Homily for Tuesday, 3 January 2023– Christmas Weekday

Readings of the day: 1 John 2:23-3:6; Psalm 98:1, 3cd-4, 5-6; John 1:29-34

Optional Memorial: The Most Holy Name of Jesus

In these days between Christmas Day and the Baptism of the Lord, which marks the end of the Christmas season, we hear a lot from the Gospel and letters of John at Mass. And there is, in these readings we hear, a pattern. Our readings from John’s Gospel and letters remind us of who God is (or who Jesus is) and who we are.

Neither who Jesus is nor who we are changes. Jesus is, has been, and will always be “the Son of God.” We are, have always been, and will always be “called children of God.” But our perception of who Jesus is and who we are is what changes. Our faith is not static. Could we not say that our faith is a constant process of growing into our realization of those central truths of who we are, “children of God,” and who Jesus is, “the Son of God,” God made flesh?

Over this Christmas season, I have been able to spend some time with my youngest nephew, August or Gus, who is almost a year old. Gus received several articles of clothing from family and loved ones over Christmas. Those of us who have had (or still have) young children or grandchildren will appreciate this: It is very difficult, I find, to know what size of clothing to buy for a baby. Many people bought Gus clothing sized for an eighteen-month-old. Now, most of those eighteen-month-old clothes are a little big for him (although he is already beginning to fit comfortably into some of them). In six months, will he have outgrown some of those outfits already?

This is a similar reality to our Christian faith, sisters and brothers. Who we are and who God is do not change. But faith is an invitation to grow into, and maybe even eventually to outgrow, how we perceive God and how we perceive ourselves before God now.

If the great John the Baptist had to put on the “baby clothes” of faith, before he was baptizing people in the Jordan—and before he baptized Jesus himself—how much truer is this of us? John admits that, not long before he baptized Jesus, he “did not know” Jesus. But, John says, “the one who sent me to baptize with water said to me, ‘He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.’” Only then is John the Baptist able to testify to Jesus “that this is the Son of God.” Only then is John the Baptist ready for the next size up in faith clothing: “That will be one camel hair onesie, please, men’s size, hand washable in a river.”

And the same is true of us, sisters and brothers. The First Letter of John says, “Beloved, we are God’s children now.” We have always been and will always be God’s children; this will never change. But the same letter goes on to say that “what we will be has not yet been revealed.” Yet when God “is revealed,” 1 John says, “we will be like him, for we will see him as he is.”

This is quite a bold statement: We will grow in our faith. We will outgrow our present faith clothing. In fact, our faith will grow so much that, sometime between now and when we are in heaven, when God’s presence is revealed to us fully, we will need extra-extra-large, God-sized clothing, because “we will be like” God. We, like John the Baptist, if we are not able to do so already, will be able to point to Jesus and testify that he “is the Son of God.” We will be able to point to other people in our experience who live as Jesus Christ did, who are the saints living among us, and say, “this is a daughter, this is a son of God, beloved of God.”

It looks as though we will need to start looking for the next-size-up outfit!

Homily for Sunday, 6 August 2017– Feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord

Readings of the day: Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14; Psalm 97:1-2, 5-6, 9; 2 Peter 1:16-19; Matthew 17:1-9

This homily was given at St. Alphonsus and St. Clare Churches, Edmonton, AB, Canada.

Have any of us ever had a moment in which our faith was so strong that nothing could disturb it? How many have been almost to this point of unshakable faith, when our faith is still deep and strong, but with a few questions? I am not sure I have ever encountered or read anybody whose faith was absolutely unshakable. After all, the greatest of saints are saints not because their faith was perfect, but because they are the boldest in admitting their questions; their struggles; their distractions; their disturbances of faith.

The saints, including the many (I would say the vast majority of saints) who remain unnamed and uncanonised officially by our Church, like many of us, were people whose faith, this side of heaven, was usually not perfectly unshakable, but was almost there. Jesus’ Transfiguration, to which he invites only “Peter, James, and his brother John” up the mountain with him to witness, is an event not for people whose faith is already perfectly unshakable, but for those whose faith is “almost there.”

In Matthew’s Gospel, faith is the lens through which we are invited to grasp Jesus’ Transfiguration. Not long before the Transfiguration in this same Gospel, the Pharisees and Sadducees ask Jesus for a sign of his authority, despite having observed already the miracles he was performing. Jesus, we know, does not grant the Pharisees and Sadducees the sign they seek. Besides the signs of Jesus’ presence and the miracles he had already worked, Jesus could give them no sign that would move the hearts of the religious leaders of the day to faith, let alone past the outright malice and jealousy they had toward Jesus.

After the episode with the Pharisees and Sadducees, we hear in Matthew Peter’s confession of faith, his identification of Jesus as the Son of God. But even then Peter’s faith is not perfect; when Jesus speaks of his passion and death, Peter essentially curses God. (Peter’s reaction to Jesus’ prediction of his suffering and death is somewhat more vulgar than, “God forbid it, Lord,” which is why Jesus responds to him with such force: “Get behind me, Satan”!) And so Peter’s faith, while stronger than that of the Pharisees and Sadducees, is far from perfect at the point of the Transfiguration. After the Transfiguration, James and John at one point vie with one another for prestige, for places at Jesus’ right and left in the Kingdom of Heaven, angering the other Apostles. And later yet the Apostles would flee the scandal of the cross.

The faith of the Apostles, especially that of Peter, James, and John who witness the Transfiguration, is far from unshakable. But Jesus does not choose these three from among the Twelve because their faith is perfect. He does not choose Peter, James, and John to climb the mountain with him because they are sinless, or because they are particularly more trustworthy than the other Apostles. In fact, Jesus, Peter, James, John and we know otherwise, if we place the Transfiguration within the broader context of Matthew’s Gospel. Jesus knows Peter’s, James’, and John’s vulnerability; the weaknesses of their faith; their sin, and chooses them to witness his Transfiguration anyway. Why is this?

My speculation, although this is not clear in Matthew’s Gospel, is that Jesus chooses Peter, James, and John to witness his Transfiguration because they are the most “teachable” of all Jesus’ Apostles. They are Jesus’ best students, or disciples. Peter, James and John acknowledge best their weaknesses, struggles, distractions, and disturbances of faith. They acknowledge best their need to be in the presence of Jesus to learn; to strengthen their faith; to deal with the ambiguity and scandal of the cross; to see in all this, including in the scandal of the cross, God’s glory shining forth in Jesus Christ.

Peter, James, and John acknowledge best of anybody that their faith is far from unshakable; far from certain, but that their faith is almost there. Without this acknowledgement of the “almost but not yet” aspect of their faith; this acknowledgement of their need to be in the presence of Jesus, the Transfiguration means nothing, for Peter, James, and John, or for us.

Might we imagine the Transfiguration in these terms: Are not Peter, James, and John in many ways like us? Jesus, God, has chosen us to experience his presence here. In the Word of God and the breaking of bread Jesus shows himself to us, still a fairly select group of people in our world who regularly take up Jesus’ invitation to this Eucharistic celebration. But we do not gather here to hear the Word of God and to break bread; we are not invited here by our Lord because our faith is perfect, unshakable. We do not celebrate here in Jesus’ presence because we are sinless, or because we have every aspect of our faith; every teaching our Church proposes as revealed by God all worked out. No, we gather here precisely because we do not have all this worked out; because we are sinners; because we are vulnerable to our struggles, distractions, and disturbances of faith. We gather here perhaps (and, in a way, I hope) because to worship a God who would suffer and die shamefully on a cross for us as Jesus did still, in a way, troubles us if we think deeply enough about it.

The vision of the cross at the Transfiguration would have scandalized Peter, James, and John outright, if their own sin and their own struggles, distractions, and disturbances of faith did not already trouble them at that moment. Even as they are “coming down the mountain” after the Transfiguration, they were still working out all these tensions: Why are we not to stay on this mountain? Why does this moment when God’s glory flashes before us have to end? What is the significance of Jesus being left “alone” after his Transfiguration (Peter, James, and John would not yet have connected Jesus’ aloneness after the Transfiguration to his being left alone by his closest friends to die on a cross)? Why were we chosen from among the Twelve to witness Jesus’ Transfiguration in the first place? Why are we not to “tell anyone about this vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead”?

And yet, with all these questions and tensions; struggles, distractions, and disturbances, on the mountain of the Transfiguration Peter correctly identifies the central importance of this Transfiguration event when it is most critical that he do so. Peter says, “Lord, it is good that we are here.” Peter speaks for himself, James, and John. Peter speaks for every disciple of Jesus for all time. Peter speaks for us: “Lord, it is good that we are here.”

“Lord, it is good that we are here,” our faith “almost there” but not yet perfected. “It is good that we are here” to acknowledge and to grapple with our vulnerability; our struggles; our distractions; our disturbances of faith. “It is good that we are here”; that the Lord has invited us here, not in spite of our sins and weaknesses of faith, but because of them. And “it is good” that we accept our Lord’s invitation to witness and to celebrate his Transfiguration; to celebrate our Eucharist.

In accepting our Lord’s invitation to this celebration, we witness to how good it is “that we are here” to participate in this intermingling of God’s glory with the mystery of Christ’s suffering, death on a cross, and resurrection for us. Here the scandal of the cross becomes our way to salvation. Here we admit boldly, as the saints have through the centuries, that we are God’s work in progress. We are, like Peter, James, and John, invited up the mountain to witness Jesus’ Transfiguration, not on our own merits but as God’s free gift. Insofar as we are able to admit this then, reflecting Christ we, too, are transfigured, our faith strengthened. And we are able to exclaim as Peter once did on behalf of all of us: “Lord, it is good that we are here”!

Homily for Wednesday, 24 August 2016‒ Feast of St. Bartholomew

Wednesday of the 21st Week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Revelation 21:9b-14; Psalm 145:10-11, 12-13, 17-18; John 1:45-51

This homily was given at Anglin House, Cardinal Flahiff Basilian Centre, Toronto, ON, Canada.

The other day I was reading a fascinating article on Mother Teresa about an interview with the priest promoting the cause for her canonization. We might ask: What does Mother Teresa have to do with St. Bartholomew the Apostle, whose feast we celebrate today?

The priest in the interview says of Mother Teresa that she “did ordinary things extraordinarily well.” I think that this is the connection between Blessed Mother Teresa and St. Bartholomew and indeed all the saints: They “did ordinary things extraordinarily well.” How well does this describe us? After all, we are all called to holiness; we are all called to be saints.

God does not expect us to do the extraordinary. If God did expect this of us, I do not think that St. Bartholomew, or Mother Teresa or anybody else for that matter, would ever become a saint. St. Bartholomew is so ordinary that the Gospels differ on his name. St. Bartholomew is called Nathaniel in John's Gospel. Whatever his name, or whether or not Nathaniel and Bartholomew were two different Apostles, John speaks of a man who is completely ordinary. Nathaniel, or Bartholomew, is completely transparent in his need to be led to the Lord by St. Philip; completely open and without “deceit” in questioning whether “anything good” could “come out of Nazareth”; but also completely truthful to Jesus as to how he comes to believe that Jesus is “the Son of God... the King of Israel.”

St. Bartholomew is an example to us of a completely, refreshingly ordinary saint. He is not after his own glory, but the glory of God. Our Psalm response describes people like St. Bartholomew fittingly: “Your friends tell the glory of your kingship, Lord.”

Our calling is like that of St. Bartholomew, Blessed Mother Teresa, all the Apostles and saints: To point to and to point one another toward “the glory of the Lord.” Our calling is to “do ordinary things extraordinarily well.”

Homily for Sunday, 21 August 2016

21st Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Isaiah 66:18-21; Psalm 117:1, 2; Hebrews 12:5-7, 11-13; Luke 13:22-30

This homily was given at St. Joseph’s College, Edmonton, AB, Canada.

Is it not easy to admire the candour of the person in the crowd who asks Jesus in our Gospel reading today, “Lord, will only a few be saved”? How many of us have asked or at least thought similar questions?

Today’s Gospel reading is part of a section of loosely-connected sayings of Jesus in Luke’s Gospel on the Kingdom of God. And Jesus never quite answers the question of the person in the crowd, “Lord, will only a few be saved”? Instead, Jesus gives us three somewhat unclear, inconsistent images of God’s Kingdom: “The narrow door,” the locked door, and the great banquet at which “Abraham and Isaac and Jacob and all the prophets” are joined by “people… from east and west” and “from north and south.” The images of the narrow door and the locked door suggest that, yes, it is likely that “only a few” will “be saved.” But the third image of God’s Kingdom, the banquet scene, suggests that more than “only a few” will “be saved.” Yet, here again, Jesus says that many, even among the people who have followed him from village to village, will find themselves “thrown out” of the great banquet. And so does it not seem that to “be saved” will be difficult for us?

In light of these three images of God’s Kingdom, it would be difficult to fault any of us for thinking this way; for asking questions like, “Lord, will only a few be saved”? To take the harsh edge off of Jesus’ parables of God’s Kingdom, we might understand Jesus as drawing a line between those who were for and those who were against his message. Jesus’ images of the entrance to God’s Kingdom as a “narrow door” that would eventually be locked, and of God’s Kingdom itself as an exclusive banquet, were directed especially at the the religious and political elites of Jesus’ day. Many of these elites were not acting with justice; were not living in an upright way. They were oppressing and excluding the very people they were supposed to be helping; making sure they had the basic necessities of life; leading toward God and toward salvation by their own teaching and example. These were the people who would arrive at the Kingdom of God before a locked door, not be able to enter “through the narrow door,” or be “thrown out” of the banquet. And those least expected to enter the Kingdom of God would enter ahead of those who would have expected to enter first: “Indeed, some are last who will be first, and some are first who will be last.”

Nowadays, who are the people we would name among the “first” to enter God’s Kingdom; to “be saved”? Who are among the “last,” or those who will not enter the Kingdom of God at all? Part of our answer to who is “first” is easy. Especially as good Catholics, we might answer, “the saints.” But even the named (canonized) saints, those we recognize officially as in heaven; experiencing eternal life, are far from the total number of people already in heaven; already saved. And people who are not Catholic or who are not Christian are not necessarily to be counted among the “last” or those who will be excluded from salvation. We cannot even be sure that people who have done great evil will not ultimately be saved. And so to answer the question of who “will be last” or who will not be saved is even more difficult than to answer who “will be first.” In fact for us to answer either question is impossible.

“Lord, will only a few be saved”? We cannot answer this question. And Jesus does not give us the answer. We can answer, faithfully to our Christian tradition, that God wills everybody to be saved, but this is as much as we may know and believe. Our Church names a few of the many, mostly anonymous, saints through the ages, and does not place anybody in particular in hell, for good reason.

But can it still not be tempting for us to speculate on who might be saved; on which actions or choices might place a person definitively beyond salvation? Have any of us ever been asked a question like, “Have you been saved”? I have been asked this question a few times, by well-meaning Christians. Questions like this tempt me to make a snarky reply like, “I don’t know. Have you”? This is when I believe most deeply that biting one’s tongue should be added as the eighth corporal work of mercy!

Humour aside, I think that to make our salvation out to be an individual pursuit like this (“Have you been saved”?) or to become otherwise obsessed with salvation, with whether we or anybody else “will be first” or “last,” is dangerous. What do I mean by this? If and when we become obsessed with salvation and make it individualistic, about whether I will be saved, we neglect key aspects of salvation.

First, our salvation is God’s gift of grace to us; God’s choice, not ours. This is not to say that our works; our words and our actions do not matter to God. Our second reading, from the letter to the Hebrews, calls us to accept with humility “the discipline of the Lord.” Moral accountability is vital to our salvation. Are we yielding “the peaceful fruit of righteousness” by the way we live? Are we working in some way for peace and justice in our world; our nation; our communities; our households; our Church? Without concrete works (words and actions) that strengthen our relationship with God and with one another; without works that show the Kingdom of God dwelling within our world here and now, salvation becomes an empty obsession with a distant reality.

Second, the key word in all this is “we.” Salvation, building the Kingdom of God here and now so that we might inherit it in its fullness by the end of time, is not an individual but a communal, relational effort. This is the message of the prophet Isaiah we hear in our first reading today. Isaiah encourages the people of Israel to return to their homeland after a long exile in Babylon. But God, speaking through Isaiah, not only calls individuals, or only the people of Israel, home. No, God says through Isaiah, “I am coming to gather all nations and tongues, and they shall come and see my glory.” The message is the same in Luke’s Gospel, in Jesus’ sayings about the Kingdom of God. Who will be present at the great banquet of God’s Kingdom? Jesus says that “Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and all the prophets,” and then “people from east and west [and] from north and south” will be at this great feast. All will celebrate together not their own glory but the glory of God; the fullness of relationship with God and communion with one another.

“Lord, will only a few be saved”? Perhaps, yes, “only a few,” if any, will be saved if we try to be saved as individuals, alone, before God. But I dare say that this is not what God wants of us. God wants all of us; all of creation to be saved. God is gathering “all nations and tongues” together to “see [God’s] glory.” And God has given us signs here, now on earth, of the future fullness of God’s Kingdom. The greatest of these signs, of these sacraments, is this Eucharist we celebrate; our communion in God and in one another. Salvation is not distant reality, but starts right here, not for a select few but for all of us.

“Lord, will only a few be saved”? “Will only a few” be able to “enter through the narrow door” before it is locked? Not if we work and if we entrust ourselves to God’s saving grace and mercy together…

Homily for Wednesday, 24 December 2014– Nativity of the Lord (Anticipated, Mass with Children)

Readings of the day: Isaiah 9:1-6; Psalm 96:1-2, 2-3, 11-12, 13; Titus 2:11-14; Luke 2:1-14

[An angel enters the church, looking for his halo.] Halo? Has anybody seen my halo? [Somebody from the congregation gives the angel a fibre-optic Mohawk hairpiece.] Cool hairdo! But it’s not the halo I’m looking for. 

[Another parishioner finds the halo and gives it to the angel, who says to the parishioner with his halo:] Great! You’re the best! How about I ask God to take some time off of purgatory for you?

…Oh, no! My halo is bent and tarnished! That was a long fall from heaven. And my wings: Has anybody seen my wings? [The angel gasps.] I have no wings! How will I get back up to heaven without my wings? This is the last time I try skydiving! But wait: All is not lost. I see a full house of people here tonight, and lots of children. How wonderful! Let’s have all the children come up…

The sign outside says, “St. Kateri, St. Margaret Mary.” It’s close enough to heaven, I guess. Whoa! I’m exhausted. I need to sit down! Thank you to whomever left this chair here at the front of the church. [The angel sits in the chair.]

That’s much better! Now, just before I jumped from heaven, which was clearly a bad idea, God was speaking to us angels about this great plan that God had for all of us; for the earth; for the whole universe.

[God, voiced by choir member:] I warned you not to jump from heaven. I’ll send you a new halo and wings once St. Joseph is finished building them. He’s a bit busy with a baby in Bethlehem right now, so he’ll be a while. You also have a big bill waiting for you from A Wing and a Prayer Angel Outfitters when you get back to heaven!

[Angel:] Yes, I know. Sorry, God. Anyway, God had this great plan to save the world. And it involved this child. Now, I have a question for all the children here at St. Kateri: Who is this child God sent to save the world?

[Once the children answer, “Jesus” or “Christ the Lord,” etc…] That’s right! Well done! Note to self: These St. Kateri children are very smart. I need to ask them harder questions… One: No more jumping from heaven, and two: Ask the children harder questions.

And so God had this great plan to save the world: Send a child named Jesus to earth. Now is Jesus an angel? Is Jesus a big strong hero, like a Ninja Turtle or Superman? [No.] Hmm… Is Jesus… the Son of God? [Yes.] Good… I was just making sure we knew this.

All the angels in heaven were thinking, before God said to us that he would send his own Son, that maybe God would send one of us angels to save the world. But did God send an angel? [No.] Then we thought he might send one of the child saints from heaven. There are quite a few children who are saints up there in heaven: St. Agnes, with her little lamb; St. Joan of Arc, who saved France (the English are still mad about that); St. Stanislaus (I hear there’s a church near here named after him. He’s a great kid, all the way from Poland). There are the Holy Innocents. And all of us might be saints someday…

But did God choose any of these children to save the world? No, he chose to send his own Son, Jesus. Did God send Jesus as a grown-up? [No.] So how did God send Jesus? God sent Jesus to us as a little baby all bundled up and lying in a manger.

Now, can anybody here see any problems with God sending the Savior of our world as a little baby in a manger? I can. Animals like horses, cattle, and oxen eat hay out of mangers. And so wouldn’t you think that a manger might be a bit stinky? But [the angel sighs] Mary and Joseph tried and tried to find an inn to have their baby in Bethlehem. But could they find room at the inn? [No.] “So, a manger it will have to be,” Mary and Joseph said. And Jesus was born this morning in a manger, seven pounds, eight ounces. The Blessed Mother and baby are doing fine. And, you know, being born in a manger isn’t too bad. At least, so I hear, the baby Jesus is nice and warm.

And so this is how God saved the world, by sending us his infant Son, Jesus Christ, “in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”

[God:] Hello, this is God. You have to love those St. Kateri children!

[Angel:] Yes indeed. Aren’t they wonderful? …And so into the story of how you saved the world!

[God:] Listen: Your new wings are ready. St. Joseph did some incredibly fast cribside carpentry while the Virgin Mary was cuddling our Son to sleep tonight. And, get this: St. Joseph will give you your new wings absolutely free as a special Christmas offer… Some assembly required. Flight lessons and battery pack not included. I only have one request: That you proclaim to the people of St. Kateri my message of Christmas joy. It’s the one at the end of the Gospel reading for the Mass tonight. You have the script. Ask the children to say it with you to the people of St. Kateri Parish. See you in heaven soon. Bye.

[Angel:] Great! Thank you, God! Thank you, St. Joseph! I promise never to jump out of heaven again. I’ve got free wings! No, not the Buffalo wings that are famous from around here; no, real angel wings!

Now, children, I need your help. But first, I need to find my script... Oh, no! Where’s my script? Has anybody seen my script? [A child gives the script to the angel.] Thank you so much!

Hmm… So here’s the Christmas message that God wants us to say to the people of St. Kateri. Are you ready to say it nice and loud? Repeat after me: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

And that is the story of how God saved the world through Jesus, his Son.