Homily for Sunday, 6 September 2015

23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Isaiah 35:4-7a; Psalm 146:7, 8-9, 9-10; James 2:1-5; Mark 7:31-37

“Ephphatha”! …“Be opened”!

How many of us remember our own baptism or have been to a baptism that we remember? Most of us here were probably baptized as infants and so do not remember our own baptism. But if anybody here has attended a child’s baptism recently, do you remember this strange but beautiful prayer over the ears and mouth of the newly-baptized child? We pray, touching the ears and mouth of the child: “The Lord Jesus made the deaf hear and the mute speak. May he soon touch your ears to receive his word, and your mouth to proclaim his faith, to the praise and glory of God the Father. Amen.”

This prayer is called the “ephphatha,” or “be opened” prayer. It is one of the oldest prayers of the Rite of Baptism of Children as we know it. The “ephphatha” in our Rite of Baptism is drawn from the Gospel reading we hear today, from Mark. We hear of Jesus’ encounter with “a deaf man who had a speech impediment.” Jesus takes this man “away from the crowd.” He puts “his finger into the man’s ears and, spitting, [touches] his tongue.” Jesus says to the man in Aramaic, “ephphatha”‒ “Be opened”! The man is able to hear and speak again. The crowd is astonished: “He has done all things well,” they exclaim. And the people who witness Jesus’ healing give us the words we hear to this day at children’s baptisms: “He makes the deaf hear and the mute speak.”

For me as a priest, at least some of the beauty of the “ephphatha” prayer at baptisms is not so much in the words of this prayer. But often at the moment I touch and pray over the child’s mouth, the baby will try to suck on my thumb. It is as if the baby, newly alive; baptized into Christ, is saying, “I’m opened, alright… And your thumb tastes way better than my pacifier”!

Is it not most beautiful that, from the moment of Jesus’ healing of the deaf and mute man; from the very moment of our baptism, we are called to “be opened”? And in what ways are we called by our baptism to “be opened”? What are some of our obstacles to being “opened”; to hearing and proclaiming the Word of God; the faith of Jesus Christ?

I ask you these questions. But in my two years here at St. Kateri, my diaconate and first year of priesthood, you have shown me; shown one another; shown our communities and our world in countless profound ways what it means to “be opened.” You show time and again by word and action what it means to live out the baptismal calling we have in common. The number of ministries and devotions here at St. Kateri is truly astounding. We have people here who visit and bring communion to the sick and homebound. We have people who accompany those who have lost loved ones; who help to prepare and assist at funerals. We have people who prepare the many aspects of our liturgies day after day; weekend after weekend. We have people who care for our young people; who prepare “care packages” for our college students; who are involved in Faith Formation and sacramental preparation. We support a lively parish formed from five parishes. We support St. Kateri School. We have the Ladies’ Guild, the Knights of Columbus, many other groups who build friendship; build social justice; build up the Kingdom of God. So many times I have entered one of our churches and seen a prayer group meeting here; a rosary or a novena being prayed there; somebody praying in private; in silence…

It is impossible for me to list all the ways in which we live here at St. Kateri by Jesus’ words: “Be opened.” If I have not named you here I certainly hold you in grateful prayer. I am blessed to be ordained a priest for you; for our universal Church; to have served here for these past two years. Yet my and my brother priests’ ordained priesthood exists to lead; to unite us in our common priestly, prophetic, and royal baptismal vocation. And if I may say this again, I believe we live this vocation very well here at St. Kateri. By ordination I am your priest; in baptism I am forever your brother in Christ.

Sisters and brothers in Christ, you are my great teachers in being “opened” as we are called in baptism. And yet we still may experience obstacles to fully living out our baptismal calling. What are these obstacles, and perhaps some remedies to what keeps us from being fully “opened”? One of the greatest obstacles we face to being opened, to hearing and proclaiming Christ, is fear. Isaiah speaks in our first reading to a people living in fear; people who were living in exile in the prophet Isaiah’s time. Isaiah says, “Be strong, fear not”!

What or whom might we fear? Do we fear speaking the truth; speaking for our faith in Christ, even if (as hopefully is the case) we speak and act with love? Perhaps we fear somebody with power over us. Perhaps we have experienced fear of those who disagree with us; those who are different from us. Perhaps we fear our own weakness; our own sin. Isaiah speaks to our fears the same words he once spoke to the people of Israel in exile in Babylon: “Be strong, fear not”! Here is your God. He comes with vindication. With divine recompense he comes to save you.” Isaiah’s prophecy of the deaf hearing, the lame leaping with joy; the tongue[s] of the mute singing is realized in Jesus’ healing of the deaf and mute man in our Gospel reading today.

Even more importantly, this prophecy is realized in us. In baptism we are called: “Be opened”! But there is another obstacle, related to fear, to our being “opened” to hearing and proclaiming Christ. This obstacle is undue “partiality”; exclusion of people or groups. St. James speaks in our second reading today of this kind of partiality in our churches; the temptation to give the rich places of honor while poor people, if they are present in our worship spaces at all, are sidelined and excluded: “‘Stand there’ or ‘Sit at my feet.’”

I do not see this kind of exclusion here at St. Kateri. Yet I invite us, in light of St. James’ words, to continue and to strengthen our effort to welcome those who are poor. I invite us not only to go out to our streets; to the House of Mercy; to Bethany House and the Catholic Worker to meet those who are poor and homeless but to take increasingly active steps to welcome the otherwise socially excluded into this worship space. In this way we make St. Kateri Parish not “our” space into which we allow a foreign group of people (“they” or “them”), but God’s space in which “they” become part of “us.” This takes a constant conversion of our hearts to be welcoming; a constant effort to “be opened.”

But if the horrific image this week of a drowned Syrian refugee boy on the shore of the Mediterranean Sea is any indication, our world presents us with many temptations against being “opened.” We hear cries from many countries to close borders; to limit the number of refugees and immigrants accepted; to build walls and prisons to keep the unwanted out. We hear attitudes, spoken or silent, shouted forth in their increasingly harmful effects on our society: Be closed to the right to life from conception! After all, some regard the unborn as mere commodities to be bought and sold. Be closed to those in need of social assistance! Be closed to racial integration! Be closed to the elderly; to the sick! Be closed to those who struggle to practice every teaching of the Church to my satisfaction! Be closed to reconciliation in our relationships; our families! Be closed to peace! Be closed to protecting the dignity of all creation! “Be closed”: This attitude is a direct countersign to the Gospel that calls to us, “Be opened”! And only death can result from being closed.

Our Gospel calls us to life. Christ’s Gospel; our Christian baptism calls us: “Be opened”! Isaiah’s prophecy of the deaf hearing; the mute speaking; the lame leaping; social need being met with justice and kindness; God’s “vindication” and “salvation” present and alive in our world is not something of the distant past. Isaiah’s prophecy was not only realized once, two thousand years ago when Jesus healed a deaf and mute man. This prophecy is being realized in us here and now, to the extent we live our Gospel; our baptismal calling: “Ephphatha! …Be opened!”

Homily for Monday, 15 December 2014– Ferial

Monday of the 3rd Week in Advent

Readings of the day: Numbers 24:2-7, 15-17a; Psalm 25:4-5ab, 6, 7bc, 8-9; Matthew 21:23-27

“The chief priests and elders” in the temple ask Jesus in today’s Gospel reading, “By what authority are you doing these things? And who gave you this authority”?

I imagine that we know the answer to these questions that the religious leaders of Jesus’ time asked him. I imagine that “the chief priests and elders of the people” knew the answers to their own questions, too. What is the nature of Jesus’ authority? Who gave Jesus the authority he has?

Authority can be frightening. Can we not think of people in positions of authority in society and in the Church who have abused their authority? The word “authoritarian” often carries a negative connotation. But Jesus’ authority is not a domineering, abusive, or self-absorbed kind of authority. So what is Jesus’ kind of authority?

Jesus’ authority is a priestly authority, as the perfect mediator of the sacred, God, to all creation, since he is both God and human. Jesus’ authority is a prophetic authority, preaching a truth that raises the poor, those of low social status, and the oppressed to their full dignity as daughters and sons of God. At the same time, Jesus’ prophetic authority exposes and destroys the false authority of those who dominate, oppress, or abuse. Jesus’ authority is a royal authority; the authority of a servant-leader; an authority willing to empty himself on a cross for our salvation.

And who is the source of Jesus’ priestly, prophetic, and royal authority? Jesus’ authority is from God. The religious authorities of Jesus’ time knew of claims that Jesus was God, and they were justifiably afraid. Have we not known “authorities” who have claimed or had others claim for them to be like gods? I think of cult leaders, terrorists, and many dictators even in our lifetime. In Jesus’ time the Romans claimed Caesar to be a god.  Can we not then appreciate how “the chief priests and elders of the people” were afraid of this kind of authority?

And yet Jesus’ authority respects and lifts up human dignity. It saves. Anything short of this is not true authority; is not God’s authority.  But is it not also especially remarkable that Jesus has given each of us his own priestly, prophetic, and royal authority through the sacrament of baptism?

If we were to be asked, “By what authority are you doing these things? And who gave you this authority,” how would we answer? How do we show to people around us the authority we have from God; an authority that lifts one another up; an authority for one another’s good; an authority that is kind, gentle, and just?

Many in our world continue to fear our kind of authority, even when we exercise it rightly. And so to live the authority of our Christian baptism takes courage. It takes discernment of where God is present in our lives, inspiring our exercise of authority. Our authority is not our own; it is from God, the author of all life and dignity. And yet we have this gift of authority, a priestly, prophetic, and royal authority; the authority of Jesus Christ the Son of God; authority for one another’s good; authority to lift up the poor and oppressed; authority that saves us.

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.