As the journey home to the land promised them continues for the people of Israel under Moses, we make the transition from Exodus to Leviticus today in the daily readings at Mass. But the authority Moses has in leading the people of Israel continues. It is an authority based on trust and reciprocal love between the people and Moses.

The kind of love and trust that builds between Moses and the people of Israel was the love and trust that the saint we celebrate today, John Vianney, enjoyed with the people he served in the tiny French village of Ars. John Vianney was known for his long hours hearing confessions. He was a devoted pastor, or “Curé” of Ars, in the tumultuous years after the French Revolution. Not long after John Vianney’s arrival in Ars, the humble parish priest began to draw travelers from long distances who would seek his spiritual guidance. St. John Vianney’s authority, like that of Moses, was based on love and building trust between himself and the people he served.

Jesus is not so fortunate insofar as building trust with the people he taught. Matthew’s Gospel says today that Jesus had arrived “in his hometown” and had begun “to teach the people in their synagogue.” Instead of recognizing Jesus’ authority; that he is the Son of God, the people of Nazareth question his authority: “Where did this man get this wisdom and these deeds of power? Is not this the carpenter’s son? Is not his mother called Mary” and “his brothers James and Joseph and Simon and Judas”?

By this point in Jesus’ public ministry, it would seem by Jesus’ remark that “prophets are not without honour except in their own country and in their own house” that he had enjoyed popularity and even genuine love from the people he had encountered before his return home. It is difficult to say why Jesus would have been received so poorly in his hometown after having had prior success; having established himself as a teaching authority in Israel. Perhaps the people of Nazareth were jealous of Jesus’ authority. Perhaps they were simply too familiar with Jesus and not willing to accept that a son of their hometown could be God. Perhaps that any human being could be God was too much of a stretch for the people’s Jewish faith already.

Whatever the reason Jesus was not accepted in Nazareth, I have found that my experience has been closer to that of John Vianney than to that of Our Lord. It has not been my experience to be derided; to have my authority questioned especially here in the city where I grew up. And so I find it somewhat difficult to relate to the events of today’s Gospel.

And yet, to return to the questions of what authority is and how we gain it, let me ask for your prayers on this feast of St. John Vianney, patron of priests, that any authority I exercise or any priest exercises through the ordained priesthood may, first, be a reflection of Jesus’ authority; God’s authority that sustains the world and our Church with loving kindness. And second, may any authority I or any priest; any minister of our Church exercises serve the authority we are all given through Baptism before any other sacrament, to be the presence of Christ we receive and celebrate here to our world.

Homily for Wednesday, 20 July 2016– Ferial

Wednesday of the 16th week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Jeremiah 1:1, 4-10; Psalm 71:1-2, 3-4a, 5-6ab, 15, 17; Matthew 13:1-9

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

Have any of us ever been asked to do something we thought to be difficult, or even unreasonably beyond our capabilities?

Today’s readings are especially meaningful to me for a few reasons: Our reading from Jeremiah was the first reading during my ordination as a deacon three years ago this upcoming September. And, well before I was a priest, or a deacon, or a seminarian, or even a microbiology lab tech, the job I had immediately before entering the seminary, I was a mushroom farmer.

On the farm, if I may describe the process of planting or, as we called it, spawning the mushrooms, it was not like planting most ordinary vegetables. The spawn is like little sticky grains, each of the size and consistency of cooked rice. To spawn the mushrooms, the farmer takes a handful of these little grains and scatters them somewhat haphazardly on the growing beds that have been layered with soil. Most of the spawn lands on the fertile soil, where it quickly takes root and, after a month or so, produces tasty mushrooms. But some spawn lands on the farmer’s clothing, or on the floor of the growing room where it is trodden under foot, or in other places where it will not grow into mushrooms.

Does this sound familiar to any of us? Perhaps few if any of us have been mushroom farmers, and yet Jesus’ parable of the sower reminds me of the mushroom farm every time I hear it: The sower scatters seed haphazardly. Some seed falls “on good soil” and brings “forth grain” of a sizeable yield, but as much or more seed falls “on the path,” where the birds eat it. “Other seeds fall on rocky ground” where they lack soil and are scorched by the sun; still other seeds fall “among thorns” and are choked out.

I question God’s efficiency as a sower! Could our Almighty God not have sown seed more efficiently than haphazardly scattering it to fall where it may? Even we mushroom farmers are (maybe) more efficient and less messy when spawning than the sower is in Matthew’s Gospel. And, most inefficiently of all, God asks us to take part in the sowing!

As a priest, I consider this to be a most difficult task, although not beyond my capabilities most days. An exception lately has been when we hear and many are scared by the latest horror in the world: Terrorist attacks; police shooting or being shot; wars; other violence; gossip and bullying… I want to protest, in Jeremiah’s words, “Truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy.”

And there God is to say to me; to us: “Do not be afraid… Now I have put my words into your mouth.” Imagine, then, God handing us a large container of seed; a handful of mushroom spawn, and asking us: “Will you help me to scatter this seed; to speak my Word to a world in need? Do not worry first about efficiency. Do not be afraid; together we will make a great big creative mess in our world! Enough seed will fall on fertile soil that the yield will be amazing. I promise.”

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, 23 July 2014– Ferial

Wednesday of the 16th week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Jeremiah 1:1, 4-10; Psalm 71:1-2, 3-4a, 5-6ab, 15, 17; Matthew 13:1-9

If I were to ask all of us here, “When did you know that God was calling you to be a Christian; a disciple of Jesus Christ,” would it be possible for us to answer this question?

I ask this question as I reflect on the many times recently when I have been asked by family members, friends, and eve parishioners, “When did you know that God was calling you to be a priest?” I have trouble pointing to only one particular instance in which I knew I was being called to priesthood. In my case, it has taken many small encounters with God over the years; many seemingly insignificant experiences in which God was calling me to be a priest.

The first instance of our calling from God; our vocation to be Christians happens at baptism. But how many of us were baptized as infants and so could not possibly have any memory of our baptism?

In our first reading today, we encounter the prophet Jeremiah, who was called by God to be a prophet; a messenger not so much of what the people to whom Jeremiah would speak God’s word wanted to hear, but what they needed to hear. God says to Jeremiah: “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I dedicated you, a prophet to the nations I appointed you.” Jeremiah’s first reaction is to dismiss God: “I know not how to speak; I am too young.”

Imagine if God were to say to us, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I dedicated you, a disciple of Jesus Christ by baptism “I appointed you.” Would we think of God as strange? Would we simply dismiss God: “I know not how to speak; I am too young”; I am too old; I am not well enough; I have not taken the right courses or had the right experience? Or would we respond generously to God’s call to us in baptism to be disciples of Jesus Christ?

In countless ways many of us already respond generously and lovingly to our vocation just by gathering here to worship (as many of us do daily) and then living by the example of the God we worship in service to one another.

And yet how many of us think of and celebrate the origin of our common vocation to discipleship in Christ: our baptism? In one of the oldest prayers of the Rite of Baptism, we pray that God may open the ears and mouth of the newly-baptized to hear and then proclaim the Word of God. And so when did you know that God was calling you to be a disciple of Christ; a Christian?

We hear in our first reading that God knew and dedicated Jeremiah to his service as a prophet. In a similar way, God has known and dedicated each one of us to Christ before we knew our Christian vocation ourselves; “from the womb… before [we] were born” and sacramentally in our baptism.

Homily for Sunday, 18 May 2014– Fifth Sunday of Easter

Here is my first homily since my ordination to the priesthood, given during the Vigil Mass for the Fifth Sunday of Easter, Saturday, 17 May 2014, at St. Joseph's College at the University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB, Canada. It was good to be back where my Basilian journey began over 7 years ago!

Readings of the day: Acts 6:1-17; Psalm 33:1-2, 4-5, 18-19; 1 Peter 2:4-9; John 14:1-12

First question, since we are here in a college chapel: How many of us are students? I am sure that even those among us who are not currently students have been students at some point. Second question: How many of us have ever crammed for an exam? I am not proud of this, but even I have crammed for an exam or two. Ideally, we would all be prepared for every exam and every assignment (professors would love this!), but most of us have had times as students when we have been less than prepared; times when we have crammed for exams.

The comedian George Carlin once observed that people who are facing their own mortality or that of a loved one often develop a greater awareness of the spiritual. Carlin quips in one skit: “I get it… They’re cramming for their final exam!”

Today’s Gospel reading speaks of Jesus’ own disciples’ experience of cramming for a very important final exam. Jesus announces to his disciples in our Gospel reading: “Do not let your hearts be troubled… You know the way to the place where I am going.” We know that Jesus is about to undergo his passion, death, resurrection, and ascension to the Father; the event that we as Church refer to as “the Paschal mystery.” This is an impressive term for something we don’t fully understand that you can use on a theology exam if you find yourself cramming the night before the exam.

Since Jesus’ disciples are in the midst of a cram session the night before the Lord’s Passion, their reaction to Jesus’ announcement that he will die, rise, and then return to the Father is predictable. We begin with Thomas, who says with alarm: “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Then Philip is the clueless student after an all-nighter in dire need of a cup of coffee. Philip says to Jesus, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.”

If I were Jesus, the impatient teacher in me would be reaching for a big red pen at this point to mark a large “F” on each of the disciples’ exam booklets. Imagine this: The Twelve all failing Discipleship 101… The “disciple whom Jesus loved” in John’s Gospel might have narrowly managed a D! Nonetheless I would be ensured an immediate appointment with the Dean: “You know, Fr. Warren, you really cannot fail them all…”

Fortunately, on the night before his Passion, Jesus gives his disciples a chance to recover from their inability to understand what his death, resurrection, and ascension all entail. Jesus does not give them a failing grade right away, but he is still stern with them: “I am the way, the truth, and the life… Have I been with you for all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? …How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’”?

“Class announcement: A mandatory remedial course for everyone will begin after I rise again and ascend into heaven.”

Fortunately for us as his disciples, Jesus gives us a chance as he once gave to Thomas and Philip to come to understand more fully the meaning of his Paschal mystery: His death, resurrection, and ascension, and our call to Christian discipleship in light of this mystery. Jesus does not assign us a failing grade outright as disciples, but instead gives us a space in our Easter season to work through our lack of understanding. Jesus gives us a space through this celebration to question: “How can we know the way”? Jesus gives us a space for our confusion: “Show us the Father.” Jesus gives us a space in which to hear, repeatedly if necessary, his words of consolation: “Do not let your hearts be troubled. [You] believe in God; believe also in me.” Jesus gives us the space, here and now, to cram for our final exam and still come out with a passing grade in Discipleship 101!

Not only are we assured a passing grade, but Jesus goes on to say to his disciples in our Gospel reading today: “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater ones than these, because I am going to the Father.”

St. Peter, who knew his share of failure and yet of recovery as a disciple of Jesus and leader of God’s Church, reflects on our calling as Christian disciples in our second reading today. Peter describes us as “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people” whose mission is to “‘proclaim the mighty acts of [God] who called us out of darkness into his marvellous light.”

We, as disciples prone to failure; prone to confusion; prone to temptation to cram for the big exam, have been promised that we “will do [even] greater works” in Jesus’ name than Jesus himself did when he walked this earth among us! We are called by God as “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people” despite our frailty; our failures; our confusion; our sin. This is why these words we hear from our Scriptures today are so remarkable!

I find these words especially moving in that we hear them so late in our Easter season; five Sundays after the night when we celebrated Christ’s resurrection from the dead. In the parish in which I currently serve, St. Kateri Tekakwitha in Rochester, New York, the Gospel reading we hear today from Chapter Fourteen of John is the most frequently-read Gospel reading at funerals. Our parish averages over two hundred funerals per year and, at more than two-thirds of these funerals, we hear Jesus’ words: “Do not let your hearts be troubled. [You] believe in God; believe also in me… The one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater ones than these.”

Those of us who have ever attended a funeral know that, at the loss of a loved one, we become confused. We lack understanding. We ask questions like Thomas and Philip once asked Jesus: “How can we know the way?” “Show us the Father.” Show us the way to our loved one; to God. People at a funeral often act similarly in their confusion and shock to those who have crammed for an exam and so stare blankly at the booklet of questions they are to answer.

I am convinced that Christian discipleship is the only vocation in which, as George Carlin once said, we cram for our final exam at the impending loss of a loved one, in this case Jesus Christ, and can still emerge with a passing grade. I can say, as a priest ordained only a week ago today, that I did not get away with cramming for too many exams while I was in the seminary!

In this course of Christian discipleship; our course of life that begins with our baptism, we are assured of a passing grade despite the occasional cram session. Let me recommend, then, that everyone go out after Mass, if you have yet to do so, and register for this course, which is sure to boost everyone’s GPA (or at least get us all to heaven)!

And it gets even better: If we contribute even a basic amount of faith, Jesus assures us not of only a passing grade in Discipleship 101, but that we will do the works of our Lord and even “greater works” in his name.

We have been called “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people” despite our frailty; our confusion; our sin; our cramming for the final exam, because Jesus Christ has died, is risen, and has ascended before us to heaven to show us the way to the Father.