Homily for Thursday, 18 August 2016– Ferial

Thursday of the 20th week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Ezekiel 36:23-38; Psalm 51:12-13, 14-15, 18-19; Matthew 22:1-14

This homily was given at the chapel of Kateri House Women's Residence of St. Joseph's College, University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB, Canada.

Our Gospel reading today raises many questions for me: Why do the first slaves “invited to the wedding banquet” of the king decline the king’s invitation? Why do they not simply decline politely, but instead “make light of” the invitation, while some go so far as to mistreat and kill the king’s other slaves? Why is the king so harsh toward the unfortunate man who shows up at the wedding banquet without his “wedding robe,” casting this man “into the outer darkness, where there [is] weeping and gnashing of teeth”?

These questions are difficult to answer with only the information that Matthew’s Gospel gives us. Maybe the first slaves thought their master, the king, to be harsh, and so they had planned a way of opting out of attending his wedding banquet. And maybe they mistreated his other slaves out of added spite. The king’s slaves would seem to have been right about his harshness and short temper, if the king’s treatment of the man without a wedding robe is any indication of this.

Then again, maybe we are asking the wrong questions if we are wondering why the slaves behaved the way they did or why the king in Jesus’ parable is so harsh. After all, the king is meant to be understood as God. And God would not be unduly harsh toward his people, would he? Perhaps we interpret God incorrectly as harsh for destroying the slaves and their city after they had mistreated and killed other slaves. Perhaps God, the king, has reason to cast the man without his wedding robe “into the outer darkness, where there [is] weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

But maybe we are being invited to focus less on the apparently harsh actions of God; of the king, and more on our own choices before God and one another. Now, I am in favour of the belief in a loving and merciful God who gives sinners and even serious evildoers almost infinite chances to turn from sin. And yet all of us are created with complete freedom, which includes the freedom to accept or to reject God’s mercy; God’s gift of salvation; God’s invitation to the wedding feast, the Kingdom of Heaven definitively, as it were.

And so might we direct these questions not toward God but toward ourselves: If we are given an invitation to the wedding feast, will we choose to accept God’s invitation? Will we go “into the main streets” and invite still others, without partiality, to the wedding feast? Will we wear the wedding robe of salvation given us by the king, God, at our baptism, when we were first invited to “bring” the “dignity” of this garment “unstained into the everlasting life of heaven”?

Will we pray with the humility and penance of the Psalmist: “Create in me a clean heart, O Lord,” even if our creation and re-creation by God entails breaking down our sin; our acts against God; against love; against one another, in order to rebuild dignity with which we were first created? Will we listen to prophets, of our time or of old, who call us to accountability; to repentance when necessary?

These choices are ours to make, with the freedom God has given us to make them.

Homily for Wednesday, 17 August 2016– Ferial

Wednesday of the 20th week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Ezekiel 34:1-11; Psalm 23:1-3a, 3b-4, 5, 6; Matthew 20:1-16

This homily was given at the chapel of Kateri House Women's Residence of St. Joseph's College, University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB, Canada.

What is justice? In our lives as Catholics; as Christians, how might we live in a way that is most just? How does God show himself to us as just?

Our readings today provide us with two key images of justice: That of the shepherd and, especially in our Gospel reading from Matthew, that of the vineyard owner. The prophet Ezekiel directly scolds the elites of Israel of the time who have kept the land’s wealth and resources for themselves instead of ensuring that the needs of the people, particularly the most vulnerable, are met.

What is justice, then, according to Ezekiel? He urges the “shepherds,” the powerful political and religious figures “of Israel” to “feed the sheep,” and rebukes them for not having done so: “You do not feed the sheep. You have not strengthened the weak, you have not healed the sick, you have not bound up the injured, you have not bound up the strayed, you have not sought the lost, and with force and harshness you have ruled them.”

I find the closeness between Ezekiel’s marks of a good shepherd (actions the elites of ancient Israel were not taking) and many of what we call the corporal and spiritual works of mercy remarkable: Feed the hungry. Give drink to the thirsty. Clothe the naked. Shelter the homeless. Visit the sick and the imprisoned. Bury the dead. Instruct the ignorant. Counsel the doubtful. Admonish sinners. Bear wrongs patiently and forgive offenses willingly. Comfort the afflicted. Pray for the living and the dead.

This connection between Ezekiel’s description of a good shepherd (or not) and works of mercy suggests to me an important connection between justice and mercy. I am reminded of Psalm 85: “Love [sometimes translated as “loving mercy” or “loving kindness”] and truth will meet. Justice and peace will embrace.”

Love, mercy, truth, peace and justice are all interconnected. They find their perfect meeting point, at which they “embrace” one another, in God, the Good Shepherd. And yet we, too, are called to connect these virtues in our own lives; to lead one another to God by our works of love; of mercy; of truth; of peace; of justice.

Might it seem, though, that the vineyard owner in Jesus parable we hear from Matthew’s Gospel today does not quite exemplify the best; the interconnection of these virtues? After all, the vineyard owner pays the workers who arrive latest to work the same daily wage as those who arrive at work first. But if we think of the vineyard owner’s wage policy as unjust, I think we miss the central point of this parable about God’s justice, which we are invited to emulate. This central point about justice, God’s or ours, is that justice must mean that nobody has need of anything. Justice does not mean that wealth is good or evil in and of itself. Justice does not stipulate a fair wage for workers, which depends on many economic, geographic, social, and other factors. But, in a just society; a just world; a just Church, nobody has need of anything.

And so, if we are acting justly, we are leading one another to God, the Good Shepherd so that, as we pray in our Psalm today, we “shall not want” for anything.

Homily for Sunday, 14 August 2016

20th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Jeremiah 34:4-6, 8-10; Psalm 40:2, 3, 4, 18; Hebrews 12:1-4; Luke 12:49-53

Who enjoys a confrontation every now and then? I do not imagine many of us enjoy or go seeking confrontation with other people. Our Christian faith favours a non-confrontational, certainly non-violent approach to resolving disagreements and conflicts. Does Jesus himself not teach us to “love one another,” even our enemies; people we find disagreeable, to be kind, to control our anger, and to forgive others’ wrongs generously? Does Jesus not show us the way of love to its fullest by giving his life on the cross for us; submitting meekly to the worst of human evil? The God of the Old Testament is first and foremost a God of mercy; of “steadfast love”; of “loving kindness.” Confrontation and destruction, even of the worst sinners, are the last resort of the God of the Old Testament.

Not many, let alone God, enjoy confrontation. But then why do our readings today seem to suggest otherwise? Jesus seems ready to confront those who choose not to hear his message and to act against him; against his Gospel: “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the world? No, I tell you, but rather division”! The “division” he brings will affect even families: “Five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three.” What kind of Saviour is this? Here, Jesus is looking for a fight. And he seems to realize that his divisive message will cost him his life. We hear Jesus speak of bringing “fire to the earth” and of a “baptism,” his own passion and death or perhaps the final judgment at the end of time, for which he longs to be “completed.” This is hardly the nice, peaceful Jesus with whom we’re comfortable.

And the prophet Jeremiah in our first reading is no more nice and peaceful than Jesus is in our Gospel. Jeremiah works from a position of privilege: He is an “official” prophet of several kings of ancient Israel; a member of the royal court. Israel’s kings often would hire personal prophets to guide them in government. David and Solomon had Nathan as prophet. Nathan is famous for convicting David of his wrongful relationship with Bathsheba (later Solomon’s mother) and for having Bathsheba’s husband Uriah killed in battle in order to take Bathsheba as his wife. Nathan is to David and Solomon whom Jeremiah is to Uzziah through Zedekiah, of whom we hear in today’s first reading. Jeremiah is Zedekiah’s personal prophet. For those of us who are into sports or fitness, we could think of the royal prophet’s role as like the “personal trainer” of heart, soul, and conscience to the king and his officials.

The kings’ personal prophets were expected to confront kings or their officials if they were doing serious evil. But Jeremiah goes too far for the liking of Zedekiah’s officials. By the time Zedekiah becomes king of Israel, the nation and its monarchy are in deep trouble. Several prophets have been warning Israel’s kings and people for years that Israel is more and more in danger of being taken over by the more powerful nations around it like Assyria and Babylon. The way to avoid being taken over, its people being deported to these other lands, and the destruction of Jerusalem and its temple especially, was to trust in God to deliver them and to look after the most in need in Israel with justice and mercy. Do not make alliances with other nations and worship their gods, the prophets would say. Many kings and other elites would not listen to the prophets.

Yet Jeremiah goes too far for the liking of Zedekiah’s officials, who listen to him but do not like what they hear. Jeremiah’s message is that it is now too late to turn from their worship of foreign gods and trust in other nations instead of in God. They are better off accepting a time of exile in Babylon (which actually happened), where they would repent of their sins of injustice and worship of false gods.

To Zedekiah’s officials, Jeremiah’s message that the people of Israel should “go out to the Chaldeans,” to Babylon; into exile, and abandon their homeland is treason, and so they demand that the king have Jeremiah put to death. In this way, Jesus’ story is similar to that of Jeremiah: Jesus, like Jeremiah, risks his life by confronting the people of his time with a message they did not want to hear.

Jeremiah was not dropped into a cistern by Zedekiah’s court officials, and Jesus was not crucified; taken outside the city and made to die the shameful death of an outcast, without reason. What was in Jesus’ message that made many of his hearers so angry? What drove these people to have Jesus killed?

These questions are difficult to answer based only on today’s Gospel reading. But we know, because Jesus himself predicted this: His message would cause divisions even within the closest of human relationships, families; households. Jesus will “bring peace to the earth” at the end of time. This is God’s promise to us for which we praise God every time we pray at Mass, “Glory to God in the highest and peace to people of good will.” Yet until then we have a decision to make: Are we for or against Jesus Christ; for or against the core of his message; of his lived example; his Gospel?

Our answer to this question will either unite and bring us peace or divide us, from the most distant to the most intimate of relationships. And what is at the core; the foundation of the Gospel of Jesus Christ? Let me propose that at the foundation of the Gospel of Jesus Christ is and has always been the most essential of human rights: The right to life from the moment of conception to natural death, without exception.

And defense of this human right to life is not limited to any one particular issue. Nor is it a permission to speak for the right of a person to be born, but then not to defend this person’s basic dignity: The right of children to be cared for and raised by her or his mother and father; the right to adequate water, food, and shelter; the worker’s right to a living wage; the right to social assistance in situations of poverty or other crises; the right to freedom of movement and expression; the right of migrants and refugees to be treated with dignity, not to have their families separated or to be subject to policies that put their lives in danger.

Defense of these human rights is defense of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. This means for us to confront any injustice, near and far; any affront to the human right to life and rights that flow from it; from the Gospel. And the Word of God we hear calls us not to enjoy or seek out confrontation; not to gossip; not to create undue division, whether in our world; our Church; our families and households. To seek out division and confrontation on purpose is sinful. Yet the Word of God; the Gospel of Jesus Christ; the message of Jeremiah we hear today call us to face confrontation; to face any abuse of human life and dignity; any sin, individual or social, with courage.

Our second reading today, from the Letter to the Hebrews, reminds us that we “have not yet resisted to the point of shedding [our] blood.” Fortunately for us, Jesus has already resisted in this ultimate way to the point of death against sin. His resistance has redeemed us; has made our salvation possible. Not many, if any, of us will be called to be martyrs in the sense of being killed for our faith, although I encourage us take time to pray today for the people in our world who do continue to witness to our faith; to give their lives in the confrontation in our world against sin; against evil.

They, like us, do not seek out confrontation. But the martyrs, Christ’s witnesses who have given their lives, like us, recognize the stark choices before them: Good or evil; trust in God or trust in false gods; unity and peace or division within human relationships; eternal life or death. And the closer we are to the core; the foundation of the Word of God; of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, which is our human good; our dignity; our salvation, the less there is a middle ground in these choices we have before us.

Homily for Wednesday, 10 August 2016‒ Feast of St. Lawrence

Wednesday of the 19th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: 2 Corinthians 9:6-10; Psalm 112:1-2, 5-6, 7-8, 9; John 12:24-26

This homily was given at the chapel of Kateri House Women's Residence of St. Joseph's College, University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB, Canada.

“God loves a cheerful giver,” St. Paul says in his second letter to the Corinthians. And Jesus says “to his disciples” in John’s Gospel, “Whoever serves me, the Father will honour.”

Who here is able to name “a cheerful giver,” somebody who is known for generous service to others; to our Church; to the world? When I think of a generous, “cheerful giver,” I think of a person like Mother Teresa, who founded the Missionaries of Charity to serve the poor around the world. Here in our own country, and longer ago than Mother Teresa, we might include Canada’s saints: Marie de l’Incarnation, who  established the Ursuline Sisters in Québec; Marguerite d’Youville, founder of the Grey Nuns; the Canadian Martyrs; many missionaries; more recently André Bessette… We may think of philanthropists who have given to their communities.

But so many “cheerful,” generous servants and saints are unheralded. Although he is named (many, even, I imagine, the vast majority of saints are not even known by name), we might consider St. Lawrence, whose feast we celebrate today, among these unheralded cheerful and generous servants. Most of what we know about St. Lawrence is legend or at least second-hand. Tradition back to the Acts of the Apostles was to appoint seven deacons to help the pope in Rome to serve those in need in the city. Under Pope Sixtus II, also a saint and martyr, St. Lawrence was one of these seven deacons during the reign of the Roman Emperor Valerian.

We might be familiar with St. Ambrose’s humorous, if graphic, account of The Martyrdom of St. Lawrence: As St. Lawrence was being burned to death, he asked his executioners: “Would you turn me over? I’m not done yet on the other side”!

Dark humour aside, I think another story from the same work by St. Ambrose even more beautifully captures the spirit of St. Lawrence, the kind of “cheerful giver” and generous servant of God whom Jesus promises “the Father will honour.” After Pope Sixtus was led to his death, three days before Lawrence was martyred, Valerian demanded the treasures of the Church of Rome be brought to him. On the day he was executed, Lawrence (we might imagine tongue-in-cheek) brought with him a delegation of the suffering, the poor, the sick, and the crippled of Rome, and announced to a furious Valerian, “Here are the treasures of the Church”!

Who are the cheerful givers; the servants among us whom “the Father will honour”? Who will present before God “the treasures of the Church”: The people of God most in need of our service; the people whose dignity is most vulnerable to being exploited? Perhaps the better question is to ask ourselves to what extent we are prepared to be servants ourselves; to recognize the suffering, the poor, the sick; people with disabilities; the unborn; the elderly as “the treasures” of our Church; of our world; of God’s creation.

We will most likely not be martyred for our efforts as St. Lawrence was. We may not even gain a name for ourselves, except before God. And yet, if we serve not for our own glory but glorifying God, we can be sure that God will love and honour the cheerful givers; those who serve generously.    

Homily for Sunday, 7 August 2016

19th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Wisdom 18:6-9; Psalm 33:1, 12, 18-19, 20-22; Hebrews 11:1-2, 8-12; Luke 12:32-48

This homily was given at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Parish in Sherwood Park, AB, Canada.

Imagine if you were stranded on a faraway island. You have all you need to survive for the time you will be on the island: Water, food, shelter, warm clothing, and so forth. You have your family and closest loved ones with you. But on top of these minimal necessities to survive, you are only able to keep with you one thing. What is this one thing you would keep with you? What is your greatest treasure; the thing your heart most desires?

Jesus says this in our Gospel reading this evening [morning] from Luke about our greatest treasure; the thing our hearts most desire: “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” And so what is our greatest treasure; the one thing we would keep with us on this faraway island?

Children, maybe the treasure you would keep with you would be a favourite toy, or maybe a favourite children’s book, or video game, or equipment needed to play your favourite sport. For older children, teenagers, and adults, maybe our treasures would include what we need for our favourite hobbies: Craft material, a musical instrument, a good novel, unless you’re into non-fiction… Some of us might want to bring a television, or your dream sports car. Some of us who are handy might want to bring along our best power tool; after all, the shelter provided on the island is good enough for survival, but could always use some upgrades. For many of us, thinking more of spiritual survival, maybe we would bring a rosary or a Bible…

These (and others I have not mentioned) would all be great treasures we might consider bringing to a faraway island if we were only able to take one thing there with us. But in Luke’s Gospel Jesus is asking us to consider something more as our greatest treasure: The Kingdom of God. Jesus says “to his disciples…, ‘It is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the Kingdom.’”

We have only a small problem: Would it not be a bit far-fetched to fit the entire Kingdom of God on one faraway island? It would have to be a very large island! This is where we need to use our imagination… After all, if we were stranded on a faraway island, God would have had to make the island. God, as maker of the island, makes the rules as to the one thing, our hearts’ greatest desire, which we could bring to this faraway island. And so God could make this island as large as he wants, even large enough as to fit the whole Kingdom of God on it.

Trust me on this or, better yet, as God invites us, trust him! God constantly invites us to have faith in him; to accept this gift of the Kingdom of God that Jesus says the Father wants to give us. This treasure, God’s Kingdom, is worth selling “our possessions” and giving of our time; our talent; our treasure to help people who are poor, sick, troubled, or otherwise in need. If we had God’s Kingdom we would be ready for anything, on that island or here at home. And is this not what Jesus asks of us? “Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit… You also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour,” Jesus says.

How many of us are still not convinced; still trying to imagine the great big Kingdom of God somehow fitting on this little faraway island? Fair enough; the Kingdom of God is enormous and the island is probably tiny. And so God does not give us his whole Kingdom all at once. We will only have and be in the fullness of the Kingdom of God at the end of time, when there will be no worry about having to cram the entire Kingdom of God onto a little (imaginary) faraway island.

For now, God gives us small yet important (not imaginary, but real) signs of the future fullness of God’s Kingdom. What are these signs? First, God gives us the sign of his being with us in history. This history is spoken of especially in our readings today from Wisdom and the letter to the Hebrews. God was with God’s people, making freedom, “deliverance from Egypt” under Moses, possible. God shows himself in our history, the events of our world, as great and powerful, destroying Israel’s “enemies” in the time of Moses, but also as good and merciful, calling Israel; calling us “to himself,” back to the glory of our creation, when God made us and called us “very good.”

God then gives us the gift of faith; the faith God first gave Abraham; the faith or “conviction of things not seen.” Faith is especially important. Let us be honest: Can it not be difficult to perceive signs of God’s Kingdom; of God’s presence in our world through acts of violence and of terror; through brokenness of human relationships that many of us experience; through the suffering of innocent people? How many of us know somebody with the faith of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob, and then some, through sometimes the most awful situations in their lives? This faith God gives us is a sign of God’s “promise,” a sign that God is working in our world to bring us the fullness of God’s Kingdom; God’s reign of mercy and peace over our world, even when God’s action is not easily seen through our world’s events.

God gives us the gift of faith. God is with us in our world and its history; in our story; our lives. Even better, God has personally become a part of our world’s history. God has shown himself to us as human in every way we are human except without sin, in the person of Jesus Christ. This is God’s greatest sign yet of the Kingdom. And this greatest of signs, God made human, Jesus Christ, asks only one thing of us in today’s Gospel: “Be ready.” Be ready for the fullness of God’s Kingdom.

But how can we be ready for the fullness of God’s Kingdom, a reality of peace; of goodness; of mercy; a treasure that surpasses even our wildest desires or imagination? It is absurd enough to imagine ourselves stranded on a faraway island, able to keep only one thing with us. The fullness of the Kingdom of God is still more beyond our understanding; we have never experienced anything like it. Yet it is real. It is Jesus’; God’s promise to us.

God gives us signs that point us to the “treasure” of the Kingdom of God: God’s actions in our world (in the unexpected, in miracles, but most often in little, everyday occurrences); God’s gift to us of faith; God entering our world as human in the person of Jesus Christ. And Jesus gives us, until he comes again, another sign; a sacrament of himself really present here in our Eucharist; our action of thanksgiving to and communion in God; in Christ...

I pray for all of us that, through this celebration, the Table of the Lord; our Eucharist, sign and sacrament of the fullness of God’s Kingdom, our greatest treasure and our hearts’ greatest desire will become nearer to you, little by little; not imaginary like a faraway island or even hoped for in the distant future, but real and present.

My sisters and brothers in Christ, we celebrate, here and now, signs that are real of the promise of the fullness of the Kingdom of God that is real: God’s action in our world and its events and history, our story; God’s gift of faith to us; God having sent his Son, Jesus Christ; Christ who gives himself to us in our Eucharist. Here is where our treasure is. Here is where our heart is. We are “dressed for action”; dressed for celebration. And we are ready.

Homily for Sunday, 31 July 2016

18th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Ecclesiastes 1:2, 2:21-23; Psalm 90:3-4, 5-6, 12-13, 14, 17; Colossians 3:1-5, 9-11; Luke 12:13-21

This homily was given at the Monastery of the Carmel of St. Joseph near Spruce Grove, AB, Canada.

What is the point?

“Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher,” the author of the Book of Ecclesiastes from which we hear our first reading today. “All is vanity”! Is this not a somewhat cynical and sad view of our world and of human labour?

After all, in our Psalm we have just prayed to God, “Prosper for us the work of our hands.” Does this not contradict the view of the Teacher in Ecclesiastes, who says of “the work of our hands”: “For all their days are full of pain, and their work is a vexation; even at night their minds do not rest. This also is vanity”?

I am willing to admit that maybe the person who wrote Ecclesiastes may have been having a bad day at work. Maybe he was suffering from a severe case of writer’s block (if so, I can empathize with him, as a priest and graduate student). Maybe the Teacher had a difficult boss… or editor or publisher. Maybe (and by no means do I wish to make light of depression) he was depressed. And yet is there not surely more dignity than vanity in our work and in our world? If not, what is the point of anything we do? To borrow the title of a book from Fr. Timothy Radcliffe, a Dominican priest I had the joy of meeting a couple of years ago at his home at Blackfriars, Oxford, England, What Is the Point of Being a Christian, especially if “all things are vanity”?

I think both the Letter to the Colossians and our Gospel reading today from Luke give us clues toward answering questions like these. St. Paul says to the Colossians, “If you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above.” And Jesus reminds the crowd he teaches with the parable of the greedy rich man to seek to be “rich toward God”; to be “rich in what matters to God” and not to stockpile vain, perishable, earthly riches. And so our question shifts from “What is the point of our work; our faith; our worship; anything we do” to “How might we be rich in what matters to God; in what is of heaven and imperishable”?

Our world gives us many countersigns to “things that are above”; to richness “toward God” and “in what matters to God.” Some seek to be rich in money and material wealth. These are not bad in and of themselves, unless we rely on this material wealth in place of God or accumulate this wealth at the expense of other people. Some seek to be rich in military might and weaponry; rich in various forms of violence. Some seek to be rich in security and certainty. These people go so far as to want to build walls against anybody who may threaten their security. They go so far as to barricade their hearts and minds so not to need to respond to people who challenge their certainties (sometimes constructively), instead of defending the truths of God and of our faith, if necessary, with charity, kindness, and openness to better ways of expressing these timeless truths.

The “prosperity gospel”; the gospel of might and violence; the gospel of security; the gospels of greed and pride: These are not the Gospel of Jesus Christ; the Good News of our God. These are countersigns to the Gospel of Jesus Christ; these are false gospels. Yet enough people fall for these countersigns so that we have reached many crisis points in our world: Frayed and broken relationships in families; disregard for human life and dignity, especially of the not-yet-born, the elderly and the sick, and people with disabilities; wars; racism; a growing gap between the world’s wealthiest and poorest, many who lack even sufficient food and safe drinking water; acts of terrorism, most recently the murder of Fr. Jacques Hamel in France while he was celebrating Mass; more Christians and people of other creeds abused and killed than ever out of hatred for their faiths…

“This also is vanity.” This is appalling. And so what is the point, whether of our work, “of being a Christian,” or of being at all? What matters to God, and how might we be “rich toward God”? It can be well and good of us to condemn the “vanities”; the inhuman horrors of our time. It is well and good of us to speak to the truth of our Christian faith. But to condemn what is vain and false and to affirm truth is not enough. Religious faith cannot rest on the affirmation, “Because it is true.” “A religion,” Timothy Radcliffe says in What is the Point of Being a Christian?, “that tries to market itself as useful for some other purpose” than “to point us to God who is the point of everything… cannot be a religion that [we] could take seriously.” Religious faith demands a lived, ethical response. Our faith; our God calls us to live our response to these great questions: What is the point of who we are and what we do? How do we become “rich toward God”; “in what matters to God”?

And so how do we live our response to these questions? When I ask myself this, I think back to one of St. John Paul II’s earliest encyclicals; his teaching letters to the whole Church: Dives in Misericordia, or “Rich in Mercy.” “It is ‘God, who is rich in mercy,” Pope John Paul II begins. Mercy is “what matters to God.” Our God has revealed himself to us as mercy and invites us Christians to continue to reveal God to our world as mercy.

This, without doubt, is a difficult task for us, even before we consider all the countersigns in our world to mercy. Where do we even begin? I am not sure how many of us have been able to follow the news from World Youth Day in Krakow, Poland. This past Friday the Way of the Cross wound through the streets of Krakow. Each station of the Way of the Cross at this World Youth Day, during this Jubilee Year of Mercy, also included a meditation on one of the corporal or spiritual works of mercy. Might I suggest that these corporal and spiritual works of mercy would be great ways for us to reveal to our world our God “who is rich in mercy”?

Feed the hungry. Give drink to the thirsty. Clothe the naked. Shelter the homeless. Visit the sick and the imprisoned. Bury the dead. Instruct the ignorant, counsel the doubtful, and admonish sinners, always with love and patience. Bear wrongs patiently. Forgive offenses willingly. Comfort the afflicted. Pray for the living and the dead.

These are all ways in which we, as Christians, reveal Christ; reveal our God to our world as “rich in mercy.” And we show, by doing these works of mercy ourselves and by encouraging one another to do the same, that we are “rich toward God”; “rich in what matters to God”; that we, too, are “rich in mercy.” It is all the better when we show God’s mercy in our world quietly; unassumingly, without regard for our own gain but for “[glorifying] God by our lives.”

This, I dare say, is “the point of being a Christian.” Mercy, with humility, is the antidote to injustice; to greed; to violence; to “vanity.” Mercy points us to God; toward “things that are above.” Mercy makes us “rich toward God” who is “rich in mercy” and who prospers “the work of our hands.”

Homily for Thursday, 28 July 2016– Ferial

Thursday of the 17th week in Ordinary Time

Readings of the day: Jeremiah 18:1-6; Psalm 146:1b-2, 3-4, 5-6ab; Matthew 13:47-53

This homily was given at the chapel of Kateri House Women's Residence of St. Joseph's College, University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB, Canada.

Has anybody here ever done pottery or known somebody who has? Has anybody ever fished or known somebody who has?

Both pottery and fishing can be painstaking and even frustrating work. I have fished although, perhaps thankfully, not for a living, and I know at least one of my brother Basilian priests who has done pottery. Often my Basilian confrère would bring home mugs or other pieces of pottery he had made, and I would think of how beautiful these pieces of pottery were; how much work he had put into each one! On one occasion, when I was out fishing as a boy, the fish in the lake where my family fished had all been infected with a strange parasite. Many of the fish we caught, although they were large enough that we did not need to release them, were no longer good to eat, but we could not know which fish were infected with the parasite until we examined them more closely.

Both pottery and fishing can be hard work. Today the prophet Jeremiah presents God as the potter, working and reworking the clay, the people of Israel, into a vessel that seems “good to him.” And, in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus presents God as the fisherman who has “caught fish of every kind” in “a net” and, “at the end of the age”; the end of time, will separate the good from the bad fish; “the evil from the righteous.”

Might images like the “furnace of fire” and like the clay vessel being broken down and “reworked… into another vessel” give us the sense of a harsh God? Instead, the reworking of the “spoiled” clay vessel “into another vessel” by the potter and the sorting of fish from the net in our Gospel reading are meant for us to be images of a patient, merciful God.

Our God does not want to break us down in order to re-mold us in his image. Our God does not want anybody to be lost to the “furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” But our reality is that sin exists in our world. It exists and infects us like a parasite: Divisions among and within nations; among and within families; fearmongering and gossip; exclusion of entire groups based on their ethnicity, religion, or other reasons; all forms of violence, verbal and physical.

Sin is real. And yet it would be a mistake, a heresy, to suggest that any person is totally depraved or beyond redemption. Our God keeps molding us as the potter breaks down and reworks one vessel into another, “as [seems] good to him.” This is an act of re-creation by our God, bringing us back to our beginnings, when God fashioned us and declared us “very good.” Our God will wait until the end of time to “separate the evil from the righteous.”

Until then, God will continue to work to heal us of the parasite of sin; to re-mold us. And God invites us to work with him with patience and mercy, until we are made fit for the Kingdom of Heaven.