Author: patcamerino

Introduction before Mass: _¹

For the past three weeks we have had a few brief comments about our Eucharistic liturgy before we have begun the mass. Deacon Steve focused on our Eucharist as reconciliation. Father Paul spoke about the sacrifice of the mass. Today’s focus is on the Eucharist as a meal.

In our first Reading, from the Book of Proverbs, we will hear how Wisdom invites us to a banquet. You may recall wisdom in the Old Testament is personified as a woman. The Greek word for Wisdom is “Sophia.” Some of the early church fathers equated wisdom or Sophia with the Holy Spirit. And so, at the outset of today’s mass, we are reminded how the Holy Spirit calls us together to join in a meal of celebration.

In our second reading from the Letter of Paul to the Ephesians, we are further reminded our celebration should be the result of being filled by the Lord, and not by too much wine. Since the early Eucharistic gatherings of Christians were actually part of a fellowship meal, his warnings were not taken lightly by the Ephesians.

Finally, in the gospel reading, which continues the last supper message reported by John, we hear Jesus emphasize how he, himself, is the living bread come down from heaven, and those who eat this bread will have life eternal.

I think most of us easily associate the mass with a meal. Most of us have been taught this from our early childhood. Perhaps, what we may have forgotten, however, is that there is a connection between the meals we eat in our home and the liturgy we celebrate in church. The meals we share at home can prepare us for the sharing which occurs here. At the same time, the preparation for sharing our meal at home and for sharing our Eucharistic meal here are, also, very similar. Both begin with prayer.

There is probably one prayer, in addition to the “Our Father,” which all “cradle” Catholics carry in our bloodstreams. It’s the one that goes: “Bless us 0h Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen.”

Today we would like to help you broaden your preparation for sharing your meals and, thus, your preparation for sharing of Eucharist. As you leave the church today, each family can pick up a copy of this little book, Table Prayer Book, which has some alternatives to “Bless us 0 Lord, and these thy gifts …”

If we really believe sharing Eucharist is like sharing a meal, then it’s also appropriate for us to know the people we are about to share with. And so I invite you to introduce yourself to those sitting around you as we get ready to begin today’s liturgy.

Homily:

Before mass began, I said our focus for today would be on the Eucharist as a meal. Perhaps I should have given you a question so you could have had a head-start on today’s reflection. But I decided you could wait. Most of us already know a lot about meals and eating and about food. In some way or another, we all have an obsession about eating: either eating too much or too little. I assure you, my question is not: “How many of you are on a diet?” I’m also not going to ask: “How many of us should be on a diet?”

So, what is my question? It’s a very basic one and perhaps, in a way, it is related to dieting. The question is: “Why do we eat?” As I said, we all seem to have an interest in eating. It’s reflected by the fact there may be more homes in this country in which you can find at least one cookbook, and not find a Bible. Our interest in eating is, also, reflected in our grocery stores and supermarkets, our restaurant businesses and the fast-food places lining our highways. There is a vast complex of industries interested in that basic question: Why do we eat?

For some, the answer is simple. I eat because I’m hungry. We all recognize the basic need for nourishment. We need food for life and for growth. Some of us have a different kind of hunger. Some have a hunger for relationships. Their emptiness is loneliness. They eat in order to fill up that loneliness. Others eat in order to pass the time. Snacking is the thing to do while watching television. Some of us eat because it’s the right time of day. We eat breakfast, lunch and dinner, because it’s the time of day for eating breakfast, lunch and dinner.

There are, also, those who enjoy sharing a meal which they have lovingly prepared, or which has been loving prepared for them. They enjoy the pleasure of sharing the food and of sharing the conversation which goes along with it, of being part of a warm, comforting experience. Yet not all meals are signs of love and unity. For many families, coming together for a meal is the only time when everyone is in the same place at the same time. The meal becomes an occasion for family arguments and confrontations or for deadly silence.

As a result, some try to avoid such gatherings or make them as short as possible. To shorten the length of our mealtimes, some have become fast-food consumers. First, there was the New York automat. Then a McDonald’s in every town. Now each home has a microwave. Tomorrow, how many of us will be happy with a George Jetson, concentrated meal-in-a-pill? There are times, however, when George Jetson will never win out. There are times when meals become celebrations of special events. There will, I hope, always be weddings and anniversaries. Birthday parties. And of course, holidays.

Much of what I’ve been saying about eating and about meals is summed up by a movie called Avalon. It wasn’t a huge commercial success, but it’s well worth renting for home-viewing. Avalon is about an immigrant from Europe in the early 1900’s. The story is told by his grandson. The movie is really about family storytelling and about family gatherings. Each Thanksgiving, the entire clan gathers for turkey, even though none of them are very sure just why they eat turkey. But it is a major part of the celebration. Until one year, when the turkey is cut before one of the uncles arrives. Every year he is late, but they always waited for him. This year they didn’t, and when he arrives after the turkey is carved, he leaves in a huff and there is a huge rupture in the clan.

Any of us who have suffered as the result of a stupid family argument, can fully appreciate the event. The movie then goes on with some interesting scenes. The family meals no longer are the center for the clan gatherings. Now their meetings become more business-like. The dining room goes empty as people now huddle in front of the new, tiny black and white TV, eating their food, while Milton Burle, ”Uncle Miltie,” does all the talking. If you are interested in stories about families, I’d recommend seeing Avalon.

But now, what do all of these reflections about eating have to do with today’s gospel readings and about our theme of Eucharist as a meal? In order to understand what we heard in today’s gospel reading and how it relates to the Eucharist as a meal, we need to recall the question which initiated Jesus’ response we heard today.

Remember how Jesus had just multiplied the loaves and fishes and then crossed the Sea of Tiberius to get away from the crowds. But they followed him and asked him “What further signs are you going to perform for us to see?” In other words, when is the next hand-out going to be, and is it going to be even better than the last one? And what does Jesus say in response? It was something like: “You want bread which can be given as a sign to you always. But what you really need is faith without signs.”

Much of the entire Gospel of John is devoted to signs and faith. The story of the miracle, or sign, at Cana begins the writings of John. And a final story is about Thomas and our need to believe without seeing. The conclusion of John’s Gospel account has the verses: “Jesus performed many other signs as well – signs not recorded here – in the presence of his disciples. But these have been recorded to help you believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, so that through this faith you may have life in his name.”

In today’s gospel, Jesus speaks about the major sign in his ministry. He says he, himself, is the living bread. He speaks in terms of eating his flesh and drinking his blood. These words startled and puzzled his listeners as much as they startle and puzzle us. Those who questioned him had asked for the greatest of all signs. And he answered them directly. He was the greatest of all signs. There is nothing more real than human flesh. As for blood, it was the sign of the life force, itself. The mystical reality which gives life to inanimate objects. Remove the blood and there is no life.

What Jesus was trying to tell his listeners is that he, himself, is the absolute reality. He, himself, is the life force. He, himself, must be totally accepted by them, totally taken in and consumed by them. If they did this, they would possess “eternal life.” He was saying that for them, and for us, to gain “eternal life,” we must actively participate in his life, his reality, his life force. We must be with him actively, not passively, in his flesh and in his blood.

Christ is not a Norman Rockwell painting of a Thanksgiving Dinner. We cannot eat a picture. Instead, we must get greasy fingers and have gravy on our chin. The Eucharistic sign is bread which is broken. It is the action of breaking. Of sharing. Of eating.

Eucharist is not the object of the host on the altar so much as the action of all of us coming together and partaking of the one body. We are to take and drink of the cup, not merely look at the color or smell the bouquet like a connoisseur. We are to eat and drink for the joy of being one with Christ and with each other. We eat and drink. Not for intoxication, but rather for inspiration. Not for the poison of a magic potion which says, “drink me”, but rather for the elixir of life which says, “live in me”. We eat for many reasons: but how often do we eat for eternal life?

I began by asking the basic question: “Why do you eat?” There is, of course, the parallel question: “Why do you come to the meal of the Lord?” Do you come because you are hungry? Do you come because you are lonely and need to be filled? Do you come because it is the right time for a snack, the right day of the week, or the right hour of the day for a quick energizer? Do you come seeking a shared unity?

In your search for food, do you want to go to a fancy restaurant with impeccable service where you can eat in isolation and listen to some comforting music? Do you prefer to go to a fast-food service station where you can be fed quickly and relatively cheaply, where the menu is always the same and you don’t need to make choices or be challenged? Perhaps, in your search for nourishment, you would like to go to a local, small-town diner where talk from table to table is as important as the food you order, a place where communication is high but on-going commitments are few. Then again, one can also return home, and share a meal with close family and friends in a place where one shares a life as well as a meal.

So why do you come to Eucharist? Is this community of Christ the Good Shepherd to be a fine restaurant? A fast-food dispenser? A local diner? Or a home? And the meal you eat – does it offer you life eternal?

^{Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 18, 1991
Prv 9:1-6; Eph 5:15-20; Jn 6:51-58}

1. Today’s liturgy, part of a series on John’s “Bread of Life” gospels, included an introduction before the Mass begins, as well as the homily following the usual readings.

Today’s homily is going to be slightly different from my usual one. Which means, for one thing, I don’t have an opening question for you. Instead, I want to remind you of a couple homilies I’ve given before. The first one occurred in early June when I talked about mustard seeds. It was, also, the one when I used the “believe it” sign for the Rockets. In my reflection, I said: “faith is knowing something completely without seeing it, without hearing it, or without touching it.”

In my next homily, I began with a question about high school reunions. The gospel focus in that homily was the story of Jesus going back to his hometown and how he could do few miracles because the Nazarenes lacked faith in him, since they were unwilling to change their views about how he had grown up with them. Again, I said the gift of faith is: “to see with more than our eyes, to hear with more than our ears and to touch with more than our fingertips. When we see, hear and touch with our hearts, it is then that we have reached our reunion with the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.”

My reason for recalling these past homilies is because today’s focus is once more on faith. Faith and Eucharist. Faith and the real and abiding presence of Jesus the Christ.

For the last several weeks, we have been listening to the Gospel of John and reflecting on the Eucharist. Three weeks ago, the gospel reading was about the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes. Two weeks ago, we heard Jesus say: “I, myself, am the bread of life.” We heard those same words last week, along with his claim: “Whoever eats of this bread will live forever.” In today’s continuation, we heard Jesus say: “Those who feed on my flesh and drink my blood have life eternal.” And next week, the final one for this series from John’s Gospel, we will hear how his listeners reacted to his words.

For some of his listeners, these were hard words to accept. Yet, those first Christians, after his death and resurrection, did accept them. They wanted desperately to accept them. They wanted him to be present with them, as he had assured them he would be. Being Jewish, they knew exactly how they could feel his presence among them. They continued to share in their fellowship meals. These first Jewish-Christians had no problem in feeling his presence when they gathered for these fellowship meals. This ability to bring the past into the present was a major part of their culture and tradition. Unfortunately, it is not a ready part of our modern, western culture.

However, back then, every year when they celebrated Passover, every observant Jew knew how to experience the original Exodus event of which Passover was a memorial. Once again, they experienced the fear and awe of the plagues in Egypt, of how the Lord God led them to freedom, of how they turned from him in the desert and how they re-found him at Mount Sinai, of how he led them, step-by-step, to the Promised Land. For them, it was no mere story, no mere re-telling of an ancient tale. Each year they relived this event, when they gathered together for the Passover meal.

In their own fellowship meals, the first Christians, in common with their culture and heritage, were able to feel the real presence of Jesus the Christ there in their midst. With their faith, they were able to see, hear and touch him once more. He was again present in their ritual actions: the action of breaking and eating the bread, the action of taking and drinking the cup. In some mysterious way, these actions brought them together with their Lord and Savior. They were able, with these actions, to partake of his body and blood, the life-giving force of God which could sustain them beyond the death of their human bodies.

But attitudes change. By the Middle Ages, some twelve centuries after the first Christians had experienced the risen Christ in their fellowship meals, European scholars began to focus less on the mystery of actions and more on the physicality of things. Now they began to ask: “How does the bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ?” rather than the question: “What does it mean to share in the life-giving force of our Lord and Savior?”

Just as twentieth century scientists try to measure and weigh everything in an attempt to understand the physics of life, scholastics of the time of Thomas Aquinas, attempted to explain nature in terms of “things” rather than “actions.” However, St Thomas had no knowledge of molecules and atoms, of wavelengths and colliding particles. Instead, he had “essence” and “accidents.”

For him, “essence” was what made a thing really a thing. So, the “essence” of what made a chair, a chair, and a table, a table were important, real-world questions. The observations that one chair was made of wood and another of bronze were merely “accidents.” “Accidents” also included conditions like whether the chair was in the form of one found in the kitchen or one seen in the throne room. On the other hand, what made a chair a chair was its “essence,” its “substance,” its inner “being,” rather than its external appearance.

And, so, it was said by Thomas Aquinas and other scholastics, trying to explain how bread and wine could become the body and blood of Christ, that the accidents, the appearance of the bread and wine, did not change. On the other hand, the essence, the real substance changed. The essence, the substance, the “being,” had become the body and blood of Christ, just as the gospel said. In other words: Transubstantiation had occurred.

This explanation satisfied the scholastics of the Middle Ages. The teaching about transubstantiation became an essential part of the doctrines summarized by the Council of Trent in 1551. This doctrine or teaching is also referenced in paragraph 1376 of the Catechism of the Catholic Church, published in English in June 1994. However, the new catechism does not stop here. References are also made to the Constitution on the Liturgy composed at the Second Vatican Council.

Once more, we are called in these documents to return to the concepts of the first Christians. We are encouraged to return to a time of experiencing Christ in actions and in participation rather than in physical things. Paragraph 7 of the Constitution on the Liturgy reminds us that Christ is truly present in the gathering of the assembly and within the gathered assembly.

Although we can say the Holy Spirit is present in each one of us, no matter where we are, the spirit of the Father and of the Son is present in a special way as we entered the doors of Christ the Good Shepherd thirty minutes ago. Christ is as present right now in this gathering as he was when his disciples gathered together with him for a fellowship meal. Do you believe this – even if no physical measurement would be able to detect his presence?

Christ is as present in the words of the gospel proclaimed twelve minutes ago as he was when he preached to the crowds we heard about in that gospel. Do you believe this – even if no physical measurement would show a change in the sounds you heard?

Christ is as present in the words which will call down the Holy Spirit onto the bread and wine to be brought to this altar, as he was when he blessed and distributed the loaves and fishes. Do you believe this – even if no camera could record the descent of this Spirit?

Christ is as present in the bread and wine we will consume as he was in the flesh we must feed upon, and the blood we must drink in order to have eternal life. Do you believe this – even if the most sophisticated chemical analysis could not reveal a change?

Yet, in some mysterious way that cannot be answered by any question beginning with the word “how,” Christ is really present in each of these actions. Our actions of gathering, of proclaiming and listening, of petitioning and blessing, of taking, eating and drinking. However, there is a way of knowing that he is present. We know of his presence by our own Eucharistic actions.

The mass does not end with either the consecration nor with communion. In fact, the English word “mass” comes from the old Latin expression once heard at the end of each Eucharistic celebration. The last words heard, but not understood, by the peasants of Europe and the rest of us until the mid-1960’s were: “Ita, missa est. Go, you are sent forth.” In the dismissal which completes each Eucharistic celebration, we are instructed: “Go forth, you are commissioned to be the body of Christ.”

Although I did not give you a question to ponder as I began today’s homily, I do have a concluding question for you to reflect upon. When you go forth today from this assembly, will your actions convey to everyone you meet that you possess within you the life-giving force you have consumed, the body and blood of Jesus the Christ?

^{Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 14, 1994
Prv 9:1-6; Eph 5:15-20; Jn 6:51-58}

My question for today is an easy one: how many of you own cell phones, or have someone in the family who has one? Yes, it’s OK for you to raise your hand. Looks like quite a number do. It seems as if cell phones are now as much a part of our lives as regular phones or tv might be. For those of you who have cell phones, I have another question, but for this one you don’t need to raise your hand, because I’m not sure I really want to know the answer. OK, you’ve probably guessed my next question: how many of you turn them off when you go into a public place like a movie or a restaurant or, better yet, here at church?

I suppose I could, also, ask how many of you are disturbed when one starts to ring for the person next to you in that movie, restaurant, or (heaven help you) on a commuter bus? Sometimes we talk about “road rage.” It may not be too far away when we have stories about “cell phone rage.”

I also wonder about a particular cell phone event that’s becoming more and more common throughout the world. Recently Karen and I were on a vacation in Italy. We were sitting at a table outside a very pleasant café. An attractive, young, Italian couple was sitting at the next table. But what surprised me was that the man was not paying any attention to the very good-looking woman with him. Instead, he was deeply involved in a telephone conversation on his cell phone, while she tried not to look bored with being ignored for the next 15 minutes.

How often have you seen something like this: two people being in the physical presence of one another but not being in the essential presence of one another? There is a difference, you know, in being physically present and being essentially present. It seems to me the person on the other end of the telephone connection was much more “present” to that man than was the woman sitting two feet away from him.

Another way to put it is: who was the “real presence” to the man – the woman he could see or the person with whom he was interacting? I would suggest the real presence, the essential presence, was the person with whom he interacted rather than the one he could merely see. This conclusion, of course, brings me to the point of today’s homily reflection: the “real presence” of our Lord, Jesus Christ, under the appearance of bread and wine.

For the last several weeks, we’ve been hearing about Eucharist and about the real presence of the risen Christ in Eucharist. By now, it should be possible to conclude you don’t need to physically see the body and blood of Christ in order to accept he is really and truly present. He is present by being heard and felt within you. He is present in our deepest, personal interactions with him in the Eucharist.

Over the years, there have been many human words used in attempts to explain just how this happens, how the risen Christ can be completely present under the appearance of bread and wine. Catholic theologians have tried to describe this presence in philosophical language using such terms as “transubstantiation, essence” and “accident.” As pointed out last week, these theologians say the “essential” substance, what makes bread, bread – and wine, wine – are changed, but the “accident,” the appearance remains the same.

Anglican or Episcopalian theologians or Lutheran theologians, who also believe that the “real presence” of the risen Christ resides in the consecrated bread and wine – they use words like “con-substantiation” rather than “trans-substantiation.” But regardless of the human words used, all three Christian groups – Roman Catholics, Episcopalians and Lutherans, along with Greek Orthodox, Russian Orthodox and others belonging to the Eastern Christian traditions – they all believe in the “real presence” of Christ in the Eucharist.

These particular Christian groups accept what we have been hearing these last several weeks in the Gospel of John: “I am the living bread that came down from heaven; whoever eats this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world. …. whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day. For my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him.” These Christian groups, also, hear the words spoken by Jesus at the Last Supper when he said, according to the Gospel of Luke: “This is my body, which will be given for you; do this in memory of me … this cup is the new covenant in my blood, which will be shed for you.” And when they hear this instruction, they focus, in the light of John’s Gospel, on the words: “Do this.”

They continue to do what other early Christians did when they followed the words of Saint Paul, who in his letter to the Corinthians, quoted Christ as saying: “This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me. … this cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.”

However, other, later Christians, such as Methodists and Baptists, focus not on the words, “do this”, but rather on the phrase, “… in remembrance of me …” and, so, they do not believe in the “real presence” of the risen Christ under the appearance of bread and wine, but, rather, they view the Lord’s Supper as a symbolic memory of an event occurring some two thousand years ago.

In the early Christian church and in the centuries afterwards, those who followed Christ, who believed he was, indeed, the Son of God, continued to express their unity with him and with one another. They came together around the Eucharistic table. They joined in a fellowship meal and believed the risen Jesus was truly present with them. As we have been recently reminded by the teachings of the Second Vatican Council, the risen Lord was present to them, and continues to be present to us, in the gathered assembly, in the proclaimed word, in the presider, and, especially, in the consecrated bread and wine.

However, over the intervening years – and because of many human causes and human events – this unity of gathered Christians has been broken. This unity has been broken in such a way that its focal point can no longer be shared by all Christians. Pope John Paul II has repeatedly expressed his sorrow over this broken unity and the fact Roman Catholics and other Christians cannot take part in intercommunion, except in very well-defined conditions which are outlined in Canon Law and in the Catechism of the Catholic Church.

At the same time, this troublesome disagreement on what Jesus said and meant is not a new phenomenon. It dates back to the times of today’s gospel reading. We heard a few minutes ago, how some of his disciples, those who followed him and believed in many of his teachings, in the words of John’s Gospel – “Returned to their former way of life and no longer accompanied him.”

However, we, also, heard, in the words of Paul to the Ephesians, how others viewed the relationship of Christ and the church, those gathered together in his name. They saw this relationship in very intimate terms. They saw the union of Christians as being like the marriage of a man and a woman who leave their parental homes, their previous lives of protection and nurturing, in order to join together as one flesh. Paul encouraged these Christians to “be subordinate to one another out of reverence for Christ.” The church, those gathered together as Christians, were to see Christ as their head and one another as members of his body.

And, so, it is that when we gather around the Table of Eucharist, we continue to gather as the Body of Christ. Each member of this Body of Christ gives the Body of Christ to every other member of this Body of Christ. We are one body, with the risen Christ as our head, the head who gives us vision, who listens to our prayers, who speaks words of comfort to our heart.

We become what we consume. We become Eucharist to one another. We become present to one another. We become truly present, not merely a physical presence, not merely someone sharing space together on this planet, but rather, an essential presence, a real presence, sharing the life, the flesh and blood of the risen Christ.

^{Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 27, 2000
Josh 24: 1-2a, 15-17, 18b; Eph 5:21-32 (short form); Jn 6:60-69}

I suppose today’s question comes under the general heading of being a liturgical question. As you know, our Gospel Readings follow a three-year cycle in which the focus is on a different gospel each year. So last year, during Cycle A, most of the Sunday gospels were taken from the Gospel according to Matthew. And next year, during Cycle C, most of the Sunday gospels will be from the Gospel according to Luke.
So, if you’ve been listening carefully, my question for you today should be easy. My question is: What Gospel is the source for today’s reading for the Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time of Cycle B?

If you wanted to say “Mark,” your answer would be wrong! Although most of the Cycle B readings are taken from the Gospel according to Mark, the readings for the Seventeenth through Twenty-first Sundays in Ordinary Time, during Cycle B, are always from the Gospel according to John, not Mark. For the last five weeks, ever since July 30th, we’ve been listening to Chapter 6 of John’s Gospel. And, yes, if you were listening very closely to the Gospel read three weekends ago, you may recall that it was, in fact, taken from Mark’s Gospel. The reason, of course, is because that particular Sunday was August 6th on which we celebrate the Transfiguration of the Lord, a feast day that takes precedence over the Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time.

But normally, for five weeks during the Summer, we hear Chapter 6 of John’s Gospel, which is called the “Bread of Life” series of Gospel Readings. Why does this happen? Why do we interrupt the readings from Mark with an entire chapter from John?

Some might point out Mark’s gospel is the shortest of the four gospels and maybe we need a “filler” from John’s gospel to complete Cycle B. Although this might be a superficial answer, I think the real answer is: to be sure that we hear this basic message, this basic truth, from John’s gospel, Jesus Christ is, indeed, the “Bread of Life.”

Last week we heard Jesus state to all who listened to him: “Amen, amen, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you.
● Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day.
● For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink.
● Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him.
● Just as the living Father sent me and I have life because of the Father, so also the one who feeds on me will have life because of me.
● This is the bread that came down from heaven.
● Unlike your ancestors who ate and still died, whoever eats this bread will live forever.”

And in today’s gospel we heard how not everyone could accept these words he spoke to the crowds. We heard how “… many of his disciples [… many of his followers …] returned to their former way of life and no longer accompanied him.” And when Jesus asked the Twelve if they, too, wanted to leave him, we heard Peter’s response on their behalf: “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God.”

Perhaps, it’s essential we are reminded of this basic truth more than once every three years. It’s essential we are reminded Jesus Christ is the Bread of Life and, when we gather for Eucharist, we hear his words of eternal life and eat his flesh and drink his blood. In doing so, we become Eucharist. We become members of his Body.

Again, we are reminded of this truth as we listen to the words written by Saint Paul to the Ephesians, in which he describes the relationship of Christ and the Church in terms of the ideal relationship of husband and wife. For Paul writes: “… husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. For no one hates his own flesh but rather nourishes and cherishes it, even as Christ does the church, because we are members of his body.”

What, then, does it mean to be, to actually be, “members of his body?” Perhaps we can gain some additional insight from our First Reading for today from the Book of Joshua. In this reading we heard how Joshua, the successor of Moses, gathered together “… all the tribes of Israel …” and said: “If it does not please you to serve the Lord, decide today whom you will serve … As for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.”

And the people responded: “Far be it from us to forsake the Lord for the service of other gods. For it was the Lord, our God, who brought us and our fathers up out of the land of Egypt, out of a state of slavery. He performed those great miracles before our very eyes and protected us along our entire journey and among the people through whom we passed. Therefore we also will serve the Lord, for he is our God.”

Yes, the Israelites decided they must serve the Lord God, since they had seen “… those great miracles before [their] very eyes …” They recognized God had protected them on their journey. And what about us? Do we see the great miracle which transforms the bread and wine we behold into the body and blood of Christ we eat and drink? Do we recognize how he protects us on our journey? Are we willing to serve the Lord, for he is our God? And how do we serve the Lord, our God? Is it through being members of his Mystical Body? Is it through our service to one another in his name?

This weekend we are, once again, given the opportunity, the gift, of being able to serve one another in his name. This weekend, we can become actively engaged in Ministry Sunday. When this part of our Eucharistic celebration is ended, we are, again, invited to go forth and become Eucharist for the sake of others.

We have a choice. We can jump directly into our cars and race off to participate in those all-encompassing events of our lives: shopping, watching afternoon sports on TV, napping, doing errands, and working around the house. We can be self-centered and do what we feel like doing to exist in this world. Or we can enter the Large Hall and learn how we can join with others in ministry to others.

Yes, we can be like those “… disciples [who] returned to their former way of life and no longer accompanied him.” Or we can be like those who serve the Lord and one another for “… we are members of his body…” and “… he is our God.” The choice is yours.

^{Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 27, 2006 (Ministry Sunday)
Josh 24:1-2a, 15-17, 18b; Eph 5:2a, 25-32 (short form); Jn 6:60-69}

Here we are at the end of summer. For many of us this is the time to prepare for a return to school. Others may merely be looking forward to the new TV shows starting in September. There really is not much to watch on television during these so-called “dog days of summer.” For many, it’s a time to rent those movies from Netflix or BlockBuster you’ve missed earlier in the year. At least that’s what Karen and I have been doing. This leads me to today’s question for you.

A lot of recent movies seem to deal with the “C word.” This “C word” is the focus for such movies as The Notebook or the more recent: He’s Just Not into You. And so that’s my question: Just what is that “C word” which is the center of modern romance or love stories? Yes, it’s “Commitment.” Whether it’s the very positive commitment found in The Notebook, or the lack of commitment found among the couples depicted in He’s Just Not into You.

Commitment is a very powerful concept, although it seems to be lacking in many parts of our modern society and culture. Commitment is the center of today’s reading from Saint Paul, who proclaims: “For this reason a man shall leave his father and his mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh. This is a great mystery, but I speak in reference to Christ and the church.”

It’s because of the importance of their commitment to one another in married life that this passage from the letter of Saint Paul is proclaimed at many weddings. It is for their life-long commitment to one another that couples undertake their wedding vows. The promise – and the living-out of this everlasting commitment – is, indeed, the center of the Sacrament of Matrimony.

Commitment, the long-term promise of being together as one, is actually the center of all the other sacraments. When we enter into a sacrament with God we accept that the Holy Spirit will be with us eternally. We, also, promise to receive the gifts of the Holy Spirit – not only for ourselves but also in the service of others. And most importantly, we are to choose, with our own free will, to accept or not to accept the gifts of the Holy Spirit. No one can be forced against one’s own free will to receive a sacrament.

Even the baptism of an infant is administered with the understanding the parents and godparents undertake the commitment of the baptismal promises, on behalf of the infant, with the expectation the child will, later, receive the gifts of the Holy Spirit thorough the sacraments of Reconciliation, Eucharist and Confirmation.

At the reception of each sacrament, the individual again undertakes a personal commitment. Each time, the individual makes a Choice to make a commitment, or to avoid a personal commitment to God. Yes, the two elements are intertwined. There is the Choice and there is the Commitment. There is the Choice to say “Yes,” or “No,” to God. We heard about this Choice in our first reading today from the Book of Joshua.

In accord with the Covenant established between God and Moses on behalf of the Israelites, each year the tribes gathered to re-affirm, to re-commit themselves to the Law, to Torah, to God. In today’s reading we heard Joshua, the successor of Moses, address the Israelites in their annual gathering. He proclaimed: “If it does not please you to serve the LORD, decide today whom you will serve, the gods your fathers served beyond the [Jordan] or the gods of the [non-believers] in whose country you are now dwelling. As for me and my household we will serve the LORD.” And the Israelites responded with their commitment: “Far be it from us to forsake the LORD for the service of other gods. For it was the LORD, our GOD, who brought us and our fathers up out of the land of Egypt, out of a state of slavery. …. we also will serve the LORD, for he is our GOD.”

We heard a similar commitment made by the followers of Christ in today’s reading from the Gospel of John, which completes our five-week series on the Bread of Life. In last week’s reading, we heard Jesus proclaim he, himself, is the Bread of Life come down from heaven and whoever eats his flesh and drinks his blood has eternal life … and will be raised with him on the last day. Some Bible scholars point out that the words Jesus used might be appropriately translated as “gnaws on my flesh.”

There was no mistake: Jesus was not making it easy for those who heard him. In fact, his words were so difficult to hear that, in today’s reading of the continuation of the discussion, we learn many of his disciples murmured about what he had said. Some even “… returned to their former way of life and no longer accompanied him.”

It was then that Jesus gave them a choice … a choice to make a commitment to him or to turn away. John relates the question with the words: “Jesus then said to the Twelve, “Do you also want to leave?” On behalf of the Twelve, Simon Peter made their response: “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God.”

The Twelve Disciples made their commitment. Eleven of them kept it. One did not. When given a choice, many of his friends said “yes” over and over again. But not all did. And Jesus knew this might happen. In today’s reading we also heard John state: “Jesus knew from the beginning the ones who would not believe and the one who would betray him.” Nevertheless, Jesus gave all of them the opportunity to choose to make a commitment. He gave them not only one opportunity. He gave them many opportunities to make a choice, to make a commitment.

And this is an important lesson contained in our scriptures. Commitment to God – our commitment to Father, Son and Holy Spirit – is not a one-time event. With our free will, we are given a chance to choose Christ each and every day of our lives.

On their wedding day, a couple makes a commitment of their everlasting fidelity to one another. Yet, each day they must re-commit themselves to this fidelity. Each day, events arise in their lives that lead to a renewed commitment. Without this daily commitment of their unconditional love for one another, a marriage can slowly die. Each day of our own lives, each of us has a Choice to make. We can follow Christ who has the words of eternal life, or we can choose not to follow him. We can make a new commitment, or we can break a commitment which has weakened over time.

We, also, have a recurring Choice to make in order to strengthen, or not to strengthen, our on-going relationship with Christ. We have a Choice to receive Eucharist, or not to receive Eucharist. When there is a rupture in our relationship with Father, Son and Holy Spirit, we also have the Choice to repair that relationship through the sacrament of Reconciliation and a renewed commitment to them, or to wander further away from them.

Yes, the so-called “C word” can be the word and action called “Commitment.” We can embrace it or fear it. We can accept it or reject it. However, there is also another “C word.” And that word is “Christ.” Yes, we can embrace him or fear him. We can accept him or reject him. Commitment and Christ. The Choice is up to you.

^{21st Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 23, 2009
Jos 24:1-2a, 15-17, 18b; Eph 5:2a, 25-32 (short form); Jn 6:60-69}

Well, Monday is Labor Day. And, so, I have a Labor Day question for you. Actually, it’s a question for only the women. You men need not be concerned with this one. My question for you women is: Come Labor Day, how many of you are going to stop wearing white shoes for the summer? If I remember rightly from my younger days, women were “allowed” to wear white shoes only from Memorial Day until Labor Day. That was the “tradition.”

Another Labor Day tradition, at least up north where I lived, was summer officially ended on Labor Day. That’s when all of the shops catering to tourists closed down. That’s when kids went back to school. It was unthinkable kids would go back to school – elementary, high school or college – until after Labor Day. Now, here in Texas, we have laws saying you can’t go back before sometime in mid-August. But as far as I know, there’s no law about whether you can wear white shoes.

As you no doubt realize, today’s readings are about laws and traditions. In our first reading from Deuteronomy, the Bible’s basic list of rules for living a good, Jewish life, we heard Moses say: “In your observance of the commandments of the Lord, your God, which I enjoin upon you, you shall not add to what I command you nor subtract from it.”

And, so, it was, the Israelites followed Torah, the Law which God gave them through Moses. However, as the years passed, the Hebrews realized times do change, the laws of the Lord God as given to Moses did require interpretation for new circumstances, new ways of living. And, so, they developed an oral tradition of interpretations of Torah, oral traditions which later became written down as the “Mishnah” or Talmud.

In the time of Jesus, the pharisees were major interpreters of the law and the traditions associated with it. A major problem, however, was that Jesus did not always agree with their interpretations. He seems to say the pharisees were more interested in appearance than they were in the reality of what God wanted. But we, who follow the teachings of Christ, we may have the same problem as the pharisees. We may be more demanding of the appearance of events than we are for their reality, more demanding of the “externals” of living than of the “internals” of life, itself.

Both the pharisees and Jesus taught about purity, a purity needed for us to be part of God who is pure, who is perfect, without blemish. However, it seems the pharisees were more interested in clean hands than they might have been about a dirty heart. More concerned about external practices of piety, of purity, than they were about actions of charity towards their brothers and sisters.

When we listen to today’s gospel, some people seem to believe Jesus was saying a clean heart is what is desired and that dirty hands are OK, when he says: “Nothing that enters one from the outside can defile that person, but the things that come out from within are what defile.”

It’s perhaps unfortunate today’s gospel reading omits the reference indicating that, when he said this, Jesus was talking about so-called “unclean” food which enters the stomach and leaves the body without making the body, itself, impure. We need to interpret, if you will, what is meant by his statement: “Nothing that enters … from the outside can defile that person.” We need, I think, to be aware of the “I-can-handle-it syndrome.”

And what do I mean by the “I can-handle-it syndrome,” which seems to be an ailment of our modern culture? These words are the ones recited by the guy who surfs the internet for pornographic sites, who says: “Hey, I can do that. It doesn’t really affect me. I can handle it.” Or the married partner who is having a “casual” affair with another person who says, “Hey, this won’t have any real impact on my marriage. I can handle it.” Or the teenager who gets involved with friends who are into drugs. “Hey, they won’t have any influence on me. I can handle it.” Or the person who only occasionally cheats when filling out an income tax form or a job application. “Hey, this is not really cheating. It’s nothing big. I can handle the real temptations when they come along.”

Perhaps, such folks need to be reminded Jesus did not say it’s OK to eat with dirty hands so long as your heart is clean. What he was saying is: just because you wash your hands, don’t think what you do is pure. His focus was on the heart, on the core of the person, not on mere externals. He said doing something merely because it’s traditional is not what life is about.

Imagine for a moment. You’re driving late at night by yourself. On a country road. In the middle of nowhere. And the traffic light turns red. Why do you stop? Because the law says you must? Because tradition says you must? Or perhaps you don’t stop, after all, there’s no cop around to arrest you. Or again, think for a moment. Why are you here right now? Why are you in church at this moment? In fact, why are you even listening to me?

Are you here because you think there’s a church law that says you must attend mass every Sunday or God will send you to hell? Are you here, because your family and friends always came to church? It was a Sunday tradition, something you always did and you’re really not sure exactly why you’re here. Are you listening to these words, because this is what is supposed to be done at this time during the service even though you’d rather we get on with it so you can leave as soon as possible?

Why do you do what you do? Because it’s the law? Because it’s always been done that way, and you want to keep up the appearance of what is right? Or do you do what is right, because of what is in your heart, because it is part of that inner core of your being where you deeply know what is right and what is wrong.

Is it really possible for us to follow the directions we heard a few minutes ago in the Letter of Saint James: “Be doers of the word and not hearers only, deluding yourselves.” Is it possible to have both clean hands and a clean heart – and for the right reasons? Not merely for the sake of appearance, but to be part of the reality of the body of Christ.

_{Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 31, 2003
Dt 4:1-2, 6-8; Jas 1:17-18; 21b-22, 27; Mk 7:14-15; 21-23}

I want to be the first to wish each of you a Happy New Year! Some of you might be thinking I’m rushing the season a little bit. But I’m not. I’m not sure about the rest of you, but for me, the new year doesn’t begin January 1st. It starts now, with the end of summer vacations and the beginning of the school year. I think it’s part of our culture. It’s the natural time for endings and new beginnings. Our Jewish friends next door would agree with this. A week from this Monday, on September 12th, they will be celebrating Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. For them, I’m only a week early.

But for those of you who don’t believe this is the start of the new year, I suppose I could wish you a happy Labor Day! But, somehow, that doesn’t have the same ring to it. However, Labor Day is a lot like New Year’s Day, without the bowl games, of course. Traditionally, Labor Day is not only a day of rest, but also a time to take stock of where you are in your work. Labor Day speeches usually include comments about what we’ve accomplished and what needs to be done in the days ahead. So, it seems to me now is a good time to take stock of where I am, not only in my work, but more importantly, in where I am in my journey with God. Today is a good day for making New Year’s resolutions.

And that is what the focus of today’s reflection is to be about: what new resolutions do I need to make in order to seek and find Jesus, the Christ? But before I can even begin to make those resolutions, I need to ask myself: where do I look for him? Where do I see my God, my Lord and Savior?

We heard one approach in the first reading today: a very poetic view of the prophet Isaiah. Isaiah told us what to look for. He said, “Here is your God, he comes with vindication; with divine recompense he comes to save you.” And then Isaiah goes on to describe how we will recognize the Savior through the cures he will perform for the blind, the deaf, the lame, and those who could not speak. We will come back to that in the gospel reading for today. But for now, I’d call your attention to the next passages from Isaiah: “Streams will burst forth in the desert, and rivers in the steppe. The burning sands will become pools, and the thirsty ground, springs of water.”

These lines, I believe, remind us of many people who seek God in the wonders of nature. Some, and I am among them, find him at the seashore. With the waves dashing themselves upon the rocks. I see him in his power then. And when the waters run off into quiet pools, I see him in his nurturing gentleness.

Others find God in the mountains, in the peaks sharp against a blue sky or in a meadow yellow with wildflowers. Some see him in the beauty of a sunrise or in the glory of a magnificent sunset. Some find him in a quiet walk in the woods and in the aroma of the pine trees. Only you know if your God walks with you by the seashore, on the mountains, or through the forests.

Some people find God in places other than in nature. They find him in other people. Our second reading from the letter of James reminds us God can be found in others. There can, however, be a problem here, when we look for God in people. James reminds us we should not limit ourselves to only the “right kind of people”. When I hear what James has to say, I admit I become uncomfortable.

Imagine this with me for a moment. Say it’s the 10:45 mass here at Good Shepherd. Father Ed has already begun his greeting and his opening prayer, when two people walk down the center aisle looking for a seat. One of them is a young man in his late twenties or early thirties. Good looking, wearing an Armani suit. You can even get a whiff of the Halston aftershave lotion he’s wearing. And right behind him, there’s this bag lady. Her gray hair is stringy and sticking out in all directions. Her housedress is torn and dirty. The aroma she gives off comes from a different bottle. You’re sitting on the end of the aisle. Will you spread out so there is no room, or will you slide over? And when will you do it? As the young man approaches and before the bag lady can get to you. Or do you let the man pass by so you can offer the seat next to you to the bag lady?

Only you know if your God walks with you by the seashore, on the mountains, or through the forests. Only you know if his Son walks inside of only well-dressed people or can be found in bag ladies and winos.

There is a third place where some seek God, where some find Abba, his Son, and their Spirit. Besides in nature and in people, some find him in personal miracles. And that is what our gospel reading is about. For the next few minutes, I’d like to focus on this third reading. It’s a very complex reading.

First of all, there is that strange beginning about the cities of Tyre and Sidon, about the Sea of Galilee and some district called “the Ten Cities.” To understand why it’s so strange, consider this for a moment. Suppose you had a friend who lives in the Galleria area. And this friend made a trip out to Katy and is returning home. But instead of heading straight back to the Galleria, you friend goes to Tomball and then, instead of stopping in Spring, this friend heads out to Pasadena before going back to the Galleria. If you heard of such a trip, you’d be puzzled too. Why Pasadena?

Pasadena is not the usual way to get back from either Katy or Tomball to west Houston. And neither were the Ten Cities on the way from Tyre and Sidon back to Galilee. Jesus went there for a particular purpose. Tyre and Sidon, as well as the Ten Cities, were gentile cities surrounding Galilee. Jesus had taken his ministry beyond the borders of Israel to the lands of the unclean. And here he was, in the Ten Cities, surrounded by a crowd of non-Jews who were begging him to touch a gentile to cure him.

It may be debatable whether, at that moment, they really believed he could cure the man. Perhaps, they just wanted to see what this Jewish rabbi, this prophet and teacher would do. Would he make himself unclean by touching this man? And what did Jesus do? Rather then bowing to the wishes of the crowd, Jesus took the man off by himself. And there, when the two of them were alone, Jesus touched the man and said, “Be opened”. And the man heard and began to proclaim the wonders of God.

Is there a message here for us? In order to find God, do I, also, sometimes need to get away from the crowd, from the demands surrounding me so I can be alone with Jesus? Is it then, and only then, that he can touch me? Heal me? Is it then that he can say to me: “Be opened?”

Jesus cured a man who could not hear, one who could not speak clearly, who had a speech impediment, a stammer. Are there times when I cannot hear him, and as a result, can only stutter and stammer my way through life? Until he comes to me. That seems to me to be a central message in today’s readings: my need to go off, alone with Jesus, so he can touch me, open my ears and give me the power to proclaim his goodness.

Yet, it might be there is still a deeper message. A message that Mark in his writings is trying to tell me. The gospel Mark wrote is a short one. But it’s, also, a difficult one to understand. In today’s reading, Mark says Jesus told the man not to tell anyone about the cure. But the more Jesus ordered him not to, the more the man and the crowds around them spread the story. Some might believe Jesus is just using “human psychology.” The more you tell someone not to say something, the more it will be spread around. But that kind of manipulation is not part of the character of the Jesus I believe in. I don’t believe Jesus ever tried to manipulate anyone.

To understand what is going on, we need to take a quick look at an aspect of Mark’s gospel bible scholars call the “messianic secret”. I’m not going to go into a long explanation of Mark. Sister Alice and Cathy Bindas are offering a six-week bible study on the Gospel of Mark. If you want to learn more about this gospel, I’d urge you to attend their class. For now, I want to mention only one thing about this so-called “”messianic secret”. Certain bible scholars point out it is only in Mark’s gospel that Jesus cures people or drives out demons and then asks them not to tell about what has happened. The other gospel writers do not include this admonition to keep miracles a secret.

These bible scholars go on to say Mark wrote for a community in which he wanted to make a major point: people should not follow Jesus just because of the personal miracles and cures he performed. This is why Mark has Jesus asking people not to speak about the miracles. Instead of focusing on miracles, the focus of Mark’s gospel is on the cross, upon the suffering servant who came to save us. And most importantly, Mark focuses on our need to join with the suffering of Jesus. Mark’s gospel tries to encourage us to help others, to suffer with others.

Just as Jesus groaned in pain when he cured the man in today’s reading, we, too, are asked to share the pain of those who are with us on our journey. We are to find our Lord in those he has come to heal, we are to be his co-healers. We must be willing to help others in their suffering. We may look for God in nature, we may see him in others, but for Mark, the only way to find him is to search for him in the suffering and in the helping of those we meet.

We can listen to today’s gospel and ask ourselves: do I believe Jesus is Lord, because of his miracles, because of what he does for me that is out of the ordinary. Or do I believe Jesus is Lord because he suffered for me and asks me to help others in their suffering and to suffer with them?

As summer ends and we begin a new year of labor, whether in school, at home, in a job, a career, or a profession, what resolutions do I need to make? In the days, weeks and months ahead, where do I resolve to look for Jesus? Where will I find him? Where will he find me?

^{Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time; September 4, 1988
Is 35:4-7; Jas 2:1-5; Mk 7:31-37}

At the beginning of a recent homily, I didn’t ask a question, and a few people were concerned I might have run out of them. No such luck! In fact, I thought today I would ask a question about questions. So here it is: How many of you watch quiz programs? I guess most of the shows now come on in the afternoon or early evening. Programs like Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune. But there was a time when they were on at prime time. Back in the days of the sixty-four-dollar question or, after inflation, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.

It appears all of us like questions, or quizzes, except, maybe, for those pop-quizzes you kids get at the beginning of the school year to see how much you remember from last year, which, often, isn’t very much. I wonder what it is about questions that makes most of us, if not all of us, interested in them? Perhaps, we really do have a need to get information, to seek answers. While puppy dogs and kittens seem to be curious, I think it’s only humans who really ask questions and act on the answers they get.

Are there any kids who have not driven their parents to complete frustration by asking the question: “Why?” Why is the sky blue? Why is the grass green? But finally, when they grow up and get paid for asking questions, we call them scientists and engineers.

It, also. seems to me there are two kinds of questions which people ask: those we know the answer to and those we don’t. When a young child comes home, covered with dirt, and we ask, “Where have you been?” we pretty well know the answer. A few years later, when the teenager comes home, and we ask, “Where have you been?” we don’t know the answer, and, sometimes, wish we never asked the question. Somewhere, I once heard the longest title for a book written in English is: Where Did You Go? Out. What did you do? Nothing.

So, by now, how many of you may be asking yourself: what do questions have to do with today’s scripture? Well, I’m sure many of you have recognized today’s gospel reading has, perhaps, the central question of all of Christianity. There are, of course, many questions in the Old and New Testaments. All the way from the very first question asked in the Book of Genesis: “Did God really tell you not to eat from any of the trees in the garden?” through the rich man’s question: “What must I do to gain eternal life?“

Jesus, of course, posed many questions in his parable stories. Yet, as important as all of them are, I believe the question we heard today is the most important of all. “And you,” he went on to ask, “Who do you say that I am?” The disciples had already responded to his earlier question: “Who do people say I am?” They had replied some thought he was a prophet, like John the Baptist or Elijah, who was to return at the end of time. But Jesus was now more interested in who his friends said he is than in who other people said he is.

His twelve closest followers had been with him for some time now. They had seen his miracles, his wonders over nature and over demons. How he had cured those who came to him. More importantly, they had heard him teach the crowds who sought him out. They knew what he taught so that they might live, live in the kingdom. Any one of them could have responded by calling him “wonder worker” or “most esteemed teacher.” Instead, it was Peter who said: “You are the Messiah!”

Messiah. Anointed One of God. The one whom all of Israel awaited. The Savior. Some thought the Messiah would come as a warrior king, like David, and lead them to a worldly victory over all their enemies. Others expected a “Prince of Peace” who would bring spiritual harmony to all of the righteous.

However, these were not the images which Jesus the Christ, Jesus the Anointed, had in mind. Rather, he thought of the Suffering Servant we heard about in today’s first reading from Isaiah: “I gave my back to those who beat me, my cheeks to those who plucked my beard; my face I did not shield from buffets and spitting.” Jesus spoke of a Messiah, a Son of Man, who would suffer, be rejected, be put to death and rise three days later. Peter rejected this response. Peter wanted a Messiah who would live, not die.

Of all the questions posed by humans, the ones we fear to ask, because we fear the answers, are: “How am I to die? When will I die?” These were the terrible questions Jesus was now answering about himself. They were answered because of Peter’s response to that all-important question Jesus asks: “Who do you say I am?”

Yet, all of us realize this question, spoken some two-thousand years ago to Peter, is the same one Jesus addresses to each one of us today: “Who do you say I am?” But now, the situation is different. Now, the answer prompts further responses from each one of us rather than from him.

If I say Jesus was a major philosopher of the Western World who had some good things to say about how people should treat one another, my future actions will follow a certain course. However, what happens if I say he is God-Incarnate, that the entire power of the universe became enfleshed and suffered human pain for my sake, for my safety, for my salvation? Then my future actions must be very different.

It is one thing to say Jesus was a nice guy, someone I’d like for a friend or brother, someone who gives me warm fuzzies when I think about him. But, if he is, indeed, God-Enfleshed, then my response demands awesome piety. What do I mean by “awesome piety?”

For me, “awesome” is the feeling I have when I see a glorious sunrise or a magnificent sunset, draped in pinks and violets and silvers and golds. “Awesome” is the feeling I have when I see the power of a major storm with its winds, slanting rains and darkness. “Awesome” is the feeling I have when I see a butterfly unfold its wings or a baby move its fingers.

As for “piety,” well, for some, it has a limited connotation. What I mean by piety does include a picture of the little old lady praying quietly in the corner of a darkened church. Piety, also, includes a picture of that same woman walking hand-in-hand with her elderly husband along a quiet beach. Piety includes the image of a tired parent helping a child with homework. Piety includes the person who helps out in a soup kitchen, or sorts clothes for Northwest Assistance Ministry.

For me, piety is practicing the faith I profess. It is living out the instructions we heard in today’s reading from the Letter of James. It is more than wishing a person well, it is doing well for someone else. It is living out the instructions of Jesus we heard a few minutes ago: “If you wish to come after me, take up your cross and follow in my footsteps.”

I began this reflection talking about questions and quiz shows. Life, it seems, is full of questions, many sixty-four-dollar questions. Sometimes, we know the answers. Sometimes, we must continue to seek them. Yet, all of our questions of life and death, of happiness and despair, of action and inaction, all of them lead back to a final question. When Jesus turns to you and asks, “Who do you say I am?” how will you respond?

^{Twenty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time; September 11, 1994, September 17, 2000
Is 50:5-9a; Jas 2:14-18; Mk 8:27-35}

This weekend we celebrate “Catechetical Sunday,” a day to focus on Catholic education. So, it’s probably appropriate for me to begin with a fundamental question on our Faith. Actually, today’s question has four, equivalent answers. Any one of them will do, since they’re basically the same. My question is this: What is the proclamation of the “Mystery of Faith?” Yes, what is the “Mystery of Faith?”

We say the words at every mass. Usually they’re: “Christ has died. Christ is risen, Christ will come again.” Sometimes, we say: “Dying you destroyed our death, rising you restored our life. Lord Jesus, come in glory.” Some of you may prefer: “When we eat this bread and drink this cup, we proclaim your death, Lord Jesus, until you come in glory.” And finally there are the words: “Lord, by your cross and resurrection you have set us free. You are the Savior of the world.”

However, perhaps the more important question is: “How do we respond to the words of the “Mystery of our Faith?” Perhaps, this is what we need to ponder, not only in the next few minutes of this homily, but also during the rest of our lives.

In today’s Gospel, we heard how Jesus, himself, addressed this question. According to the Gospel of Mark, Jesus and his disciples were on a journey through Galilee, the Northern region of Israel, on their way towards Jerusalem in southern Judea. During this journey, Mark tells us: “[Jesus] was teaching his disciples and telling them, ‘The Son of Man is to be handed over to men and they will kill him, and three days after his death the Son of Man will rise.’ But they did not understand the saying, and they were afraid to question him.”

His disciples had, indeed, heard Jesus, himself, proclaim the central mystery of faith: he would die and be resurrected, he would suffer on the cross, and yet he would re-appear in glory. And they did not understand. Moreover, they were afraid to question him about what he was saying.

In last week’s Gospel reading, we heard how Jesus had said the same thing to them in Caesarea Philippi: “the Son of Man must suffer greatly and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and rise after three days.” And when Peter questioned him on the meaning of these words, Jesus chewed him out, calling him “Satan,” and said the disciples were thinking like men of this world. Instead, they were told they, too, must suffer on his behalf and for the sake of the Gospel, the Good News, for the Reign of God had begun.

And now, in today’s reading, how did they respond to these words of the mystery of faith? When they arrived in Capernaum, when they returned to the very house where it had all started, the house where Jesus cured Peter’s mother-in-law and began his healing and preaching mission, what did they do? They started arguing among themselves as to who would be the greatest in the Reign of God, in the Kingdom of Heaven!

Their reaction to hearing of the suffering, death and resurrection of the one Peter had proclaimed to be the Christ, the Messiah, the Chosen One of God, their reaction was to argue about who would sit in authority with Jesus in the new kingdom he was ushering in. Who would be his CEO? Would it be Peter, who usually spoke up when Jesus asked a question? Or maybe John, whom Jesus seemed to love more than the others? Who would be his Chief Financial Officer? Judas Iscariot seemed to have a lock on the position. But you never could tell about Matthew, who had been a money collector before joining up with Jesus. Would Judas or Matthew be a better CFO?

And Jesus heard them arguing. And what did he do? What did he say? Jesus placed a child in their midst and said: “Whoever receives one child such as this in my name receives me; and whoever receives me, receives not me but the One who sent me.” Perhaps we can gain a better idea of what Jesus meant when we look at another translation that reads: “Whoever welcomes one child … welcomes me … and welcomes God.”

What does it mean to “welcome” someone? To “receive” someone? Two thousand years ago, to welcome or to receive a visitor into your nomadic tent, or even into your permanent house, meant you were to serve the visitor. You were to make your domicile the home of the visitor. Spanish has a way of putting it: “Mi Casa, Su Casa.” My home is your home.

And the visitor whom Jesus used as his example was not an exalted one, not a royal or divine visitor. Rather, the one in their midst was a mere child. A nobody. One who had no legal protection. This child was the one whom his true followers were to honor. They were not to honor themselves. They were not to act like those who appear with Donald Trump or on Survivor. They were to act with humility, and to serve the humble.

As I suggested earlier, the real question for today is not merely what are the words of the “Mystery of faith?” Rather, the true question is how do we respond to these words? As Christians, do we attempt to promote our own self-righteousness by talking about how involved we are in Church projects? Do we attempt to show how important we are by the number of Church committees we chair? By the influence we have on the Pastor, or on the Cardinal? By the size of our financial contribution to the Church?

Or – do we respond to the words of the “Mystery of Faith” by our other actions? By what we attempt to do for the poor, the homeless, the alien. How we extend our efforts toward today’s orphans, the ones suffering famine and disease in war-torn countries or in our own! Or how do we act toward today’s so-called “widows,” all those who have no other protectors, those who are abused or forgotten?

When we hear the words of the “Mystery of Faith,” do we react by puffing ourselves up, by our pride that we are members of the Kingdom of God? Or when we hear these words, do we recall we are to serve the “children of the world,” all those who are not able to exist without our hospitality, without our loving concern for all of God’s children, for all of our brothers and sisters.

Yes, at each mass, we proclaim: “Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.” But in the meantime, do we recall we are not only members of the Kingdom of God, but also members of the Body of Christ?

^{25th Sunday in Ordinary Time; September 20, 2009 (Catechetical Sunday)
Wis 2;12,17-20; Jas 3:16-4:3; Mk 9:30-37}

Today’s question is for older folks, those who are my age or maybe a few years younger. If you’re under forty you may not be able to answer this one. My question is: How many of you remember the smell of burning leaves? Can you recall the fragrance of this autumn incense, an aroma telling you it was late September or early October. Summer had, indeed, ended and winter would soon be here.

It may be hard for young people to believe there was a time when children raked leaves onto the street in front of their homes, and, under the watchful eyes of their parents, set a match to the huge piles along the curbs. They saw the brilliant golds and reds be transformed, with sweet smelling clouds, into mere ashes to be spread around the garden beds. Then came a recognition such burnings contributed to air pollution and bronchial health problems. Autumn leaf-burning was no more.

It, also, eliminated another burning, the burning of trash, a mixture of un-namable things giving off odors which were far from the aroma of burning leaves. Trash burning was a greater source of true air pollution than was the mere burning of leaves. Yet, the burning of rubbish heaps has an ancient history. It was the best way, in fact the only way, to get rid of the unwanted, undesirable leftovers of life.

Perhaps, the most famous of all of the trash heaps of history is the one which smoldered near Jerusalem in the time of Christ. Its stench covered the city on days when pockets of gas would spontaneously ignite, as happens with decaying organic matter. This trash heap even had a name. It was “Gehenna.”

In today’s gospel reading, Jesus refers to it three times. If your hand or your foot or your eye leads you to sin, it is better to get rid of them, he said, than to be cast into Gehenna. In the Middle Ages, some Christians took his words quite literally and maimed their bodies in hopes of avoiding the even greater fires of hell. Yet, other Christians realized Jesus was using a rhetorical technique called hyperbole, an exaggeration, to make his point.

What was his point? It was: you must give up whatever is keeping you away from full participation in the Kingdom of God. In a time when all work was done by hand, when everything you did involved your hands, Jesus said: no matter how difficult or impossible it might seem, you must stop doing whatever it is that separates you from the Kingdom of God. In a time when all travel involved walking from place to place, when all movement was by foot, Jesus said: no matter how difficult or impossible it might seem, you must stop going to those places which might separate you from the Reign of God. In a time when seeing was the only way to internalize events outside of yourself, when the inner eye was the center of our mind and thought, Jesus said: no matter how difficult or impossible it might seem, you must stop meditating on evil and avoid all thoughts that might separate you from God.

Today, we use more than our hands for doing things, accomplishing things. Today, we use more than our feet to move from place to place. Today, we use more than our eyes for taking in all that surrounds us. But, the admonitions, the warnings of Jesus, are just as relevant to us today as when his listeners could see and smell the fires of Gehenna.

If my action separates me from God or from others who are the Body of Christ, I must stop doing it. If I go to a place that separates me from God or from others who are the Body of Christ, I must stop going there. If I contemplate or entertain thoughts which separate me from God or from others who are the Body of Christ, I must stop thinking or taking delight in such things.

Similar warnings are reiterated in the letter from Saint James we heard today. St James cautions us: All of our resources (our wealth) is subject to decay. All of our defenses against the elements (our coverings) are subject to being worn out. Even our gold and silver, all those objects which we have assumed will last forever, will in fact, have an end.

At first, it might seem these readings focus on only negative actions: our need to avoid sin and to realize material acquisitions will not guarantee us life in the Kingdom of God. Merely desisting from negative actions is only part of the requirement for being in the company of Jesus the Christ. Positive action is also demanded, no matter how small that action might be, no matter how simple the action might be. Even if it is giving a cup of water to a thirsty person to drink

And who is called to eliminate such negatives and pursue the positives? Are they only the direct members of the company of Christ? Are they the only ones who can drive out demons in the name of Christ? Some of the disciples thought this was the case. They wanted Jesus to denounce those who were not among his closest followers.

Their views were not new. In the first reading we heard even Joshua, a life-long companion of Moses, say that those who were not present for the direct Epiphany of God, the direct touch of God – they should not prophesy, they should not speak for the Lord God. And what did Moses reply? “Would that all the people of the Lord were prophets! Would that the Lord might bestow his spirit on them all!” And he did. The Lord God did make it possible for all of us to be prophets, for all of us to have the spirit bestowed upon us.

This is what God gives us in the gift of Baptism: to become prophet, priest and protector. To become one who speaks of God, one who helps others become part of the Kingdom of God – both in the holiness of being priests and the compassion of true protectors.

Yes, we no longer need the aroma of burning leaves to remind us summer has ended, and a new season of change is upon us. We can recognize the need for change without external reminders of the fires of Gehenna. Instead, we have the fire of Christ burning within us. Our fire is the one felt by the two disciples at Emmaus when the word and bread of Christ were broken and shared. Our fire is the one showered upon the disciples at Pentecost. Our fire is the one given to us at our Baptism, for we are to be the fire. We are to be the Light of Christ to be kept burning until he returns.

^{Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary time, September 28, 2003
Num 11:25-29; Jas 5:1-6; Mk 9:38-43,45, 47-48}