Homily for Saturday, 27 June 2015– Memorial of St. Cyril of Alexandria

Optional Memorial: Our Lady's Saturday

Saturday of the 12th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Genesis 18:1-15; Responsorial Canticle: Luke 1:46-47. 48-49, 50, 53, 54-55; Matthew 8:15-17

Have you ever heard somebody laugh or be joyful when laughter or joy is unexpected? Or have you laughed or been joyful yourself in an unexpected situation? I can think of many situations in ministry when I have encountered joy and even laughter when it has been unexpected: Amid severe illness or that of a loved one, or when people share with me joyful moments they had with their loved ones who have recently passed away.

We know the healing effects laughter; a joyful spirit; smiling can have, even when we are not feeling very joyful: Relaxation; reduced heart rate and blood pressure, and so on… And laughter and joy have their place in our Scriptures.

Sarah despairs of ever conceiving a child with Abraham, despite God’s repeated promises to them of descendants. Who could blame Sarah for some despair? And so, in her despair (and with it some disbelief), Sarah laughs... at God. When I hear this story, I think of it as Biblical permission to laugh in unexpected, even difficult situations, and even to laugh at God. To laugh at God may not always be inappropriate or irreverent.

Here, God seems to reward Sarah and Abraham for finding comic relief at God’s expense. Of course, God returns Sarah’s humor even as God keeps his promise to grant her and Abraham a child. This child is named Isaac, Hebrew for “he laughs.” And so God gets the last laugh at Sarah and Abraham!

Sarah tries to deny her laughter at God today, but later in the Book of Genesis she will look back on her longing for a child with gratitude for her son Isaac, “he laughs.” “God has given me cause to laugh,” Sarah will say, “and all who hear it will laugh with me.”

The situation in our Gospel reading at first seems to be no laughing matter. A Roman centurion approaches Jesus and says, “Lord, my servant is lying at home paralyzed, suffering dreadfully.” Jesus immediately promises, and delivers on his promise, to heal the centurion’s servant: “I will come and cure him.” But before this Jesus greatly praises the centurion’s faith, which is greater than anybody “in Israel”; the centurion’s faith we echo every time we celebrate our Eucharist: “Lord, I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof. Only say the word and my servant shall be healed.”

What is so great about the centurion’s faith? Could it be his humility; his feeling of unworthiness to have the Lord “enter under” his “roof”? Could it have been his trust that Jesus could cure his beloved servant, even though the centurion was not of Jesus’ Jewish faith? Could it have been the centurion’s joyful spirit, even in the face of his servant’s illness? Could it have been all of the above?

Imagine the centurion’s joy, even though Matthew’s Gospel says nothing about how the centurion responded to Jesus’ healing of his beloved servant! The centurion’s hidden joy and Sarah’s open laughter invite us to the same joy; the same humble yet joyful faith. Our faith leaves us ample room for humor. I believe humor is even essential to a healthy life of faith. And sometimes, even amid the unexpected; even difficult situations, our faith leaves us room to laugh, even at God!

Homily for Monday, 8 June 2015– Ferial

Monday of the 10th week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: 2 Corinthians 1:1-7;  Psalm 34:2-3, 4-5, 6-7, 8-9; Matthew 5:1-12

Have you ever had the need to correct another person, or to speak out or write against a cultural tendency that is wrong or even sinful? If you have ever had to correct; criticize; confront another or a society’s ills, how often do we try to praise the person or society for right actions and tendencies before we offer our criticism?

I imagine St. Paul doing this at the beginning of his Second Letter to the Corinthians, which we hear today as our first reading. 2 Corinthians is often called St. Paul’s “angry letter” or is thought to be the “tearful letter” of which St. Paul speaks in 1 Corinthians. No early Christian community gave St. Paul as much trouble; tried his patience as much as the church of Corinth, in what is now Greece.

What made Corinth so troublesome to St. Paul? Corinth was ideally situated on the Mediterranean; a city with two ports. Because of this Corinth became very wealthy in a short time, at about the same time St. Paul brought the Christian faith there. Many Corinthians thought their city; their culture to be superior, even invincible. Who was this Jesus whom St. Paul preached to challenge their ways of living? Many in Corinth in Paul’s time were smug and involved in all kinds of immorality because their wealth could buy it or buy their way out of trouble.

But today we do not hear St. Paul criticize these Corinthians. Instead, he begins his Second Letter to the Corinthians with a lengthy encouragement of those trying to keep the faith in Jesus Christ that Paul has taught them. St. Paul especially encourages “those who are in any affliction.” He identifies; empathizes with their affliction and also having been encouraged in his moments of affliction; suffering.

What were the sources of “affliction” of the Corinthians whom St. Paul encourages in these first words of his letter to them? Were they external pressures: The threat of persecution under the Roman Empire or anybody opposed to the Christian faith, perhaps? The causes of suffering for faithful Corinthian Christians could also have been internal pressures to conform to the prevailing culture. They could have been pressures toward hoarding of wealth; toward excessive pleasures; toward disregard for the dignity of the human body more than toward faithfulness to Christ and his Gospel.

What are sources of “affliction” in our world; our country; our families today? Who is most in need of our “encouragement”? Could these people often be the same people in need of our firm challenge, even occasional criticism?

Drawing upon St. Paul, could our words of correction; criticism; our “angry” or “tearful letters” and words not more often be preceded by encouragement? To our children and grandchildren who no longer attend Mass: What is drawing them away from regular worship? Do they need criticism, or do they first need somebody from among us to hear them; to encourage them in ways they are living rightly? What are underlying afflictions of those who abuse their bodies with alcohol; drugs; sex? What about the poor among us?

St. Paul’s words to the Corinthians today invite us to be mindful of people who need our encouragement amid their afflictions that we may not even see.

Homily for Monday, 1 June 2015‒ Memorial of St. Justin Martyr

Monday of the 9th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Tobit 1:3, 2:1a-8; Psalm 112:1b-2, 3b-4, 5-6; Mark 12:1-12

This Mass was offered in memory of my maternal grandmother, Simone Salt. May she rest in peace.

Why do good people suffer? This question does not have an easy answer, even for us as people of faith.

Today we celebrate the feast of St. Justin, a martyr of Rome almost two hundred years before the Roman Empire tolerated Christianity and then made it its official religion. St. Justin’s goal in his teaching and beautiful writings was to convince people of other faiths (Jews and pagans alike) of the truth of the Christian faith; that Christ is the Son of God by pointing to the way Christians lived. His way of teaching by conversation is called the “moral apology” or defense of the moral rightness of Christian faith. St. Justin, a good and faithful man, a saint, suffered greatly for his gentle way of teaching and was eventually killed for his faith.

Our opening prayer of today’s Mass speaks of “the folly of the Cross” that “wondrously taught St. Justin the Martyr the surpassing knowledge of Jesus Christ.” Why do good people like St. Justin suffer? Why are there more martyrs within the last century than in all previous centuries of Christian history combined?

Might we point to questions like these and wonder at the folly of when good people suffer? These questions have no easy answers. Our readings today speak to this same question. We are introduced to Tobit, who has been exiled to Nineveh, in our first reading today. Tobit searches for one of his own people who has been murdered, so that he can give him a dignified burial.

Would we not think that Tobit’s profound act of mercy would be praised? But instead Tobit is mocked both by the Ninevites and by his own people of Israel. To contact the dead physically would bring Tobit ritual impurity. Worse yet, his own life is endangered because he dares to bury a person who has been murdered. Why do good people like Tobit suffer?

Jesus’ parable of the tenants in our Gospel reading is the ultimate example of a good person experiencing suffering. After sending several servants into a vineyard and seeing them mistreated by the vineyard’s tenants, the vineyard owner sends in his own son. Instead of respecting the vineyard owner’s son as hoped, they plot to kill him and seize the inheritance!

We know that, in Jesus’ parable, God is the vineyard owner. Jesus is the innocent Son who is killed. Why does the innocent Son, Jesus, suffer? The Swiss Reformed theologian Karl Barth once said that the only way to make sense of suffering by innocent people is that Christ suffered and died for us. And yet why do some experience extreme poverty? Why are so many in our world threatened and killed for their faith? Why natural disasters that claim many lives? Why do young children experience terrible illnesses, and their families who care for them suffer also? Why did my grandmother, Simone, for whom we pray in this Mass, suffer for years in near-silence with dementia?

We have no easy answers. But God’s promise is that, by uniting ourselves to the “folly of” Christ’s Cross, our suffering is made temporary. We gain “surpassing knowledge” of Christ’s suffering for us. And we who share in Christ’s suffering will also have a share in his resurrection.

Homily for Friday, 15 May 2015– Friday of the Sixth Week of Easter

Readings of the day: Acts 18:9-18; Psalm 47:2-3, 4-5, 6-7; John 16:20-23

Have any of us noticed how, in these last few days of the Easter season, especially now between the Solemnity of the Lord’s Ascension and Pentecost (the Sunday after next), our daily readings have become dark; troubling?

Today the Acts of the Apostles speaks of Paul being brought once again to trial, this time before Gallio, the Roman “proconsul of Achaia” in Corinth. Is our Gospel reading today not especially ominous? Jesus speaks of his upcoming death, a painful experience for both him and for his disciples: “Amen, amen, I say to you, you will weep and mourn, while the world rejoices.”

Would we not think that, during the Easter season, our readings would be somewhat more uplifting? Why must we hear amid such a joyful season of these events of deep pain and suffering: Apostles like Paul arrested, facing trial and eventual death for their faith; Jesus preparing his disciples for his own death?

Our readings, I think, remind us that we live in an “in-between” time; a time of transition. We live in a time that is an intermingling of joy and sorrow; of order and chaos; of new life and death. In our Church’s liturgical year, we are between Jesus’ Ascension into heaven, a joyful event but also a kind of death; joy mingled with sorrow because Jesus is no longer here on earth, and Pentecost, the Holy Spirit’s descent upon the Apostles and the birth of the Church. Each of us is between birth and death.

Our baptism marks both death and resurrection in Christ, again sorrow and joy mingled together. Jesus speaks of the experience of childbirth. Anyone who has brought a child into the world or witnessed a birth: Can you not relate to the intermingling of pain and joy of which Jesus speaks? The events of our world today are often troubling: natural and human-made disaster; disease; war; extremism… And yet we see signs of hope.

How many of us have experienced the loss of a loved one and yet remember forever with fondness and joy the goodness of your loved one? How many of us have experienced severe illness or that of a loved one, and yet amid illness perhaps experienced perseverance with joy by the sick person and those who care for her or him?

In these and many more ways, we experience an in-between time; joy intermingled with sorrow; life with death; wellness with illness; order with chaos. And in this in-between time, our readings today encourage us. “Do not be afraid,” Paul hears and we hear in Acts. “You will grieve, but your grief will become joy,” Jesus says in John’s Gospel, “so you… are now in anguish. But I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy away from you.”

Take courage; “do not be afraid.” This is not to deny suffering; pain; sorrow; even death. These are part of the in-between time we are living. But they are temporary. Christ will reign victorious over all these realities. This is our hope; our reason, in this in-between time, to be here; to continue to persevere in faith; to live with joy. And “no one will take [our] joy away from” us. 

Homily for Wednesday, 22 April 2015– Wednesday of the Third Week of Easter

Readings of the day: Acts 8:1b-8; Psalm 66:1-3a, 4-5, 6-7a; John 6:35-40

Has anybody ever experienced somebody who is joyful, even when this person is experiencing great suffering or distress?

Ever since my first time serving as a Basilian in Cali, Colombia, seven years ago, the Easter season has brought to my mind many experiences there of people who showed great joy amid the suffering and distress of deep poverty. My first Palm Sunday in Colombia was especially moving. We Basilians were carrying bundles of palm branches we had cut through the poorest neighborhood of the parish we serve in Cali. Along the way, children left their shelters (often made of scrap metal or even cardboard) three; four; five; six at a time to embrace us and greet us with bright smiles. These children showed so much joy and gratitude for the service of the Basilians in their neighbourhood; their parish. This remains one of my most moving moments of my life as a Basilian: Great joy amid such great distress; suffering; poverty!

I see similar joy amid suffering and distress when I minister with the poor in our own inner city of Rochester: House of Mercy, Bethany House with the Sisters of St. Joseph… On Easter Sunday at Sanctuary Village, a tent city relocated to a loading dock, over one hundred fifty people, most homeless, joined us in worship with lively song to greet our risen Lord. How beautiful, this joy amid homelessness; poverty; hunger! I also see this joy amid suffering when I visit the sick in hospitals and homes; when I anoint the sick with blessed oil.

This joy amid suffering; distress; persecution is the experience of the people in our first reading today, from the Acts of the Apostles. The persecution led by Saul (who would later be converted and become the great St. Paul) had “scattered” all but the Apostles “throughout the countryside of Judea and Samaria.” Facing persecution, the Apostles do not give up their ministry. We hear in Acts especially of the ministry of the Apostle Philip: Preaching, healing the sick and those with “unclean spirits.” And we hear of how the people responded to Philip’s ministry in Samaria: “There was great joy in that city.”

The people of Samaria recognized the presence of Christ risen in the Apostles, even amid great suffering; distress; persecution. They recognized and hoped in the presence of the Lord who says in John’s Gospel to us today: “I am the bread of life… This is the will of my Father, that everyone who sees the Son and believes in him may have eternal life, and I shall raise him on the last day.” They recognized and hoped in the signs of eternal life that were already with them in the Apostles’ loving service. Our Psalm response today was the song of these people, even amid their suffering: “Let all the earth cry out to God with joy”!

And the risen Christ invites us to make this song our own, by serving especially amid those who suffer; who are sick; dying; homeless; displaced; persecuted. Many of us know already, I am confident, how, when we serve with joy, we receive joy, even from people who suffer; people in distress; people whose only gift (but what a gift!) to us is joy.

Homily for Friday, 27 March 2015‒ Friday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Readings of the day: Jeremiah 20:10-13; Psalm 18:2-3a, 3bc-4, 5-6, 7; John 10:31-42

Who here has ever felt stressed, or even distressed? What causes our stress or even distress? Perhaps our distress is from the loss of a loved one; the loss of employment; living in poverty; severe or terminal illness or that of a loved one; our own guilt; strife in our families and marriages; unrest in the world; our children or grandchildren not attending Mass; not being baptized or receiving the other sacraments…

As a priest I am privileged to hear of our many joys as people of faith. I also hear much of what brings us stress and distress. Often, when people speak to me of their stress and distress, I also sense a kind of guilt, especially if somebody’s stress or distress is accompanied by anger; even more if this person is angry at God.

Holy Week begins in just two days. Increasingly in our readings at Mass we hear of stress and distress of the people in our Scriptures. This will continue and intensify as we journey through Holy Week next week. Today the prophet Jeremiah is being denounced; terrorized; betrayed even by the people he once counted as friends. Jesus is in danger of being stoned to death for claiming (rightly) to be God. And the author of our Psalm today is also distressed by his “enemies.”

But what do Jeremiah, Jesus, the Psalmist, and we have in common? I think we have in common the invitation to be honest with one another and with God. If we are joyful, speak of our joy to one another; pray in joy and thanksgiving to God. If we are stressed or distressed, find an outlet for this stress or distress, too: A trusted friend; a family member; a priest; God. But might some of us be thinking: “Nobody likes a complainer? Is it ever right to complain to God in prayer; to be angry with God?”

Over the past several days, even weeks, I have reminded a few people, even myself sometimes, of the value of an effective complaint! Well over half of the Psalms are psalms of lament. The prophets complain often; we hear one of Jeremiah’s bitter laments today. As Jesus hangs on the cross (we will hear this on Palm Sunday, this weekend), he speaks the words of Psalm 22, one of the deepest laments in all of Scripture: “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me”?

And so I think it is sometimes appropriate, even to be encouraged, to complain, even to God. Are we not a culture averse to complaining? One of my favorite books about this is Walter Bruggemann’s The Costly Loss of Lament. What a costly loss indeed if we lose the trust in God and in one another necessary to complain effectively when we need to do so!

I am convinced that a good lament arises from trust in one another; trust in God. Listen again to our Psalm response today, so trusting in God’s deliverance from distress: “In my distress I called upon the LORD, and he answered me.”

Yes, lament when necessary in times of distress. Raise your joys and your distress to God, as an act of honesty; an act of trust in one another and in our God.

Homily for Monday, 16 March 2015‒ Monday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Readings of the day: Isaiah 65:17-21; Psalm 30:2, 4, 5-6, 11-12a, 13b; John 4:43-54

Are not the images in our first reading today, from the prophet Isaiah, fantastic? At this point in Isaiah, the people of Israel are returning to Jerusalem from Babylon. In reality Jerusalem lay in ruins, but the point of this ending of the Book of Isaiah is to give the people the courage necessary to return and to rebuild the city.

Imagine, Isaiah says to the people: God is “about to create” something wonderful out of the ruins of Jerusalem; not only to return Jerusalem to its former greatness but to “create new heavens and a new earth”! In this kind of utopia there will be never-before-experienced “rejoicing and happiness.” “I will create Jerusalem to be a joy and its people to be a delight,” God says through Isaiah. There will no longer be “weeping… crying”; no longer suffering. All this new city’s people will live a full lifespan and be prosperous beyond what they ever were before.

The difficulty for me, and likely for the people of Jerusalem of Isaiah’s time or any time, is that all this sounds a bit too fantastic to be true. Look around even this parish: Do not most if not all of us know somebody who has suffered? Do we not know good people who have suffered through no fault of their own: People who have lost loved ones; people who are unemployed; who are poor; people suffering from severe, even terminal, illnesses; children and their families who suffer? Where is God in this suffering? Where is the fulfillment of prophecies like that of Isaiah: the creation of “new heavens and a new earth”?

This problem of suffering in our world can lead and has led many to question even God’s existence. Do we know of somebody who looks for a sign; a miracle from God, perhaps lessening of or deliverance from suffering, to support their faith in God?

Through his encounter with the royal official’s son in today’s Gospel reading from John, Jesus cautions us not to seek “signs and wonders” as the first means to support our faith. God is capable of working through the fantastic; the miraculous, but this is not God’s usual way of acting in our world.

There is at least one regular exception to this rule: our Eucharist. Every time we celebrate Mass, we witness a miracle before our very eyes. The gifts of bread and wine we bring to the altar are transformed into the body and blood of Christ! But even this happens without fanfare; humbly; prayerfully; silently. This is how God usually acts in our world.

In John’s Gospel, after confirming the royal official’s faith, Jesus works one of his great signs: The healing of the royal official’s son. But Jesus brings the boy back from the brink of death not with fanfare, but humbly; prayerfully; with the simple words to the royal official: “You may go; your son will live.”

God has redeemed us and our world through Jesus Christ. God is still working to save us; to free us from suffering and death, usually without fanfare; humbly; prayerfully; silently creating “new heavens and a new earth.” We will live. This is how God acts in our world.