Homily for Sunday, 2 January 2022– The Epiphany of the Lord

Readings of the day: Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 72:1-2, 7-8, 10-11, 12-13; Ephesians 3:2-3a, 5-6; Matthew 2:1-12

This is maybe no more than simple coincidence, but it seems to me that, over the last few years, at around this time of year, space exploration has been in the news. Three years ago, on January 1, 2019, the New Horizons space probe made a fly-by of a small, snowman-shaped object in the Kuiper Belt, outside the orbit of Neptune. This object was eventually named Arrokoth after the word for “cloud” in the Powhatan language once spoken by the Indigenous people of the area around Johns Hopkins University in Maryland, where Arrokoth was discovered. Arrokoth became the farthest object from Earth ever visited by a spacecraft.

And then, just a few days ago, on Christmas Day 2021, we may have heard news of the launch of the James Webb Space Telescope from the Guiana Space Centre in Kourou, French Guiana. The James Webb Space Telescope will be able to observe deeper into space and farther into the infrared light spectrum (invisible to the human eye) than the famous Hubble Space Telescope, which discovered Arrokoth.

I think we can say that there is a natural human fascination with what is beyond our Earth: The heavens; the stars; the universe’s age and continuous expansion; or even whether there is intelligent life beyond Earth. And our fascination with this beyond pre-dates even the first, most rudimentary scientific instruments to aid our space observation, never mind Hubble or the James Webb telescopes. Our fascination with the beyond dates back to ancient times.

Our Gospel account of the Epiphany of our Lord Jesus and the main figures in this event is familiar to us. Matthew’s Gospel presents us with magi or “wise men from the East” who were drawn to Bethlehem by a star to pay homage to the newborn Messiah, Jesus. We know little about these “wise men from the East,” from Matthew or any other source, besides the gifts they brought to honour Jesus, and that they returned from honouring Jesus “to their own country by another road” to avoid the ill-intentioned Herod. The meaning of the gifts of the magi has been the focus of theological reflection: Gold is most often the gift for somebody royal, so the magi reveal the newborn Jesus as somehow a king. Frankincense is associated with prayer—incense, with its pleasing smell, rises to heaven; to God—so the magi reveal this child as somehow God. And myrrh is a burial spice, so the magi reveal Jesus as one who, although he is God and a king, has submitted himself to every aspect of our humanity, including our experiences of suffering and death.

I use the word “reveal”—by their gifts the magi reveal the newborn Jesus to our world as a king, as God, and as the one who will die to save us—because this is what our celebration today is about: Epiphany is a Greek word that means “making known” or “revelation.”

This Epiphany; this revelation of our God born into our world as fully human is to all peoples and nations. This Epiphany we celebrate is truly universal. But it begins with these “wise men from the East.” Who were these “wise men from the East”? Were they, as some have speculated, Zoroastrian astrologers from Persia who drew spiritual meaning from the movements of the stars? Were there three wise men—something about which Matthew’s Gospel is not clear; Matthew only says that they brought three gifts? All of this is hard to say.

We know about these “wise men from the East,” though, that something—a star—drew their attention toward the west. We know that the Epiphany of our Lord to all peoples; all nations; to the universe God created began with a very simple, yet profound act: These “wise men from the East” looked up. They looked up at the heavens with some kind of awe. And their awe, whether at the beauty of the heavens or the unusual appearance of that star to the west, led them to set off from their homeland. Their awe led them to set off toward a land that may well have been unknown to them.

The awe of these “wise men from the East”; their simple act of looking up, led them to discern that some event had taken place that had changed the world. Somehow, in the course of their journey, they discerned that a child had been born, one who was being called “king of the Jews.” Who had told them this, somewhere between their homeland and Jerusalem? And why were the magi interested in a Jewish baby, since they were probably not Jews? How did they know what gifts to bring the newborn Jesus, or the meaning of these gifts? Again, all this is hard to say.

But, most vital to the encounter the magi would have with the Christ child; most vital to the revelation of Jesus of Nazareth to the whole created universe as fully God and fully human (fully inscribed in God’s creation; his divinity clothed in created matter), is the starting point of this Epiphany encounter: The magi looked up with awe.

When was the last time we looked up; when we looked beyond ourselves with simple, profound awe? Maybe I have an advantage (at least I think I do, and I thank God for this) over many people, with some background in biology and a lively interest in the sciences; in any case my interest in science and what this means for us as people of faith leads me to look up and outward with awe almost constantly. God has created for us truly a beautiful world; a beautiful universe. And I am in awe, constantly, that our God (at least the God in whom I believe and I think our Catholic Church believes, most fundamentally) would create for us a world at the same time intelligible to our human senses and minds, but that would push us to want to discover more of what we still do not know.

In our time, we have sophisticated scientific instruments, like infrared telescopes, to help in our discovery of what we still do not know about our universe. We have the gift of hindsight: Of past events; past scientific observations affirmed as fact (or nearly) by repeatedly producing the same results. We have the gift of hindsight that the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ in Bethlehem is now over two thousand years past. Even Matthew’s Gospel today interprets the events of the Lord’s Epiphany based on hindsight. Matthew interprets these events based on Israel’s prophets who lived before him: “For so it has been written by the Prophet [in this case Micah]: ‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means the least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.’”

We can be fairly sure that Israel’s prophets themselves relied on hindsight; on previous experience of Israel’s relationship with God. Micah’s prophecy that Matthew’s Gospel interprets in light of the Epiphany of our Lord (again, I think we can be sure) did not originally foresee God entering our world as a human baby in Bethlehem a few centuries after the prophet’s lifetime. Micah, like all Israel’s prophets, was interpreting events of his present in light of Israel’s past relationship with God. Even Isaiah, in the reading we hear today, interprets his and Israel’s present in light of God’s past relationship with God’s people. Israel of Biblical times was almost persistently in turmoil; in exile; under occupation. The prophets strove to remind Israel that they had (perhaps miraculously) survived as God’s people; as a nation to that point in history, and that whatever affliction they were facing would pass, if they trusted in God. This is why Isaiah is able to remind his people in past tense, “Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you”!

Once again, St. Paul, in his letter to the Ephesians, had and used his gift of hindsight. “The mystery” of God made human, St. Paul says, “was made known to me by revelation.” St. Paul is able to interpret, from this past revelation—a past Epiphany—that God was in the process of revealing something new; something still more universal: “The Gentiles have become fellow heirs, members of the same body” of Christ, through God becoming human in the person of Jesus.

St. Paul, like Isaiah, Micah, and all Israel’s prophets; like Matthew and all the Gospels, invite us to make use of our gift of hindsight. It, too, is from God: The gift of discerning the hand of God in past events and applying this discernment to our present. But this hindsight; this discernment must lead us to something more. If it does not, our hindsight can be misused. Hindsight alone can close us in on ourselves. Hindsight alone can lead us to dwell on our experiences of evil; our experiences of suffering; our experiences that can lead us to doubt God’s hand in the creation and sustenance of our universe; our world and all things; all life in it. With hindsight alone, we could never set out, as the “wise men from the East” did, to encounter God’s Epiphanies that change our world; that are saving and will save our world.

What must act along with hindsight? In a word, awe: This must act along with the gift of hindsight. With awe, then, may we look up and out beyond ourselves. May we bring not perhaps the gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh to greet our newborn God, King, and Saviour; but may we simply and profoundly bring our gifts of awe and thanksgiving to God for God’s creation and sustenance of creation; of us. As the magi did, we lay before our God revealed to our universe as one like us our gifts of awe and thanksgiving. And we return from this encounter with our God in human flesh—this universal Epiphany we celebrate today—with overwhelming joy.

Homily for Tuesday, 10 February 2015– Memorial of St. Scholastica

Tuesday of the 5th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Genesis 1:20-2:4a; Psalm 8:4-5, 6-7, 8-9; Mark 7:1-13

If we were to write a book or make a movie about our first reading today, could we not call it something like, “God Saw How Good it Was: Part 2”? Yesterday we heard Part 1, the first four days of creation in Genesis 1, and today we hear the last three days of the Genesis 1 creation account.

“God saw how good it was,” Genesis repeats after each day of creation, the central and timeless truth of Genesis 1. But what does God create on the sixth day? God creates human beings “in his image… male and female.” God gives us great responsibility over the rest of God’s creation: “Be fertile and multiply. Fill the earth and subdue it,” that is, act with God’s goodness and loving care for creation, not abusively but in grateful service toward creation. “Have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and all the living things that move on the earth.”

And then, on the sixth day the repetitive words of Genesis change slightly. We hear that, when God had finished creating the universe; all its living beings; us, “God looked at everything he had made, and he found it very good.”

This leads me to ask a possibly controversial question of us this morning: Is it not perhaps arrogant of us to assume that we are the only beings in the universe who make God’s creation not only “good” but “very good”; the only beings in the universe capable of some kind of relationship and understanding of an infinitely loving and creative God?

I ask this question mainly because I just finished reading a wonderful book by a Jesuit brother and priest, Guy Consolmagno and Paul Mueller, astronomers at the Vatican Observatory in Tucson, Arizona. Their book, inspired by a question first raised at a General Audience by Pope Francis, is called, Would you Baptize an Extra-Terrestrial?

This assumes there are extra-terrestrials out there who would want to be baptized; that there are extra-terrestrials out there at all. I mean, there is no scientific proof that extra-terrestrial intelligent life exists, let alone with awareness of a loving creator God. There is no Biblical mention of extra-terrestrials either, unless, as my professor of Old Testament in the seminary used to joke, “They’re in the divinely-inspired footnotes”!

But still I ask, “What if”? As Guy Consolmagno, Paul Mueller, and Pope Francis have asked, what if we were to encounter aliens who exit a UFO, have pointy ears, bug eyes, and green skin like the ones in children’s drawings, or who look like ET from the movie; who, like us, have some awareness of relationship with a loving creator-God; who maybe speak in backward sentences like Yoda from Star Wars? Challenge our faith, would ET?

Challenge our faith… perhaps. But I hope we would be able to consider such a being, like any being or thing God has created, as even more evidence of timeless truths that go back to the Book of Genesis; to the beginning of our universe: God’s love is limitless. God’s love is creative. God looks upon all creation, known or yet unknown to us, and indeed it is “very good.”

Homily for Monday, 9 February 2015– Ferial

Monday of the 5th week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Genesis 1:1-19; Psalm 104:1-2a, 5-6, 10. 12, 24, 35c; Mark 6:53-56

What was the beginning of our universe, or the beginning of our earth, like? Was there ever a time before suffering; before death; before sin?

Our first reading today from Genesis responds to questions like these, but not in the same way science or philosophy would respond to these kinds of questions.

Let us go back to the beginning; I mean literally to the beginning of Genesis. “In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth,” the Book of Genesis starts, “the earth was a formless wasteland, and darkness covered the abyss, while a mighty wind,” God’s own creative Spirit, “swept over the waters.”

The creation stories in Genesis move from image to image to speak of the beauty and goodness of God’s creation. “God saw how good [it] was,” Genesis 1 repeats no fewer than six times, four in today’s first reading. Genesis’ goal is not to confirm scientific theories like the Big Bang or evolution. These theories may be right, or may be shown one day by science to be outdated.

Genesis points us to another, universal, transcendent truth: That what God created (the universe; the earth; animals and plants; the sea and the sky; us) is, intentionally on God’s part, good. And this good that God created can be observed by the humblest of human beings because we are made in God’s image and likeness. English philosopher Sir Francis Bacon once spoke of our ability to observe God’s goodness both in “the Book of God’s Word,” the Bible, and in “the Book of God’s works” (creation). We are capable of knowing and sensing God’s goodness through God’s creation and giving thanks for it. It does not take a scientist to give thanks to God although, as a microbiology lab technician before I became a Basilian, I often saw God’s awesome goodness in the microscopic creatures I studied.

“God saw how good it was.” We can see this in relationships with one another: Within our households, with friends, within our parish; across oceans and borders between countries and languages. We can see this when we selflessly help other people in need. We can see God’s goodness when we look up at the stars on a clear night. What marvelous expanse; what enormous goodness! We can see this in our beautiful town of Irondequoit and State of New York; the nature and activities that I occasionally get a chance to explore. We can see God’s goodness in the falling snow… Wait: The six inches of snow forecast yet to fall here today and tomorrow may be evidence of the effects of Original Sin (I kid. We will hear more about Original Sin and its effects in the daily readings later this week, though). Please be safe.

“God saw how good it was.” This is the truth of which Genesis 1 speaks to us: A truth that is universal; transcendent; timeless. “God saw how good it was,” and now and forever we can sense how good it is and give thanks to our God for his Word both of Scripture and of creation.

Homily for Thursday, 3 July 2014‒ Feast of Saint Thomas the Apostle

Readings of the day: Ephesians 2:19-22; Psalm 117:1bc-2; John 20:24-29

St. Thomas the Apostle, also named Didymus or “the twin” in our Gospel reading today, is often nicknamed “Doubting Thomas,” but how often do we think of Thomas not as “Doubting Thomas” but perhaps as “Believing Thomas” or even “Trusting Thomas”?

Is not Thomas a lot like us in our faith? We, like Thomas, like certainty; not being kept wondering about what we are to believe; what beliefs or teachings are essential to our Christian faith and which are not as essential, and so forth… In icons, Thomas is often depicted holding a square measure. Thomas is the scientific thinker: Everything measured; planned; certain. “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger into the nail marks and put my hand into his side, I will not believe,” Thomas says to his brother Apostles after Jesus’ resurrection.

Whenever I visit my parents’ home and walk into my father’s shop, the large square measure that hangs on Dad’s shop wall especially stands out to me. I am reminded of Thomas, one of my favorite Apostles. My father, a retired meteorologist, and I, a microbiology lab technologist before I was a Basilian, are scientific thinkers, much like St. Thomas whose icons show him holding a square measure. Dad and I have had many conversations about the need for certainty, particularly among Catholics of our more scientific mindset or among generations of us who came of age in a Church that, on the surface, was sure of itself; its teachings clear, memorable, and sometimes recitable by rote (the era of the Baltimore Catechism!).

Many of us thrive on the Church of the square measure; the Church whose certainty the Apostle Thomas sought: “Unless I see… I will not believe.” There is nothing wrong with this kind of faith; this kind of quest for certainty. In this way, many of us are as Thomas’ second name, Didymus, suggests, twins with Thomas. But if we are twins with the questioning Thomas; the Thomas who seeks certainty before he believes; the “Doubting Thomas,” we are also called to be twins with the “Believing Thomas”; the “Trusting Thomas.” We are called to be twins with the Apostle Thomas who puts his hands in the wounds of Christ. We are called to be twins with the Apostle Thomas who ultimately professes his faith in the Risen Christ in the presence of his brother Apostles: “My Lord and my God”!

The Thomas we remember on this feast day, then, is not so much the “Doubting Thomas” as the “Believing Thomas” or the “Trusting Thomas.” In our Prayer over the Offerings that we are about to hear as the bread and wine are brought to our altar, we pray that God may “keep safe [God’s] gifts in us as we honor the confession of the Apostle Saint Thomas.” We honor St. Thomas, depicted in icons with a square measure and, just as often, with a scroll, which stands for his confession of faith: “My Lord and my God”!

We are called to be twins in the spirit of Thomas. Indeed, we are called to be, like Thomas, a people of the square measure. But just as often we are called to be people of the scroll who, after St. Thomas, are unafraid even when we lack certainty; when we do not have all the answers, to confess our faith boldly and trustingly: “My Lord and my God”!

Homily for Thursday, 19 June 2014– Ferial

Thursday of the 11th week in Ordinary Time 

Readings of the day: Sirach 48:1-14; Psalm 97:1-2, 3-4, 5-6, 7; Matthew 6:7-15

Do any of us have a loved one, a relative, a colleague, or friend of whose accomplishments we are very proud?

Before I became a Basilian, I was a microbiology lab technician for three and a half years after graduating from college. One significant job I had in the lab was to teach co-op students who came to our lab from various universities in Western Canada basic lab techniques of industrial and environmental microbiology. I would also help to guide these students’ co-op term projects in the lab, proofread their co-op project reports, and critique their final oral presentations. Several students who worked in our lab could essentially work independently of me and the other technicians; their laboratory skills were often remarkable, and they would sometimes teach me as much as or more than I taught them.

Now, as a Basilian, I can say the same of our men in formation for religious life and priesthood; people with deep faith and spirituality who inspire me and teach me as much as or more than I teach or inspire them. These are people who have made me very proud; very grateful for the gifts of God being fostered through family members; friends; colleagues; people of St. Kateri Parish; my Basilian confrères.

The Book of Sirach, from which we hear today in our first reading, speaks of Elijah and of his successor prophet, Elisha. Sirach lists the impressive array of accomplishments of Elijah in great detail. Then, more briefly but just as strongly, Sirach emphasizes that Elisha was everything Elijah was and more: “Then Elisha, filled with the twofold portion of [Elijah’s] spirit, wrought many marvels by his mere word.”

Elijah was so great a prophet and so righteous that our Scriptures say that he was “enveloped in [a] whirlwind”; brought to heaven perhaps without having died, on a chariot of fire, in an impressive display of God’s power! And then Elisha received “a twofold portion” of the spirit of Elijah. Imagine a prophet twice as powerful as the amazing Elijah!

I imagine that, if Elijah were teaching Elisha the basics of prophecy; preparing his hand-picked and anointed successor to be able to prophesy on his own; proofreading and critiquing his end-of-term report, Elijah would have been extremely proud of Elisha.

And so we remember the people we have encountered of whom we have been very proud. We remember the people who, it would seem, have received a “twofold portion” of our spirit; who have received ultimately the Holy Spirit of God himself, the same Holy Spirit we have all received in baptism and confirmation, who through us works marvels beyond our imagination. And we are invited to pray in gratitude for God’s gifts in those people who make us very proud of what they have accomplished.