Homily for Sunday, 8 July 2018

Sunday of the 14th Week in Ordinary Time


Readings of the day: Ezekiel 2:2-5; Psalm 123:1-2ab, 2cd, 3-4; 2 Corinthians 12:7-10; Mark 6: 1-6

This homily was given at St. Margaret Mary Church,  St. Kateri Tekakwitha Parish, Rochester, NY, USA. 

How many of us have experienced being rejected at one time or another? I do not want to dismiss my experiences of being bullied at school as a child and teenager as insignificant, because this experience continues to play a role in forming the person I have become, and even played a role in my having become a Basilian priest. And yet, the more I think about my experiences of having been accepted or rejected, I realize how fortunate I have been, with some important exceptions, to have been, for the most part, accepted wherever I have been, from my home city of Edmonton, Canada to Paris, France, where I live now for most of the year, and beyond.

Coincidentally, this is the second year in a row I have visited Rochester, and St. Kateri Parish, during the Fourth of July holiday. Some of us who attended or walked with us during the Irondequoit Fourth of July parade may have noticed Fr. Joe Trovato riding in a Chevy Corvair convertible. From where Fr. Joe was in the parade, he was ideally placed to notice and be deeply moved by (as he said to me later that afternoon) how often I was called to either side of the parade route to greet St. Kateri parishioners and families, and often children I have known from St. Kateri School. To be called and welcomed along the Fourth of July parade route is delightful to me, too, although it has become somewhat second nature to me because I know how genuinely welcoming we are here at St. Kateri. And yet to hear from Fr. Joe how much joy seeing this gave him in turn reinforces my joy in and thanksgiving for you; for this parish community of St. Kateri.

I have lost track of the number of times people of St. Kateri have greeted me during my last ten days here with, “Welcome home, Father.” Almost as often, people who have greeted me in this way have then paused and then added something like, “Welcome to one of your many homes, Father”!

Truth be told, I always and will always feel at home here at St. Kateri. I will always feel at home because you, my sisters and brothers of St. Kateri, have made this such a welcoming place, for me and many other people. And, with this, I would like to extend a word of welcome to everybody who may be visiting St. Kateri Parish this weekend and for this Mass.

As I thank you and welcome us together as officially as I can through this act of preaching, though, I cannot help but wonder why Jesus was made to feel so unwelcome, not only in places he visited but in his hometown. In our Gospel reading today from Mark, Jesus laments that “a prophet is not without honor except in his native place and among his own kin and in his own house.” We hear that Jesus is unable “to perform any mighty deed” in his hometown, “apart from curing a few sick people,” which is still significant enough that Mark would mention Jesus’ few healings in his hometown.

In Mark’s Gospel especially, this is not the first time and would not be the last when Jesus would be rejected. From the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, his family believes “he is out of his mind.” Today, we hear how Jesus is rejected in his hometown. And then, as Jesus is betrayed, arrested, beaten, mocked, and crucified, his most trusted friends and disciples flee from him. When Jesus is on the cross, “even God seems to have abandoned” him, and so Jesus cries out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me”?

When I contrast Jesus’ repeated and constant rejection and abandonment to death on a cross alone with the welcome I and so many people receive in a place like St. Kateri Parish, I cannot help but feel horribly for Jesus. Our Lord’s rejection throughout the Gospel of Mark by his family, the people of his hometown, his best friends, and seemingly even God, also reminds me of a 1989 French Canadian film by Denys Arcand called Jésus de Montréal (Jesus of Montreal). In this film, actors stage a Passion play in a church in Montreal. Parishioners of the church become increasingly unhappy about the direction of the play, and so they turn against the actor who plays Jesus, who is the same person who has written the play. The plot parallels the Gospels’ telling of the increasing rejection of Jesus himself.

At the Vincentian Motherhouse’s St. Vincent de Paul Chapel, where I usually go to Mass when I am in Paris, one of the Vincentian brothers, who knows I am Canadian but is either confused about the distance (a five-hour flight) between Montreal and my hometown of Edmonton, or pretends to be confused about Canada’s expanse, for humorous effect, enjoys greeting me after Mass with, “How is Jesus of Montreal today”?

Suffice it to say that I feel precisely the opposite of rejected; precisely the opposite experience of Jesus of Montreal— or Jesus of Nazareth— when I am greeted as generously and joyfully as I am around the world, from Paris to Irondequoit to Edmonton. These greetings are also deeply humbling, especially if we think of other times in our Gospels in which Jesus warns against the pride and vanity that can result from our adulation by the people we serve as Christian disciples. If we are received well, sisters and brothers, may we pray for the grace to serve God’s glory and one another’s well-being before our own. And if we have ever been rejected for our faith and not for our own fault, may we take solace in that Jesus, in becoming fully human like us, has entered into solidarity with our rejection. He has put our rejection to death on the cross with him in order to accept; to receive; to greet us one day into eternal life with him.

And so all this leads me into an important question for us: If Jesus were to appear among us here and now— if Jesus of Nazareth, or at least Jesus of Montreal, were to show himself among us as Jesus of Irondequoit— as Jesus of St. Kateri Parish, how would we receive him? If your greeting, every time I visit St. Kateri, of this humble(d) priest-servant-brother in Christ of yours, is any indication, I have no doubt that you would greet and receive Jesus with your characteristic generous, warm St. Kateri welcome. You would make our beloved Fr. Joe, whether riding in a Corvair in the Fourth of July parade or pausing the Mass as he does so beautifully and often to greet our cooing youngest members of St. Kateri Parish, proud. But, most of all, you would be giving Jesus Christ the welcome befitting our God who became human like and for us; who put himself at the mercy of our welcome in this world to save us.

How well, then, would we receive our Lord, Jesus of Nazareth, if he were Jesus of St. Kateri;

if he were Jesus of the House of Mercy or of St. Joseph’s House of Hospitality, Jesus of Rochester’s poor and those who serve the poor here and everywhere,

If he were Jesus of the U.S.-Mexico border

If he were Jesus of Rochester General, Unity, Strong, or Monroe Community Hospital,

If he were Jesus of the vulnerable elderly and homebound,

If he were Jesus of those not yet born,

If he were Jesus of the crisis pregnancy,

If he were Jesus of the abused,

If he were Jesus of the imprisoned,

If he were Jesus of those affected by war and violence?

For Jesus is all these. Jesus, who lived, who experienced rejection, suffered, died, and rose again, will return again at the end of time and, once again, he will put himself at the mercy of our welcome.

Homily for Sunday, 25 June 2017

Sunday of the 12th week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Jeremiah 20:10-13; Psalm 69:8-10, 14, 17, 33-35; Romans 5:12-15; Matthew 10:26-33

Could we imagine ourselves as among Jesus’ first Twelve Apostles? Jesus goes up a mountain one night to pray and, when he returns, he chooses you and eleven other people to be his closest and most trusted friends. How would you feel? I, for one, would have been thrilled to have been chosen as one of Jesus’ first Twelve Apostles! That is, until the very first time we meet together. Suddenly, Jesus starts warning us that, as his closest friends, we will be persecuted, ridiculed, and eventually killed.

Who here would want to continue to be Jesus’ close friend then? How many of us would be afraid to continue openly to be Jesus’ close friend; one of his Apostles? I would be afraid. Yet, just when Jesus, I imagine, has his newly-chosen Apostles quaking with fear, unsure of whether they want to continue to be close to him, he speaks to them the first words we hear of today’s Gospel reading, from Matthew: “Fear no one.”

If we were among Jesus’ first Apostles, how many of us would still not be convinced by Jesus’ asking us to “fear no one”? For how many of us is Jesus’ assurance that we are “worth more than many sparrows”; indeed that we are worth more and of greater dignity than any other creature, created in the image and likeness of God, still not quite enough to overcome our fear?

I ask these questions, sisters and brothers, because we live in a world today that gives us many reasons to fear. In this respect, little has changed since the time of Jesus, or since human beings have walked this earth. The names of the persecutors; of those who make us afraid; of those who even endanger human lives have changed, but the fact of our world giving us many causes to fear has not changed. And fear is a natural human response; a feeling; an emotion. Fear is neither good nor bad; it simply is, in each one of us. If we are honest with ourselves, does not each of us fear something or somebody at some point in our lives?

Since I have been back here at St. Kateri for this short time, I have been deeply moved by how many of us, members of this parish, continue to voice concern for me and pray for me while I am studying in Paris. Many of us have asked me, “Isn’t it becoming unpredictable and even dangerous in Paris? Have you been near to the terrorist attacks that have taken place there”? My response to you has been something like, “Yes, there has been chaos and violence in our world recently, even close to me in Paris. But so far I am safe, and we cannot live in fear.” If we live in fear in response to violence and terrorism in our world, we give those who commit these hideous, murderous acts, who do Satan’s work in our world, exactly what they want. Those who commit violence and terrorist acts want us to be afraid; after all, we call their actions terror-ism.

In reality, though, I cannot help but feel fear when these acts of violence and terrorism occur, especially when they happen near me or people I know and love. On November 13, 2015, barely two months after I first arrived in Paris, 130 people were killed across the city. The nearest site of the Paris attacks, the Bataclan concert theatre, is only four miles from my apartment. For a few days, an eerie silence hung over Paris. I felt and lived this fear, even as I did my best to let as many people; as many of us know as possible that I was safe. Since then, there have been attacks in Brussels, Berlin, Nice, London, Alexandria and Cairo in Egypt, and other places including the little village of Saint-Étienne-du-Rouvray near Rouen, France, where Fr. Jacques Hamel was killed while celebrating Mass last July. Bloodshed continues in places like Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan, and around the world.

Our world gives us many reasons to fear. Let me say, then, a heartfelt thank you for your concern and your prayers. And let me continue to offer my prayers for us and for our well-being. When I say we cannot live in fear, I do not mean to be curt or to ignore your concern and even your fear for me or at the state of our world. Whenever I am here at St. Kateri, I sense an almost familial love that often expresses itself as concern: Is Father safe? How are his studies going? Is he getting enough to eat (all questions that have been asked of me here in these last two weeks, by the way)? These are questions similar to those my mother asks me, as mothers (and fathers, too) naturally do, even many years after I have left home, have taken vows with the Basilians and been ordained a priest, and have travelled around much of the world. To us, I will always be a brother in Christ; a son of St. Kateri. St. Kateri is always “home away from home.” Together, might we here at St. Kateri be like Jesus’ first Apostles, whom Jesus called from home to our heavenly home, and who in the process eventually succeeded in making our world a little less chaotic, violent, and fearsome.

Might we be like Jesus’ first Apostles, to whom our Lord said, “Fear no one… And do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.” May we be like the prophet Jeremiah, who from God accepted a similar mission to Jesus’ Apostles’ and our mission: Go out into the world. Speak and live not the message that the people necessarily want to hear, but that they need to hear (and pray to discern the often fine line between these). Risk everything; risk being denounced, misunderstood, and ridiculed; risk even our own lives for the message that God gives us to proclaim and to live: A message of love beyond all telling; a message of love that saves us; a message of love that is greater than any fear.

In response to the violence and the fearsomeness of the world, might we be like the Psalmist, who today cries out through our song, “Lord, in your great love, answer me.” Those who wrote the Psalms in our Bible experienced fear. They knew the fear of suffering, illness, and death; the fear of enemy nations and their more powerful armies; the fear of the effects of their own sin. It is no wonder, then, that about two thirds of the Psalms in the Bible are laments. The Psalmists were some of the best and most effective complainers our world has ever known! Fear not; may we cast our fears and anxieties on God, for God has a thick skin.

“Lord, in your great love, answer me.” Knowing God’s great love for us, then, might we be like St. Paul or the Romans he first addressed with the letter from which we hear today in our second reading. May we fear no longer even our own sin. There is no sin too great for God to forgive. And may our Church, through Reconciliation, Eucharist, and her other Sacraments, and by the way we live, welcoming each other as redeemed sinners, be ever more our world’s instrument of forgiveness; of absolution; of freedom from sin. St. Paul says to the Romans that sin and so “death reigned from Adam to Moses.” Sin and death reigned until Jesus Christ conquered these by his death on the Cross. Sin and death and, with these, fear, reign no more over our world.

Love reigns in our world now, and enables us to go out into a still sometimes-fearsome, violent, sinful world. We go out into this world with an Apostle’s mission; a mother’s, father’s, sister’s, or brother’s mission; a prophet’s mission; a Psalmist’s mission; Christ’s own mission entrusted to us to love as he loves us; to love one another from this world into heaven, and to “fear no one.”

Homily for Sunday, 24 May 2015‒ Pentecost

Mass during the Day

Readings of the day: Acts 2:1-11; Psalm 104:1, 24, 29-30, 31, 34; 1 Corinthians 12:3b-7, 12-13; Pentecost Sequence; John 20:19-23

Imagine for a moment that you are in your favorite place in the world. What is this place? Is it your favorite vacation destination, perhaps one of the world’s great cities; a remote place to enjoy nature; a beach in the tropics? Is your favorite place somewhere you enjoy spending a day off work? Is it a place to be still; to encounter God in prayer; perhaps in silence; perhaps at Mass? Are you with somebody or alone?

I feel blessed to have many favorite places all over the world. I have encountered God in prayer; in the Eucharist everywhere from here at St. Kateri to the parishes in which I grew up, St. Theresa’s and Our Lady of Perpetual Help in Edmonton; to Notre Dame and Saint-Sulpice in Paris, to the chaotic Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem and the calm of the shore of the Sea of Galilee, where Jesus once walked; to St. Patrick’s in busy New York City; to my highlights in Colombia in South America: At twelve thousand feet above sea level, Monserrate in Bogotá, for instance. This is one of the only churches of which I can think where the congregation remains standing during Mass, barely even able to turn, because of the number of people present!

Last week I enjoyed my parents’ visit here to Rochester; to St. Kateri. We visited places like the Corning Museum of Glass; wineries and breweries in the Finger Lakes, Sodus Point and El Rincón Mexicano, a favorite Mexican restaurant in Sodus to which Fr. Paul introduced me; Chimney Bluffs…  These are only a few of my favorite places near here to spend a day off; to eat; to learn; to enjoy nature. But it was particularly wonderful to be with people I love;  to be with Mom and Dad to enjoy some of my favorite places in New York State (and some places where I had never been before) during the week they were here.

Is there not something special about being together in one place with people you love; with family; with friends? This is the experience of Jesus’ disciples on Pentecost. We hear in our first reading from Acts that “they were all in one place together” when the Holy Spirit descended upon them. For Jesus’ first disciples, this is the necessary condition to receive God’s gift of the Holy Spirit. Their unity “in one place together,” in an upper room in Jerusalem, is the required setting for the birth of a community of faith, our Church. But why is this so? If God had so chosen, why could the Holy Spirit not have descended upon each of the disciples individually, alone, instead of descending upon them as a community?

The trouble here is that, unlike when we are enjoying quality time off; a vacation; perhaps peaceful time at prayer, Jesus’ disciples were not gathered in their favorite place in the world. Our Gospel reading today, from John, says that “the doors were locked” to the room “where the disciples were, for fear of” the leaders of “the Jews”; those who had put Jesus, their hoped-for Messiah, to a shameful death on a cross. But it is into this fear that the risen Christ enters and breathes the Holy Spirit upon the disciples as a community: “Peace be with you.” This Pentecost event would not have happened in the same way had the disciples have been scattered, facing their fears alone.

Pentecost, the descent of the Holy Spirit upon Christ’s disciples; the birth of the Church, is not a one-time event. We are reminded of this by today’s readings: The Acts of the Apostles and John’s Gospel speak of two distinct encounters with the Holy Spirit. In Acts the Holy Spirit appears to the disciples in “tongues as of fire”; as “a noise like a strong driving wind.” In John, the risen Christ breathes God’s Holy Spirit upon his disciples: “Peace be with you.”

And Pentecost continues to happen, here and now. The Holy Spirit continues to work; to be present among and within us. How is the Holy Spirit present, working among and within us? Might many of us here now be feeling anything but like you are in your favorite place in the world? For many of us there is no better place to be than here, on a beautiful Sunday morning, celebrating our Eucharist. And yet many more of us bring to this celebration our griefs and sorrows: Personal or loved ones’ illnesses; loss of loved ones; loss of employment or underemployment; struggles with our faith; marriage or family disunity. We bring to this celebration our distractions: Some of us barely awake; others with small children in tow with their own needs; still others finding it difficult to remain focused in prayer… And yet how blessed we are as a community of faith by one another’s presence: Joys, hopes, griefs, distractions and all! Still more of us may be bringing to this Eucharist very real fears: Our fear of death; what will happen after our death and how the people we love will cope; our fear of economic instability; our fears for those we love who have turned away from their faith; our fear for the state of our world, full of hope but with many instances of despair; violence; evil…

Our joys and hopes but also our griefs; our distractions; our fears are similar and every bit as real as those Jesus’ first disciples faced on the first Pentecost when they encountered the Holy Spirit. Some first encountered the Holy Spirit in the stillness of Jesus’ breath, “Peace be with you.” Others encountered the Holy Spirit amid their fear of death at the hands of those who had put Jesus to death. These first disciples encountered the Holy Spirit as they touched the risen Jesus’ wounds, an image of our own woundedness; our own sin; our own need for forgiveness and healing. And they encountered the Holy Spirit as fearsome, rushing wind and “tongues as of fire.”

Our encounters with the Holy Spirit are as varied perhaps as the encounters with the Holy Spirit of Jesus’ first disciples. The gifts we receive from God’s Holy Spirit are as varied as the encounters with the Spirit themselves: “Different kinds of spiritual gifts but the same Spirit,” St. Paul says in 1 Corinthians. But do we not have something else in common with these earliest disciples in how they encountered the Holy Spirit? We, like them, are “all in one place together.”

In this “one place together” our joys and hopes meet their source, our God whom we are united here to worship and to celebrate. Here our diverse “spiritual gifts” are refined; made ready through this celebration to be put to service of the one Body of Christ; one community of faith; one world; one human race. A “body with many parts,” we become, more and more, “one body, one spirit in Christ” in the words of our Eucharistic Prayer that we will hear and pray in a few moments.

In this “one place together” our griefs; our distractions; our fears are transformed by the Holy Spirit. Together we are invited to let our fears that could paralyze us without community; without God’s Holy Spirit be transformed into “fear” in the sense of awe and reverence in God’s presence. This “fear of the Lord”; awe and reverence in God’s presence is the first and greatest of the gifts of the Holy Spirit we all receive in baptism and confirmation.

In this “one place together” is our Pentecost. In this “one place together” we encounter God’s Holy Spirit who strengthens, gifts, unifies, and transforms us. In this “one place together,” my sisters and brothers, Church is born. In the whole world the best place for us to be; the place where God is; the place where we are prepared to serve God as Christian disciples in our world that hungers for God’s Spirit, is right here, in this “one place together.”