Author: patcamerino

Today’s question has no one, single answer. It’s a question each of us needs to ponder separately. The question is this: what do you think about when you hear the word “church?” Just what is a “church?” Now some of you may think about a particular structure, a building. Perhaps Christ the Good Shepherd. Or maybe in your mind, you see the image of a classical, little, white church in the country. Or maybe for you, the word “church” conveys a mind’s eye view of a Gothic Cathedral, like St Patrick’s in New York City. And yet, we all recognize that the word “church” means more than a building.

Sometimes we speak not of “a” church, but rather “the” church. We say this when we want to focus on the people who make up the church as a community, rather than as a building. If you’ve taken any adult education classes with me, you’ve heard me speak about the “ecclesia,” the gathering of the people. You may also have heard about different “models” of the church. Avery Dulles, a Jesuit priest and theologian who became a U.S. Cardinal, wrote a significant book on this subject, called “Models of the Church.”

He wrote it at a time when the major model, the major way of looking at the church, the people of God at the time of Vatican II, was that of the “institutional church.” Prior to Vatican II, the focus for the Roman Catholic Church was as an institution, one established by Christ, himself, as a hierarchy of clergy and laity. A gathering, perhaps, but one governed by the Pope through archbishops, bishops and priests. The function of the rest of the gathering was to pray and to obey.

Fr. Dulles said there are other ways to look at the church, the ecclesia, the gathering of the people. He proposed several alternate models. He proposed that, together, we make up a “mystical community.” By that, he didn’t mean some weird sort of mysticism, not a so-called “new age” gathering of people with wooly heads in some other universe. Rather he referred to an image going back to St Paul, in which all of us make up the mystical body of Christ, in which we are the members of his body with Christ as our head. It’s an image at the opposite end of the spectrum from that of an institutional church ruled by clergy with the laity as mere subjects.

Fr. Dulles proposed other “models” for consideration. He also saw the church as “sacrament.” The church is a visible sign of an invisible reality. As with all sacraments, the church confers grace, God’s gift of His love to a community of believers. But Fr. Dulles also cautioned that an over-reliance on this model could lead to a problem. It could create a community which was focused only on itself; one that saw no reason for an outreach to others who were not yet believers within the community.

So Fr. Dulles proposed another model, one he called “the church as Herald.” A herald in the ancient world was a man who proclaimed the message of the one who sends him forth. We, as church, under this model, are to proclaim the message of Christ. We are to proclaim that the Kingdom of God has begun. Many Christians incorporate this model when they say that to be saved, one must “believe in your heart and profess with your lips that Jesus Christ is your Lord and Savior.”

However, Fr. Dulles also pointed out that a reliance on this model of the church as Herald had its own limitations. For many people, the mission of the church is more than preaching about Jesus the Christ. It is more than just being his herald. For them, the mission of the church is becoming actively involved in serving others. And so, Fr. Dulles proposed a model of the church as “Servant of God.” In this model, you must put into practice what you preach. In this model, the church works for social justice and has a preferential treatment for the poor, the marginalized.

Of course, what Fr. Dulles concludes in his book is that there is no one, perfect model of the church. We can probably agree that the Catholic church indeed has elements of being an institutional church, with specific roles performed by one group that cannot be performed by another. We also, I think, acknowledge that the church is the mystical body of Christ with us as members of that body and Christ is our head. There are those who are called to be heralds and proclaim the message. There are those who are called to lives of service for others. The church means many things, has many roles for each of us.

Now some of you may be wondering why I’ve focused today on the models of the church. The church as institution, as sacrament, as mystical community, as herald and as servant. I’ve done this for several reasons. First of all there are the readings for today and for the next few Sundays to come, as we prepare for the completion of the Easter Season. Next week we celebrate the Ascension. And then Pentecost, the birthday of the church. For these Sundays, our first readings are taken from the Acts of the Apostles: those times when the followers of Christ first gathered together as a community, as a church.

Today we heard how the church grew beyond its Jewish origins, beyond its original dietary laws, so that it became the church of gentiles as well. It was in Antioch, you will recall, that our church, our gathering, became known as Christians. In today’s second reading we heard about the new Jerusalem, the new community come down from heaven, in which there is no temple structure: no building to contain the glory of God, but rather the whole city, the whole community, “had no need for sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gave it light, and its lamp was the lamb.” Yes, the temple-limited God had become the city enlightened by Christ, himself.

And in our gospel reading we heard, once more, how upon returning to the Father – Jesus and his Father would send forth the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, to teach us everything and remind us of all that he had told us. So it seemed to me that today would be a good day to have us reflect on the models of the church, what analogies we might use to describe the church.

And in this light, there is another model I want to mention. It is an ancient model of the church which we also need to recall. Especially today, when we celebrate mothers’ day. How many of you recall the time when we spoke of the church as “Holy Mother Church?” And just what do we mean when we think of this model?
● Consider those mothers who gave us life. Who gave us our new breath. From whom we were born.
● Consider those mothers who nourished and nurtured us. Those who provided for our every want and need … even when we were obstinate and refused the love they offered.
● Consider those mothers who comforted us, who cradled and hugged away our tears and hurts.
● Consider those mothers who forgave us when we did things we should not have done. Those mothers who showered us with love and mercy we did not merit … that we need not earn.
● Consider those mothers we tend to take for granted, whom we honor only once or twice a year, when, in fact, we owe everything we are, or hope to be, to them.

Yes, these are the women whom we love and honor in a special way today … but really should love and honor every day. And so today, as we celebrate Mothers’ Day, a day dedicated to those women in our lives who have meant so much to us, I would also suggest that we take a moment to recall our debt of gratitude not only to them but to Holy Mother Church, as well. And remember the words spoken to us a few minutes ago: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid.” May the peace of Christ be with you. May motherly love be with you. May our Holy Mother Church be with you.

Sixth Sunday of Easter; May 13, 2007 (Mothers’ Day)
Acts 15: 1-2, 22-29; Rev 21:10-14, 22-23; Jn 14:23-29

There are all sorts of questions I could ask you about today’s readings. For instance, I could ask: Who is this “Stephen” we heard about in the first reading and why was he stoned to death? Or who was this “Saul” that guarded the cloaks of those doing the stoning?

Many of you, I’m sure, know that Stephen was the first deacon chosen by the twelve apostles. Shortly after being chosen, he gave a major sermon about Moses and how Jesus had fulfilled the Law of Moses and now stood at the right hand of God. The Jews loyal to the Law called his words blasphemy and covered their ears so they would not hear him. Others stoned him to death. And so deacon Stephen became the first martyr for Christ and perhaps, a role model for our own deacon Steve who, in a few days, is celebrating the twentieth anniversary of his own ordination.

Again, most of you know that Saul was the name of Saint Paul before he became a follower of the risen Christ and a major leader among the first Christians. The “Acts of the Apostles,” from which our First Reading was taken, emphasizes this strange conflict of someone who is a witness to the persecutions of the first Christians becoming, later on, a champion of Jesus the Christ.

With the Second Reading from the Book of Revelation, there are several more questions possible. For instance: why in his appearance to John does Jesus refer to himself as the “Alpha and the Omega?” For the answer you might recall that in the Greek alphabet, alpha is, of course, the first letter and omega is the last. So, when Jesus says he is the “alpha and the omega,” he means he is the beginning and the end of everything.

There are other questions I could ask about today’s readings. How about this one? What is the last word found in the Christian scriptures? We heard this word in today’s Second Reading. When Jesus said: “Yes, I am coming soon!” The narrator responds with the final words: “Amen! Come, Lord Jesus!” These words are important whether you hear them in English or in the original Aramaic Jesus spoke. And, yes, many of you have heard those words: “Come, Lord Jesus” in Aramaic. In this language the phrase is “… “marana tha.” It’s the name we use here at Christ the Good shepherd for our RCIA program: Maranatha, the process followed by our candidates and catechumens who enter our community at the Easter vigil.

OK, I admit I’ve spent a lot of time today on questions, what may seem to be a variety of questions. But, in reality, they all relate to one theme I would like to consider for the next few minutes. The theme of “transitions.”

This is a time of transitions. Not just one transition but many transitions. For the young, it may be the transition from elementary school to middle school or from middle school to high school. This month and next are the months for graduations from high school and from college. The questions that come with these transitions are more relevant, perhaps, than the ones I asked today. All of those questions about what comes next? What happens now? All those scary questions about how do I make transitions from a secure past to an unknown future?

For the not so young, there are transitions that may involve moving a household from one part of town to another, from one city to another. Whether you are preparing to leave Christ the Good Shepherd or are about to join us, there are all those uncertain questions about the new place and how will it compare with the one you loved so much?

For others, there are transitions that involve relationships. This is the season for marriages, for young brides and grooms. Unfortunately, it may also be the season for separations and divorces. It is always the season for changes in relationships, of finding a new lover, a new beloved, of losing old lovers and those we loved.

This month the diocese of Galveston-Houston is honoring our older members. Since I’m in that group I’m not going to say it’s the time to honor the elderly or the aged, but merely those who are eligible to be members of the AARP. We, too, have our times for transitions and the difficulties associated with them. Transitions of retirement from jobs but not from life. Yet there are also those transitions from the life we know to the life for which we hope for ourselves and for those we love. This Memorial Day weekend, in particular, we think about – and pray for – those who have passed through the gateway to a new life.

Yes, there are many transitions for us to contemplate. And as a reminder of this season of transitions, we have illuminated our oil lamp, here on our altar, a symbol to call to mind all of the transitions we must weather; a symbol to light our way through potential storms and darkness.

But in this season of transitions we have more than a mere symbol of a burning oil lamp to guide us. We also have the reality of what we heard Jesus say in our third reading for this Sunday, this Sunday between Ascension and Pentecost, this transition between the Jesus who comforted his friends in the past and the Holy Spirit he sends to comfort us as our companion on the way ahead.

In our gospel reading we heard amazing words. We heard that Jesus prays for us: for you and for me. On that night before his suffering and death, before his own transition, Jesus prayed for us and spoke other amazing words. He assured us that God the Father loves us, you and me, just as much as God the Father loves Jesus, himself. Jesus said:
“I do not pray for my disciples alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their word. — that they may be one, as we are one — I living in them, you living in me — that their unity may be complete. So shall the world know that you sent me, and that you loved them as you loved me.”

We began today with the story of Stephen, the first deacon and the first martyr and his sermon on the transition from the Law of Moses to the fulfilment of that law in Jesus the Christ. We were reminded of Saul and his own transition to Saint Paul. We recalled that Jesus revealed that he is both the beginning and the end; that he is with God at the creation and that he awaits us when we return to the creator; that everything in between is a transition; that we come from God the Father and return to God the Father.

And last of all: we are reminded, that, in these “between times,” in these days of transition, God loves each one of us as a child of God; that in these days of waiting for complete unity, our final oneness, our prayer continues to be: “Maranatha … Come, Lord Jesus, Come.”

Seventh Sunday of Easter; May 24, 1998 (Memorial Day)
Acts 7:55-60; Rev 22:12-14, 16-17,20; Jn 17:20-26

My question for today is about hobbies. It’s straight forward. How many of you like to take photographs, especially with a digital camera? Or for the younger ones here … with a cell phone. It seems a lot of us like to take pictures of the events happening around us. Some to preserve the moment; others to share with friends and relatives.

Recently Karen and I took a two-week vacation … a river-boat cruise on the Danube in Eastern Europe. Fortunately the Icelandic volcano did not effect our return through London. While on this trip, we took a lot of photographs. Between the two of us we had over 300 electronic captures of what we saw. As you might imagine, we have multiple versions of several important places we visited. I suppose this is true for you, too. With modern equipment it’s easy to photograph the same place … or the same event … from many different viewpoints. And while they all show the same thing, in general, there are different results because of new angles or slight differences in time.

I think many of us realize these same conditions relate to the Scriptures. A single event can be recorded from slightly different viewpoints. The event, itself, is real … it is a true and one-time-only event … but it can be seen in slightly different ways, even if written by the same person, let alone four different gospel writers. We see this happening in two of today’s readings. Both the first reading and the gospel reading are accounts of a single event reported by Saint Luke.

Today’s gospel reading comes from the conclusion of Luke’s reporting to someone named Theophilus. St Luke talks about the Ascension of our Lord as the concluding event of Jesus’ life on this earth – of the events happening between the time of his baptism by John, at the beginning of his ministry, until the completion of his ministry on earth.

In his Second writing to Theophilus – which Luke compiled several years after he wrote his gospel – Luke begins with the Ascension of our Lord as a prelude to Pentecost and the beginning of the Church, the beginning of the mission of his followers who are to be sent forth to spread the Good News. We heard this message in our first reading for today, a message contained in the opening lines of the Acts of the Apostles.

Yes, today we celebrate one event: the Ascension of Our Lord. But we hear about this event in two distinct versions … like two photographs taken by the same person from different angels, different viewpoints.

In both stories, we hear about the event which takes Jesus the Christ from our sight. Have you ever wondered what would it be like if he had not ascended; if his physical, resurrected body were still present on the earth?

It would, indeed, be a different world. For one thing, there would probably be no doubt about who he is! He would still be here in bodily form to be seen and heard directly. Many of us might believe this would be great. If he were still here physically, he’d be able to perform miracles for all those who came in contact with him. Surely there would be peace and joy on the planet. There would be no more wars, no more suffering.

There would, also, be no need for our Free Will. Jesus would be here to tell us directly what we must do to find eternal life with him. Of course, we might have a problem getting close enough for him to be with each one of us. Not everyone would be able to crowd into Jerusalem — or any other place, for that matter, where he would be staying. With a physical, albeit, resurrected body, Jesus would still be limited by time and space — by physical laws.

And yes, without an Ascension, without Christ’s physical separation from this world, we would have no need for a Pentecost. No need for the Holy Spirit. No need for Eucharist! But this fantasy world did not occur. Jesus did leave his followers. And in his place, he and his Father sent them the Holy Spirit, the manifestation of their love for one another and for us.

For nine days, for the period of a novena, his friends thought they might have been abandoned, even though he had assured them that they should stay in Jerusalem until they were “clothed with power from on high.”

And he fulfilled his promise. Next week we will celebrate the fulfilment of this promise. Next week, we celebrate Pentecost, the sending of the Holy Spirit upon his followers who preached the Good News — his disciples who made it possible for us to receive the Holy Spirit as well — who made it possible for us to receive Eucharist.

Without an Ascension, without a physical separation from the world, Jesus the Christ would be limited by the constraints of time and space. But with his Ascension and with the presence of the Holy Spirit in the world – and within each one of us – Jesus can be present to each and every one of us at the same moment.

With his Ascension to God the Father, Jesus Christ, the Second Person of our Trinitarian God, graciously promised the coming of the Holy Spirit until he, himself, returned physically to us, at the end of time. Meanwhile, we are to continue the work he began.

In his gospel, Luke spoke of the events of the earthly life of Jesus. In his Acts of the Apostles, Luke speaks of the events of the life of the Church, the body of Christ existing in physical form along with the spiritual head of this one body of Christ.

We are sent forth to the ends of the earth as witnesses of his life, passion, death and resurrection. We are not forced to do so. We are given free will to accept or reject his call to us. By accepting his call, we are to be his physical presence on earth. We are to continue to accomplish his task; we are to perform his ongoing miracles. With his guidance, we are to change ourselves and the world around us.

We no longer see Jesus with our physical eyes. Rather, Saint Paul offers up his prayer for us: “May the eyes of your hearts be enlightened, that you may know what is the hope that belongs to his call, what are the riches of glory in the inheritance among the holy ones, and what is the surpassing greatness of his power for us who believe.”

At the same time, let us also recall the question spoken to those gathered on a hillside in Bethany some two thousand years ago – when two men in white garments asked the disciples: “… why are you standing there looking at the sky?”

We are not to stand about looking at the sky, at empty air. We are not to be wasting our time. We are not to stand about while wondering what will happen next – how we will survive without the physical presence of our Lord. Rather we are to become his physical presence in the world.

For us, Pentecost has arrived. For us, the Holy Spirit has been sent. For us, Jesus the Christ – through the consumption of his Body and Blood, through the Eucharist he has given to us – Jesus the Christ remains with us and we with Him. Amen.

Ascension Sunday, May 16, 2010
Acts 1:1-11; Eph 1:17-23; Lk 24: 46-53

When was the last time you felt goose bumps? Scientists tell us that goose bumps — or goose pimples, if you prefer — are left over from the days when human beings were covered with hair. In our skin there are tiny muscles connected to our hair follicles. Physiologists say that when an animal is cold, these muscles contract so that the hair will stand up and trap warm air next to the skin. We also get them when we’re frightened. These same physiologists maintain that the raised hair would help scare off an attacker. You’ve probably seen the same result when your cat has been frightened and the fur on her back stood straight up. If all of this theory is true, then you and I have probably experienced goose bumps when we’ve been very cold or very frightened.

There’s another time you have probably felt them. An Irish friend of mine once told me that when she felt goose bumps, she knew the Holy Spirit was there with her. She had them when she felt something very true was being said about God. Today is the great feast of Pentecost; but for the next few minutes, I’d like to think of this as being “Goose Bump Sunday”.

I have a problem about today’s gospel and just what I might share about it. When I gave a homily a few weeks ago, on the Sunday after Easter, we heard the same gospel — or at least the beginning was the same — about the disciples being behind locked doors when Jesus appeared to them. My opening question for that homily was about walking backwards up a flight of stairs. In that reflection I spoke about how “trust” drives out “fear” and about how the “peace” of Christ leads to “joy”. Today, at the end of our Easter season, here on Pentecost, I want to continue that reflection. Today, our focus will be on the “joy” and excitement of Pentecost.

The pursuit of excitement in our secular world is almost a full-time occupation. At least it might seem that way from all the commercials and news we find on TV and in magazines. We pursue excitement but never seem to be able to find it.

Some people look for excitement in drugs. Why else would dealers be able to sell crack to kids and adults not only in downtown Houston but in our affluent suburbs as well? Kids get hooked on drugs because they are looking for excitement, for something different. And drug pushers make it as attractive and as exciting as possible.

But drug pushers are not the only ones who focus on making things exciting. Have you taken a look at car commercials? Is there anything more exciting than owning and driving the latest model of the fastest, sexiest car? Although somehow when it’s parked in our own driveway or stuck in traffic on I-45, it rapidly loses its excitement.

Our search for excitement is what makes us buy much of what Madison Avenue pushes on us — from action toys with the Saturday morning cartoons to the latest perfumes and aftershave lotions. We are hooked on the promises for a new, exciting life. If we can’t find it at home, why not look for it elsewhere, perhaps in an affair with a younger woman, or with another man?

Young adults and teenagers are not immune from this search for excitement. Why else would they be into rock music and MTV? We learn at an early age that our own, individual lives appear to be dull in comparison with what we think the lives of other people must be. Each one of us believes ours is the only dull life there is. We all want to put more excitement into our life. Most of us look for it everyplace we can — with one exception. When was the last time you looked for excitement in church? When was the last time you found excitement in God: the Father, Son and Holy Spirit?

Most of us don’t come to church expecting to be excited, to be filled with the excitement of the Holy Spirit. We usually don’t come to church expecting to have goose bumps. Yet that’s how it all started.

Some two thousand years ago the friends and companions of Jesus were filled by the Holy Spirit. When that happened they did not say: “That’s nice, now let’s go home and have lunch.” Nor did they fall on their knees and begin praying privately to God. No. Those foolish characters went running out onto the streets of downtown Jerusalem and began shouting and preaching about Jesus.

What would happen if we all did that in downtown Houston? If you were a visitor to Houston, or even a long-time resident, you’d say such people where either crazy or drunk. That is exactly what the Jews in Jerusalem said that morning. Those people are drunk with new wine. Peter, himself, was forced to tell them they weren’t drunk; it’s only nine o’clock in the morning.

I’m not suggesting that right after Mass we all go out shouting the praises and glory of God all over Houston. On the other hand, have you ever thought what might happen if every Catholic, if every Christian, in Houston would do it? I agree it’s unlikely — yet anything can happen.

What then am I suggesting, if it’s not a mass march on Houston or even FM 1960? What I am suggesting is this: that each one of us can be open to the excitement of the Holy Spirit. Many of us don’t even really know that the Holy Spirit is around. Sometimes the Holy Spirit seems to be the forgotten person in the Trinity. A recent issue of the magazine, “U.S. Catholic” has an article on prayer. In a survey they conducted, they found that while 43% prayed to God the Father and another 43% to Jesus, only 7% prayed to the Holy Spirit — and then mainly for wisdom.

Our Catholic culture has deeply associated the Holy Spirit with wisdom not with excitement. Yet if we look at scripture we find that the Holy Spirit has always been seen with movement and excitement. When the disciples heard the driving wind that morning and beheld tongues of fire descending upon them, they had no doubt that this was the spirit of God. As devout Jews they recognized that the first line of Genesis speaks of the wind of God blowing across the void. When God spoke to Moses, it was from a burning bush. When Yahweh gave his commandments to Moses, Mt Sinai was covered by fire and smoke and peals of thunder. And when he led the Israelites out of Egypt, he led them with a black tornado by day and a column of fire by night. The disciples had no doubt that here, indeed, was the presence of God.

The presence of God. The felt experience of the love of the Father and the Son. The Holy Spirit. The Spiritus Sanctus. The sacred storm. Meager words for something, someone, who must be experienced to be appreciated.

Have you ever felt like turning somersaults? I have. Also, since today is Mother’s Day, it’s a story that fits in, although it’s from a father’s perspective. At the time, we were living in New Hampshire. I was with Dartmouth Med and was scheduled to present a research paper at a national meeting in Atlantic City. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go, since Karen was expecting our second child. But her O-B assured us that the blessed event was several weeks away. So, I went off with my colleagues to Atlantic City.

As you probably guessed, when I was there I received a telephone message from a friend saying Karen had been taken to the hospital to deliver. I was sure it was a joke they were playing on me. But I called the hospital and sure enough, heard from her that we had our first son. For the next couple of hours I rushed up and down the Boardwalk at Atlantic City. And I really felt like turning cartwheels. Back then I was as un-athletic as I am now, so there’s no way I could have really done it. But for me, that’s what it is to be filled with joy and excitement.

It’s that kind of feeling the Holy Spirit can give. It’s not only when a son is born. There have been other times I have wanted to turn somersaults. Instead I’ve danced. Yes, really. Many of you know that I go each year to Grand Coteau for a retreat. The center has some five-hundred acres to roam through — and to dance through. I have been caught up in prayer sometimes in those fields where the only thing I could do was dance and shout. It’s not liturgical dance. Some would say it’s being foolish. But that is what excitement and joy in the Holy Spirit are really all about.

It’s other things too. This last time, God told me to go fly a kite. So, I did. There’s a little country store near the retreat house. I went there and the owner was able to find a kite in the bottom of one of their old display cases. And so, I spent the next couple of hours flying my “Chuck & Cheese’s” and praying to God out in the field. (And here it is!) When you’re open to the Holy Spirit, you’re open to being silly and doing outrageous things. You’re open to expressing the joy and excitement that are inside of you.

Sometimes we do it when we are alone with God. When there is no one else around to see our foolishness. At other times we have that excitement when we join in celebration with others. For me it occurred at the 5:30 mass on the Saturday of our last Spring Festival. It seemed to me that the joy of the Holy Spirit was with us in a very special way at that celebration.

It’s said that Pentecost is the Birthday of the Church. Wouldn’t it be great if each of our masses had the excitement and joy of a first-rate birthday party? In some churches it seems to. Our black brothers and sisters celebrate that way. When you hear good-old Gospel music, it’s impossible not to experience the Holy Spirit directly. And if you agree with me, let me hear you shout out “Amen, brother.”

Yes, that’s what I mean. We need to shout out “amen” more often. We need to truly shout out the joy of the Lord. Even our own hymns try to convey it sometimes. Aren’t you at least a little excited when you sing: “Everyone Moved by the Spirit is a Son or Daughter of God ….” that’s what it is to be truly a son or daughter of God, to be moved by the Spirit. Not to just sit back and meditate; but to get up and move. To do. To act. To be excited. To be excited like a child who gets straight A’s on a report card and comes running home to mom and dad. That child doesn’t say, “Oh by the way, I got straight A’s this semester.” You hear the kid shout it out as soon as the front door is slammed shut.

As Christians, we need to be as excited as a five-year old is on Christmas morning; and we need to do it not just once a year, but as often as we can. But you’ll tell me that’s not realistic. No one can be that “hyper” every day of your life.

However, what I’m saying is that some people are. And if you’re not, I have a suggestion for you: start with goose bumps. Just what do I mean by that? Just this. The next time you are moved by something you hear, or see, or read, or do -– and you feel those goose bumps on your arms and up your back – think of the Holy Spirit and the excitement being offered to you as a gift.

We talk a lot about the gifts of the Holy Spirit. Well, I believe goose bumps should be included among them. Let yourself be open to those times when Spiritus Sanctus, the sacred storm enters your life. From that little start, that breeze, could come a mighty wind of excitement and joy. As Father Ed might say: “You could get your socks blown off.”

Pentecost; May 14, 1989 (Mothers’ Day)
Acts 2:1-11; 1 Cor 12:3-7, 12-13; Jn 20:19-23

Today’s question is for movie buffs. One of my favorite actors is Mel Gibson. Since this weekend we celebrate Fathers’ Day, you might think my question is going to be about “The Patriot,” the movie in which Mel Gibson played a father who was deeply interested in the welfare of his children. But I have a different question for you.

My question is this: Where was Mel Gibson born? No, it was not in Australia. He was born on January 3, 1956 in Peekskill, New York, the sixth of eleven children in a good-old, Irish-Catholic family. However, they moved to Australia during the Vietnam war years and Mel attended an all-boys Catholic high school in Sydney.

Now for my second question. Where was Mel-chizedek from? And no, “chizedek” is not his last name! The whole name is “Melchizedek,” all one word. OK, I admit the “question” I ask is often a stretch! I also admit that the relationship of “Mel Gibson” and “Mel Chizedek” is the greatest of all of them. But how else does one get to Melchizedek in the modern world? So, again, I ask you: where is Melchizedek from? It’s really not an unfair question, if you were listening to the first reading for today from the Book of Genesis.

A few minutes ago, we heard: “In those days, Melchizedek, king of Salem, brought out bread and wine, and being a priest of God most high, he blessed [Abraham] … “And then it goes on to say that in return “ … [Abraham] gave him a tenth of everything … [he had.]”

So Melchizedek was a king of Salem and a priest. According to biblical scholars, “Salem” is the old name for what was later called “Jerusalem.” So Melchizedek was a king and priest in Jerusalem in the days of Abraham.

You may wonder why this is such a big deal and why we read this passage on today, the Feast of Corpus Christi, the special celebration of the body and blood of Christ, a feast day that brings our Easter season to its annual conclusion.

Well, we make a big deal of Melchizedek because Saint Paul does. In the early days of Christianity, Jewish Christians were puzzled by how Jesus could be considered to be a “priest” offering himself as a sacrifice to God, when he was not from either the tribe of Aaron or the tribe of Levi, the Israelite tribes charged with the responsibility of ministering to the religious needs of the people.

Saint Paul in his letter to the Hebrews, points out that Melchizedek was a priest who had the authority to bless Abraham and how Abraham paid a tithe, a tenth of all he owned, to Melchizedek, thus indicating that Melchizedek out-ranked father Abraham, the patriarch of all the tribes of Israel. And finally, Saint Paul says that Jesus’ priestly functions derive from Melchizedek rather than from either the tribe of Aaron or of Levi.

Now today, tribal relationships among the Israelites are not as important to us as they were to the first Christians. However, even today we speak of our own priests being of the “order of Melchizedek.” And you will still hear his name in the first Eucharistic prayer used in the modern mass.

So perhaps on this day when this passage is read, it’s appropriate that we be asked to support the formation and education of our own priests in our own seminary. As you may recall: today’s entire collection will go to St Mary Seminary for its continuing operation.

But back to Saint Paul. Saint Paul in the passage we heard today from his Letter to the Corinthians takes up another major component of our Eucharistic celebration. Once more we heard the words of blessing that Jesus, himself, used when he took up the bread and the cup on the evening before he suffered and died on the cross. “[He said] … ‘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.’”

The “cup of the new covenant.” How many times have we heard these words without truly appreciating what they mean? Do we recall the older covenant God made with his people: the covenant God made with Noah, with Abraham, with Moses? Do we remember how, each time, God said: I will be your God and you will be my people. I will protect you, nurture you, guide you. And in return, you will trust and follow me.

And now we have the new covenant in which God once more says: I will be your God and you will be my people. I will protect you, nurture you, guide you. You will trust and follow me. Follow me. Follow me into the new kingdom, the new reign of God that is proclaimed to you. And just what is this new kingdom, this new reign of God?

Jesus spoke about it at the beginning of today’s gospel reading. Do you remember the opening line I read: “Jesus spoke to the crowds about the kingdom of God, and he healed those who needed to be cured?”

Yes, it would appear that “speaking” about the kingdom of God was not enough. Jesus needed to show them what he meant about this heavenly kingdom, this heavenly banquet, this celebration. They needed to experience it.

And so he suggested feeding them, nourishing them with real food. But his disciples were disturbed. In response to his desire to feed the crowds, his disciples said, basically: We can’t do that. We don’t have enough food “… unless we, ourselves, go and buy food for all these people.”

But Jesus did not ask the disciples to supply the crowds from their own efforts. Rather Jesus, himself, blessed the bread and the fish, broke them, and gave them to the disciples to set before the crowd. Jesus, himself, nourished the crowds. All he asked was that his disciples, his faithful followers, help him in his efforts. Jesus asked them, and asks us, to distribute the gifts that he creates through his own blessings.

Today we celebrate the Feast Day of the Body and Blood of Jesus the Christ. We celebrate that which appears to us as bread and wine are, in faith, the body and blood of Jesus the Christ. Yet, we are called to do more than merely attend a celebration of the mass, a celebration when the bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ.

At the completion of each Eucharistic celebration, we are sent forth to be Eucharist to one another, to everyone we meet. We are to realize that it not through our own efforts that we accomplish our responsibilities. No, it is, rather, the body and blood of Christ, himself, his body and blood which we carry within each one of us. It is his body and blood that enable us to do whatever we can to help others.

Just as the five loaves and two fish became multiplied to fill twelve wicker baskets, we are called to multiple the gifts bestowed on us by Jesus as in our daily lives we become the body and blood of Christ. Today and every day, may each one of us become a “Corpus Christi.”

Corpus Christi Sunday; June 17, 2001
Gn 14:18-20; 1 Cor 11:23-26; Lk 9:11b – 17

I was wondering: how many of you like to make jig-saw puzzles? I do. Especially on a rainy day when there is nothing else to do. Perhaps you, too, have taken a jig-saw puzzle with you on a week-long vacation to the beach or to the mountains, just in case the weather happens to be bad, and you can’t get outside. We certainly did it when we took the kids on a family vacation.

I got to thinking about jig-saw puzzles when I was reflecting on today’s scripture readings. It seems today’s excerpts are like pieces of a jig-saw. They need to be fitted together in order to make sense of them. This need to fit things together, to make sense of the pieces in our lives, may be a major reason why a lot of people like to work on jig-saw puzzles. The focus for this morning’s reflection is just that: our need, our human need, to make sense out of the pieces of our lives. Our desire to make sense by looking for the cause and effects in our lives.

First of all, let’s begin by looking at the piece of the Bible from which our first reading comes. By looking at it more closely, we might be able to see how our gospel reading also fits into the overall picture and how it may fit into our lives.

You probably recall that Elijah was one of the major prophets of the Old Testament. But you might be wondering what he was doing in that widow’s house and why she thought Elijah might be responsible for the death of her son.

This reading is taken from the first Book of Kings, a history of the Jewish people. Elijah appears for the first time in this book, only a few verses before today’s story. Today’s story begins with verse 17 of Chapter 17. In the beginning of this chapter, Elijah prophesies to the king that there will be a drought in Israel which will last until Elijah prays to the Lord to end it. With a start like that, it’s no wonder Elijah leaves the country and high-tails it to a city in Sidon. There he meets a widow and asks her for a cup of water and a bit of bread. She tells him she was gathering sticks for a fire so she could make her last meal for herself and her son, since she had only enough flour and oil left for only one more loaf of bread. Elijah tells her to make the bread and not to worry, that there will be enough flour and oil until the rains come. She bakes the bread; and sure enough, the flour and oil are miraculously replenished. The widow is obviously no fool; she invites Elijah to stay with them. He is given a room on the roof of her house, which in those days wasn’t too bad a deal, since you had evening breezes to cool you.

It’s about a year later, that today’s story occurs. When her son becomes ill and dies, the widow has second thoughts about whether she had done the right thing. Perhaps she was being punished for letting Elijah stay there. After all, he might have been fleeing from the wraith of God. However, when Elijah prays over her son and he is returned to life and to her, she recognizes that Elijah is a man of God, because only a man of God could pray to the Lord and have him return her son to life.

So those are the pieces of the puzzle that come before today’s story. There are many pieces after this too. I’d urge you to read the First Book of Kings to find out how Elijah out-prays the priests of Baal and ends the drought; and finally, how in the presence of his disciple, Elisha, he is taken up to heaven in a whirlwind. But those are pieces of the puzzle for other Sundays.

For today, another piece of the puzzle is the gospel story of Jesus raising from the dead the only-son of another widow. The Jews who heard this story told by Luke, immediately recognized Jesus as another prophet like Elijah who also gave back the only-son to a widowed mother. But there is a great difference.

Elijah had to pray three times to the Lord. It was the Lord, Yahweh, who raised the dead boy because of the prayers of Elijah. But in today’s gospel story, it was the Lord, himself, who raised the boy and gave him back to his widowed mother. Our gospel reading says: “The Lord was moved with pity upon seeing her and said to her, ‘do not cry’.“

This is the first time in the Gospel of Luke that Luke refers directly to Jesus as “the Lord“. It was not lost on those who heard his story, although it may be missed by us. Luke was saying: this is not merely a prophet, one who speaks for God. This is not someone who is as good as Elijah. No. Here is the Lord, himself, who has compassion. Who, in his compassion, raises the widow’s son. Indeed, as the people proclaimed, “God has visited his people.”

Just as in the puzzle piece of the story of Elijah and the widow, there are important pieces that go before and after the one we’re looking at in today’s gospel story. Let’s look at the piece attached immediately before today’s reading.

You heard it last Sunday: the story of Jesus curing the centurion’s servant. And the piece afterwards: it’s the story of how John the Baptist sent his disciples to ask if Jesus is the Messiah. When they asked him that, Jesus replied: “Go and report to John what you have seen and heard. The blind recover their sight, cripples walk, lepers are cured, the deaf hear, dead men are raised to life, and the poor have the good news preached to them.” In order to have this reply make sense to his listeners, Luke first had to tell the story of Jesus curing the centurion’s servant and raising the widow’s son from the dead.

But what about us? What meaning do we attribute to today’s gospel message? We have been given pieces to a jig-saw puzzle. How do we fit them together? One way is to take them merely at face value. Just as I’ve done so far. To see how they fit together to tell a story. But if that is the only way the pieces of the Bible fit together, then much is missing from our life.

We are all given the same puzzle by God. It is our task, our mutual task, to fit them all together. Is it not possible to view God as the maker of this jig-saw puzzle we call life? Only he knows how it fits together, what the final picture should look like.

However, as we try to fit those pieces together, we run into problems. It seems that certain pieces just don’t make sense. Let me tell you about some of the pieces I’ve seen during these past weeks.

One piece is labeled “the flood of 1989”. Our house had twelve inches of water. There are questions I might raise about this piece of the puzzle in my life. Questions like: why did we get flooded this time when we have never been flooded before? Why did others have even more water in their homes? Why did some not get flooded at all?

Each of us has other pieces with similar names to them.
● Names like “graduation.” And questions like: what am I going to do now that I’m out of school? Will my new job be what I hope it will be?
● Or a piece named: “birthday”. With questions like: what will this next year bring to me? Will I even be alive next year?
● Or a piece named: “move to a new city”. With questions like: will I be able to make a go of it here? Will I have new friends? Will people like me, accept me?
● Or a piece named: “marriage”. And the questions: is this really the spouse for me? Will it last? Will we be happy?

God has dumped out on the table of this world, the pieces of the puzzle he has created. He, alone, knows what the final picture should look like. He has asked us to put those pieces together. Some of the pieces I can fit together with no big problems. Some I want to force into place, to shape the puzzle as I think it should go, rather than how the artist intended it to go. Some pieces appear to be a great mistake. With some of them, I need the help of others. And perhaps that is the key to the completion of this puzzle. My need to accept help from others in fitting them together. My need to offer help to others with the pieces they have.

The widow we heard about in the Old Testament story asked for Elijah’s help. Elijah prayed to the Lord; and the flour and oil were multiplied and, later, his prayers returned her son to her. At first she blamed Elijah for her misfortune. Then she thanked him.

When Jesus cured the centurion’s servant, he did it at a distance. Jesus did it because others pleaded the centurion’s case for him. But when Jesus raised the widow’s son, he, himself, saw the need. The Lord, himself, had compassion and spoke his life-giving word to the dead youth.

As humans, when we try to force the pieces of our puzzle together and they don’t seem to fit, we ask “why”. Why me, lord? What have I done wrong? We ask the same questions the widow asked Elijah.

However, when the pieces do fit together, when they all seem to fall into place, almost on their own, how often do we then ask: why me? The widow in our gospel story did not inquire why the Lord raised her son from the dead when no one had begged him to, when even, she, herself, had not asked.

Perhaps there are times in our own lives when we are blessed by a compassionate Lord who responds without being asked; when he, himself, puts together the jig-saw pieces of our disjointed lives. When this does happen, can we join with the widow’s friends to sing the praises of God and proclaim: “God has visited his people“? God has visited me!

Tenth Sunday in Ordinary Time; June 11, 1989
1 Kg 17:17-24; Gal 1:11-19; Lk 7:11-17

Today’s question is a very old one. It’s this: which came first, the chicken or the egg? I suppose if you’re a strict creationist, you’d say the chicken. God created chickens who then laid eggs. If you’re an evolutionist, perhaps you’d opt for a mutated egg, one which was laid by some prehistoric lizard; an egg which then developed into the first chicken. But today’s homily will not be about creationism or evolution; nor about chickens and eggs.

Instead I have another question which is more related to today’s readings. It’s this: which comes first … “love” or “forgiveness?” Must we love someone before we can forgive them? Do we love because we are forgiven by someone and willing to do what we know should be done? All three of today’s readings deal with love and forgiveness. They also involve something called “sin,” a rupture of relationships. And of course, sinners.

The first reading from Second Samuel tells us about a very great sinner: King David, the first king of the twelve united tribes of Israel and of Judah. We usually don’t think of David as a sinner. Usually, we see him as the great leader of the Israelites and as the founder of the royal house which culminates in Jesus. Yet King David was a great sinner. He was reminded of this fact by Nathan, the Lord’s prophet, in today’s reading. Nathan, on behalf of the Lord God, took David to task for the adultery he committed with Bathsheba and the role David had in the murder of her husband, Uriah. We heard how David then fully admitted: “I have sinned against the Lord.” And Nathan’s reply: “The Lord on his part has forgiven your sin.”

Yes, the Lord God is willing to forgive both adultery and murder when the sinner truly repents, truly changes his ways and becomes what he was destined to be: the founder of the linage which would lead to the Messiah, the Savior of everyone.

Saint Paul tells us about another great sinner: himself. We sometimes put aside the facts we first heard about Paul, who at the time was called Saul of Tarsus. Saul who was present at the assassination of Stephen, one of the first deacons of the Church. Saul who persecuted the Christian followers of Christ, until he too, repented — he too, radically changed his ways and followed the path of the disciples he once put to death.

In today’s letter to the Galatians, we hear Paul state: “I have been crucified with Christ, yet I live, no longer I, but Christ lives in me; insofar as I now live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God who has loved me and given himself up for me.”

Our third sinner is a woman found in a story told by Luke. We heard how she entered the home of Simon, a pharisee, to encounter Jesus. Simon had invited Jesus to dine with him. No doubt to question him. To determine if this man called Jesus was what others claimed him to be: a prophet of God, one who preached about the coming Kingdom of God.

Simon certainly had not treated Jesus like a prophet. He had not anointed his head with oil. He had not offered the hospitality of water to bathe his feet. Simon had not even given his guest a welcoming kiss. Yet an unnamed woman, who was, however, widely known as a sinner — although we, ourselves, do not know the nature of her sins — this woman entered, unannounced, and washed the feet of Jesus with her own tears; dried them with her hair; and covered them with perfumed ointment. She, not the host, had given him the honor due to a prophet.

In the meantime, as was so often his custom, Jesus told a story to the pharisee and asked him a question. Jesus spoke about two men who owed varying amounts to a creditor who forgave the loans. Jesus then asked the pharisee which man would love the creditor more. Simon replied that the one with the larger debt would have the greater love. It was then that Jesus forgave the women sitting at his feet. He forgave her of her sins, saying: “Your faith has saved you, go in peace.”

Which brings me back to my questions about love and forgiveness.
● Did the Lord God forgive David of his sins because he loved David? Did David love the Lord God more, because his sins were forgiven?
● Did Christ forgive Paul of his sins because he loved Paul? Did Paul love Jesus the Christ more, because his sins were forgiven?
● Did the creditor forgive the debtors because he loved them? Did they love the creditor more, because their debts were forgiven?
● Did Jesus forgive the weeping woman because he loved her? Did she love him more, because he forgave her of her sins?

These questions arising from our scriptural readings from the past also bring up certain questions relevant to our lives in the present. Questions such as:
● Does love come before forgiveness?
● Is it because we love first, that we are able to forgive?
● Can you forgive someone you do not love?
● Can we forgive someone without loving the person?
● Must I learn how to love in order to forgive?

These are questions I cannot answer for you. They are questions each of us needs to answer from our own, individual hearts. In the meantime we may also need to consider two other matters. The matter of trust. And the matter of faith: a belief held without measurable proof.

Do we trust that a person is truly repentant and willing to change and, therefore, should be forgiven? Or is there a condition demanded before forgiveness is given? Then again, perhaps forgiveness is a foundation for the changes to come.

Once forgiven, are King David and Saint Paul able to radically change their ways to fulfill their destinies? Will the weeping woman now be able to set aside her former life, her previous behaviors, in order to follow Jesus? Do we trust that a person can change and so offer our forgiveness even before the change is evident? Or must a person earn our trust before forgiveness is given? Do groups of people need to demonstrate a change in behavior before forgiveness is granted; before amnesty is granted? Must a nation of people demonstrate a willingness to change before peace can be found?

Today we celebrate a national event called “Father’s Day.” It is a day dedicated to love and honor the men in our lives who have guided and protected us. Those men who love us and whom we love. Those men who forgive us and whom we, too, are to forgive.

Yes, today is a day for both love and forgiveness. Perhaps, it is also a day not to ask which comes first, love or forgiveness, but rather a day to realize that both are absolutely necessary if there is to be peace in our individual lives and in our community lives. Perhaps it is a day to bind together love and forgiveness, forgiveness and love. Perhaps it is a day to link trust and faith together with love and forgiveness. Perhaps it is a day to ponder the meaning of unconditional love and conditional love. Perhaps it is also a day to recall the words spoken by Jesus to a repentant woman so long ago: “Your faith has saved you, go in peace.”

11th Sunday in Ordinary Time; June 17, 2007
2 Sam12:7-10, 13; Gal 2:16, 19-21; Lk 7:36-8:3

Here we are in the month of June. My question for today is about the month of June. My question is this: what events do you routinely associate with the month of June?

How many of you thought of weddings and marriage? It seems that almost every weekend during the month, we’re invited to a wedding. And then, there are anniversaries which can be celebrated any day of the month. The week after next, Karen and I will be celebrating our 52nd. June is also the month for graduations, from high school or college. Last weekend, one of our granddaughters graduated from Klein Oak. So, June is a month for new beginnings and changes, whether it’s a new married life or a transition from high school or college into the world of job hunting or, hopefully, of beginning a new career.

June can also be a month of a possible crisis, especially for those of us who live along the gulf coast and know that June 1st begins a new hurricane season, a time of potential tragedy, especially when gushing oil adds to the problems of raging winds and water. Yes, the month of June can remind us of love, of change, of possible tragedy — conditions we also find in today’s readings.

In our First reading from the Second Book of Samuel, we heard about events in the life of King David. About how the result of his lust for Bathsheba and his part in the death of her husband, Uriah, would lead to the sword of conflict being present in his household for the generations to follow. But we also heard the words of the prophet Nathan who said: “The LORD on his part has forgiven your sin: you shall not die.” Yes, David, having acknowledged his sinfulness, repented and was forgiven for the harm he had caused.

In our Second reading, Paul — who had previously led attacks against the followers of Christ — acknowledges: “I live by faith in the Son of God who has loved me and given himself up for me.” Paul recognizes that Jesus has forgiven him of his sins, of his former errors in life, so that he may now live in Christ.

Our Gospel reading directly addresses the relationship of love and of forgiveness. We heard the story of how Simon, a Pharisee with whom Jesus was dining, had not followed the usual customs of hospitality, of welcoming a guest into his house. On the other hand, an unnamed woman, who was seen by everyone at the banquet as a major sinner, performed these acts of hospitality for Jesus out of her love for him. When we hear this story we often think that Jesus forgave her of her past sins because she washed his feet with her tears, dried them with her long hair and anointed them with her ointment. We fail to hear his original words to Simon, the pharisee, when Jesus said: “So I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven because she has shown great love.”

It would appear that her sins had already been forgiven before she entered Simon’s house. She performed her actions for Jesus out of love for having been forgiven. It was then … perhaps for the sake of Simon … that Jesus repeated the words: “Your sins are forgiven.” and to her, the words: “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

Indeed, today’s readings speak to us in terms of “love, faith, forgiveness and peace.” Perhaps they should be especially meaningful to us during this month of June weddings, a time of new beginnings with hoped-for joy and, yet, with the possibility of intervening tragedy.

When I have interacted with young couples in their preparation for weddings and married life, we speak of “love, faith, forgiveness and peace.” Especially of forgiveness. Our conversations usually begin with an awareness that it is for the sake of “forgiveness” that God became man. Jesus became human in order to bring us God’s forgiveness so that we can return to God in the peace of re-union with Him, of reconciliation with Him.

Jesus reminds us throughout the entire New Testament we are to forgive one another. We hear these words in the prayer he taught us. We hear these words among the final ones he spoke from the cross. We hear these words in his final charge to his followers about their mission: Forgive one another.

This reminder is of essential importance to young couples about to be married. It is of equal or greater importance to all couples who wish to remain married for the rest of their lives. At the outset of their lives together, a bride and groom love each other deeply. They say they are best friends and will remain so for the rest of their lives. After all, each person marries their very best friend. If this is not the case, one might ask: “Why get married in the first place.” But we know that something can happen over the years.

We know that in the process of living as husband and wife, each person is capable of hurting the feelings of the other one. And the hurt goes deep into each one of them. The more they love one another, the deeper the potential hurt can be for them. It is because of the deep love each one possess, that the terrible pain of their mutual wound exists.

And what must they do in order to begin to heal the wound? Having hurt one another, how can they preserve and, actually, increase the love existing between them? They must forgive one another. They must speak the words to one other: “Please forgive me.” And …. “I forgive you.” The power of these words resides in a special sacrament we call the Sacrament of Reconciliation. The power of these words is also found in the Sacrament of Matrimony.

All couples begin with a deep love for one another. And because of this love, they can deeply hurt one another emotionally. It is only with forgiveness, that the hurt within their hearts can begin to be healed, that the pain can be alleviated. However, some believe that this pain can be relieved only by separation. Yet, quite often the pain endures beyond their legal separation.

On the other hand, in a long-lasting marriage, there must be an ongoing series of exchanges of “Please forgive me; I forgive you.” These words are spoken as part of the process of healing. These words of forgiveness do not necessarily mean: “I approve of your actions; I approve of the events which led up to the emotional hurt and to the inner pain.” God certainly did not approve of David’s actions concerning Bathsheba and Uriah. But the LORD GOD did forgive David. Jesus did not approve of the actions the woman engaged in before she entered Simon’s house. Yet he had forgiven her before and there, in the presence of the Pharisee and the assembled guests, he once more spoke the words: “Your sins are forgiven. Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

In times of new beginnings, in times of potential harm from winds and water afflicting us, in times of change, in times of hurt and pain, we retain the love of Christ, the peace of Christ, as we repeat to one another and hear in the voices of another person, his words: “Your sins are forgiven. Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

11th Sunday in Ordinary Time; June 13, 2010
2 Sm 12:7-10, 13; Gal 2:16, 19-21; Lk 7:36 – 8:3

(After proclaiming the gospel reading, I sat down and waited one minute, the time to slowly recite three “Our Fathers,” before continuing with the homily. Back then, the cantor before Mass did not routinely announce the name of the presider, deacon and homilist.)

For the last minute or so you’ve been waiting for me to begin my homily. While you were waiting, how did you feel? What thoughts came to you? Were you annoyed? Were you puzzled about what was going on? Some of you may have been amused about waiting. Others could have been anxious, thinking what’s wrong, why the delay? You may have spent the time reflecting on the readings. Or perhaps you were thinking about what you were going to be doing later today and hoping mass would get started again so you could leave as quickly as possible.

There are all sorts of reactions to waiting. They vary depending upon where we are and whom or what we’re waiting for. There is the wait before we go into the doctor’s office or the dentist’s. There’s the wait before a movie starts. There’s the wait for a friend you haven’t seen for a long time but who is coming now for a visit. There’s the wait for teenage children at one o’clock in the morning.

The reason I delayed starting my homily was to give each of you an unexpected opportunity to experience waiting; and to begin today’s reflection with a personal appreciation for the many different feelings that come with waiting. It’s only with an understanding of waiting, of long waiting, that we can begin to understand the importance of the gospel reading we heard today.

Our gospel reading begins simply enough. Jesus has been praying and asks his friends: what are people saying about me? The question is a very human one. Who of us is not curious about what other people are saying about us? Like Tom Sawyer, we’d love to be able to hear what the preacher says about us at our funeral.

Was it human curiosity that prompted Jesus to ask his friends what the crowds were saying about him? It seems to me Jesus did not usually care very much about what the crowds had to say about him. He was usually more interested in what mattered to his disciples and friends and not about himself. So, I believe Jesus was much more interested in his second question: “Who do you say I am?” And in Peter’s response: “You are the Messiah.”

Peter’s response is the focus, not only for today’s reflection, but also for the entire message we call the Good News; as well as the focus for our life. In order to appreciate the power of Peter’s reply, we need to return for a moment to that sense of waiting. The whole history of the Jewish nation is summed up in their waiting for the Messiah.

Can you put yourself in Peter’s shoes? Can you imagine the emotions he had about waiting for the Messiah? Each and every Jew had been waiting for the Messiah, for the savior, for the one who would lead them back to God. Who would bring them salvation. Who would save them. Can you imagine what It would be like to wait for a leader for a thousand years; for a king or a president to lead us to complete peace and harmony? We have no sense of that kind of waiting; but the Jews did.

When we’re young and time seems so long, we say we are waiting for the perfect mate: the perfect wife, the perfect husband, someone who will make us complete, who will fill us with total love. The Jews knew the same feelings; and so the early Christians were able to describe Jesus as the bridegroom who would be coming. They awaited the perfect husband. In a time when the culture allowed it, they longed for the perfect Lord, the perfect master, the perfect protector, the savior, the messiah.

Can you now feel the power of Peter’s reply to Jesus: “You are the Messiah!” You are the one I’ve been longing for. You are my Beloved, my Protector, my Leader, my Master, my Lord. You are the one I’ve waited for, hungered for. I have been anxious about your coming. I’ve been annoyed at times with the delay. I’ve had the hope that you would come, knew you would come. Yet I feared that you might not. But now you are here, and I am safe,

And when Jesus turns to each of us and asks: “Who do you say I am?” would we not each be overjoyed to cry out: “You are the Messiah!” But the gospel doesn’t stop there. The Good News does not end with Peter’s statement: “You are the Messiah!” Instead, it begins there.

When Peter proclaimed to Jesus: “You are the Messiah!” he had certain expectations. But what did Jesus say when Peter called him the Messiah? Jesus’ response was totally unexpected. He said two very unexpected things to Peter:

First: he said that he must suffer, be rejected, be put to death and be raised up. This was not what Peter, nor any other Jew, would expect the Messiah to say. Peter had just proclaimed that Jesus was the long-awaited one who would personally save him and his people, who would protect him from all harm. And here was this Messiah saying that he, himself, was going to suffer, be rejected, be put to death and would be raised from the dead.

Secondly, and even more surprisingly, Jesus told Peter and all the others something else: “If you wish to be my follower, you must deny your very self, take up your cross each day and follow in my footsteps. If you try to save your own life, you will lose it. If you lose your life for my sake, you will save it.“

And so we arrive at a very strange series of facts. Although Jesus was a teacher, he seldom listed his facts directly. He usually allowed his listeners to draw their own conclusions. But if Jesus were to list his facts, they might be like this:
● One: you say I am the Messiah
● Two: I am about to suffer, be rejected, be put to death; but I will be raised up again,
● Three: if I, the Messiah, can do all this, then you too, if you are to be my follower, must do the same thing.

These strange facts bring each of us to an even stranger conclusion: What I do with my life and How I act each day, depend upon how I answer the question Jesus asks: “Who do you say I am?”

If I say: “You are a good man, a kind friend,” I will act in a certain way. If I say: “You are a prophet or a teacher,” then I’ll act in a different way. But what happens if I say, “You are the Messiah,” the one I’ve waited for all my life, the one who is to protect and save me. If I call you “Messiah,” what is demanded of me?
● Each day, every day. Must I love those who hate me?
● Each day, every day. Must I turn the other cheek, walk the extra mile, give my material possessions to others in need?
● Each day, every day. When it is so difficult that it feels like a cross on my shoulders, must I help everyone who cries out to me.
● Each day, every day. Even when I am tired and irritable and want so much to say no, must I feed the hungry and clothe the poor, when I’d rather spend the money on things to make my own difficult life more pleasant?

Do I need to re-translate what Saint Paul wrote two-thousand years ago and bring it up to date? Would Paul, the imitator of Jesus, say: “There does not exist among you American or Russian, exploiter or victim, employed or unemployed, wealthy or marginalized, abuser or abused, all are one in Jesus the Christ, the Anointed One, the Messiah.”

I began by having each of you wait for this reflection to begin. It’s now time to wait for the rest of this Eucharistic celebration. We are all waiting for something. Does Jesus also wait? Does he still wait for an answer to his question: “Who do you say I am?” Do I have the courage to say: “You are the Messiah!”

Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time; June 22, 1986
Zech 12:10-11; Gal 3:26-29; Lk 9:18-24

Today’s question is a very personal one. You may need to think about your response for a while before you come up with an answer. My question is this: Does public opinion matter to you? Do you care what others think about you? People in the public eye are always concerned about how others view their actions. Politicians, in particular, continue to conduct public opinion polls as part of their re-election strategy. And the rest of us seem to delight in learning whether the latest poll favors either George W. Bush or John F. Kerry.

In recent years, both political parties have employed so-called “focus groups” to determine how segments of the population would react to proposed policy changes. Politicians then modify what they think is “best for the country” based upon what voters say they should do in order to be re-elected. We human beings seem to want to please others, to act as others expect us to act. Public opinion seems to matter.

It would appear from today’s gospel reading even Jesus, himself, was not immune to asking the question: “Who do the crowds say that I am?” He asked his friends, his disciples, to report on the latest opinion polls: what kind of a person do people say I am? What kind of a leader do they see in me?

And they told him some said he was like John the Baptist who preached about repentance for sins and about the coming of the holy one of God. Others said he was Elijah, the prophet who had been taken up to heaven in a chariot of fire centuries ago and who was to return to earth at the beginning of the final age, the age of the Messiah. Still, others weren’t sure if he were a prophet who came to foretell of the last days or one who actually ushered in the last days; but that he was, indeed, like the prophets of old who spoke on behalf of the Lord God.

But then Jesus asked a second question about how others viewed him. He was interested in how his personal friends saw him. What kind of a prophet and teacher did they see standing there?

They were silent. Except for Peter, who spoke for himself and perhaps for the other disciples. Peter said: “You are the Christ of God.” You are the Anointed One, the Chosen One of God. You are the Messiah. You are the one who was promised to lead us to victory.
● You are more than the one who predicts the coming of the final days:
● You are more than John the Baptist.
● You are more than Elijah who was to return to us in the final age.
● You are more than Moses who promised a prophet would come, who would be even a greater leader than Moses, himself.
● You are more than David, the greatest king ever seen by the Israelites.

But Jesus did not readily accept this response. Although he acknowledged he was, indeed, the promised one, he was not the prophet and leader they expected him to be. He would not lead them to a worldly victory over the conquering Romans. Instead he is the “fountain of purification” spoken of by the prophet Zechariah, whose message we heard in the First Reading for today. He said that he is the “son of man” described by the prophet Daniel. But most importantly, he proclaimed that he was the “suffering servant” spoken of by the prophet Isaiah.

He did not come to conquer but to forgive, to reconcile, to unite mankind, once more, with God, the Father. He is the one who says: “yes, you have broken God’s laws. You have done what is wrong. You have sinned. But I forgive you. God forgives you.”

Jesus told Peter that “the son of man must suffer greatly, be rejected … and be killed.” And then he added the event which those who heard him could not fully understand. He said that on the third day after he was killed, he would be raised again.

And then he made a statement which would destroy the results of any public opinion poll; that would not go well with any focus group. He said … “and you must do the same!” You have burdens to carry as well. You have your own cross to carry. However, he said that he would be there to help them, and us, to carry these burdens; that he would, in fact, make them light. That he, himself, would carry them for us, as the suffering servant of God.

And what is our cross; what are our burdens? Usually we think of them as parts of our life that make up our difficulties.
● the loss of a parent, a child, a relative or a friend,
● the loss of our health: physical, mental or spiritual,
● the loss of a job or of a valued possession.

And yes, these are difficult burdens to carry alone. The pain of carrying them can be made easier when we allow Jesus to help us, to be with us in our pain. And yet, I wonder: could the cross we carry be made up of other things, other conditions?

Do we also carry the cross of greed, of jealousy. The cross of a desire for wealth, position and power. Are we called to release these burdens? Perhaps the cross is, in fact, the difficulty of giving up, of releasing the burdens we carry? Perhaps Jesus is also there to help us set aside the burdens created by our own addictions, our dependence on drugs, gambling or other means we wrongfully use to stimulate our lives or in an ill-advised attempt to remove our self-inflicted pain.

Yes, our cross may be either the burden of loss or it may, in fact, be the difficulty which is part of letting go of what must be given up. Either way Jesus is here with us to shoulder that cross. We do not carry it alone. He is here with us.

And others are here to share with us the carrying of our crosses. Saint Paul in his letter to the Galatians reminds us that nothing can divide us
● neither our nationality nor our race,
● no matter how we earn a living or what our status in life might be,
● not even gender.
We are one in Christ. Because of this, we are able to move forward, together.

Jesus asked his friends the question: “Who do you say I am?” Each of us needs, of course, to answer that question about him. Each of us also needs to answer it about ourselves, because this answer also refers to how we carry the crosses we shoulder.

Today in the secular world, we celebrate Father’s Day. And so, some might respond to the question “who am I?” by stating: “I am a father” – with all of the subtle meanings associated with this title:
● I participate with another in the creation of a new life.
● I serve as a teacher and guide for others.
● I am a protector and sustainer of a family, those depending upon me.

Yes, these are some of the roles associated with fatherhood. But they are also roles which are essential in another response to the question we must ask about ourselves. The question: “Who do others say that I am?” does not require a public opinion poll. But the answer does involve other people. I would hope that the answer for each one of us is:
● “I am a true Christian.
● “I am an image of Christ for others.
● “I am a member of the body of Christ.”
With such a response, together, let us carry the cross of Christ.

Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time: June 20,2004 (Fathers’ Day)
Zec 12:10-11,13.1; Gal 3:26-29; Lk 9:18-24