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Today’s question is a very practical one. How many shopping days before Christmas? If you exclude Sundays, the answer is twenty-two. But if that isn’t enough time and you want to “shop ’til you drop” on Sundays, including this weekend, you have twenty-six days to find all of those perfect gifts for family and friends. The signs of the holiday season are all around us. The leftover Thanksgiving turkey is not yet gone, but the red, green and gold decorations are in all of the stores, to lure us into buying early and often. This is the time of the year for nostalgia about the wonderful holidays of our youth and the hope this Christmas will be better than any which have gone before.

The signs of the holiday season are also here in the church. This weekend begins a new liturgical year. Today we celebrate the First Sunday of Advent, a time of preparation for our celebration of Christmas. With its colors of violets and blues, the Church urges us, as in Lent, to slow down, to prepare quietly for the coming of the Christ Child, and to anticipate rejoicing during the twelve days of Christmas, which begin on December 25 and end on January 6, the feast of the Epiphany. In contrast, the world around us urges us to speed up, to buy more things and to party harder, with more food and drink than ever before. The secular world calls our attention to the plastic-wrapped product of Madonna, rather than to the flesh-wrapped Son of the Madonna.

So, what should be the focus for today’s homily as we begin these four weeks of Advent, of preparation? At first glance, the readings for today seem to be giving us mixed signals. The Gospel reading, the words of the Good News, seems to be depressing: a continuation of the theme we’ve been hearing lately about the sudden end of the world and the last judgement to follow.

On the other hand, the First Reading from Isaiah speaks of a time of peace among nations, a time when instruments of war and aggression will be turned into implements for planting and harvesting the fruit of the land. Nevertheless, it may be possible to unite all three readings with a focus on three words: memory, metanoia and mission.

First of all: memory. Indeed, this is the time of year for each of us to recall what has already occurred in our lives. It’s not just for the misty nostalgia of longing for what we miss in our lives, but, rather, recalling real problems and how they were resolved. While each of us still has problems, most of them are not identical to the ones from the past. Each one of us knows today is not the same as yesterday and tomorrow will be different from either one.

Many years ago there was a black native of North Africa who took his own memories with him to Italy. His efforts in North Africa were not as well received as he would have liked. Even in Rome, he didn’t reach the goals he had in mind when he had brought his family to live there. They moved to Milan and things improved. But still he kept reflecting on all that had happened in his life, both the good and the bad. But nothing seemed to change.

Finally, one day he was sitting in a garden and talking with a close business friend about his life, when, suddenly, he felt on the verge of tears and had to walk away so his friend would not see him crying. As he wept under a fig tree, he heard a young child singing the phrase: “take and read, take and read,” over and over again. At first, he thought it was a song from some children’s game, but he could not remember such a game. Then, instantly, he knew what he had to do. He ran back to the garden and picked up a book of the Letters of St Paul he had been reading. He opened the book and read the first passage he saw. The words were those we heard in today’s reading from Paul’s letter to the Romans: “let us live honorably as in daylight; not in carousing and drunkenness, not in sexual excess and lust, not in quarreling and jealousy. Rather, put on the Lord Jesus Christ and make no provision for the desires of the flesh.”

It is with this passage that St Augustine, in his Confessions, tells us he underwent his conversion, his change, his metanoia. He began with his memories, his memories of the kind of life he had led and, with these memories, his metanoia began.

When we think of change, of metanoia, we can think of two processes which are parts of change: a slow preparation and a sudden explosion, a breakthrough. For some, like St Paul himself, who was blinded by the sudden Light of Christ, it’s possible to have a sudden change of heart and find Christ without ever looking for him. Without any preparation, Christ overwhelms us. But, for most people, metanoia comes as it did with St Augustine. After a long reflection on our lives and with a desire to change, there comes a moment when Christ appears in a special way to the prepared heart.

Metanoia is like fireworks. Here in the south, kids celebrate Christmas and New Year’s Eve with fireworks, something that’s reserved up north to only the Fourth of July. Remember, if you will, the experience of lighting a rocket. It’s deceptively slow ascent into the sky, its loud whistle, its complete disappearance into the darkness and, suddenly, the explosion and the bright light spreading rapidly across the heavens.

The Jews had no fireworks. It wasn’t until Marco Polo came back from China that Middle-Easterners and Europeans knew about such things. But if they had experienced them, I would guess Jesus would have referred to fireworks in today’s story about being prepared for the unexpected. The glory of a golden burst in the heavens is, for me, the epitome of the “anticipated unexpected.” And that’s what Jesus is talking about in today’s Gospel reading.

Most people would emphasize that this “anticipated unexpected” event, an event we know will happen but we do not know the exact moment of its glorious arrival, is the return of Christ at the end of the world. But I would suggest there is another way of looking at what he said.

What if, instead of focusing on his Coming in a special way at the end of time, we begin to focus on his Coming in a special way to each of us in the near future? What if we should prepare to receive him today, or next week, or at the end of next month? What if, during this Advent, we take the time to prepare for his Coming into our hearts and our lives momentarily?

What if, today, we light the rocket, and watch its glowing trail, and hear its whistle in the darkness, until it explodes into the glorious golds and reds of Christmas? But then what? After fireworks burst in the sky and light the heavens and the earth for a brief moment, what then? Do we take our memories, and our metanoia, and have nothing but new memories of a brief, bright light in our lives? Or is there something after memories and metanoia? Is there a mission?

Each of us has a mission: something that sends us forth after our change. I cannot describe your mission or give you any details about it. But I would suggest, in some way, your mission might include the concept of “hospitality.”

This is the season for hospitality. Many of the ads we see on television or in our magazines and newspapers show people greeting people. But there is more to hospitality than welcoming people, of making them feel welcomed. Consider for a moment. The word “hospitality” is directly related to the word “hospital,” an ancient word for a place of caring for the stranger, the foreigner. The Latin word “hospes,” from which both hospitality and hospital are derived, had a wide range of meanings: not only “host” but also “guest” and “friend” as well. Yet, the same word, hospes, also meant “stranger” or “foreigner.” What a marvelous word! One which suggests the stranger, the foreigner is not only a guest, but also, a friend and even has the capacity to become the host, the one who welcomes others.

And consider the ideal hospital, the ideal place where one is welcomed and healed as a pilgrim far from home. A place where caring action is taken to make you feel comfortable and to heal your wounds. And, finally, a place where you are not expected to remain permanently, since, once you are cured, you leave to continue on your pilgrimage.

Hospitality shares the same elements. Hospitality welcomes. Hospitality assists to alleviate the pain, to help bring about a restoration. Hospitality helps the pilgrim on the journey and is not the end of the journey itself. In the next weeks, here at Christ the Good Shepherd, we will be hearing more about this theme of hospitality: a theme which is a central part not only of our Advent celebration, but of our individual lives as well. Hospitality in helping other pilgrims on the way, as we continue our own pilgrimages, our journeys in which we anticipate the unexpected, when we hope to encounter Jesus the Christ when we least expect to meet him.

To the three M’s of memory, metanoia and mission, we can add a fourth “M,” meeting with Christ. A few minutes ago, I began by asking how many shopping days were there until Christmas. Yet, as you might guess, the real question is not how many “shopping” days until Christmas, but rather: how many days until we truly encounter the Christ among us?

^{First Sunday of Advent; November 29, 1992
Is 2:1-5; Rom 12:11-14; Mt 24:37-44}

Today’s question is for those of you who are familiar with a Big city back east. No, I did not say “up east,” but “back” east, east of Houston. So, my question is not about the “Big Apple,” New York City, but rather about the “Big Easy,” New Orleans. My question is this: What motto, what saying, does New Orleans often use for itself? Yes: “let the good times roll.” And no, I won’t attempt saying it in Cajun French.

Now you might think it’s strange I’d begin today’s homily with a reference to New Orleans, a city usually associated with Mardi Gras and the beginning of Lent, not Advent. Yet, some of you may recognize there is a certain commonality between the two seasons. Just as Lent is a time of preparation for the celebration of Easter, Advent is a time of preparation for the celebration of Christmas. In fact, Advent is sometimes referred to as a “Christmas Lent.” If you look around, you can see our liturgical colors are purples and violets, the colors usually found during Lent. And the altar is very plain, with an Advent wreath, almost as simple as the rocks and branches with which we adorn our altar during Lent.

Others of you might think it’s strange I would also make use of a motto such as “let the good times roll.” On the surface, it doesn’t match the austere climate of our country. Especially now that we know “officially” we are in a Recession, one that began six months ago

On the other hand, there are those who might suggest this is the right motto for us now. After all, we are being urged to go out and shop, to buy all of those tantalizing consumers’ products offered at discounted prices for the holiday season we’re now entering. We’re encouraged to travel more and buy more, so that we can return to a time of what is called “normalcy.”

Well, perhaps, an even bigger question than one about the motto for New Orleans might be: “and just what is a time of normalcy?” What should we consider to be “normal?” Is it really “normal” to buy excessively, to grab everything you want and desire? Is it “normal” to go increasingly into debt especially for one day, for December 25, so that it takes us the next five or six months to pay off the cost of our “binge buying?”

Is it really “normal” to binge not only on our material purchases, but also on what we will be eating and drinking at all of the parties we will be celebrating in honor of the child who was born in a stable, whose birth was witnessed by poor shepherds tending their sheep in the fields?

Does it make sense in the year 2001 to listen to words written by a former maker of tents, words written some twenty years after the Passion suffered by that stable-born child? Listen again to the words Paul wrote: “Let us … throw off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; let us conduct ourselves properly as in the day, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in promiscuity and lust, not in rivalry and jealousy. But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the desires of the flesh.”

If buying and consuming, if spending our money for the material things of this world is “normal,” what, then, is “abnormal?”
● Is it “abnormal” to turn swords into plowshares?
● Is it “normal” to wage war and “abnormal” to pursue peace?
● Is it “abnormal” to turn spears into pruning hooks?
● Is it “normal” to thrust a weapon into an enemy and “abnormal” to pull toward you a neighbor who needs your help?

Which is the reality of our lives and which are the dreams? Often we are urged by our contemporaries to “get real!” Stop being a “dreamer.” We are told to prepare for the future by making wise investments today. And yet, we are puzzled by just what that future might hold.

In our Gospel reading, Jesus reminds his disciples, his friends, that before the flood, Noah’s contemporaries ate and drank to their heart’s content and were not concerned with the dark clouds gathering over their heads, until it was too late. Too late for one. Not too late for another. Too late for those who are not always prepared. Not too late for those who prepare correctly, for those who stay awake, who prepare for the return of the one who left, but who will return, unexpectedly.

And that is what this season of Advent is about. It is not to prepare for the birth of the Christ Child. That event happened twenty centuries ago, some forty generations ago. No, the Advent, the Coming for which we prepare, is the return of our God.

Once again, during this season, we acknowledge that God has come to us in a very special way, incarnated as a human being. One like us in all ways except in sin. Like us in our human needs and desires, yet One who exercised his own free will as a human so that his free will was always in complete agreement with the will of the eternal Father.

Once again during Advent, we acknowledge that God not only became infleshed, but our God is still present with us in a very special way: as the Holy Spirit who strengthens us so we, too, can exercise our own, human free will, so our will becomes more in agreement with the will of our eternal Father.

Once again in the coming weeks, we acknowledge that God not only became infleshed in time and is still present with us in every moment of our human lives, but also our God awaits our reunion with him in a very special way: a time when we will once more be reunited with our eternal Father from whom we gained our life. Yes, at each liturgical gathering, we continue to say: “Christ has come, Christ is with us, Christ will come again.”

And during these next days and weeks, we will continue to prepare for Christmas, the celebration of the Mass of Christ, for that is what the word “Christmas” means: Christ’s mass. Perhaps, during this particular Advent, we might focus on December 25 as the time for the celebration of Christ’s Eucharist as well as a time for our becoming Eucharist, our becoming a true thanksgiving, and a time for sharing of our lives, our very selves, with one another.

A few minutes ago, I said the motto of New Orleans was: “let the good times roll.” Perhaps, our own motto for this season of Advent could be, not “let the good times roll,” but rather, “let the Good News roll!” Let the Good News spring forth, the Good News that the Kingdom of God is at hand.

^{First Sunday of Advent; December 12, 2001
Is 2:1-5; Rom 12:11-14; Mt 24:37-44}

Today’s question is in keeping with the pre-Christmas season. It’s this: excluding the Bible Nativity stories, what is your favorite Christmas story? What story do you enjoy reading again and again, or, since so few people seem to read stories anymore, what Christmas story do you enjoy watching for the tenth time on television? How many would vote for Miracle on 34th Street? How about It’s a Wonderful Life? And what about my own, personal favorite: A Christmas Carol?

Have you ever wondered why such stories as Miracle on 34th Street, It’s a Wonderful Life, and A Christmas Carol might be so popular year after year, and, in the case of Dickens, for over a century? There are probably many reasons, of course, but one of them might well be our human fascination with the past, the present and the future.

Miracle on 34th Street deals with a nostalgic past in which every child wanted to be certain about the existence of Chris Kringle, as well as wishing a dream house would come true in the future, but with a recognition there are trials and tribulations in the present. As for It’s a Wonderful Life, we want to know our past and present life have meaning for the future, what we have done (and what we are doing) will make a difference in the world of tomorrow.

Then, there is the quintessential story of past, present and future: A Christmas Carol, which Dickens said was a ghost story. And who does not enjoy ghost stories in front of a fireplace when it’s cold and snowy outside? On the other hand, it may take some imagination for Houstonians to consider weather conditions in London during our own Christmas holidays! Anyway, here we have the classic setup of the ghost of a nostalgic Christmas-Past, a joy-filled Christmas-Present, and a sober, painful future Christmas resulting from what we have done in the past and in the present, and our desire to change the future, not only for ourselves, but for all who surround us. Dickens spoke to something deep within each one of us, whether we are Londoners or Houstonians.

He spoke to us of expectations. He spoke to us of times of waiting. For it, too, is a human condition to await something or someone. The Church throughout our history, is also aware of that condition of waiting, of expectancy. The Church, in fact, has given us this special time of the year, a time called “Advent,” the time of “Coming,” the time of waiting and of expectation. And for what, or for whom, do we wait?

A first response might be: Christmas. The coming of the Christ Child. The time of the Incarnation, the enfleshment of our God into human form. And yes, in part, we do await the night when the universe became a single star, when a star became a single light, when a single light became a person to lead us out of darkness. But we do not expect that special night to happen in two weeks. Rather, we await the celebration of the fact it has already happened some two thousand years ago. We do not await the Incarnation, but rather the celebration of the Incarnation. But is this all we await? Is this all we celebrate? Or do we as Resurrection people, as Christians, also await the return, the Second Coming of our Lord?

The Jewish people, in our first reading from the prophet Isaiah, looked for the coming of the One who would possess “… the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and of strength, the spirit of knowledge and of the awesomeness of God.” They awaited a time when natural enemies would put aside animosities and co-exist in peace with one another. A time when the smallest child would not be endangered.

Have we arrived at such a time? We have – and we have not. We have seen the time of Emmanuel, God with us, the time when Emmanuel still walks with us, exists with us, as the Holy Spirit. But we still await the return of the Resurrected Christ and the completion of the Kingdom when the rest of Isaiah’s words will be fulfilled, when there will be peace in all of the nations of the world, when every child will be safe from harm. The time of Advent is not merely the four-week period of waiting for Christmas.
Advent is, really, the waiting we do for the rest of our lives.

And so, the question becomes: how do we await the return of Jesus the Christ? Perhaps, for each one of us, we can gain an insight into our waiting for the return of Christ, by how we wait for other events in our life. Perhaps, as in A Christmas Carol, our future is, indeed, bound to our past and to our present.

There are many kinds of waiting. There is the waiting we do when we wait to hear about a new job opportunity or about the results of a test we took in school. In each case, we had prepared as well as we could. We had the best interview possible. We studied everything we could. Now all we can do is wait until our future is revealed to us. We wait with the knowledge we did all we could do.

There is also another kind of waiting. There is the waiting for the birth of a child. While the final results are out of our control, there is still much we can do as we await the inevitable outcome. The mother can eat well and avoid harmful activities in order to maintain the best possible internal world for the expected child. The father can paint the reconverted nursery and do everything necessary to provide for the best possible external world for the expected child. The exact moment of the birth is unknown, but the parents do know, with almost absolute certainty, the birth will occur. In the meantime, they do not wait passively, but rather they continue to prepare as best they can, for the future event.

Unfortunately, there is also a third kind of waiting: an expectation without doing anything at all, either before or during the period of waiting. Here, the potential job-seeker did not prepare for the interview, the student shrugged off the reading assignments. The mother did not concern herself with the health of her own body nor that of her child. The father did nothing to get ready for the child’s homecoming. And so the period of waiting continues to be one of “que sera, sera,” what will happen, will happen. I await the future without any effort on my part, what-so-ever.

John the Baptist warned his listeners about such people. For those who wanted the blessings of baptism, but without the accompanying need to change, to re-form their lives, for those who said they had no need for repentance because of who they were, what backgrounds they came from – he called them “a brood of vipers.”

He also presented them with the image of the one who would come like a harvester. The harvester who would toss the grain and the stalks of wheat into the air, where the winds would carry off the inedible chaff which would be finally collected for burning, while the heavier grains of wheat would be gathered together. There is the one who continues to work until the wheat becomes bread, the bread of life.

Yes, there are many ways in which we can wait for an event to occur. We can prepare ahead of time. We can continue to do all we can do while we are waiting, or we can do nothing and reap the consequences of our inactions. The choice is ours. Like Scrooge, we can heed the dreams of the ghosts of Christmas-Past, Christmas-Present, and Christmas-Tomorrow and change our ways of waiting for the Coming of Christ. Or we can ignore them, pretending all of this is merely a bit of indigestion. But if we ignore them, if we fail to prepare, if we fail to change, we are unlikely to hear the words of Tiny Tim exclaiming: “God bless us, everyone!”

^{Second Sunday of Advent; December 10, 1995; Revised: December 5, 2010
Is 11:1-10; Rom 15:4-9; Mt 3:1-12}

On this Third Sunday of Advent I have a very important question for you: have you finished your Christmas shopping? Depending upon how you count them, there are only about ten shopping days until Christmas. We’re in the final countdown. Many of us can feel the pressure which usually comes when we have to work under a deadline. Unfortunately, for many people, Christmas, itself, has become a “deadline,” a time when everything has to come together, when what comes after the deadline is not as important as meeting the deadline, itself.

We all realize this should not be the case. Yet, year-after-year, we seem to look forward to the downtime that comes on December 26, rather than to the celebration of the birthday of the Christ Child on the 25th. For all of us who want to strive for what even our commercials call “the true meaning of Christmas,” I have three alternative questions to the one I raised about your Christmas shopping. The questions for today’s reflection are:
● What are you waiting for in life?
● What did you go out to the desert to see?
● Whom did Jesus come to heal?
You might prefer the one on Christmas shopping, but I’d suggest the three alternatives may carry us beyond looking at Christmas day as a deadline to be survived.

So, for the first question: what are you waiting for in life? The real reason for asking this question is because of a single theme we find in all three readings for today, the theme of patience. Our whole life seems to be a mix of patience and impatience, of waiting and hoping. Little girls have to wait until they are old enough to wear make-up and later on, to go out on dates. Little boys have to wait until they are old enough to trade in their toy cars for a real one. Parents have to wait-it-out while their kids grow beyond the terrible twos. And then, they wait for them to go off to school so they can have some free time, just as older parents can’t wait until their sons and daughters go off to college and the parents can really have some free time. And then they wait for them to get a job, which may be even more of a challenge than waiting for them to go to kindergarten or college.

We each wait for something, and while we wait, we hope we will be satisfied with what we finally get. Yet, much of the time we aren’t content when the waiting is over. We always seem to be waiting for something else. The man or woman without a job has to wait. They need to wait for a response to the resumes and applications they’ve sent out. They have to wait for telephone calls and interviews and call-backs. But people with jobs have to wait, too. How many people are there who have a job, but are not content with it? They have to wait for someone to leave in order for them to advance. Or the working situation is so bad all you can do is wait until the boss leaves and you can get another one.

In the days of John the Baptist, people waited for the same things. Slaves waited for the death of a terrible master and hoped the next one would be more kind. Husbands waited for a wife who would serve them and wives waited for husbands to protect them. (Well, maybe that has changed in 2000 years.) In days long ago, parents waited for their children to grow old enough to be of help to them. They waited for the same conditions we wait for today.

But in Israel they also waited for something we do not wait for. Or rather, for some One: the messiah, the savior. John the Baptist expected him at any moment. There was one man John thought might be the one he awaited. And so, he sent off his own followers to learn more about this man, the one called Jesus. In today’s Gospel we heard Jesus’ response to the disciples of John the Baptist. He gave the response Isaiah had prophesied for the messiah five-hundred years before: “then will the eyes of the blind be opened, the ears of the deaf be cleared; then will the lame leap like a stag; then the tongue of the dumb will sing.” This is what the disciples of John had seen. This is what they were to report back to him.

But then, Jesus turned to the crowds around him and asked them a question. What did you go out to the desert to see? Did you go out to find the expected? Did you go out to see a reed swaying in the wind? Did you go out to the wilderness to find a man dressed in royal purple when you know such a prince should be sought elsewhere?

These questions may be asked of us, today. When you now wait in the desert of your own making, do you wait for what you expect to find and, thereby, limit what might be out there? What the Lord might have in store for you. What did you go out to the desert to see? Did you go out to find what you knew ahead of time you could not find? When you, now, wait in the desert of your own making, do you wait for what you know you cannot find there and hope the Lord will grant you a special miracle? What did you go out to the desert to see? Did you go out to find someone who spoke for God and therefore had all the answers? Did you go out to find a prophet? When you wait in the desert of your own making, do you wait for someone else to tell you what God expects of you? Do you wait for someone else to solve your problems for you?

Or did you go out to the desert to find John, a simple man who waited with patience and who looked forward to the coming of his Lord. Are there, indeed, times when all we can do is wait patiently? Are we called at times to be like the desert, itself, the parched desert awaiting the rains, and following the rains, a cascade of flowers? The desert can do nothing but wait. Or the seed that the farmer plants? Can either the seed or the farmer hasten the winter and spring rains? Must both wait patiently?

It’s hard for most of us to wait patiently. We always need to be doing something. And that’s our problem right now as we wait for Christmas day. During Advent, we seem to be caught up in all the things we need to do before December 25. With buying and mailing presents to out-of-town friends and relatives. With mailing Christmas cards. With baking special goodies or making special gifts.

We feel guilty if we don’t do all of this. With all this rushing about, it’s no wonder we’re tired of the Christmas season, and don’t want to hear one more carol. And yet, we seem to think we must be completely prepared to celebrate the birth of the Christ Child in another ten days. What we seem to forget is that the Christ Child will not be born in another ten days. We need to remember he was born some two thousand years ago. He is born within us each moment of our life. He is with us here and now. We need not wait for his coming ten days from now. He is here with us. He is Emmanuel. He is God with us.

Isaiah told us what to look for: the one who heals. And so I come to my third and last question: whom has Jesus come to heal? Sometimes, we tend to think Jesus has come to heal only those who are physically blind, or deaf, or lame, or mute. But rather than thinking about how he has come to heal others, perhaps, I need to reflect on how he has come to heal me while I wait. Rather than asking what must I do, what must I achieve or accomplish in the next ten days, or the next ten months or ten years for myself, my family, and my friends, perhaps, I need to ask myself: how has Jesus come to heal me, right now?

Rather than making judgements about others who might be blind, perhaps, I might consider how I am blind to the beauty around me. Perhaps, I should reflect not on the deafness of others, but how am I deaf to the words of love spoken to me right now by those around me. Rather than considering others who are mute, perhaps, I need to reflect on how I am unable to say “thank you” for what has been given to me. It’s not a question of others who are lame, but why can I not dance in joy and happiness for what God has already given me?

The readings for today have once more reminded me that I must wait with patience. There are times I must be accepting of what is. I need to see not the bad, but the good. When I go to the desert, I need to be open to what the Lord will provide, rather than to what I expect to find there.

And while I wait, there are times when I need to recall how he heals me of my blindness so I can see the beauty I now have. He heals me of my deafness so I can hear the love I now have. He heals me of my muteness so I can speak words of love to others. He heals me of my lameness so I can dance my joy and happiness.

The Kingdom is now and will come. The celebration of Christmas will come, but it is with us now. Today is the Third Sunday of Advent. In the old calendar it was called “rose Sunday,” because of the rose-colored or pink vestments worn on this day. It was also called “Gaudete Sunday” from the opening line of today’s Mass. The Latin word, gaudete, means “rejoice.” And this is what we are called to do and to be. Rejoice, our Lord has come.

And so, we are back where we began. Either you can think about all of the Christmas shopping you need to do, or you can ponder three other questions. What are you waiting for in life? What do you go out to the desert to see? And finally: how has Jesus come to heal you? Now!

^{Third Sunday of Advent; December 14, 1986
Is 35:1-6,10; Jas 5:7-10; Mt 11:2-11}

Today’s question is a very direct one: have you had any good dreams lately? After all, this is the season for dreams. Would this really be the holiday season if you didn’t hear Bing Crosby sing: I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas. Those of you with young children no doubt have been exposed to a Visit from St Nicholas where children dream of sugar plum fairies dancing in their heads? Some of a more artistic bent have had the pleasure of seeing and hearing the dreams of The Nutcracker Suite. And in one way or another, most of us have been exposed to A Christmas Carol and Ebenezer Scrooge’s dreams of Christmas past, present and future.

Yes, we know about dreams, those pleasant flights of fancy into unreal worlds of music and literature. But there are other kinds of dreams. Dreams spoken of by the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr., when he said: “I have a dream …” His dream spoke of hopes, of ways to change the world. Yes, dreams can change the world.

In today’s Gospel for the Fourth and final Sunday of Advent, we heard about another dream. We heard about a man who, in fact, had several dreams which changed the world. Usually, during the season of Advent, we focus on Mary, but, perhaps, for a few moments we might reflect on Joseph, her husband. Joseph who was a dreamer, who can teach us about listening to God, and, perhaps, changing the world.

Jesus taught us everything we know about our heavenly Father, about Abba. Although he was divinely inspired to know such things, it’s not unreasonable to think Jesus must, also, have had some direct, first-hand experience of what an Abba, a dad, was like. It’s not unreasonable to believe Joseph, the foster- father of Jesus, had something to do with Jesus’ ideas about fatherhood, a subject we may not think about as much as we might in today’s world.¹

Our Gospel reading for this Sunday is taken from Matthew. The Nativity story in Matthew’s Gospel is really quite different from the one we hear about in Luke’s account, where the focus is on Mary, and shepherds, and angels singing praises to God. In Matthew, the story is about Joseph and his dreams.

In today’s reading, we heard how Mary was “betrothed” to Joseph. Often, we fail to recognize that being “betrothed” or “engaged” is very different today from what it was in Biblical times. Back then, the marriage rite consisted of two parts, the engagement, when the couple promised themselves to one another, and the wedding night, when the wedding contract was signed, and the couple began living together as husband and wife. Back then, the promise, itself, was as important, and as binding, as the contract of the wedding night. Once the promise was made, the two were considered to be married.

So, here we have a situation where Joseph learned the woman he had married was pregnant. And he knew he was not the father. As a righteous man, one who understood the Laws of God as laid down by Moses, Joseph had the right to divorce his new wife. Back in those days, a Jewish husband could divorce his wife by giving her a statement of his intentions, either publicly in front of a rabbinical court or privately so the woman would not be subject to public shame. This is what Joseph planned to do, before he had the fateful dream in which God revealed to him that the child his wife carried had been conceived by the Holy Spirit and would be called “Emmanuel: God is with us.”

We often say how wonderful it is that Mary said “yes” to the angel Gabriel. And without downgrading her “yes,” I believe it’s also wonderful Joseph said “yes” to his angel. When Joseph said “yes,” when Joseph said he would become the foster-father for the Son of God, what kind of a model did he become for Jesus and for us? What can we imagine about this man called Joseph?

First of all, he was one who listened intently to what God had to say and then he acted upon what God told him. St Paul in today’s Second Reading speaks of “the obedience of faith.” Joseph exhibits this “obedient faith.” The word “obedient” comes from a Latin word which means “to hear keenly and to act upon what is heard.” Joseph was an obedient man. In his dream he heard the message, he believed it and, most importantly, he acted upon it.

This was not the only time Joseph heard the angel of God in his dreams. At least three more times, according to the Gospel of Matthew, Joseph heard an angelic voice in his dreams. Shortly after the birth of his foster-son, he heard the message that Herod wanted to harm the boy, and the family should flee. Without apparent hesitation, Joseph packed up his family and left for Egypt, where they stayed until God spoke to him in a third dream.

In this third dream, the angel told Joseph it was safe to return to Judea. But what if Joseph had said, “No, I’d rather stay in Egypt. I have a pretty good carpentry shop here, I’d rather stay.” But once again, Joseph listened to God and returned to Judea. He took a risk and was willing to change. Then, once back in Judea, in another dream, Joseph was warned he should not settle there but rather go on to Galilee, a foreign place where he was not known.² Once more Joseph was willing to listen to God and start anew.

Yes, each time Joseph was obedient to the message of God. Each time he was willing to take a risk and move on. Perhaps, this is something Joseph taught Jesus, the ability to take a risk, to move on, to begin anew.

The remaining Gospel stories tell us little directly about this man called Joseph. But what do you imagine him to be like? How does Jesus describe Abba, his father, and other fathers? Recall for a moment the story of the prodigal son. A story of a father who forgives. A story of a father who is so much in love with his son that he looks for his return and goes running with abandonment to meet him on the road.

Think for a moment about Jesus’ question: “What father would give his son a snake when he asks for fish or a scorpion when he asks for an egg?” Jesus knew, first-hand, a good father is constantly interested in the well-fare of his son and would not try to deceive him or harm him in any way. This question about snakes and fish and scorpions and eggs is reported by Luke, who also tells us of another time when Joseph played an important role in the life of a young Jesus. It would seem Joseph was able, in modern terms, to “cut him some slack.” On the trip to Jerusalem when Jesus was a young teenager, Joseph allowed Jesus freedom to learn on his own, to make his own human mistakes, if you will. And yet, when he was found, Mary was able to say: “Your father and I have been looking for you with great anxiety.”

We know Joseph was a carpenter. We surmise, in his early years, Jesus followed this trade as well. Is it difficult to see the two of them working together in that woodshop? A carpenter, back then, was a very respected craftsman and businessman. It was from Joseph that Jesus learned to work with his hands. It was from Joseph that he learned about “fair trade” practices and about helping others.

From his foster-father, Jesus learned the traditions of his people, their psalms and stories. From the friends of Joseph, Jesus learned about pottery, about sowing seeds, about tending sheep. It was from Joseph that Jesus learned about the love of a father for his child. The father who takes risks for the welfare of his family. The father who teaches him what it is to be fully alive. The father who teaches him to listen intently and act upon the words of Abba.

Two thousand years ago, a gentle carpenter had dreams. He listened to the voice of God and put aside what others might say about him. He followed the vision of his dreams and not the prompting of the society around him. He gave his love to a foster-son. What dreams do you dream this day? What dreams have words to which you listen with obedient faith? What dreams of yours can change the world? What love do you give to the foster-son of Joseph, the Son of God?

^{Fourth Sunday of Advent; December 24, 1989, December 20, 1998, and December 19, 2004 (revised)
Is 7:10-14; Rom 1:1-7; Mt 1:18-24}

1. ^{A special paragraph was inserted in the revision for 1998. In preparation for the Third Millennium Pope John Paul II had designated the liturgical year of 1998-1999 as the year to celebrate “God, the Father.” Other years were devoted to “God, the Son” and “God, the Holy Spirit.” The 1998 homily included: “And so, as we begin this liturgical year of the Fatherhood of God, perhaps it’s not unreasonable for us, and especially for us men who are fathers, to look more closely at this man called Joseph.}
2. ^{While Luke’s Gospel has Mary receiving her angel in Nazareth of Galilee, Matthew’s account has the couple residing in a house in Bethlehem, Joseph’s native town. It would appear Joseph planned to return to Bethlehem of Judea, but the angel caused him to journey on to Nazareth of Galilee, a foreign territory for the family.}

Today is the Feast of the Holy Family, the day when we recall in a special way the relationship of Jesus, Mary and Joseph. It’s a day for celebrating family relationships. And so I’d like to welcome all of you who are spending the holidays here with your own family and friends and have chosen to be here, today, with our parish family of Christ the Good Shepherd. This celebration prompts me to ask a very simple question for today. It’s a question combining Scripture and what you learned in your elementary catechism. So, are you ready? Today’s question is: what is the Fourth Commandment? The Fourth one of the Ten, that is. Yes, it’s: “honor thy mother and father.” But if you really want to give a complete answer, you need to add the second half, the part which gives the results of honoring your father and mother. The complete commandment is: “honor thy mother and father that your days may be long in the land which the Lord your God gives you.”

So, while the first part of the Fourth Commandment is appropriate for our celebration of the Feast of the Holy Family, the second part reminds us the Ten Commandments are related to the Exodus experience. Once more, we recall how Moses led God’s Chosen Ones out of Egypt and into the Promised Land, the land the Lord your God gives you.

Today’s reading, taken from the Gospel of Matthew, reminds us, once more, of the Exodus and of Moses, himself. During this liturgical year, we’ll be hearing a lot of readings from the Gospel of Matthew. So it might be appropriate to be reminded how much the Gospel of Matthew focuses on Jesus as the “new Moses,” the one who was predicted by the prophets as being the Messiah who would be greater than Moses, himself.

Just as the Old Testament tells how Pharaoh wanted to kill the infant Moses and how innocent, Israelite children lost their lives because of Moses, Matthew in his New Testament, tells how Herod threatened to kill the infant Jesus and how other innocent, Israelite children lost their own lives because of Jesus. In today’s story we heard how Joseph, in order to protect Jesus from that threat, took Mary and Jesus to Egypt. And later, how Jesus came out of Egypt, just as Moses came out of Egypt. We, also, know from Matthew’s Gospel about other dreams of Joseph and how these dreams protected his foster-son.

Last week I spoke about Joseph, the dreamer of the New Testament and how his dreams changed the world. Joseph, the foster-father of Jesus had many dreams, just as another Joseph, one of his own ancestors, had his own dreams many years before. It was because of this previous Jospeh’s own dreams that he led his eleven brothers and his father Jacob into the land of Egypt in the first place. There the Hebrew people lived until Moses brought them back to the Promised Land.

The Hebrew writings of the Old Testament have many such stories about families and family relationships. These same scriptures, also, have many proverbs, many short sayings, about family life. We heard several of them in our First Reading from the book of Sirach in which the sage wrote: “God sets a father in honor over his children; a mother’s authority he confirms over her sons.”

Which brings me back to that Fourth Commandment: “honor they mother and father.” And this commandment prompts me to raise several other questions. First, who do we, in fact, honor? Second, why do we honor someone? And, perhaps, more importantly: why should we honor someone? It seems, at least in recent years, we tend not to honor our parents very much. Our TV sitcoms and many of our movies tend to make parents into jokes, people not to be taken seriously. And if parents represent so called “authority figures,” it might be said we tend not to honor any other authority figures either.

Rather than honor others for who they are, we seem to honor people for what they accomplish, what they do, no matter what kind of people they may be. As teenagers, we give praise and honor to singers who rap out explosive messages even when these messages hold minimal respect for anyone. As young adults, we give praise and honor to athletes who score high regardless of what else they do with the rest of their lives. As adults, we give praise and honor to entrepreneurs and business leaders who give us the best bang for the buck, regardless of what effect their actions may have on the quality of our lives or how honest they may be.

On the other hand, why should we honor people? What qualities should a person worthy of honor possess? Perhaps, it’s time for us to pay heed to the qualities that St Paul gave for God’s chosen ones, the ones God wants for his very own, the ones who live in God’s company, God’s holy family. St Paul told the Colossians, and he tells us, these qualities are: “Heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.” They include “bearing with one another and forgiving one another.”

“Forgiving one another.” Perhaps, this season is, once again, the season for us to remember just why there is a Christmas, why God became incarnated. Why Jesus, the Son of God, was born into this human world. It is again time to remember God gave us His Son to bring us his forgiveness, forgiveness for the errors of humanity going back to the creation of Adam and Eve. It is again time to remember God sent us the new Adam to redeem us, to save us, to forgive us. It is again time to remember God asks us, each one of us, to forgive others, we who are His children.

Yes, today is the Feast of the Holy Family, the day on which we recall the special relationship of Jesus, Mary and Joseph, a day to recall that we are to honor our own parents and our own families. Although it is the day to remember that the original Holy Family consisted of a child, a mother and a foster-father. It is, also, the day to recognize that a holy family may consist of a single parent with a single child or several children. A holy family can be guided by a foster-parent, by grandparents or by other relatives. Today, we, also, need to acknowledge that a holy family includes those who are single, both those who have not married and those who are widowed.

A true holy family consists of all individual children of God, his children who seek a relationship of “heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience” with all of the other children of God, all who are brothers and sisters under “our Father,” a Father to whom we pray that He will forgive us as we forgive others, for it is in this forgiveness that we give honor to one another and together become His Holy Family.

^{Feast of the Holy Family; December 30, 2001; December 26, 2004 (revised)
Sir 3:2-6, 12-14; Col 3:12-21; Mt 2:13-15, 19 -23}

Today is the feast day of the Holy Family, the Sunday between the celebration of the Nativity, the Incarnation of our God, and of the Solemnity of Mary, the Mother of God. Today, the Sunday between Christmas and New Year’s is a day of celebration for Jesus, Mary and Joseph as a family, the Holy Family. The question for today is a short one, but not an easy one to answer. What is “a holy family?” Yes, that’s the question: not what is “The Holy Family,” but rather, what is A holy family?

Is it a holy family when a teenage mother gives birth to a child and her husband is not the father? Is it a holy family when the husband hears voices at night, in his dreams, and forces his wife and foster-child to move to a foreign country? Is it a holy family when they try to return home, only to find the husband’s dreams say they must live in a city in a strange part of the country, because the central government is still out to get them? Is it a holy family when the husband dies and leaves his beloved wife in the care of a son, who shortly, thereafter, leaves her alone so he can wander the countryside with his buddies and teach them they should all live as free as lilies of the field or birds of the air? Is it a holy family when his ever-suffering, ever-loving mother sees him thrown into jail and hung, naked on a cross, accused of being an enemy of the state and a blasphemer of God? If any of this happened today, we would say this was an extremely dysfunctional family and urge them to seek counseling. Well, a holy family is, indeed, all that I’ve just outlined, and more, much more.

But before we take a look at what makes up a holy family, perhaps we should look at what makes up a “family,” itself. First of all, a family can be composed of the classical mother, father and “two point three children,” although I’ve seldom seen a “point three child” in any of the shopping malls I visit. A family can also have a single parent (mother or father) with one or more kids. A family can have birth children, adopted children, foster children or no children. A family can have stepparents and half-brothers or half-sisters. A family can have grandparents raising their grandchildren with their own child seldom in sight. In fact, there can, also, be families without even parents or grandparents or aunts and uncles around. There are some who work in an occupation where the members call one another “family” and really mean it. We can be part of a “family of Christ the Good Shepherd.” Or we can be part of the family of humanity. From time to time, we even hear about a “family of nations.” So, then, what is a family? A family is a set of relationships, not relatives. Not those linked to you by blood or marriage but by relationships, a union of hearts and souls.

And so, what is the opposite of a family? Could it be possible that the opposite of “family” is “loneliness?” A lack of relationships, a life of shattered relationships? Loneliness may be a strange thing to think about at this time of year, a time of the year when all of the TV commercials and songs have been reminding us of being together with those we love and who love us. But, for some, the Christmas season can be the loneliest time of the year. This may be especially true this year, when so many people we know have been deployed to Iraq, or Afghanistan, or to other parts of this war-torn, embattled world.

For the past several weeks, we may have tried to escape this loneliness and hide our concerns about others, by pouring ourselves into holiday activities, parties and shopping, writing cards and e-mails. Baking goodies. Hanging lights, and decorating trees. But now it’s all over. Christmas Day has, once again, come and gone. And we ask ourselves, “Was it all worth it?” Is there more joy today, four or five days after Christmas, after the day we celebrated the birth of the Christ Child, than there was the day before Christmas?

Has a lack of joy, a slight depression, already set in? Do we detect an edge of loneliness on the horizon? Could it be that this mist of loneliness is a manifestation of our need to be loved, a need to feel special? Is this loneliness the result of a lack of relationships in our lives? To see what I mean, let’s take a closer look at today’s readings.

In that First Reading from Sirach, we heard how we should make our parents feel special. We don’t often, in our roles as children, whether we are 6, 16, or 46, reflect on how we need to honor our parents, to assure them of our love for them. And yet our reading reminds us: “God sets a father in honor over his children, a mother’s authority he confirms over her sons. Whoever reveres his father will live a long life; he who obeys his father brings comfort to his mother. – Kindness to a father will not be forgotten.”

In today’s world, there are many who live longer than in prior times. Today, there is the so-called “sandwich generation,” who have obligations not only for their young children but, also, for their aging parents. There are both the “young” and the “not young” who crave positive relationships. No matter what years have passed or are to come, every one of us wants to be loved. We want to feel special.

Saint Paul once again gives advice on how to accomplish this. He wrote in a letter to the Colossians these instructions for their Christian relationships. “Brothers and Sisters: Put on, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience, bearing with one another and forgiving one another if one has a grievance against another; as the Lord has forgiven you, so must you also do.” Saint Paul’s words apply not only to the Colossians, but, also, to everyone who wants to be part of “a holy family.” They apply to men and women, to boys and girls, to parents and children. To those who are married and those who are not.

All of us are to have relationships built on compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. And most importantly, we are to forgive one another as Christ, himself, has forgiven us. It is through forgiveness that loneliness is overcome. It is in a lack of forgiveness of others, and even of the events of the world, itself, that we are isolated from one another, from the world, from ourselves, and even, at times, from God.

We build our own walls between us and others. We block off the relationships which can make us a holy family, a family living together with God as our Father. Perhaps, it was even necessary for Mary to forgive Joseph what she might have thought was a great imposition, to flee from Bethlehem to Egypt and then to return to the strangeness of Galilee. Perhaps, she even needed to forgive Jesus when he left her to go about his true Father’s business of proclaiming the coming of the kingdom of God. Certainly her son, hanging on that cross, forgave those who tortured and murdered him. It is through such acts of forgiveness that we forge our own relationships with one another.

Perhaps, now, today, as we await the coming of a New Year, we can resolve to reestablish our relationships with one another and to overcome our loneliness. Perhaps, now, today, instead of fleeing our circumstances because of the visions we dream, we can entertain other dreams of hope and encouragement, and act upon these new visions. Perhaps, now, today, we can also resolve to “ … do, in word or in deed … everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.” Perhaps, now, today, we, too, can begin our new life as “a holy family.”

^{Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph; December 30, 2007
Sir 3:2-6, 12-14; Col 3:12 – 17 (short form); Mt 2:13-15, 19-23}

Here we are at the beginning of a new year. So, I suppose the question I could ask is: How many of your New Year’s Resolutions have you already broken? On the other hand, you may be among those who do not need to make any resolutions for the new year. Perhaps, you have nothing which needs to be changed. And if you believe you are in this group, you may want to ask your spouse or your friends (or even your kids) if they agree to just how perfect you are now.

However, the majority of us, I believe, would say we’re not in that group. Most of us would probably admit there is something we need to change about ourselves. Some of us might even have the problem of being too hard on ourselves. We might believe there is very little we like about ourselves, just about everything needs to be changed. We might feel we are not worthy about anything. Today’s readings deal with this basic question. The question about being worthy. The question: am I “good enough?”

Our first reading from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah talks about a person who doesn’t sound very worthy about anything. Here we have someone who apparently doesn’t have the strength to finish breaking a stick that has already been bent out of shape. Someone who cannot finish blowing out a candle with a wick that is already merely a smoking ash. And yet, Isaiah reminds us that this one who appears to be so inconsequential will, in fact, establish justice on the earth.

In our second reading from the Acts of the Apostles we hear Peter’s words to Cornelius and his family. You may recall Cornelius was a Roman centurion, a military man of some might and means, who lived with his extended household in Caesarea. Here was Peter visiting the home of a non-Jew who did not follow the dietary laws of the Jews nor any other of their practices. On the surface, Cornelius and his family were unlikely candidates for this new, Christian, religion. Yet, Peter was able to proclaim, “In truth, I see that God shows no partiality. Rather, in every nation whoever fears him and acts uprightly is acceptable to him.” Centurion Cornelius and his family were seen to be worthy to become followers of Christ.

In our Gospel reading we hear how John the Baptist, himself, questioned whether he was good enough, worthy enough to baptize Jesus. John thought Jesus should be baptizing him. However, Jesus reminded John that what must be done to fulfill God’s will, must, indeed, be done. It is God who sees John is worthy enough to accomplish what God wants accomplished.

And what about us? Are we worthy to accomplish what God wants each one of us to accomplish? Yes, there are times when I believe I’m not good enough, worthy enough to do what I know God is calling me to do. And when these times occur I remember that I am worthy, not because of what I’ve done in the past, but, rather, because of what God has done for me.

I remember we all become worthy because of our baptism. We become worthy through the waters of baptism. We become worthy through the anointing with the oils of baptism. At every baptism we are reminded that we are anointed: priest, prophet and king. Here on this first Sunday of the New Year, when we celebrate the Baptism of the Lord, we are called to remember just what it means to be anointed as priest, prophet and king.

What does it mean to be anointed as a “king?” We know ancient kings were anointed with oil as a symbol of their power and new royalty. But what was to be the outcome of this power, this proclamation of being royalty? The first demand placed upon the king was to be the protector of his people. To protect them from outside invasions. To protect them from hunger and famine. To see to their general welfare. And yes, there were kings who failed. Those who did not see to the protection of their people. Those who mistreated their people. Those who did not show justice and mercy to those put under their care and trust. Yet a rue king was anointed as the Protector of his people.

And through our baptism we, too, are called to be a Protector for all who are under our care and trust. We are to protect them from attacks by those who try to render them powerless. We are to help them gain the basic needs for life, itself. By our baptism we are anointed as the protector of the poor, the oppressed and the marginalized.

We are also anointed as a prophet. Prophets were called by God to speak on his behalf. They were to remind all those who heard the prophet, all those who witnessed his actions. And of what did they remind the people? Prophets reminded them about what God desired of them. These prophets reminded their people about the covenant God had made with them and their ancestors. A covenant of unconditional love. A covenant which stated Yahweh would be their one and only God and they would be his people. A covenant which included the obligation to love one another as well as to listen to his Word. Prophets were anointed to be the memory of the love of God and to bring this memory of his love to a new life for his people.

And through our baptism, we, too, are anointed as Prophets to accomplish the same task, to remind others of God’s unconditional love for us and our unconditional love for God and for others. We are anointed as prophets to make God’s love manifest in this world, to show forth God’s love for us through our own love for one another.

As we are anointed as Protector and Prophet through our baptism, we are also anointed as Priest. What is the nature of being a priest? A priest is one called to be set aside, to no longer be part of a secular, routine life. And yet, at the same moment, a priest is one who is called to act in the world for the people of the world. One who lives in a daily acknowledgment that the reign of God has already begun. A priest is one who blesses others and calls for God to bless us. He is the one who takes common bread and wine and, through his prayers and blessings, he asks the Holy Spirt to change these common materials into the divine body and blood of Christ.

We too, through our baptism are anointed as priests to act in this world on behalf of God. We are to recognize we, too, are called forth from a merely secular world in order to act on God’s behalf in helping others to go beyond the daily world which consumes us. We are to pray not only for ourselves but more important, for others. Each day, we are to take the common elements of our lives and through prayer and the help of the Holy Spirit change these mundane actions into holy events.

Each one of us, through our sacrament of baptism, has been anointed Priest, Prophet and Protector. Through our baptism, each one of us was, indeed, made “good enough” to become a priest, prophet and protector. Following the words of the prophet Isaiah,
● Each one of us is called to open the eyes of the blind … the blind who do not see the beauty of God surrounding them.
● Each one of us is called to bring out prisoners from confinement … prisoners confined by chains of injustice and poverty
● Each one of us is called to free from the dungeon those who live in darkness … the darkness of despair and lack of hope.

When John baptized Jesus some two thousand years ago, a voice from heaven was heard. Today, as we begin a New Year with resolutions to change our lives, with resolutions to live out our Baptismal call of being anointed as priest, prophet, and king, may each one of us hear similar words: “This is my beloved child, with whom I am well pleased.”

^{Baptism of the Lord; January 13, 2008
Is 42: 1-4, 6-7; Acts 10:34-38; Mt 3:13-17}

Today’s question may come under the heading of “religious education.” This Sunday is called “the Second Sunday of Ordinary time.” So, my question is: What is “ordinary time?” Most Catholics who attend mass regularly, especially here at Christ the Good Shepherd, recognize there are major seasons during the liturgical year, seasons like Advent, which begins the year. And Christmastide, which ended on the Sunday after the Epiphany, that is, the day of the celebration of “the Baptism of the Lord.” Later there will be Lent, the Easter Triduum, and the Easter season which ends with Pentecost.

And many know the rest of the year is “ordinary time,” the season when our vestments are green. But why is it called “ordinary?” Does it just mean it’s sort of “regular,” that there is nothing “special” about it? Some people would agree with such a definition. But the real reason for calling this “the Second Sunday of Ordinary time” is “mathematical” rather than philosophical.

Do you recall, in high school math, you learned the “counting” numbers like 1, 2 and 3 are called “cardinal” numbers? And what about numbers such as “first,” “second,” and “third?” Well, they’re called “ordinary” numbers. So, the Sundays which are numbered as first, second, third, etc. are called “ordinary” Sundays and these “ordinary” Sundays make up Ordinary time. So, this weekend is the Second Sunday of Ordinary time. This season extends (this year) through February 21, which is the seventh Sunday of Ordinary time. The first Sunday of Lent comes next. And after Pentecost, until Advent, the Sundays will, once again, be numbered.

But what does all of this “religious education” about the liturgical year, have to do with today’s Gospel reading and the focus for today’s homily? The answer for this is another question for you: How do you find Christ in “ordinary” time? For many of us, it’s easier to be close to God and to Jesus during the special seasons of the year, during Advent, Christmas, Lent and Easter. It, also, seems to be less difficult to be with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit during special moments in our lives, moments of beginnings like at weddings or births, or even at sad times of endings, such as divorce or death. But what about during the regular days, the “ordinary” days of our lives? Well, we’re not alone in our problem of finding Christ in the ordinary days. John the Baptist had his own problem, which is not all that different from ours. To see what I mean, let’s take a closer look at today’s Gospel reading.

In today’s reading, we have John the Baptist and his own disciples once more gathered together. John has been baptizing in the Jordan River all of those who came seeking repentance in preparation for the coming of the Messiah, the Savior of Israel. John has been telling the Pharisees and others he, himself, is not the Messiah. He says this “Anointed One,” this “Chosen One,” will come later and baptize them, not with water, but with the Holy Spirit. As the sacrificial Lamb of God, this man will take away the sins of the world.

John probably knew all “about” Jesus. Some would maintain he probably knew Jesus, personally. After all, according to the stories we heard just before Christmas, John was the son of Elizabeth, a kinswoman of Jesus’ mother, Mary. So, in some way the two Men were cousins. Although it is possible two cousins might grow up without ever seeing one another, such a case is unlikely in a small country like Israel, especially with a culture emphasizing the extended family. So, it’s likely John and Jesus were well acquainted. But it’s apparent John did not recognize that his cousin, Jesus, was the Messiah. Not until the day when the two met at the River Jordan. In today’s Gospel we read, “John gave this testimony also: ‘I saw the spirit descend like a dove from the sky, and it came to rest on him. But I did not recognize him. The one who sent me to baptize with water told me, ‘when you see the spirit descend and rest on someone, it is he who is to baptize with the holy spirit.’ Now I have seen for myself and have testified, ‘this is God’s chosen one.’” And so, it took a very special occurrence, the dove descending from heaven, for John to recognize Jesus is the Messiah, the Chosen One of God.

But then what? Did John never have any doubts after that? Or was John the Baptist like many of us? We who accept Jesus as the Christ, the Son of God, at special moments in our life, but then fall into doubt during the ordinary days of our life. It seems John did have his reservations. There is the story in the Gospels of both Matthew and Luke of how John sends his own followers, his own disciples, to Jesus to ask, “Are you ‘he who is to come’ or do we look for another?”

This occurred during a low point in John’s life. According to Matthew’s Gospel, John was in prison when he sent his disciples to Jesus with their questions. Here, now, was the man who once testified that he, himself, had seen the spirit descend upon Jesus so that, having seen for himself, he could proclaim, “Behold the lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world” and “this is God’s chosen one!”

But, now, he seems to be doubting what he had one observed and, so, he sends his disciples, once more, to question Jesus. And what answer did Jesus give to John’s disciples? He said: “Go back and report to John what you hear and see: 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.”

Is this not how we, too, recognize Jesus is the Son of God, by his healing actions in our lives? We seem to be closest to him when we are healed. When we have recovered our spiritual sight and lost our spiritual deafness. When we are no longer outcasts, but restored to the life of the community. When we are raised from our crippling sins and returned to the full life of grace. When we hear the “good news,” the Kingdom of God is at hand.

How does this occur to us today? How do we recognize Christ in our daily lives? Do we recognize him by some sort of miracle or special sign? The answer, I believe is both “yes” and “no.” There may be no special, observable miracles for us. A visible dove does not appear, but there is another kind of miracle. The miracle of Christian love. The miracle of Christian help. The miracle of the presence of Christ in others, in those we meet. The healing of a spouse saying, “I forgive you and I love you.” The healing of a child saying, “I’m sorry for what I’ve done and I will change.” The healing of a person saying, “I know you can use some help now, so, this is what I’m going to do.” The healing of a community saying, “we recognize what we have been doing has been harmful to others, so, this is how we’re going to correct our actions.” We find Jesus the Christ and his healing powers in the ordinary miracles of life around us. We find Jesus the Christ in the ordinary people we meet and who make a difference in our lives.

But in this meeting there is a challenge. If I hope to meet the Christ in “others,” who is the Christ for “others” to meet? In the final analysis, each one of us must be Christ-like in what each one of us does, in what each one of us says. In order to hear the good news, I am called to proclaim the good news to others. To proclaim the news not only in what I say and how I say it, but, more important, to live it out in what I do for others. To find Christ in others, I must be Christ to others.

And this is how we are to find him during the ordinary days of our lives, the days which are not part of some special time of celebration. During the days when we seem to be just numbering the hours, just marking time. These ordinary days are still days of opportunity, days when we need to hear with newly opened ears, the words from today’s reading from the prophet Isaiah: “I will make you a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth.”

^{Second Sunday in Ordinary Time; January 17, 1993
Is 49: 3,5-6; 1 Cor 1: 1-3; Jn 1:29-34}

1. ^{Some might say Pentecost is followed by Trinity Sunday and by Corpus Christi, now called “Body and Blood of Christ Sunday” and that the counting for Ordinary Sundays does not begin until the Sunday after “Body and Blood of Christ Sunday.” However, the weekdays of Ordinary Time resume on the Monday after Pentecost, having started the Monday after “The Baptism of the Lord.” Indeed, Christmastide liturgically includes “The Baptism of the Lord Sunday,” but for many of us “old-timers” the Christmas season ends with Epiphany! Otherwise, what happened to the “First” Sunday in Ordinary Time?}

When was the last time you saw Jesus coming toward you? That’s my question for you today. When was the last time you saw Jesus coming toward you? And yes, my question is based on today’s Gospel reading from John the Evangelist who tells us about an encounter between John the Baptist and Jesus. It begins with the line, “John the Baptist saw Jesus coming toward him and said, ‘Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.’”

For some people, this may seem to be a strange way either for John the Baptist or for John the Evangelist to speak about Jesus. So, maybe I need to elaborate a bit. John the Evangelist often wrote about Jesus as the “Lamb of God.” Here John, the gospel writer, has John the Baptist using these words. At the end of his Gospel, he also has the Death of Jesus begin on the day for the slaughter of the Passover lambs. John the Evangelist seems to suggest Jesus, himself, is the Passover lamb about to be slaughtered.

In many places in the Book of Revelation, which is also attributed to John the Evangelist, there are references to the “Lamb of God.” You may have seen paintings of the Lamb of God. They’re the ones in which a lamb holds a flag or banner with the emblem of the cross on it. So, what does this symbol mean, this image of Jesus the Christ as the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world?

It goes back, of course, to the early days of the Israelites, the days of holocausts and sacrifices, the days of making burnt offerings to the Lord God, offerings so that the Lord God would remove the sins of the people. In the very earliest days, the offerings were probably human sacrifices. A sacrifice is, after all, an action which makes something holy. Our ancient ancestors thought: what better way is there to make the people holy, than offering up to their god one of themselves. Perhaps, the best offering would be one’s own child, a son or daughter. This is what Abraham thought those millennia ago when he was willing to offer up his son, Isaac, to the Lord God.

And when he was about to make this sacrifice, what did God say to Abraham? He said it was sufficient for Abraham to show his faith and trust in the Lord God merely by being willing to sacrifice his son, Isaac. God went on to say, instead of offering up Isaac, it would be enough for Abraham to offer up a lamb which God provided to him. Some say this event marks the change in our ancestral slaughter of children to that of animals for sacrificial purposes.

The Hebrews continued to offer animal sacrifices each year in the Temple in Jerusalem. The major time for these sacrifices occurred at the annual Passover, when they commemorated the first time the blood of lambs was placed above the doors of their homes so that the Angel of Death would “pass over” them in the destruction of the Egyptians which preceded the Exodus. And so, the Lamb became associated with Abraham and Isaac and with the Passover, with a sacrifice pleasing to God.

And so it was, for John the Evangelist and the early Christians, Jesus became associated as the Lamb of God, the one who takes away the sins of the world. Jesus became the perfect sacrifice, the sacrifice through which all of us would be made holy, so that our sins would be forgiven in order for us to be reunited with the Lord God.

The Jews and Jewish Christians recognized humanity had been separated from God in an extraordinary way, in an event known as the Fall of Adam and Eve. Only another extraordinary event would be sufficient for re-union to occur. For Christians, this extraordinary event was the Suffering, Death and Resurrection of Jesus the Christ, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, the Pascal Mystery through which all people are re-united with God.

We celebrate this extraordinary event every week, actually, for many, every day of the week. Some call it “the sacrifice of the Mass,” others “the Eucharistic Liturgy.” With either term, we focus on Communion. Communion with God, as a result of the saving action of the once-and-forever sacrifice of Jesus the Christ, and the on-going commemoration of this sacrifice. Communion in the form of Eucharist, the on-going Thanksgiving, we offer, because of the sacrifice of Jesus the Christ, who, through his Coming, made us worthy to be re-united with God, both upon our death and upon the day of our final judgement and the Second Coming of the Lamb of God, the Agnus Dei.

At each of our celebrations, we utter those words spoken by John the Baptist, as written by John the Evangelist, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” And we respond with words similar to those of a centurion who asked Jesus to heal his servant when we say, “Lord, I am not worthy, but only say the word and I shall be healed.”

I began a few minutes ago by asking you, “When was the last time you saw Jesus coming toward you?” For some, the answer might be, “the last time I received Communion.” And the answer would be correct. However, we need to recall that with our Communion, we re-enforce the fact we, ourselves, are the body of Christ. As we receive Eucharist, we are to become Eucharist. Although we behold the Lamb of God as we gaze upon the elevated Host, we also see him in those around us, in all who receive Christ and transmit him to others.

We see Christ in all those who suffer the devastation of a rushing mountain of water or of mud. We see Christ in all those who bring comfort and aid to those who are victims of natural disasters. We, also, must recognize that, although many thousands can become victims within a matter of minutes, there are also “slow motion” disasters claiming, over an extended time, their own hundreds of thousands of deaths. Although we rush to aid victims of a tsunami in Southeast Asia, we must not forget those who die from mal-nutrition, AIDS, or other infectious diseases in Oceania or Africa on a daily basis throughout the entire year. They, too, number in the hundreds of thousands. A tragedy should not be measured only in terms of how rapidly it occurs, but in the fact that suffering comes in many sizes, with varying speeds, and all who suffer need our assistance to find their daily bread.

We are reminded of the promise God made to the prophet Isaiah in our First Reading: “I will make you a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth.” The Lamb of God brings us Salvation. We are called, each and every day, to be the Light sent forth so that this Salvation may, indeed, reach to the ends of the earth.

^{2nd Sunday in Ordinary; January 16, 2005
Is 49:3, 5-6; 1 Cor 1:1-3; Jn 1:29-34}

Today’s question is about unemployment. Yes, this continues to be a major issue as we begin a new year. So, I thought I might ask you a question about jobs. You don’t need to answer it out loud, but I’d like for you to consider it over the next few minutes. The question is this: If you were offered the job of “servant,” would you accept the position? Yes, if you were unemployed, would you accept the job of being a “servant?” How about if you were already employed in a decent job, would you give it up to become a “servant?”

My guess is not many would seek employment in this field. Being a servant doesn’t seem to be on the career path for most people. And yet, a major area of employment today is that of the so-called “service industry.” Many of us are called to be of service to others on a day-by-day basis. However, some of us work from nine-to-five as “employees.” We may be called to serve others, but we seldom really want to do this. Instead of helping the client, some focus on their own needs and desires. And that is not what a true servant does.

A true servant is called upon to satisfy the needs and desires of another person, not their own comforts. These may be the needs and desires of a master, as in bygone days. Or they may be the needs of a customer who wants help in finding a product hidden among the shelves of a department store, or of clients who require aid in addressing specific problems in their lives.

Yes, a servant, or any person providing a service, is supposed to put someone else ahead of one’s own self. On the other hand, a servant is not a slave. A slave is forced to provide the required work. A servant freely chooses to serve the needs of another person. Which brings us to a consideration of our first reading from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah.

The Lord spoke to Isaiah, saying, “You are my servant.” The Lord did not say, “You are my slave.” Nor did the Lord say, “You are my sales associate.” Isaiah was not called upon to serve the Lord either as an unfree slave, or as a coequal associate. Rather, Isaiah was to address the desires of the Lord, even without the Lord needing to command specific actions. Isaiah was to help the Lord in leading the tribes of Jacob and of Israel back to the Lord. But the desires of the Lord God went even further. Isaiah was to be more than a servant. He was to be “a light to the nations . . . [so that the Lord’s] salvation may reach to the ends of the earth.” The Lord God did not limit himself to the Jews as his chosen people. Rather, his salvation was “ … to reach to the ends of the earth.”

Centuries later, Saint Paul, writing to Christ’s followers in the city of Corinth, greeted them with similar words when he wrote, “… to you who have been sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be holy, with all those everywhere who call upon the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, their Lord and ours. Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.” Yes, Paul addressed his words to everyone who are servants of our Lord Jesus Christ, no matter where they may be. He called for the Grace and Peace of the Father and of the Son to be granted to all Christians.

And some two-thousand years later, all of us are invited to follow these words. This week from Tuesday, January 18 through the following Monday, January 25, our Archbishop has joined with all other Christians in the annual celebration of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. This call for prayers for Christian Unity includes all of us.

It’s also fitting that this afternoon, at 3:00 p.m., Cardinal DiNardo will be celebrating in the co-cathedral a Mass of Remembrance for Dr. Martin Luther King Junior, whose life we honor with Monday’s national holiday. Here, in Dr. King, we have a fellow Christian who knew the meaning of being a servant, of attending to the needs of his own community as well as extending his ministry to others in search of a unity of all people.

Last Sunday, we celebrated the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord. Today, we begin the weeks between Christmastide and Lent. We begin this new period in Ordinary Time with another look at the Baptism of Jesus by John the Baptist. In today’s gospel we heard how John called Jesus, “… the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world … [the one] who will baptize with the Holy Spirit … [the one] who is the Son of God.” Here we have the image of the Lamb who is to be sacrificed, whose life is given up so that sins may be removed, a suffering servant who seeks the welfare of others. The one who is the son of the Master and the Master, himself. The one who becomes the servant of all.

In an imitation of the baptism of Christ, himself, in our own baptism each one of us is called upon to become a priest, prophet and king. And yet, a special kind of king. A king who protects. A king who serves.

Once-upon-a-time, we were familiar with service-stations, places where we could not only have others fill our gas tanks for us but, also, offer to check our battery and clean our windshields. But now it’s all self-service. No longer do we serve others, now we serve ourselves.

Once our neighborhoods and our towns were service communities where each person offered care and concern to others both near and far. Longing for such unity, for such oneness of concern, there are those who, once more, try to be of service to others. To offer personal care and concern to all who seek our help and, even, to those too tired or afraid to speak out for assistance.

A few minutes ago, I asked how many of you might be willing to become a servant. The question is still an open one for your consideration. In times of tragedy, many people come to the aid of others. Whether in Tucson, Arizona or on an island devastated by earthquake, hurricane and disease, there are many servants, those who offer assistance freely for the sake of those needing ministry, rather than for their own glorification. However, servant-hood is also needed even in the ordinary times of the year. Servants of the Lord are needed each and every day.

The motto of St Ignatius of Loyola was to do everything “for the greater glory of God.” Perhaps each one of us can take up as our guiding principle, the words we heard today from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah, “The Lord said to me: You are my servant … through whom I show my glory … and my God is now my strength!”

^{2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time; January 16, 2011;
(1/17/11 is MLK holiday) also Week of Prayer for Christian Unity (1/18 – 1/25/11)
Is 49:3, 5-6; 1 Cor 1:1-3; Jn 1:29-34}

Today’s questions may not be for everyone. Some of you may need to answer “no.” But that’s ok. First of all, do you own an aquarium? Do you have one in your home, or in the place where you work? If you don’t own one, do you still enjoy watching fish swim in one? Some people even have a screen saver that turns their computer monitor into a miniature fish tank. A lot of people find it relaxing to watch fish swimming by.

I don’t own an aquarium, but recently I was waiting in my internist’s office for an annual check up, and, of course, being there on time, I had only about an hour to wait for him to see me. Fortunately, he has a great aquarium in his waiting room and, so, I spent the time watching his fish. The first thing I noticed was their diversity, not only in their colors, but also in their actions. There was a stationary floater who didn’t move anything but its gills. It remained completely passive to the rapid motion of those fish darting elsewhere and everywhere. Several were nibbling at something special on the bottom of the tank, tossing up pebbles as they browsed. A few were hiding among the rocks, keeping well out of the action. Others continued to swim, but ignored the remaining fish, except when there was about to be a confrontation and then they veered off in a new direction.

I began to think there are people who act like fish. Some of us are stationary floaters who watch life going by and do not enter actively into it. Others are overly active and dart around in life just to be on the move. Some browse with our nose in the dirt and don’t see what is above us. Others of us keep on going in our own active direction until we meet up with a confrontation.

As you have no doubt already guessed, these reflections about fish lead directly to thoughts about Peter, the “big fisherman” we heard about in today’s Gospel reading. Peter did not have an aquarium in his house, but he knew a lot about fish. A few years ago, Karen and I, and several others from Christ the Good Shepherd, had the marvelous opportunity to visit Capernaum and see the archeological remains of what is known as “Peter’s House.” Capernaum is at the top of a hill, with the sea of Galilee at its base. Within a stone’s throw of Peter’s house are the remains of a synagogue which was built a few years after the time of Jesus, but probably sits on the ruins of an older one.

It was there in Capernaum that Jesus stayed between his preaching and healing journeys to the inhabitants of Galilee. It was there, at the foot of the hill, there on the seashore that Jesus met Peter and his brother, Andrew. The two brothers knew all about fish. It was their business to know about them. Every day, they went out in their boat and cast their nets into the sea. But today was different. Today, Jesus called to them to come and follow him. No longer were they to be fishermen. Now they were to be fishers of men.

In this seaside village there were other fishermen. Jesus met two more of them, James and his brother, John. They, too, had spent their entire lives working with their father Zebedee in the family business. Jesus called to them also. Jesus invited these four men to become his disciples, his followers. Have you ever wondered at what a strange event this is, the calling of the first disciples? It’s strange for several reasons. First of all, this is a reversal of the normal relationship between master and disciples. Under normal conditions, back in those days, a man chose the master he wished to follow. The disciple-to-be, on his own accord, sought out the master from whom he wanted to learn about a new life. But in today’s events, it was the master who chose the disciples. As it is said elsewhere by Jesus, “You have not chosen me; I have chosen you.”

And whom did Jesus choose? This, too, is a strange part of the events there on the shore of Galilee. He did not choose a scribe or a scholar of the Hebrew law. He did not choose someone who is rich or famous or idle and had nothing better to do. He chose four, hard-working, self-employed fishermen who had families to take care of. In the case of Peter, he had to worry even about his mother-in-law who lived with him. For James and John, there was their father Zebedee whom they left behind to follow this preacher. Which brings us to another strange part of this event.

In the case of all four fishermen, they “immediately” left what they were doing in order to follow this man who called them. Have you ever wondered about old Zebedee? One minute he’s working with his sons, just as he had every day ever since they were strong enough to help cast the nets into the sea and haul out the fish. He hoped, no doubt, that the family business would go to them when he died. And here they were, running off with this itinerant preacher.

And what about Peter? Did he hate being a fisherman and, therefore, was willing to give up his former life in an instant to become a disciple of Jesus? We know from other Gospel stories this is not the case. When he thought Jesus was gone for good, Peter took his fishermen friends back to the Sea of Galilee where he, no doubt, thought he would return to the life he had left behind. But that was not the case. Jesus had called Peter and Andrew, and James and John, to follow him for the rest of their lives.

Jesus continues to make the same invitation to each one of us. He calls us to follow him for the rest of our lives. Often our response is: “well, ok, but not right now. Give me a chance to think it over. There’s a lot left for me to do before I can follow you. I still need to devote time to my family, even to my mother-in-law. There is still the business to run, my daily obligations to fulfill. I’ll start to follow you next week, or next year, or sometime before I die.”

Some put off following Jesus the Christ because they think they must give up everything, all the essentials of life. But Jesus did not ask Peter and the others to do that. Jesus invited them to become fishers of others, rather than fishers of fish. They were called to continue to do what they had been raised to do, but, now, they had a new goal. They were able to respond so immediately because they had been preparing all of their lives to hear the call and respond to it.

Peter, no doubt for many years, had been part of that synagogue a stone’s throw from his doorstep. He had heard the prophecies about the Messiah. He was open to the call of this new preacher and he was prepared to follow him. All it took was a single event, a single response, for him to begin his new life. All it takes for us may be a single event, a single response, to see what we have been doing has, in fact, been preparing us to be open to the invitation of Jesus.

We have two choices. First of all, we can be like fish trapped in an aquarium. We can float through life, without moving anything but our gills, merely existing. We can dart around with meaningless purpose. We can keep our heads down and nibble on the things which sink to the bottom. We can hide among the rocks and pretend no one knows we are there. We can ignore others until there is a sudden confrontation.

Yes, we can be fish. Or we can be fishers. We can cast our nets into the sea of life and bring out, not trapped fish, but our live brothers and sisters. Our livelihood, our being alive, can change so that we are more completely alive. We, too, can hear the words Jesus proclaimed in today’s good news: “repent … change your lives … for the Kingdom of God is at hand.”

^{3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time; January 24, 1999
Is 8:23-9:3; 1 Cor 1:10-13,17; mt 4:12-23}

For a handful of people, this Sunday is the Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time, but for most people in the US, this Sunday has a very different name. What do you call this Sunday? Yes, it’s Super Bowl Sunday. How many of you are excited about today’s game? Some of you might think this is my usual question of the day, but it’s not. My real question, and you don’t have to answer it out loud, is: Do you see life as a contest, one that has to be resolved quickly, like in a football game? In this game called life, are you anxious to find out who are the winners and who are the losers? Do you have the patience to wait it out? And what do you do during the commercials?

Life does have commercials, those times when nothing important to the continuation of the story, or of the game, seems to be happening. A time-out when the volume gets turned up by the broadcasters and we, the viewers, hit the mute button or walk away to do something more important. Except, maybe on Super Bowl Sunday when they try to make the commercials as much fun to watch as the game, itself. Advertisers recognize we always need to be doing or seeing something interesting.

It’s hard to just sit back and wait for something to happen. (Have you ever noticed how red lights are longer than green lights?) When we wait, we want time to pass quickly, so we can get to the results, or can get to the “good” part. Very few of us exhibit the virtue called patience. Yet, this may be what Jesus was trying to teach the crowds and the disciples gathered around him there on the mountain.

The readings we heard today deal with two balancing acts, our need to balance instant gratification with delayed gratification. And secondly, our need to balance passive waiting with active waiting. These readings also deal with joy and happiness and, ultimately, with peace.

Each one of us wants joy and happiness. The problem is, when joy and happiness do not come fast enough, some people turn to quick solutions. They think the answer comes with alcohol or drugs. Some seek happiness in gambling. Some try to find joy by leaving their spouse for a new, supposedly more exciting partner. When we lack happiness, each of us seeks instant gratification.

We are taught to seek instant gratification at an early age. Kids want what they want, when they want it, and many parents accommodate them. It’s easier to give in, rather than to teach that sometimes it’s good to wait. Kids aren’t to blame for wanting instant happiness when they see adults seeking their own instant results.

Even our TV commercials promise instant results with each new, improved fast-acting product they sell. That’s why we buy them. Who wants a “slow-acting” pain reliever? Who wants to diet and exercise to lose weight when there are fast, no-sweat ways to get a beautiful body?

If there is no quick-fix solution, what is the alternative? If my life isn’t as happy and joy- filled as I want it to be, am I supposed to wait until I get to heaven where I will be rewarded for all the misery I’ve suffered here on earth? Some people hear the Beatitudes, the blessings Jesus, taught his followers there on the mountain, in this way:
● If you are sad now, you will be comforted in heaven
● If you are meek now, you will get everything later
● If you are merciful now, God will be merciful to you in the future.

But if they hear only this, they may lack an understanding of what Jesus was trying to teach his followers and us. These people may believe Jesus was in favor of a “passive” waiting, a passive waiting which will give us our final reward in heaven. Some people might try to console themselves, and relieve their own unhappiness in the here and now, by saying it will all be better when they die and go to heaven.

Perhaps, worse yet, some would use the Beatitudes of Jesus to justify the mistreatment of other, less fortunate people. They could say it’s O.K. for there to be homeless people in Houston or starving children in Africa, because when these unfortunate people die, they will be happy in heaven.

On the other hand, I believe a truer understanding of the Beatitudes calls for an “active” waiting, one in which we participate now, at this very moment, in the Reign of God. Those who lack a true understanding of the Beatitudes hear only the ”will be’s” in the list of the Beatitudes. They do not hear the opening blessing: “blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.” They also fail to listen to the one which says: “blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.”

They often overlook that:
● The beatitudes are radical calls to action
● That they demand active patience and not passive patience
● That the beatitudes call us to be totally dependent upon God.

To be poor in spirit is to acknowledge that everything I have comes from God and I must depend entirely on God’s generosity, upon his gifts. At the same time, I need to acknowledge I’ve not always used his gifts wisely. I have hurt others by my actions and, as the prayer says: “by what I have failed to do.”

The Beatitudes call me
● To forgive and to seek forgiveness
● To be sorry for the wrongs I’ve done
● To be a peacemaker, to be active in bringing about reconciliation
● To be humble enough to recognize the world does not revolve around me
● To hunger and thirst not only for righteousness, but also for wholeness
● To give from my heart and not just because it is owed to someone.

I, also, need to understand that none of this will be easy. Jesus, himself, concluded with the reminder: “Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you and utter every kind of evil against you falsely because of me.” Paul in his letter to the Corinthians, also, reminded the Corinthians, and us, that we cannot boast of our own, personal accomplishments, but instead we all “should boast in the Lord,” for it is from him we receive our gifts, our redemption, and it is on his behalf we should employ these gifts for the advancement of others.

We do not need to sit on our couch and watch the game of life being played by others. Our happiness, and the peace we ultimately seek, do not come from our idly standing around, merely waiting for the game to begin, or to continue after some sort of “commercial interruption.” Instead, our God urges us to be active players, not in some future, athletic super bowl, but in the present, existing Kingdom of Heaven.

^{Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time; January 29, 1990; February 3, 2002 (revised)
Zeph 2:3; 3:12-12; 1 Cor 1:26-31; Mt 5:1-12}

My question today is about snacks or, if you prefer, “junk food.” It’s a very simple question and doesn’t require much thought. It’s this: How many of you like pretzels? I admit I do. But that’s OK, because pretzels are really a “holy” food. There’s a legend about pretzels. According to some sources, pretzels were first made way back in the seventh century by a monk, probably a German monk! Anyway, this monk, who worked in the kitchen, took strips of leftover bread dough and twisted them into the shape of arms folded in prayer and gave them as little rewards to children who had learned to recite their prayers. Some say the word “pretzel” comes from the Latin word¹ for either “little reward“ or “little arms.” Either way, pretzels are like little arms folded in prayer. And so eating pretzels can be considered to be a religious experience.²

But that’s not why I like them. I don’t know about you, but I like them because of the salt. A pretzel without salt isn’t really a pretzel, it’s more like a stone! I mean do you really enjoy a “salt-free” pretzel? Of course, the problem now days is that everything is “salt-free.” If you listen to commercials and read news articles, it almost appears salt is a toxic chemical. Now I agree that people with hypertension, with high blood pressure, should watch their intake of salt, but unless we realize the importance of salt in our lives, our Gospel reading for today doesn’t make too much sense.

Back in the time of Jesus, salt was a very important part of the diet, especially for those who worked outside in the sunlight and lost a good deal of salt through sweat, or “perspiration,” if you prefer the term used in commercials we see on television. Anyway, salt was so important that Roman soldiers received an allocation of salt to be consumed so that they could replace the salt they lost when they were sweating under their leather uniforms. Later-on, these Roman soldiers received money so they could buy their own salt when it was needed. And the word for that “money for salt” was “salarium,” which became today’s word “salary.” Back then, it really meant something if you were “worth your salt.”

Two thousand years ago, they didn’t know why salt was so necessary for life. But the Romans and Jews did know that without salt they would die. At the same time, they recognized salt was not the food, itself, you could not live on a diet of salt alone. Salt was added to the food to make it palatable, and, in the long run, to allow the salt, itself, to be consumed. There aren’t too many people I know of who would eat a teaspoon of salt by itself.

The Romans and Jews also used salt for other purposes. They preserved food with it. Obviously, they didn’t have refrigerators. And blocks of ice were not available much of the year. So, they’d pickle both meats and vegetables. They would literally “salt away” their harvests for use during times of difficulty, when food would be scarce. Without such help provided by salt, they would not survive the winter months. So, for the Jews, salt not only added taste to bland food, it was also necessary for life itself, especially in difficult times.

And so it was Jesus said to his followers: “You are the salt of the earth. But what if salt loses its taste, with what can it be seasoned? It is no longer good for anything but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.” Salt was not the food, itself, but without salt, food would not be the same. Elsewhere, Jesus told his disciples he, himself, was the food come down from heaven. He was the living bread. Yet, what good is food without salt? It is the salt that makes the food able to be consumed. Salt preserves the food for times of difficulty. Perhaps, what Jesus was saying was: it is through your actions (through our actions) that the food of God’s life is made known to others. It is through our actions the food of God, the Word of God, is preserved for times of potential hunger, our own and that of our brothers and sisters.

The words of Jesus echo those we heard today from the prophet Isaiah: “Share your bread with the hungry, shelter the oppressed and the homeless; clothe the naked when you see them, and do not turn your back on your own.” We are to use our God-given gifts, our talents, to help others and thereby proclaim the glory of God, not to proclaim our own glory but the glory of God. We are the salt of the earth, we are not the food, but rather we are the elements which allow the food to be consumed by others, to strength others.

Not to use our talents in this way is a waste of God’s gifts. We would be like salt that has lost its flavor and would be useful for nothing, deserving to be tossed out into the street where passers-by trample it under foot. At the same time, Jesus reminded his followers that they (that we) are the light of the world. Light does not exist for itself. Light exists to illuminate other things. Light should not be hidden under a bushel basket.

Why kindle a light at all, if it is to be hidden away? Rather the light is to be placed so it can be seen. So it can do what it was intended to do, what it was created to do. As Jesus said: “Your light must shine before others so that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father.” Others are not to praise us, ourselves, for what we do. Rather, our actions should lead them to praise God, our heavenly Father, because of what we do on his behalf.

Yet, sometimes, when we act on his behalf, we may need to remember what St Paul wrote to the Corinthians in today’s Second Reading: “I came to you in weakness and fear, and much trembling, and my message and my proclamation were not with persuasive words of wisdom, but with a demonstration of Spirit and power, so that your faith might rest not on human wisdom but on the power of God.”

So it is that sometimes we must raise our light even with fear and trembling, knowing our light is enkindled by the power of God. We are the “salt of the earth.” We are the “light of the world.” It is not our task to be food for others, but to flavor and to preserve the food which gives life to others. We are the “light of the world” that exists not for ourselves but to illuminate the world, so others do not walk in darkness.

While we are intended to accomplish much, to light up the entire world with our fire, there are times when we may be merely little pretzels with our arms folded in prayer. Little pretzels who realize sooner or later our salt must be shared with others, for the glory of our heavenly Father.³

^{Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time February 4, 1996; February 6, 2005 (revised)
Is 58:7-10; 1 Cor 2:1-5; Mt 5:13-16}

1. ^{The Latin word pretoila means “little reward.” The Latin word brachiatellum means “little arms.” It’s hard to see how either word became “pretzel,” but that’s what the legend says!}
2. ^{After Mass, Fr. John Upton, our pastor, speculated to me whether eating nine pretzels could be considered to be a “novena!”}
3. ^{I bought several bags of pretzels and had the Greeters (Ushers) make them available at all of the exits from the church so that “kids” could take “one” as they left the service. It appeared, however, that many parents, also, like both little arms and little rewards.}

I have a question for you. Yes, it’s been a while since I’ve had one. In fact, it was in October of 2012, when I gave my last homily here at Christ the Good Shepherd. So, the question is: Why did I stop, and second, why am I giving one today? The answer to the first question has to do with aging.

It’s been our tradition here at CGS for the last thirty years or so, for a deacon to preach at all five weekend masses when he’s assigned to be the homilist. Which has been great until, in my late seventies, I was no longer able to serve as the deacon at five weekend masses, since that was also part of our tradition. A deacon would not only preach, but would serve as deacon for the entire mass. So, that’s why I went off the preaching schedule. It became too difficult, physically, for me to continue.

And why am I here, today, as the homilist? It, also, has to do with aging. Next Tuesday, February 25 is the 30th anniversary of my ordination as a Permanent Deacon for the Archdiocese of Galveston-Houston. And so, the staff asked me to give a homily at the 5:30 mass on Saturday, which is the mass where I’ve continued to serve as the deacon.

It’s been a wonderful thirty years being one of your deacons. During this time, I’ve had a lot to be grateful for. First of all, there are you, the wonderful people of Christ the Good Shepherd. And all of the other fifteen ordained deacons who have served with me, beginning with Steve LaBonte, who was the first deacon I ever met. That was back in 1977, when we first gathered at what we lovingly called “St Benfer’s” and “Our Lady of Strock”

And there are, of course, the four CGS deacons who were in classes with me for four years and who were ordained with me in 1984: Barry Beckman, Bob Degrave, John Charnisky, and Al O’Brien. We formed an active brotherhood over those early years. All of us owe much of our spiritual lives to one another and to the pastors who have labored with us, Fr. Ed, Fr. Bill and Fr. John, along with the many other priests and transitional deacons who have served here at CGS over the last thirty-plus years.

And then, there is the parish staff: administrators, directors, and day-to-day ministers to children, teens, and adults here at Good Shepherd, as well as those volunteers who served as part of our extensive outreach network. My thirty years as a deacon here would not have been happy ones without them. Thank God they were here to help me.

Of course, the main help came from my wife, Karen, and from our three kids: Deb, Ken and Chris. Back then, when I asked the boys about whether I should enter the Diaconate, they said it would be fine. It would keep me out of mischief and maybe I’d have less time to bug them. Perhaps, I should also mention Karen, at the time, worked with Fr. Drew Wood in the Vocations Office for the Diocese. Our family story goes that, since she could not get the boys to become priests, she had to donate me as a Permanent Deacon. I’m pleased she did.

And what have these years been like? Well, they’ve been very busy, busy with events for which I am most grateful. There have been baptisms to celebrate and catechumens to prepare. Over the past thirty years, there must be hundreds of children I’ve baptized by dunking them or pouring holy water over their heads. Some cried, most didn’t. And there have been all of the classes I’ve taught in adult education, here and throughout the archdiocese, that have brought me great pleasure. I hope they’ve, also, brought some pleasure and new insights to many of you.

Another enjoyable interaction has been in the preparation of couples for the celebration of the sacrament of matrimony. There are over three-hundred couples I’ve prepared over the years. They’ve been married here at Good Shepherd or in other parishes, even in foreign countries. I like to believe the vast majority is still married. But the facts of life may indicate otherwise, because I’ve also met with many others regarding annulments.

I’m pleased I’ve had the opportunity to have been with many of you in times of joy and of difficulties. Because that is what it has meant for the sixteen of us who have served as your deacons, to be with you during the celebration of your joys and of your sorrows. It’s a great honor and pleasure to see so many of you here today who share these memories with me.

And even if I have not been able to know each of you on a personal basis, I trust you have an idea of who I am through the homilies I’ve given. Over two-hundred-fifty of them. That’s a lot of questions. In a way that’s one of the purposes of the homilies I’ve given: To have you ask questions about life. And to get responses, not from me, but from our Lord God.

That’s what a homily is suppose to be about. To break open the Word of God. To help us understand how the scriptures from thousands of years ago are still relevant to our lives, today. My two-hundred-fifty homilies have focused on several major concepts. Concepts I hope I’ve conveyed to you over the years and not just my opening question.

First of all: God loves you. In fact, God is Love. That’s what it’s all about. Matthew, in today’s Gospel, reminds us, once more: “Be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.” That’s another way to say God is Love, that God loves each and every one of us and desires we love one another. Our reading from the Book of Leviticus could not be more clear when it states: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself. I am the Lord.”

And the second teaching I’ve tried to get across in all of my homilies is similar to the first. Namely, God forgives us. We are to forgive one another. Although we desire to be perfect, we know we are not. But in our love for God and for one another, we give and seek forgiveness. Once more, we heard in Leviticus the words: “You shall not bear hatred for your brother or sister in your heart.” And Christ’s words in the gospel of Matthew: “Pray for those who persecute you.”

Yes, in all of my homilies, I’ve tried to focus on breaking open the words of scripture concerning Love and Forgiveness. I don’t know if I’ve succeeded. Only you can say. Because it’s not a matter of listening to my homily. It’s a matter of listening to what God says to you in your heart.

The best homily is not the one you hear, or don’t hear, with your ears, but rather the one you hear in your own heart. It is to know within your heart that, because of his love for us, God became flesh, he suffered and died for us, and he rose from the dead and to understand he did all of this in order for us to be reunited with him. Each Weekend at Mass, and, perhaps, at other times as well, we have listened to the words of Holy Scripture not with our ears but with the grace given to us by the Holy Spirit.

As much as I have enjoyed being a homilist and helping you to break open the word of God, there is another gift I enjoy even more. Of all the roles a deacon has, for me, the greatest one is being an “Ordinary Minister of the Eucharist.” Many of you have served one another as “Extraordinary Ministers of the Eucharist.” We have given one another the Body and Blood of Christ.

In many different ways, Saint Paul has reminded us we are members of the Body of Christ. In today’s reading he reminded the Corinthians they are temples of God and “everything belongs to you, and you to Christ, and Christ to God.” He continues to remind all of us Christ, our head, functions in the world through the actions of each one of us. I’m personally reminded of this every time I act as an Ordinary Minister of the Eucharist.

I am truly overwhelmed when I place a host in your hands. When I feel the touch of your hand. Some are soft and tender, gentle to the touch. Others are firm and callused. Yet, all of them perform the works of the Lord in different ways. And when I look into your eyes and speak the words: “The Body of Christ,” I realize, as Vatican II has taught us, we, too, are, also, the Body of Christ. When I see you and the host together, I am seeing the complete Body of Christ. For this gift, I thank each and every one of you for allowing me for thirty years to see and touch the Body of Christ.

^{7th Sunday in Ordinary Time; Feb. 23, 2014 (5:30 pm Mass, 2/22/14)
Lev 19:1-2, 17-18; 1 Cor 3:16-23; Mt 5:38-48}

Today, I have the name of a famous person for you to consider. How many of you are familiar with the name “Alfred E. Neuman?” It appears there are a lot of adults (like me) who have misspent their youth reading Mad Magazine. Anyway, the focus of today’s reflection is not going to be on the “what me worry kid” who appears on the cover of Mad. Instead, our focus should be on what Jesus has to say about worrying. Alfred E. Neuman may assure us it’s OK to sit back and wear a silly grin, but that attitude is not what Jesus required of his disciples. After all, we are called to be disciples of Jesus, and not disciples of this secular world, not followers of Alfred E. Neuman.

Today begins the first Sunday of our fourth period of Renew.¹ The general theme for the next six weeks is discipleship. The specific theme for this first week is: “our call to discipleship.” It would be worthwhile for us to take a closer look at our discipleship in light of today’s Gospel reading. The focus for our reflection today will be: just what did Jesus mean when he told his disciples (and us) to stop worrying.

To begin our reflection and to try to understand what his followers heard him saying, we need to look at today’s particular passage in both its structural context within the Gospel of Matthew, as well as in its historical setting. As for its place in Matthew’s gospel, for the last four Sundays we’ve been listening to parts of the “Sermon on the Mount.” In order to understand Jesus’ encouragement, “do not worry, trust in God,” we need to remember what went before this statement. Otherwise, it’s like tuning into only the last episode of a TV mini-series.

The “Sermon on the Mount” is a collection of sayings of Jesus which Matthew did not dump together in some random way but, instead, arranged in a very special pattern. Our problem is we’ve been listening to them over the past month and may have forgotten what has gone before. So, I’d like to take a few moments to have us recall what we’ve been hearing from each homilist, starting with our visitor, Father Gallen.

Father Gallen’s homily came at the beginning of the “Sermon on the Mount,” the Beatitudes. Remember how he spoke about: “blessed are the poor.” The Beatitudes, taken together, describe all those who are blessed, all who are called to be disciples and what waits in store for them. The next week, after the Beatitudes, Father Joe continued the “Sermon on the Mount” by talking about the role of the disciples: “remember, you are the salt of the earth, you are the light of the world.” The third week, Deacon Al talked about the difference between the Pharisees who knew the Law but did not have any change in their hearts, in contrast to the disciples, who knew not only the law, but also, had an interior change so they followed the spirit of the law and not just the letter of the law. Last week, Father Ed spoke about the result of the instructions of the “Sermon on the Mount,” how, through following Jesus’ commandment, as demonstrated by Mother Theresa, we show our love for our neighbor by being committed to helping our neighbor.

It is only after hearing the words of Jesus about those who are blessed, and our need to be “salt” and “light,” and how we must not be like the Pharisees and how we must not only not harm our enemies but, indeed, how we must love and help everyone – it is only with all of this in mind we can begin to understand how Jesus could say: “do not worry, God will provide.”

As for the historical setting for “the Sermon on the Mount,” the early Christians put into practice the first part of Jesus’ instructions. We read in the Acts of the Apostles how those early communities shared all of their possessions with one another. Those who “had,” provided for those who “had not.” No one was forced by any government program to contribute to this support. It was done voluntarily by those who chose to follow the Christ. It was this practice by a Christian community which made others say: “and you shall know that they are Christian, by their love.”

Today, our community is a so-called “worldwide village.” We point out how we are affected by what happens beyond two or three miles from our home. Our oil prices and jobs tumble, not because of our own personal failings, but because of what happens in the Middle East. Our steel workers are influenced by the economics of Japan and South Korea. Our banks are dependent upon events in South America. We are told our illegal drugs are part of the economy of foreign countries. AIDS, a disease Time magazine tells us will be a major health threat for everyone, seems to have originated in Central Africa. What we as a nation can spend for social welfare programs is determined, not by the need for them, not by the poor, the homeless, the unemployed, the hungry of the United States, but rather, by what is leftover after we provide for a defense program directed at a country 6,000 miles away.

These global worries seem to be beyond our control. It’s all well and good for Jesus to tell his disciples, “don’t worry; God will provide,” but does that really make any sense today? Although we can speak of a world economy and how it effects us, it really boils down to, not our global village, not our worldwide village, but rather our village right here at Christ the Good Shepherd. Those who heard Jesus in Galilee, were not aware of what was happening in Rome or Damascus. They probably weren’t aware of what was going on in Jerusalem, which is about the same distance as from FM1960 to Galveston.² But they were aware of those who were hungry and without clothing among their own neighbors, the ones sitting there, listening to Jesus.

They had gathered from all over the region, perhaps only a distance of a few miles away. They left before sunup that morning. They came on foot. Only the wealthy could afford a donkey. It took more effort to journey a few miles on the dusty roads of Galilee than it does to drive from Houston to San Antonio.

And now, they’ve heard him speak. He has called them “blessed, favored children of God.” He says you are the salt of the earth, you are the light of the world. The laws, the rules you follow, the reasons you do what you do, and how you behave with one another, are not because you’ve been threatened to do them, but rather because your heart tells you what you need to do.

These people sat there and listened. They wore tattered clothes, rags. They had empty stomachs that rumbled. They had twisted limbs and sightless eyes. They were homeless and jobless. It may have appeared to them God had forgotten them and they should cry out with Isaiah, “the Lord has forsaken me; my Lord has forgotten me.” But they remembered Yahweh’s promise: “Can a mother forget her infant, be without tenderness for the child of her womb? Even should she forget, I will never forget you. I have carved you on the palm of my hand.” Those who came without possessions to hear Jesus, had one priceless gift, the gift of hope.

They came too, with their worries. And what are worries? Our word, itself, comes from an Old English word meaning “to choke” or “to strangle.” A worry is, indeed, something which seems to suffocate me, to strangle me, to cut off my breath and my spirit. And here is Jesus saying, “do not worry.” Do not allow yourself to be choked off. Rather trust in God. Be filled with the spirit of God. God will provide. However, Jesus did not say to relax and take it easy. Instead, he said, “seek first the kingship of the father.” He did not urge his disciples to be passive, but, rather, to be active, to seek, to knock, to find. And in all of his teachings, he reminded them they were to love one another, to help one another.

Here at Christ the Good Shepherd we have many ministries, many ways of helping one another. One important ministry has been our ministry of employment assistance. Many who have become part of this ministry have come to understand the power which can come from the Lord when we turn over control to him, when we stop worrying, and start helping ourselves and others.

The food ministry is another way to be an active disciple of our Lord. This weekend begins our first, formal visitation to our sister parish, Holy Name. At the same time, the Northwest Assistance Ministry, NAM³ , will continue to share in what is brought to this altar by those who make it possible, in their own way, for others “not to worry.” For some of us, our concern for others is shown by both our financial contributions to the DSF drive or by working actively in the agencies supported by the DSF.

This Wednesday, Lent begins. For some, we are now in the pre-Lenten week of Mardi-Gras, Fat Tuesday, when we celebrate Carnival, when our ancestors said “good-by to meat,” in preparation for the forty days of fasting. Many no longer say good-byes to meat, although some use Lent as an excuse to give up cholesterol in order to live longer. There are, of course, many things each of us could give up for Lent. But rather than merely looking for ways to give up the extras, the desserts of our lives, perhaps it is time for each of us to ask how I can help others, so they do not need to worry.

I began this reflection with a character known as Alfred E. Newman, the “what me worry” hero of Mad Magazine. He is, however, not the hero for us. Instead, we are each called to be disciples of the one who said not only, “do not worry,” but also “love one another as I have loved you.” It is in this way that each of us cannot only seek the kingship of the father, but more important, help others as we all seek his kingship, together.⁴

^{Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time; March 1, 1987
Is 49:14-15; 1 Cor 4:1-5; Mt 6:24-34}

1. “Renew” was a popular parish program of the late 80’s and early 90’s for the revitalization of parish spiritual life. It consisted of small, neighborhood prayer groups. Many groups formed in this period, however, met your years afterwards as fellowship, sharing groups.
2. FM 1960 is the area, north of Houston, where Christ the Good Shepherd is located. The name refers to “Farm to Market road number 1960.” The distance to Galveston is about seventy miles.
3. Northwest Assistance Ministries is a non-profit organization consisting of Protestant and Catholic churches as well as the local Jewish community in the FM 1960 area dedicated to serve the needs of the poor and homeless. The Diocesan Services Fund, DSF, supports similar efforts through contributions from the Catholic parishes of the Diocese of Galveston-Houston.
4. This homily was already longer than I would prefer to give, and certainly longer than most people want to hear. Consequently, the story with which I had intended to conclude this homily was never given. However, it’s a story worth recording as a footnote here. “There is a little story I’d like to end with. About a man who was puzzled about what he should do to get ahead in life. He thought he would see if God had some message for him in nature. Perhaps God would give him some sign of what he should do with his life. So one day he went out into the forest. There he saw a fox that had been crippled by a trap and could not move. As the man watched, he saw a lion come by. Instead of eating the fox, the lion gave the fox some of his own food. Each day, the man went back to the forest and saw the same thing … the lion would bring food to the crippled fox … until one day, when the fox was well enough to fend for himself. The man finally went home and decided that God was telling him that he should do nothing… that others would take care of him just as the lion cared for the fox. So the man quit his job, gave away all of his possessions, and began to beg from house to house. But without any luck. He became very ill. He moaned and groaned against God. He cursed God for not providing him with what he needed. He especially cursed God for sending him the sign that had led him to the condition in which he now found himself. That very night, God appeared to him in a vision. And this is what God said to him. ‘I did send you a true sign. But you saw it wrongly. You were not the fox. You were to be the lion.’ As we begin Lent, my prayer for each of us is: may we all be lions.”

Since it’s rodeo time in Houston, I figure I need a Texas question to begin today’s homily. I’ve lived here for only thirty-some years, but I’m still fascinated with Texan expressions. So, my question for you is this: What is your favorite Texas expression, your favorite Texan quotation? One of my own favorites is: “I’m fixin’ to start.” It seems I’m often about to get ready to begin a project but am reluctant to actually start it. I spend a lot of time just getting ready. It’s like cutting up my meat and buttering my roll and arranging my plate before I start eating. Sometimes, all the food is cold before I get around to taking a bite.

Today’s readings remind me of that condition of “fixin’ to start.” With Lent starting next Wednesday, maybe now is the right time to think a little about getting ready for it. Just like with New Year’s resolutions, many of us plan to do something different for Lent. And like New Year’s resolutions, my Lenten changes often don’t last very long.

The first reading for today, from the Book of Deuteronomy, has a good reminder for us as we prepare to enter this season of Lent. Moses has just finished reminding the Israelites about their Exodus through the wilderness and how the Lord God was with them all the way. He is about to reveal to them the Commandments he received from the Lord God on their behalf. But before he begins, Moses tells them they have a choice. They can continue to follow the Lord God and obey the commandments he is about to give them, or they can turn aside and not follow the Lord God and his commandments. If they follow them, they will be blessed. If they turn aside, they will be cursed. They know the consequences. They know the alternatives and one of them doesn’t sound too encouraging. Nevertheless, the choice is theirs: to follow or to turn aside.

Saint Paul in his Letter to the Romans heard in our second reading, elaborates on this theme. He reminds the new Christians at Rome: “Now, the righteousness of God has been manifested apart from the law … the righteousness of God, has [now been manifested] through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe.”

The “righteousness of God,” the glory and power of God and our unity with God are shown forth no longer by following Torah, no longer by performing the ritual actions contained in the Law given to Moses, but rather, by our faith and our belief in the saving action of Jesus Christ, who brought us our redemption through his own death and resurrection. Paul concludes his reminder with the words: “… a person is justified by faith apart from works of the law.” Ritual action as dictated in Torah has been replaced by our faith in Jesus Christ.

Nevertheless, although ritual actions associated with clean and unclean food, for example, are no longer demanded of us, our faith in him does require our participation in the actions of Jesus, himself. The Gospel of Matthew records the warning Jesus gave his disciples at the conclusion of his “Sermon on the Mount” when he said: “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven.’”

Merely claiming to be a follower is not enough. A true follower must listen and act upon what he has heard Christ teach. These actions are not to be mere ritual, but to have a true meaning. Our actions are to be real actions and not make-believe actions, not actions undertaken for their own sake, but actions performed on behalf of others.

Jesus then tells his followers the parable of the house built upon rock and the house built upon sand. The person who prepares for the storms of life, the one who acts wisely, and builds upon a solid foundation will survive. The one who is foolish and builds upon sand will lose everything in the trials to come.

Both the wise and the foolish know storms will come into their lives. Everyone who has lived for a while along the Gulf Coast knows a hurricane, sooner or later, will strike the area. The wise person builds accordingly. The foolish one merely hopes for the best. The wise person plans and builds. The foolish one continues to be “fixin’ to start,” but never gets around to constructing a solid foundation.

Here in these days immediately prior to Lent, in these days of the celebration of “Mardi Gras” when all inhibitions are let loose, here, today, is the time to plan for the foundations needed for our lives. There are many Lenten resolutions one can make. It’s up to you do decide what foundation stones are still required for a solid life with God, what aspects of your own life need to be changed. And the change, I would hope, might be more than the ritual action of giving up candy for the next forty days.

One suggestion might be: don’t grumble about your life, instead, fix what needs to be fixed. Do it. Don’t just talk about it and hope it will fix itself or that someone else will fix it for you. It’s up to you to decide what needs repairing in your life, what you might begin this Lent, and, perhaps, continue beyond Easter Sunday.

One area you might consider is to stop grumbling about relationships and to begin fixing them. We all have broken (or bruised) relationships with others that need repairing or healing. These damaged interactions may involve a spouse, a child, other relatives, including parents and brothers or sisters, grandparents or cousins, aunts and uncles. Friends at school or at work. Even those we meet casually in our everyday life.

The repair can begin by talking civilly with one another. Lines of communication can be opened up, can be repaired. The silent treatment can end. Resentment can be lowered and eliminated. Apologies can be offered. It’s possible for me to admit a problem exists and I, myself, might have something to do with its origin. It’s also possible to admit feelings have been hurt and to recognize the hurt comes because of the original love each one held for the other.

It’s possible to attempt to correct the problem, to desire to return to a relationship which existed before the problem arose. It’s possible to remember the good days of the past and what is needed to recapture them. Lent is a good time to resolve not to argue about petty annoyances and to try to change one’s own annoying habits and rituals. Lent is the time to move beyond what was done in the past and to move into the future. Lent is the time to go beyond “fixin’ to start” and to begin “fixin to fix.”

An ancient Jewish custom is described in our first reading for today. We heard the instruction of Moses that every male Jew should wrap a strap around his arm and write words from Torah to be carried in a pendant on his forehead in order to remember them. However, he began his directions by saying: “Take these words of mine into your heart and soul.” And this is the instruction Jesus gives us today: “ … only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven … will enter the kingdom of heaven.”

As we prepare for Ash Wednesday and the forty days to follow, let us remember we are not destined to stand outside the closed door where we grumble and gnash our teeth. Rather we are to knock, and the door will be opened. May we not grumble with the difficulties of our Lenten season, but, rather, let us listen to the words of Christ and knock on the door so that it will be opened on Easter morning, and we can behold the risen Christ.

^{9th Sunday in Ordinary Time; March 6, 2011
Deut 11:18, 26-28, 32; Rom 3:21-25,28; Mt 7:21-27}

I have two big questions for you. The answer I’m looking for is both geographical and theological. You don’t need to respond right away but think about them for a moment. The first one is: Where would you find the “Big Apple?” The second question: Where would you find the “Big Easy?” How many of you would say New York City is the answer to the first question? It’s known, of course, as “The Big Apple.” For many folks, especially in this part of the country, “The Big Easy” is New Orleans. However, the geographical and theological answer I was looking for is “Eden” or “The Garden of Paradise.” Because, you see, I really want to reflect, today, on the topic of “sin” and not on New York City and New Orleans, although some might believe these two cities would also fit in with either the “Garden of Paradise” or the topic of sin.

However, I really was thinking about the original “Garden in Eden,” the one we heard about in our First Reading. Although the actual kind of fruit found in today’s reading is never mentioned, most Christians have turned it into an apple. And if I had to imagine how it looked, I suppose I would conjure up the image of the apple the wicked stepmother gave to Snow White in the Disney version of the story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. You do remember how red and shiny it looked? A perfect apple. But didn’t it also turn into a death’s head? On the outside perfect, on the inside a deadly poison. Is this not what “sin” usually looks like: perfect on the outside and deadly underneath?

And just what is a sin? No, I’m not going to list them. Instead, there’s a general answer you might consider. A sin is either: knowing what should NOT be done and doing it, anyway, or knowing what SHOULD be done and NOT doing it. Some would summarize this by saying there are “sins of Commission” and “sins of Omission.” They both involve knowing; they involve knowledge.

Some of us were taught long ago the answer to the Baltimore Catechism question: “What three things are necessary to make a sin mortal?” The answer in my 1941 edition says, “To make a sin mortal these three things are necessary. First, the thought, desire, word, action, or omission must be seriously wrong or considered seriously wrong. Second, the sinner must know it is seriously wrong. Third, the sinner must fully consent to it.” So, it appears knowledge is a key requirement for sinning. I suppose it goes back to that “original” sin of Adam and Eve.

We heard in today’s reading from Genesis that Adam and Eve must not eat of the fruit of the “tree of the knowledge of good and evil.” However, the serpent encouraged Eve by saying, “No, [you certainly will not die if you eat this fruit. The reason why God does not want you to eat it is because he] knows that the moment you eat of it your eyes will be opened and you will be like gods who know what is good and what is evil.”

The Serpent, as usual, spoke a partial truth. The result, as it often is with the matter of sin, was not the expected result. A he said, they did not die right then and there, but now they, indeed, did know the difference between what is good and what is evil, just as they had been told they would. On the other hand, the true result was not what they had expected. They now knew the experience of “shame.” They knew what they should not have done, and they were now ashamed of having done it.

With this shame, they went into hiding. They hid their bodies from one another under the covering of clothing. They hid their bodies from God by trying to conceal themselves in the bushes when God went looking for their companionship. They had been promised by the Serpent not only the delights of the “Big Apple” but also the results of the “Big Easy.” They thought they were getting the “Easy Way” of knowing what is good and what is evil. Yes, one way of looking at the “original” sin of our ancestors is to say that they sought the knowledge which is reserved only for God. As a result we, their descendants, have tried to follow the “easy way out” ever since. We continue to want the “Big Apple” and the “Big Easy,” until we were shown another way, another path.

Saint Paul in his Letter to the Romans, reminded them, and us: “Through one man sin entered the world, and through sin, death …” He goes on to say, “For just as through the disobedience of the one man, the many were made sinners, so, through the obedience of the one, the many will be made righteous.” For Saint Paul, Jesus the Christ is the “New Adam, the New Man” who takes away the original sin of the first Adam, the first man.

In our Gospel reading for today, we, once again, heard how this “New Adam” did not fall victim to the promises of the “Big Easy,” of the easy way out. When he was hungry, he did not take the easy way out by turning the surrounding stones into bread. When he was offered a form of physical protection from death, itself, he did not take the easy way out by calling upon legions of angels to lift him up from destruction. When he was offered all of the kingdoms and people of the world, he did not take the easy way out by falling down and worshiping the devil. Instead, he chose the difficult path, the journey through Galilee and on to Jerusalem, where he walked the Way of the Cross for our Salvation.

Some two thousand years later, we are offered similar temptations to be part of the “Big Easy,” to take the easy way out rather than to follow “His Way.” Instead of being tempted to turn stones into bread, we are tempted to take the easy way to obtain our physical and emotional comforts. Through the ads we read and the commercials we watch, we’re offered every imaginable comfort for body and mind. We are tempted to consume bread, but in reality we would be consumers of stones.

Instead of being tempted to protect ourselves with angels, we are tempted to take the easy way to protect our physical and emotional comforts. We’re encouraged to engage in risk-taking behavior, yet still be protected. We take drugs to promote our highs and eliminate our lows. We view sexuality in terms of self-seeking pleasure, even when we recognize the potential harm to ourselves and to others.

Instead of being tempted by an offer of all of the kingdoms of the earth, we are tempted to take the easy way to gain power over others. We are encouraged to manipulate and control our co-workers, our classmate, our acquaintances, and even members of our own family in order to promote our self-interests. We are urged to exploit the economy and resources of the planet for our own benefits.

However, during Lent, during this time of preparation for the celebration of Easter and the Salvation brought to us through the Cross of Christ, we are offered three opportunities to resist the three forms of the temptations presented to Jesus in the desert. During this Lent, we are once again encouraged to practice the ancient arts of fasting, prayer and almsgiving.

Fasting. We are encouraged to fast – to give up those actions or materials which slow us down on our own journey to Jerusalem and Easter Sunday. We’re encouraged to strengthen our resolve by reducing our consumerism, by reducing our drive toward obtaining unneeded physical comforts which detract us from our spiritual well-being.

Prayer. We are encouraged to pray – to replace risk-taking behavior in which we attempt to gain physical or emotional pleasure. We’re encouraged to increase our communication with God on a daily basis. We are reminded the presence of true highs, and the elimination of true lows depend not upon drugs and risk-taking behavior but upon the presence or absence of God in our daily lives.

Almsgiving. We are encouraged to give of ourselves to others – to eliminate our manipulation and control of others. We’re encouraged to give ourselves to others rather than to take from others, our co-workers, our friends, and our own family members. We are urged to conserve and replenish the resources of our world.

Lent is a time to learn not to seek the “Big Easy,” the easy way out of life. Yes, it is tempting to desire a life on “Easy Street.” However, as followers of Christ we are called to a different place, along a different path. We are called not to the “Big Apple,” not to a false “Garden of Eden.” Instead, we are called to accompany Jesus on his Journey to Jerusalem and beyond.

^{1st Sunday of Lent; February 13, 2005
Gen 2:7-9; 3:1-7; Rom 5:12-19; Mt 4:1-11}

What’s your favorite drink? For some it might be Dr. Pepper. Others might suggest scotch and soda. For those who prefer beer, the real question is: where in Texas are they going to hold that party? A few of you might even have thought about water, a glass of cold water, especially when you’re really thirsty. On the other hand, the taste of Houston water is not all that great for a lot of people. So, if you did think about water, you were probably prompted by today’s reading.

This question of your favorite drink is only one of the questions I might have asked about today’s Gospel reading. After all, today’s reading has almost as many questions as you’d find in Murder She Wrote or the new Columbo. So, the focus of today’s reflection becomes a whole series of questions:
● Why did the Samaritan women come to the well at noon?
● What did Jesus mean about “living” water and what did she mean about “flowing” water?
● Why did Jesus suddenly change the subject and talk about her multiple husbands?
● Why did the woman change the subject once more and talk about places of worship?
● Why did the woman suddenly go running back to town?
It goes on and on. There are enough questions raised in John’s Gospel to keep a Bible scholar busy for several hours. But I promise you, this reflection will not be that long.

Let’s begin by looking at the Samaritan woman who came at noon to the well outside the town. It was not an unusual occurrence to come to the well for water. And to bring your own bucket and water jar. She knew none were there. Well-water was precious, not for anyone passing by who might take more water than was deserved. No, you had to bring your own bucket to let down into the cistern. You had to have your own water jar in which to carry it home.

Why at noon? Why in the heat of the day? Most of the villagers drew their water supply in early morning or in early evening when it was cool. That’s when they would gather there. Not only to get their daily supply of water, but almost as important, their daily ration of gossip. We sometimes think the gathering around an office water cooler, or coffee pot is a modern invention. It isn’t. Our need to come together around a drinking spot goes back so far it might even be part of our genetic heritage. It certainly is part of our cultural background.

So, why did the Samaritan woman travel to the well when she knew no one was going to be around? Did she fear the gossip of the others? Was she so much of an outcast she forced herself to go to the well only when she assumed she would be alone? And now what!? Here was a stranger sitting there. From his clothes, she knew, even at a distance, he was a Jew, not a Samaritan. He was one of those who taunted her people. One who would no doubt taunt her even more. And to whom could she turn for help? But what happens? Rather than taunting her, he asks for her help. Who was the last person to ask for her assistance? Who, even, took a personal interest in her?

Thus, our story for today begins. A confusing story to be sure. There are so many unanswered questions. And so many misunderstandings. Was Jesus so unclear that when he offered “living” water, she thought he was offering her some kind of “flowing” water? Then, when he explained he wanted to give her an internal gift that would satisfy her forever, she thought he had some magic water which would slake her physical thirst forever. We listen to the story and smile, at least inwardly, at how naive she was. Wasn’t she really listening? Yet, do we, ourselves, really listen when we are offered the same water?

And we are offered the same water. We, too, approach the well where Jesus sits waiting for us. And we, too, don’t really listen. Are there not times when I feel as if I’m an outcast from all those around me? When I feel I am the subject of all the gossip, all the stories making the rounds? Do I not isolate myself from those around me, either physically, psychologically, emotionally? Am I afraid to go to the well, to draw water when others might be around? When I arrive, am I met by someone I see as a stranger? When I come upon Jesus in a place I do not expect to find him, do I fear the encounter? Finally, when he asks for my help, when he asks me to share what I have with him, do I give some sarcastic reply?

Yet, what is this gift, this “living water” he offers to me to quench my thirst? Do I also need to recall Jesus, too, was thirsty? Do I remember he was waiting at the well for the woman in order to quench his own thirst? What is this thirst Jesus and I share? A thirst we share, yet a thirst only he can quench.

Perhaps, it is the thirst we call “reconciliation.” Jesus thirsts for us, just as much as we thirst for him. Jesus wants us to approach him at the well just as much as we want and need to approach him. The “living water” he offers is reconciliation, harmony with God, with others and within our self. This is the thirst we long to quench.

The woman at the well when offered this water, was also asked a question, a question about her life. The answer to this question was something about which she was not proud. It was an answer that no doubt isolated her from the rest of the town, one which forced her to come to the well, alone, at high noon.

Is it also true that when Jesus offers us the “living water” of healing, of life, of reconciliation, he too, asks a question? Does he ask us, ask me, what is it that keeps me separated from others? Must I be as honest as the woman at the well when I give him my reply? Is this, too, what reconciliation and healing are all about: my need to admit what isolates me from others? With this admission, is it then I can hear that God is not outside of me, not on some high mountain top, not in material things, but rather God can be found in the spirit within me?

At last, when I receive this word, this healing, this inner fountain springing up within me, is it then I can leave my water jar behind, no longer needing some external container, but with my own interior water jar, my soul, overflowing with this living water, hurry back to the community I left in fear? Once back with this community, to have them accept me fully, completely. To have those who gossiped against me, now listen to what I say, to see what I do, and accept me, rather than reject me. Filled with this living water, do I now accept myself, my own goodness? Can I stop rejecting myself, now that I have obtained reconciliation with my God.

Two thousand years ago, a woman approached a well. She left that oasis a changed person. We too approach Jesus the Christ, Jesus the Anointed One, at our own well. He sits there waiting for us. We may feel rejected by others, but he does not reject us. He accepts us where we are. All he asks of us is complete honesty. To admit to him where we have failed, to tell him for what we thirst. And in return, he offers us living water. Once more I would ask you, what is your favorite drink? Could it be the “living water of reconciliation” which Jesus hands to you?

^{Third Sunday of Lent; February 26, 1989}
_{(Although 1989 is a Cycle C year, the Third Sunday in Lent begins the Scrutinies used for the Rite of Christian Initiation program which uses Cycle A readings.)}
^{Ex 17:3-7; Rom 5:1-2,5-8; Jn 4:4-42}

My question for today is straightforward: Have you heard any good jokes about Samaritans recently? How about the one where the two Babylonian guys kidnaped this Samaritan girl? They sent her back to her father in Shechem with a ransom note. And her dad sent her back to the Babylonians with the money. Some of you didn’t think my joke was very funny. What if I changed it to some other character types? Maybe an Aggie¹ joke, or one about two Polish guys? What if the Samaritan girl had blond hair? Would that make it funnier? Or if you prefer, you can pick out your own outcast as the focus for your joke.

Each one of us may have a favorite outcast to pick on. Each one of us has our own brand of prejudice and bigotry which can be expressed in jokes and name calling. But we certainly don’t mean to hurt anyone. Right? After all, “sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” Isn’t that what we’re taught when we’re young? Isn’t that what I was supposed to remember when I was growing up?

If that’s true, why does it still hurt when I recall a statement I kept hearing all the time I was growing up, all the time I was a teenager. When I would introduce myself to someone as Pat Camerino, the frequent response was, “Camerino? Gee, you don’t look Italian.” I, finally, learned to shrug it off with the lame, teenage camelback, “Well neither does Wish Bone Dressing.²”

Why is it that one of the earliest stories I remember my mother telling me is how the KKK boys almost tossed her out the window in school because she was a Polish Catholic. Perhaps, this is one reason why I don’t find too many so-called “Polock” jokes very funny. Or why I’m not amused by Mafia references. This may also be why I get upright when I hear politicians talking about immigrants and the problems they cause “real” Americans. And what about you? Who is your favorite stereotype for jokes?

Some two-thousand years ago for the Israelites, it would have been the Samaritans, and probably women. Two thousand years ago, people already knew about the power of words. About how words could lead to the division of peoples. Even a thousand years before then, they were aware of this power. When at Meribah and Massah, they grumbled against God, himself. When they yelled curses at Moses for leading them out into a waterless desert. What jokes and put-downs do you think they had about Moses back then? Bill Clinton is certainly no Moses leading us to the Promised Land, but he probably has a good idea of how Moses felt there in the desert standing before that rock, just before the water flowed.

Flowing water. Today’s message is about flowing water. About living water. About the water of life. But have you ever thought how water and words are so much alike? Both words and water can bring life or death. Too much water and we have floods and destruction. Too little water, and every thing withers away in dust bowls and droughts, leaving dry tinder to be ignited and destroyed by fire. Words can bring either destruction or healing. They can bring truth or falsehood.

Sitting there by the well so long ago, Jesus spoke only truth to the Samaritan woman who came to draw water to quench her thirst. He spoke of her past life in matter-of-fact terms. He did not condemn her, but only reminded her of what she had done to separate herself from the community, why she had to come to the well at high noon when no one else would be around, no one who would speak words of ridicule.

Jesus did not ridicule her. Rather, he spoke to her of living water, a potential fountain within her that would slake her thirst forever. And upon hearing this revelation she became his first missionary. She went running off to the townspeople who had rejected her, to tell them of the wondrous news that the Messiah had arrived in their midst. They listened to her, the outcast, and although they, too, were Samaritan outcasts they went to hear for themselves the words of Jesus. Healing words. Words indicating unity was possible.

He spoke to his followers how those who sow and those who reap would have the same harvest of joy. Those who began the planting of seeds and those who gathered the golden wheat would join together. The two ends of the spectrum of life, those at the start and those at the end would partake of the same banquet.

Those Samaritans from the town of Shechem where able to hear his words and know “this is the Savior of the world.” No longer were they outcasts. Instead, they recognized the truth which we have also heard today from St Paul: “… that God proves his love for us: that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

Yes, Jesus the Christ suffered, died and rose again for us sinners, for all of us who are outcasts. Each one of us who is someone else’s joke. For all of us “nerds” who believe bread and wine become his Body and Blood. For all of us fools for Christ, who have felt the flowing, life-giving, water of baptism and have welcomed the graces they bring. For all of us who don’t tell good jokes about Samaritans but rather live out the life of the one who is called “the good Samaritan.” For all of us who come to the well and take away his words of eternal life.

^{Third Sunday of Lent; March 10, 1996
Ex 17:3-7; Rom 5:1-2, 5-8; Jn 4:5-42}

1. _{Aggies, of course, are those who attend, or have ever attended, Texas A&M University at College Station. Although very bright, they are made the butt of derogatory jokes, especially by students and alumni of the University of Texas at Austin. One of my sons is an Aggie.}
2. _{At the time, Italian Wish Bone Dressing had an ad stating it didn’t “look Italian.”}

Today’s question is for those of you who watch TV. My question is this: How many of you watch Lost on TV? (Good … apparently a few of you have TV tastes like mine.) And secondly, how many of you understand all of the many plot lines and time shifts and have guessed how everything is going to come together in the end? It seems to me today’s Gospel Reading is much like an episode of Lost. There’s a great deal of complexity in the story.

In today’s gospel, events are happening on many different levels. The story of the woman at the well appears to have both symbolic and theological implications. It also has a central theme relevant not only to the early Christians who first heard and responded to this story but a theme which is relevant to us, today, as we reflect on what we’ve heard.

Today’s gospel story tells us about a woman’s personal encounter with Jesus the Christ and how, following such an interaction, the woman felt she must spread the news to others so they, too, might encounter him directly. The implication is that we, also, must meet Christ in a personal interaction and must spread the word of this encounter so others will want to meet him as well. Having said this, perhaps I should now just sit down, rather than elaborate on this conclusion. After all, what is really left to say other then: we need to meet Christ and to tell others of our meeting so they, too, can meet him. This is, indeed, the center of what it means to be a Christian.

However, there is something else we need to realize about our meeting with him. Much of the time we believe we must go in search of Jesus in order to encounter him. However, we should also realize there are times when we do not need to search for him. Rather, he seeks us. It is at such times we must be open to him.

Remember: the Samaritan woman did not go to the well to meet Jesus. She went there to draw water. Water that would quench her thirst. She went there at high noon, when she knew others from the town would not be there, since everyone else would usually appear at the well early in the morning, before the heat of the day had arrived. Apparently, she was an outsider, one with five consecutive husbands, one who was looked down upon by the community.

Yet, when she arrived at the well, she found someone waiting for her. Jesus was there, alone. He met her while she was doing her routine, daily tasks of living. He met her when she, too, was alone, when she seemed to be an outcast, separated from the other members of her community. He met her with her own, unspoken needs and he initiated a dialog, a conversation, with her, even though she did not expect one. In fact, she thought it would be extremely unlikely for a Jewish man to address a Samaritan woman.

However, she was open to the dialogue. She asked her own questions. She listened to what he had to say and was amazed by what he revealed to her about herself. And in the process, she acknowledged he was the Messiah, the one who came to save her and her people. Her people who viewed her as an outcast. Her people whom she now felt compelled to tell of her meeting with him, there at the well. And because of her newly found life, the other Samaritans, who may have been skeptical of this woman with her many husbands, (these Samaritans) went to encounter Jesus and to begin their own new lives of belief in him.

Perhaps, the same encounter can happen for us. Perhaps this season of Lent offers each of us an opportunity to allow Jesus the Christ to meet with us as we go about our daily routines in silent living, in silent longing, in searching for water to quench our thirst. Could this be the time for each of us to be open to him as he finds us sitting at a quiet wellspring in our life?

Is this the time for us to meet him in daily prayer, in a daily personal encounter where we are alone with him? It is then that we can listen to him tell us who we really are and not who the world thinks we are? Is this the time for us to meet him in a new reconciliation, individually or sacramentally? It is then that we can recognize we are no longer outcasts, separated from others, from God, and from ourselves. Is this the time for us to meet him more frequently in a Eucharistic celebration? It is then that, partaking of his body and blood, we can become messengers who draw others to his presence.

At the beginning of our lives as Christians, we were bathed in the living waters of baptism and first encountered our Trinitarian God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Each year at the outset of this penitential season of Lent, we are reminded we are human, we are capable of being sinners and equally able of being redeemed.

Here as we approach the middle of this Lenten Season, here as we approach the high noon of our forty days, sitting alone by a well in the desert, and here as we await the Vigil of Easter with its renewed waters of life, it is here and now that we can begin our encounter with the one who confirms the truth of whom we really are and the reality of whom we can become. And rising from this encounter, we can rush to tell others of the marvelous news: here is the Messiah.

Yes, unlike the TV adventures of Lost where the concluding scenes may result in still unanswered questions, we can respond as did those Samaritans some two thousand years ago. We, too, can say: “… we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the savior of the world.”

^{Third Sunday of Lent; March 15, 2009
Ex17:3-7; Rom 5:1-2, 5-8; Jn 4:5-42}

The question I have for you today may be one you’re reluctant to answer, even if it is a simple one. The question is this: Have you ever watched Geraldo? Or perhaps Donahue or Opah? Or any of the other investigative talk-shows? Well, if you have, you’d be right at home with today’s Gospel reading. Can’t you just see them on an afternoon TV program? Here’s the guy some people say was blind at birth. Folks claim he was cured by a miracle worker. Sitting next to him are his mom and dad, who don’t look too happy about being there. Next to them is a friend of the family, a woman who knew the blind kid but isn’t really sure whether this guy is that same kid. And there are a couple of Pharisees, just to add some spice to the talk among the guests on today’s show.

I could go on with a story about the interview and the questions from the audience but, instead, I’d ask you to reflect on another question, the question which is the focus for today’s homily. The question is this: What do you need to do see in order to believe? After all, in our so-called modern age, a lot of people say, “seeing is believing.”

Let’s begin our reflection with sinners. Sinners are always a good topic, in a lot of churches and among a lot of people who attend church services. Sinners. How can you tell when someone is a sinner? Two thousand years ago, it was easy. All you had to do was look for someone who had leprosy, or who was crippled. Someone who was deaf or blind. Anyone who had a disability which cut them off from the rest of the community. Surely, they must be that way as a punishment from God, who condemned them as sinners.

Yes, back in those unenlightened days, the visible sign of separation, of being different, was seen as being the result of some bad action which separated the person from God. After all, this is one definition of sin, something which separates us from God. Since blindness separates a person from the rest of the community, it must mean the person had sinned.

But sometimes back then, it wasn’t always clear-cut. What did it mean if you were born with a disability? Since you, yourself, couldn’t have done something to displease God, well, it must have been something your parents did that angered him. Aren’t we lucky our attitudes have changed over two thousand years? We now know people are not punished by God with genetic diseases because their parents are sinners. We know God does not inflict blindness, or cripple us, because we have angered him by our actions. And who, in 1993, would believe a person who is HIV-positive is that way as God’s punishment? Or a child born with pediatric AIDS is made to suffer because God wants to punish the parents for their sins? Who, at the beginning of the second millennium, would believe illness is a sign of God’s displeasure with us and of God’s punishment for us¹? Who, today, believes if you are happy and healthy, it is because God is rewarding you for your good actions? And if you are poor and homeless, it is because God wants you to suffer for the evil you have done?

Two thousand years ago, the disciples of Jesus had different ideas. They were able to ask whether afflictions are the result of personal sin or sin committed by their ancestors. And what was Jesus’ response? Neither one. Rather, sin, or separation from God, was merely an opportunity for God’s healing, for God’s forgiveness. An opportunity for the person to be reunited with the community from which the separation had occurred. For Jesus, it would appear a reunion with God, and with others, is more important than trying to figure out whose fault it is.

Reunion with God. Reconciliation. Forgiveness of sin. Salvation. These are more important than dwelling upon past transgressions. And so it was that he encountered the man born blind and cured him. The condition separating him from the community was taken away. Now, there was an opportunity for the man’s return and participation in the life of the community. But what happened? Was there rejoicing with the man’s return? Were his friends and parents overwhelmed with the miracle? Did they welcome him with open arms? Were the Pharisees, who sought perfection, pleased with the perfection of the man whose sight was restored?

No way! Rather than rejoicing about the miracle, they began to question him about the whys and wherefores. “Who cured you? How were you cured?” they asked. And “what motivated the man who healed you? Was he a sinner, too? What is he hiding? How can he take away the external signs of your sin? Who does he think he is? God?”

Oh yes, there were a lot of questions to be asked. After all, didn’t I say this would make a great show on Geraldo? But has anyone in the audience really looked at what was going on? What did they see? First of all, they saw Jesus take some dirt and mix it with his spit. Then he smeared the mud on the man’s eyes. Next, he told the man to go and wash it off. And the man did! He went to the pool and washed it off and was able to see.

But why did the man go? Why did the man cooperate with Jesus? In fact, why did Jesus even ask for the cooperation? Why didn’t he just heal the man straight-out? Could it be somewhere in this story told by John, there is a message for us, today?

The man-born-blind did not know who Jesus was, yet he cooperated with him. He followed this stranger’s advice and washed his eyes with water from the Pool of Siloam. He was cured with Christ’s initiation and his own follow-through. Perhaps, the message we hear in today’s Gospel reading has something to do with our need for both God’s gift of healing and our cooperation with that gift. After all, the man-born-blind did not ask to be healed. Jesus initiated the encounter, but the man-born-blind, without fulling recognizing the one who touched him, did what was asked of him.

With that action, there began a new belief. A belief subject to questioning by others. A belief that was not dependent upon either the witness provided by his parents or by the friends of a lifetime. He, himself, knew he was once blind. He acknowledged he had been separated from his community. He was blind. But now he was able to see. Now, he had the capacity to be reunited with his community, if only they would allow it. If they would accept his healing and permit him to return.

Of the many questions he was asked that day, there is one set of questions which is more important than all of the others. Do you recall him, standing there before Jesus at the end of today’s reading? Jesus, knowing the man was in trouble, had sought him out and asked this question, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” And the man-born-blind answered with his own question: “Who is he, that I may believe in him?” And the direct response he received, “You have seen him. He is speaking to you now.”

Is it not the case that he would not have been able to see Jesus the Christ if he had not washed the mud from his own eyes? If he had not cooperated with the stranger and followed his instructions? Was this not the sin of the Pharisees? They did not see they were separated from God by their actions. They had eyes but could not see the Christ standing there in their midst. They said they had faith in God, but did not seem to practice what they preached. And so, they remained blind. They remained separated from God.

But the man-born-blind admitted his blindness. He acknowledged his separation from others. He co-operated with Jesus. He was able to see. At first, he said he saw a prophet. One who speaks for God. This is what the woman at the well, whom we heard about last week, said when she first encountered Jesus. But when her eyes had been opened, she was able to see he was the Messiah, the Anointed of God. And the townspeople last week, they listened to her. But it was only after they, themselves, had encountered Jesus personally, it was only, then, they were able to say he was the Messiah. And today the man-born-blind finally is able to call this stranger, “Lord” once he had truly seen him, encountered him.

From these Gospel readings of the season of Lent, it would appear we are each called to experience the risen Lord in our own ways. Each one of us must have a personal encounter with him. We come to believe in him on our own, rather than because of what others tell us about him.

And how do we encounter him? Perhaps, in the people we meet each day. Perhaps, in the events of our daily lives. Perhaps, in the miracles which surround us. Miracles of sunshine and springtime. Miracles of rain and of thunderstorms. We can often see these physical manifestations and yet fail to see the divine in them. We say, “we see,” but we remain sightless.

Perhaps, it’s a case of failing to follow up on what is being asked of us. Perhaps, we have encountered Christ and still stumble in our darkness because we have not cooperated with his healing powers. Consider this: if you or I were the man-born-blind and appeared on Geraldo, what would be the most important question someone in the audience might ask? Could it be the question, “Do you still have mud in your eyes?”

^{Fourth Sunday of Lent; March 21, 1993
1 Sam 16:1b-7, 10-13a; Eph 5:8-14; Jn 9:1-41}

1. Unfortunately, this was still the attitude of many Christians, particularly “fundamentalists,” back in 1993. It is still prevalent decades later.

Today’s question is about questions. In fact, it’s one I, myself, have often been asked: Why do I begin my homilies with a question? You may have your own answers. But the real answer is: because I’m not good at telling jokes. You see, right at the outset, I’d like to say something that would get your attention, get you involved in what I am saying. Some homilists tell jokes. Others begin with a story. I use questions.

I use questions because we human beings seem to be designed to question almost everything. We are always asking, “Who did this? How did this happen? Why did this happen?” The Israelites living in Jerusalem some two-thousand years ago asked the same questions. Who is this person who cured a man who was born blind? How did he do it? Why did he do it on a Sabbath when work such as making clay is forbidden by God? And yet, they did not accept the answers given by the relatives and friends of the man born blind, nor even the repeated answers of the man, himself.

They saw a blind beggar. Jesus saw the inner person who could be healed to proclaim the wonders of God. However, even when the man was able to see, many continued to observe only the blind beggar. They refused to see him as “un-blind.” For them, the blind beggar still existed. They continued to believe people see only with their eyes and not with their hearts. Many failed to realize that seeing is a matter of faith, rather than of sight. Many failed to acknowledge that each one of us sees what we believe we will see and are taught through our experiences to behold the world around us. The crowds failed to realize that seeing with the heart is a matter of faith, and faith is knowing things, experiencing events, in ways beyond our direct observation of them.

There is a current movie, At First Sight, which dramatizes our need to learn about what we see in order to understand what we see. This is neither a new concept nor an unimportant one. It’s essential even in our modern world of science where it is said a researcher usually finds only that which the investigator is searching for. New, different results are often not seen because they are outside current theory. It is only with more seeing, more experiencing that the new results are allowed to modify existing theory.

In our first reading for today, we were reminded God sees things differently. God sees what is inside the person rather than only the surface. When God sent the prophet Samuel to anoint one of the sons of Jesse as the king to replace Saul, Samuel was sure God would choose the eldest son, who was tall and kingly in appearance. It was then that God reminded Samuel the Lord looks into the heart and not at the outward appearance. Having been reminded of this, perhaps, the prophet may have been expecting a small, homely boy to be brought forward when Jesse sent for David, his youngest son. But instead, Samuel saw “… a ruddy … youth, handsome to behold.” Nevertheless, the Lord instructed Samuel to anoint David as the next king of Israel.

This rush to judge a person only on one’s outward appearance was also true on that day in Jerusalem some six centuries after the anointing of David, when the crowds in the city knew the man born blind had this condition because of the unforgiven sins of his parents. It was their view, back then, that all misfortunes were the result of sins. Since a newborn child could not have sinned, any congenital abnormality must be the result of the sins of the parents.

The crowd had to learn all of us are born blind. For most of us, it is a temporary blindness. For some this condition may last a lifetime. In this condition we are blind in faith. Although we can see with our eyes, we do not see with our hearts. But we are able to see with our hearts when God removes our blindness. Faith, itself, is a gift of God given to each one of us to remove our blindness of heart.

Yes, many of us realize faith is a gift of God, just as grace is a gift of God given freely to each one of us. However, what we sometimes fail to remember is the gift of faith requires our active participation in order for it to become completely effective.

Jesus touched the man born blind. He anointed his eyes with the mixture of his own saliva and the dirt of the earth from which we came. His touch, itself, could have cured the man of his affliction but Jesus had a request. The man was to wash in the pool of Siloam. He had to make his way through the crowded streets of Jerusalem to the pool whose name means “the sent one.”

“The sent one.” A name used often in the Gospel of John for Jesus, himself. “The one sent by God.” The man born blind was sent by God to purify himself; to wash away the external mud so he could see not only with his eyes but with his heart.

Images of water and of purification are important in John’s Gospel. Not only do we have this event of the blind man and the pool of Siloam, but we begin with John’s story of the wedding feast of Cana where Jesus turned water into wine. Last week, we heard how Jesus offered the Samaritan woman “living water.” And later, during the Passion Week readings, we will hear John’s statement that when the soldier’s lance pierced the side of the crucified Jesus, blood and water poured forth. Our baptism rite makes full use of our purification by the sign of flowing, living water. The Pool of Siloam becomes a metaphor for our own baptismal pool. The pool of Siloam also becomes a metaphor for Lent, itself, a time for the washing of our souls, a time for our own purification.

Lent is a time to take responsibility for our own actions and inactions. It is a time to recognize our individual faith does not come from who we were, who our parents were, what our genetics supposedly dictate, but rather from how we respond to those challenges, how we participate with God’s gift of faith, God’s gift of internal sight.

The man born blind, once his blindness had been taken away, could recognize the stranger called Jesus, who had placed the mud on his eyes and given him the instruction to wash in the Pool of Siloam, was not a mere stranger passing by, but a prophet who spoke for God. A prophet who became a teacher with disciples. A teacher who was sent by God. Who was not only sent by God, but was the awaited “Son of Man.” Then, at last, the un-blinded faith of this man prompted him to call Jesus, “Lord!” And to worship him.

Each one of us is called to make our own journey of faith, to recognize the stranger who touches us is the Lord of all creation. However, unless we continue to cooperate in the growth of our faith, we, like the Pharisees, may claim to have sight but, in fact, we remain blind. However, once we undertake this journey, we like the man who is no longer blind, we, too, may be cast out from our former community, from the modern world which sees only the surface, materialistic commodities surrounding us and not the inner qualities of our humanity. Each one of us is sent by God to wash in the Pool of Siloam. Each one of us needs to see with the eyes of faith, the eyes of faith given to us by God, but which may have been covered, not with the anointing mud of Jesus the Christ, but rather with the dirt and slime of the world around us.

Now, during the remaining days of Lent, now is the time to wash away this mud so our own brightness can show forth. Now is the time to recall the words we heard from St Paul today: “Brothers and sisters: you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light, for light produces every kind of goodness and righteousness and truth.” Jesus told his disciples, “While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” Now that he no longer walks the streets of Jerusalem, he has left us to be his light as, together, we continue our journey with him and the Holy Spirit of the living God.

^{Fourth Sunday of Lent; March 14, 1999
1 Sam 16:1b, 6-7, 10-13a; Eph 5:8-14; Jn 9:1-41}

Well, here we are again, in the middle of Lent and the time for those long-gospel readings. Last Sunday, it was “The Woman at the Well,” and today it’s “The Man Born Blind.” Next week, those with good memories know it will be “The Raising of Lazarus,” and then, the really long Gospel, “The Passion Story,” itself, we’ll hear on Palm Sunday. But right now, many of you might be wondering what’s my question going to be for today? What strange question will I have about today’s long-gospel story? I’m always surprised by the number of people who ask me before Mass, “Are you preaching today?” and if so, what’s my question going to be. It seems a lot of people want to get a head-start on their answer. Which is fine, by me.

The whole purpose of my asking a so-called “rhetorical question” at the beginning of my homily is to get you involved with the readings for the day. It allows you the chance to settle in, to get prepared for what’s coming. Questions are not always asked to get information, you know. Sometimes when you ask a question, you already know the answer. What you want is confirmation you’re correct. The disciples of Jesus were like that in today’s Gospel story. As they passed by the man born blind, they asked Jesus a question, and they were sure they knew the answer to it. They asked Jesus, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”

Their question already contained their answer, or so they thought. Those disciples were positive the man had been born blind because either he, himself, had sinned or his parents had. Of course, they realized the man, himself, was probably not the guilty party. It would have been unlikely he could have committed some great sin against God before he was born, and everyone knew he had been born blind. So, it must have been his parents who had sinned against God. After all, that’s why people were afflicted with things like blindness or lameness or even leprosy. It was always because they had done something really bad, and God was now punishing them.

That’s how it always worked. You did something wrong, and God would zap either you or one of your relatives. Usually, it was the kids who were punished because of the sins of their parents. At least that’s what they believed back then. But Jesus said: no, “neither he nor his parents sinned.” Rather, he was blind in order that he might be healed, and, in this healing, the power of God would be revealed. It was then that Jesus mixed his own spit with the dirt of the ground and anointed the eyes of the man born blind. He then sent the man to a pool to wash the mud from his eyes, while Jesus, himself, disappeared into the crowd. But more questions were asked. First by the neighbors, and then by the Pharisees.

And once again, the ones who asked the questions were sure of the answers they were seeking. They wanted confirmation of their preconceived ideas. The neighbors and those who knew the man were positive he was now someone else! And when he persisted in his answer that he had been blind and now could see, they took him off to the Pharisees to get him to change his answer.

The Pharisees did not like his answer, either. They did not want to believe this man had been cured by someone sent by God, not when they knew this so-called healer had broken the Sabbath. It wasn’t that he had cured someone on the Sabbath, but rather, because he had “worked” on the Sabbath. He had made a mud paste on the day when no such work should be done. The Pharisees believed anyone who would do such a thing could not be sent by God. So, they asked the man’s parents what had happened.
And since the parents did not want to get into trouble, they urged the Pharisees to question the man again. And they did. And he answered them the same way.

He told them the truth, but it was a truth they did not want to hear. What they wanted, what they desired, was for the man to lie. They wanted him to say he had never been blind. And when he refused to say it, they wanted him to agree the man who cured him was a sinner, and that he, himself, must also be a sinner.

To keep in harmony with the community, everyone urged the man to change his story, to change his beliefs. But he refused to lie. He refused to say what everyone expected him to say. He refused to remain blind to the facts. And the others, those who knew him, those who supposedly had been his friends and neighbors, and those who held the respect of the community-establishment, the Pharisees, themselves, they said they knew the truth, that they were not blind.

However, Jesus recognized that, while these people maintained they knew the truth, they were, In reality, not open to seeing the truth when it was set before them. And what about us? Do we see the truth and speak the truth we see and know? Do we speak the truth, even when those around us want us to lie? Do we say what must be said, even when others do not want to hear it?

Not only during this time of Lent, during this time of the long gospels, but each day of the year, we, too, are given the same opportunity as the one given to the man born blind. Although we may have been living in darkness for a long time, perhaps, all of our lives, ever since our birth, we can, nevertheless, encounter Jesus the Christ who opens our eyes to the truth, to the light, itself.

Then, we too, can proclaim this truth. We do not need to go along with those around us, or those above us, with those who want us to persist in our life of lies, our life of darkness, with those who want us to agree with their form of truth, their expectations of what the correct answer should be. Instead, we, too, can recall the words of St Paul to the Ephesians: “You were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light, for light produces every kind of goodness and righteousness and truth. Awake, o sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will give you light.” Amen.

^{Fourth Sunday of Lent; March 10, 2002
1 Sam 16:1b, 6-7, 10-13a; Eph 5:8-14; Jn 9:1-41}

Have you ever wished you were somewhere else? Have you ever wondered how something will turn out? You hope it will turn out well, but you’re not really sure. There’s a mixture of excitement, of hesitancy, of fear, and of hope. I have to admit these are some of my feelings right now, as I begin my first homily at Christ the Good Shepherd.

For those of you who have not yet been able to put the right name with the new face¹ my name is Pat. Pat Camerino. Although I’ve been a teacher and an administrator much of my life, and have given my share of talks and lectures, standing here is not quite the same thing. So, all I can do, right now, is ask you to sit back for the next few minutes and reflect with me on what the Gospel message might be trying to tell us.

It’s a great message. It’s a message about belief and how different people come to that belief. There are many people in today’s Gospel who come to a belief, an individual belief. I’d like to share with you some thoughts on each of them. How each one responds to the message of God’s Kingdom. Each of these people has a different response. Each of us, too, has a different response. Perhaps, we can see a reflection of our own response in how the characters in today’s Gospel respond in their own beliefs.

Let’s look at each of them, at Jesus, at Martha, at Mary, at Lazarus, and at the people who are present with them at the tomb. Each of us has a little bit of Martha and Mary in us. Each of us is Lazarus. And yes, each of us has a bit of Jesus in us, too.²

Let’s look, first, at Jesus, the Jesus who has just heard his friend is sick, who knows in his heart his friend is so ill that he will surely die. How does he respond? How would you respond? Imagine, if you will, you have just heard your best friend is at the point of death, has, perhaps, even now, died while you were not there. Consider Jesus and his love for Lazarus.³

Can you see them, talking late into the night at the house of Lazarus and Mary and Martha? Can you hear Jesus, telling the three of them of his latest journeys, the suffering he has seen? He speaks of hope, of his Father’s Kingdom. Lazarus sits there near him. Mary, sitting there at his feet, listens enraptured by his words, his stories. While Martha, dear Martha, bustles around, cleaning up the dirty dishes, putting things away before she, too, can relax for the evening.

But now, that’s all over. Jesus has heard Lazarus is ill. He knows, in his heart of hearts, Lazarus is dead. He wonders: should he have been there? But it’s too late now to wonder about the “what-if’s.” Too late to say what might have been done. And so, he does nothing. He waits even more. He delays going to Bethany and on to the destiny awaiting him in Jerusalem.

Some might justify his delay. He need not go to Bethany at all. Not now. Not now that Lazarus is dead. If he goes to Bethany, he too, might die there. It’s dangerous to go. Those who are against him might kill him. There are many reasons for him to stay away, to do nothing. How many times have we attempted to justify our own inactions for reasons which are less valid? Yet Jesus knows he must go. He grieves. He is reluctant. And yet he has a belief, a belief he can do something, something for the glory of God. Not something for himself. In fact, he knows just how dangerous it is for him to go to Bethany. But it must be done. His belief is strong. He sets out with his companions. A slow, torturous walk to Bethany. He knows what awaits him there. It will not be pleasant. But he goes.

Then there is Martha. Dear, practical Martha. She hears that her friend is coming. If only he had been here when they really needed him. But there is still hope. Maybe he can, at least, bring words of consolation. Maybe he can tell her what this all means. Why Lazarus had to die. How many times have we asked that question? How often have we wanted to ask God: why has this happened? Why did this trouble need to befall me? What does it all mean? Why? Why?

Martha needs to have an answer. She rushes to meet Jesus. And when she does, what does she say? “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would never have died.” Yet, in the back of her mind, Martha has another thought, maybe you can still do something. And what does Jesus respond? “I am the Resurrection and the life: whoever believes in me, though they should die, will come to life; and whoever is alive and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

Dear practical Martha, the one who listened to Jesus while at a distance, who heard this teaching while she remained busy at other tasks. She has heard enough. She has learned enough, so that she was able to say: “Yes, Lord, I have come to believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God: the One who is to come into the world.” She has responded to Jesus from her knowledge, her overheard belief that he is the Messiah. And Jesus accepts her answer. Yet, he waits.

Now let us turn to her sister, Mary. What does Mary do when she hears her friend and teacher has arrived? She, too, rushes to meet him. There on that dusty road, when she runs up to him, she falls at his feet and weeps. She beseeches him, not with her words but with her tears. She pours out not what is in her mind, but what is in her heart. Seeing her tears and feeling her belief in him, Jesus, too, weeps.

It is now complete. He knows what must be done, even if, in the long run, his action will be used against him. They go to the tomb, the place where his dear friend lies dead. When they arrive, he asks that the stone be rolled back. Once again, practical Martha speaks. She says Lazarus has been there too long, his body has, in the heat of the Judean sun, already begun to decay. Her intellectual belief has begun to waver.

Jesus knows this. He tries to reassure her and the crowds which have now gathered. He says: “Father, I thank you for having heard me. I know that you always hear me but I have said this for the sake of the crowd, that they may believe that you sent me.” How many times have we needed this reassurance? I know I’ve needed it. There are times when I, too, have been like Martha. I have said with my mind, my intellect: “I do believe.” I believe you are the Son of God. He has accepted the words which come from my lips.

There are times, perhaps, too few times, when I know in my heart he is the Son of God. I have told him with my tears: “I do believe.” He has accepted this answer, too. (With his own tears.) Yes, belief is a matter of what is in my head. Yet, it is also a matter of what is in my heart.

We are now over halfway through Lent. When Lent started, it was with my head that I said I wanted this to be a “good” Lent. I wanted to eliminate the fakes and the shootouts in my journey. I wanted to walk with him during these special weeks, so when he arose on Easter Sunday, I, too, could rise with him. But as the days passed, my intellectual commitment has waned. This has not been the best of all possible Lents. Yet, there is still hope. He is still waiting there on that dusty road. Waiting for me, and for you, for all of us.

My belief has been like that of practical Martha, a true commitment, but somewhat incomplete. There is still a need for the Mary in me to run to seek the Lord. There is a need for my heart, as well as my head, to say: “I do believe.” When this happens, what is the result I hope for? Today’s Gospel reading has the answer. When the stone was rolled back and the once dead man appeared, Jesus told the astonished people, “Untie him; and let him go free.” This is what remains, the help of the people. We each need the help of others to finally set us free.

We have heard the call of Jesus, “Come out!” Although our belief is like that of Martha who speaks from her mind, or of Mary who cries out from her heart, we still need to step forth from the tomb. However, we need the help of others to unwrap the things which bind us. At the same time, we also need to help others. For if I am not the one who was dead, then I am one of the crowd. I am called both to step forth from my own tomb, and to help others step forth from their tombs.

As Lent draws rapidly to a close, it is up to me to strengthen my belief, both in my commitments of my mind and in my heart. It is up to me to put aside my reluctance to journey to Bethany, and beyond to Jerusalem. There I can find the tomb which has imprisoned me and the empty tomb from which my Lord has risen.

In a few moments⁴, we will be asked: “Do you believe?” We will be asked to respond, “We do believe.” Let us begin our journey now to Bethany. Let us truly be able to say, “We do believe.” We believe with our mind; we believe with our heart. In this belief we, too, can step forth from our tombs and live.

^{5th Sunday of Lent
Ez 37:12-14; Rom 8:8-11; Jn 11:1-45}
_{April 8, 1984 (first homily ever!)
April 2, 1995 (revised for a scrutiny reading during Cycle C)
April 6, 2003 (revised for a scrutiny reading during Cycle B)}

1. ^{_{Five of us from Christ the Good Shepherd were ordained as deacons on the same date, February 25, 1984. They included Barry Beckman, John Charneski, Bob DeGrave, and Al O’Brien. Two other deacons had been previously ordained from the parish: Steve LaBonte and Glen Cuiper. Perhaps, as with the original seven deacons and the Greek widows, the congregation had difficulty in getting use to all of us.}}
2. ^{_{For later revisions the opening paragraphs were replaced with ones with the “usual” question, as follows: “Today’s question is for Bible Scholars. It’s also a very simple one. (And if you know the answer you can say it out loud.) What is the shortest verse in the Bible? If you need a hint, you heard it in today’s Gospel reading. “‘Jesus wept.’ “But today’s Gospel reading contains more than the shortest verse in the Bible. Today’s reading leads us to reflections on belief … how different people respond with their belief. “There are many people in today’s reading who had concerns about belief in Jesus as the Messiah, the Chosen One of God. At the beginning of today’s reading, Thomas, the Twin, makes a brief appearance. Doubting Thomas who will not be there when Jesus appears to the other disciples for the first time after his Resurrection. In today’s reading, however, Thomas is the one who says that the disciples should go with Jesus to the neighborhood of Jerusalem, even if the journey means death for all of them. “However, today’s reflection is not on Thomas and his belief; but rather it is on Martha and Mary, on their brother and their crowd of friends, and upon the belief of Jesus, himself.” The two paragraphs about Thomas were omitted in the revision of 2003. They detract from the focus of the story about Lazarus, Martha and Mary. As the years passed, I tended to delete such passages, if for no other reason than to take pity on my listeners and shorted the homily as much as possible.}}
3. _{^{Not infrequently I have a psychological speech impediment when I need to pronounce the name, “Lazarus.” In the revisions, to avoid this problem, the unspoken name was usually replaced with the term: “his friend” or circumlocutions such as “the brother of Martha and Mary.”}}
4. ^{_{During the period of the “Scrutinies” associated with the RCIA program during Cycle A, the usual Nicene creed is replaced with a dialogue in which creedal questions are asked and affirmations are given. This concluding paragraph was omitted when the liturgy did not include the dialogue creed.}}

My question for today is straightforward. It’s this: How many of you know what CPR is? Right. Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation. How many of you know how to perform CPR? Great. It’s good to have you around! Even if we cannot perform CPR, most of us have seen it being done on television in programs involving medical emergencies. Today’s gospel, according to scripture scholars, also involves CPR. But not with the chest compressions and breathing techniques we usually associate with resuscitation. Instead, we heard of a more miraculous return to life. We heard how Jesus merely spoke the words, “Lazarus, come out” in order to restore his dearest friend to life. Words which contained the Pneuma, the breath of life, itself.

Although we sometimes think of this event as the “resurrection” of this man from the dead, students of the bible emphasize this was, instead, a resuscitation and not a resurrection. They point out that his friend, after all, died again. He is not with us here some two thousand years later. He was resuscitated, not resurrected.

It is our belief, however, that one other man has, in fact, been resurrected, Jesus the Christ, whose Resurrection we celebrate in a special way two weeks from now. However, we, in fact, celebrate this event each day, and in particular, each Sunday, here at Mass.

We also acknowledge the Resurrected Body of Christ differs from the revived body of his friend. Yes, there are similarities. After his Resurrection, Jesus showed his disciples the wounds made by the Roman soldiers at his crucifixion. He asked for food there in the upper room when he returned to them. He ate fish with them on the beach, on the early morning he met with them by the Sea of Galilee. The resurrected body of Jesus was every bit as physical, as real, as the revived body of the brother of Mary and Martha when he stepped from his tomb.

Yet, the glorified appearance of the body of Jesus was such that Mary Magdalene did not recognize him when he first appeared to her after he rose from his own tomb. Two of his followers knew him only in his breaking of the bread with them. Yes, there are differences, it seems, between a resuscitated body and a resurrected body. There is a difference between a temporary return to life and life everlasting. And it is this life everlasting which has been promised to each of us.

This promise was made to us, in part, through the words we heard in today’s gospel reading when Jesus said, in response to Martha, “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”

Each one of us professes our own belief not only in the Resurrection of Jesus the Christ but in our own anticipated resurrection as well. Each time we profess our creed, we speak of the resurrection of the body, our own body. Yet, for many of us, there is, I think, a tendency to accept the Resurrection of Christ and still doubt our own resurrection will occur. We may be like those amazed onlookers who stood with Mary and Martha there at the tomb of their brother, not knowing what to expect when they heard those words, “Lazarus, come out.”

Perhaps, it was for this reason, to help them believe, that he had been resuscitated, and one day would, also, be resurrected. At the same time, Jesus instructed them, “Untie him and let him go.” He called for the active participation of the onlookers in the return of his friend from the dead. Perhaps, in a similar way, Jesus calls each of us to an active participation in our own future resurrection and in the resurrection of others. Perhaps, he calls each of us to learn “CPR” and to actively participate in his particular form of “CPR.” For you see, in the kind of “CPR” he urges us to learn, these letters do not stand for “Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation.” Instead, they stand for “Change, Prayer and Resurrection.”

CHANGE. Each day of our present lives is a day for change. Change occurs not only during Lent but should be part of our daily living. And yes, Lent is a special time to practice “change,” to look in a special way at what should be changed. To change how we allocate our most precious resource, time. To allocate more time for God, for family, for friends. To change abusive behaviors that detract from our relationships with others. Behaviors involving excess drinking, eating, abusing drugs, gambling, viewing pornography, swearing, lying, cheating, stealing.

Yes, each of us knows what we should change in our lives. And although we can, and should, begin to change during any season of the year, the remaining two weeks of Lent provide us with an added incentive to change our lives, an additional opportunity to change our hearts. And how do we begin and accomplish such change? We need to use the second part of Christ’s CPR plan. We need to engage in Prayer.

PRAYER. Speaking and listening with God, with Father, Son and Holy Spirit. We need to practice our communication with our Trinitarian God. In today’s gospel, we heard how Jesus communicated with his Father, with Abba, when he said, “Father, I thank you for hearing me. I know that you always hear me; but because of the crowd here I have said this, that they may believe that you sent me.”

We, too, must recognize the Father does hear us. We, too, must speak and listen to the Father in ways which allow others to come to the belief that they, too, can speak to him, that he listens to them, and, in turn, he speaks to them. It is with and through Prayer each of us is empowered to change our own hearts and help others to change their own lives.

Change. Prayer. Resurrection. CPR. It is with our Change in becoming closer to God, to others, and to ourselves and it is with our Prayer with Father, Son and Holy Spirit, that we can look forward to our own Resurrection, to life everlasting.

St Paul certainly agreed with this truth when he wrote to the Romans the words we heard in today’s Second Reading, “If the Spirit of the one who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, the one who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also, through his Spirit dwelling in you.”

As for us, we have only one of two choices in the matter. On the one hand we can believe Jesus is a liar, that he is, and has been, a deceiver. Or on the other hand, we can believe he spoke the truth when he said to Martha, “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” Jesus then asked Martha the same question he now asks each one of us, “Do you believe this?”

^{5th Sunday of Lent; March 13, 2005; Revised: March 9, 2008; March 29, 2009
Ezek 37:12-14; Rom 8:8-11; Jn 11:1-45}

How many of you like sequels? Yes, that’s my question for you. Do you enjoy seeing a sequel to a movie you didn’t want to end in the first place? How many of you are fans of the Lord of the Rings and are anxiously awaiting the Hobbit movie? Although I’m not sure if it will be a “sequel” or what we now call a “prequel.” At any rate, Hollywood certainly recognizes the money-generating potential of ongoing storytelling. Otherwise, how would you account for such productions as the Rambo series or, heaven up us, the multiple versions of the Halloween franchise?

Books were once like that. Have you ever disliked coming to the end of a book? You really wanted the plot to continue and not have an ending. And, perhaps, the author would oblige with another story about the same characters. In fact, another question for today might be: How do you know when anything really ends?

With a book, you turn the page and the next one is blank. That’s a sure sign the story has ended. With luck, a new one might lie in the future. With old movies, really old movies, the words “The End” would appear on the screen. I guess back then, viewers weren’t very sophisticated and would just keep sitting there in the dark until the houselights came on. But now, the film, as they say, “fades to black” and the credits indicate it’s time to leave.

Which leads to the real question for today: What happens to let us know that a real life has ended? Is it a case of “fading to black,” or turning to the next event and finding the page is blank? Today’s scriptural readings are about “endings.” Real life endings.

In our first reading from the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel, we heard about what the Israelites believed was the end of their nation. They had been held for many years as captives in Babylon. They thought the Lord God may have abandoned them. But then Ezekiel reminds them their God had not left them. Ezekiel uses the metaphor of dried bones to encourage the Israelites to see that their God, who could open graves and restore life to dried bones, their God would keep his promise and lead them back to Jerusalem. The words of the Prophet rang in their ears, “On my people! I will put my spirit in you that you may live, and I will settle you upon your land; thus you shall know that I am the Lord. I have promised, and I will do it, says the Lord.” Their story had not ended. They, as the Chosen People of God, would continue to praise him in a restored Jerusalem. This was not the end; it would be a continuation of what God had initiated many years ago.

In our Gospel Reading for today, we heard how two sisters, Mary and Martha, had thought the end had come for their brother, Lazarus. He had died. He was buried three or four days ago. The two women had hoped Jesus, who loved their brother, would have come to save him from death. They had informed him of their brother’s illness, but Jesus had not arrived in time to prevent the death. Yes, their perception was that their brother’s life had ended. However, this was not the perception of Jesus.

In his grief-filled meeting with Martha, the woman who may not have listened to his own stories as closely as had her sister, Mary, who sat at his feet while Martha busied herself with household chores – to Martha he now proclaimed, “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” If we listen closely to these words, we hear Jesus say death is not the end of life but rather a continuation of life, itself. Some might have misheard his words and thought he said death would be followed by a “new life,” that the old life is set aside by death. But this is not what he said. Rather he said, “… everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”

A new life does not begin with death. The New Life in Jesus began when one became his disciple, his follower, when one began to believe in him and his teaching that the Kingdom of God, the reign of God, begins “now,” it exists “now,” at this very moment. The Kingdom of God does not begin at some future time.

And this is the remarkable fact of his preaching. We do not wait until death to begin a new life with him. We have his new life right now. It is a human perception that with death, something has ended, that the old life has ended. It is a divine perception that with death, something continues.

It is not that there is now “life after death,” but rather, life in the Spirit continues after we cease to breathe. Our true life does not end, rather, our true life continues. As human beings we are prone to ask the question: how can this be? How does it occur? How can life continue after the death of our bodies?

In physical terms we perceive that breath stops. Shortly afterwards, decay continues more rapidly than before. As practical Martha observed, “Lord, by now there will be a stench; he has been dead for four days.” Actually, physical decay, biologically, begins at birth, if not at conception. Cells grow, cells die, cells are replaced. This decaying continues throughout growth and development, but the replacement is more rapid than the decay. Until at biological death, when the decay becomes more rapid.

Nevertheless, the soul created by God at the moment of our conception continues to exist. This is the soul which has been enriched through the grace given by the sacraments, beginning with our baptism, and nourished throughout our lives by other sacraments such as Eucharist. This Spiritual life can mature or it can languish depending upon our own actions and cooperation with the Holy Spirit. Yes, the physical body can grow while the spiritual life within stagnates. The choice is ours.

Saint Paul addresses this question in today’s second reading. He says the flesh, the worldly part of our humanity, is not what really matters. Rather, it is the Spirit of God who dwells within that merits our concern. Saint Paul wrote to the Romans these words, “But you are not in the flesh; on the contrary, you are in the spirit, if only the Spirit of God dwells in you. … If the Spirit of the one who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, the One who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also, through his Spirit dwelling in you.”

So, where does this leave us here, today? A day two weeks before we celebrate Easter, the day of the commemoration of the Resurrection of Jesus the Christ. Although we formally celebrate His Resurrection every Easter, we actually celebrate it at every Mass at which we participate. Easter need not be an annual event. In fact, it is a daily event. An event that shows life does not end with our death. An event that celebrates the continuation of our life with Christ, so long as we choose to follow him and to be part of his life.

Today and every day we have a choice. We can turn the page of our life and see a blank page. We can believe that our end has come. When we look around and see the turmoil in the world today, this may become the easier choice. We may still be breathing but we are not really alive.

Or we can turn the page of our troubles and see a new chapter, even a new sequel. One that continues our story, until we come, at last, to the moment some might perceive to be the end of the story, but really is a grand continuation of the most magnificent sequel every composed, the never-ending sequel of our life with God for the rest of eternity.

^{5th Sunday of Lent; April 10, 2011
Ezek 37:12-14; Rom 8:8-11; Jn 11:1-45}

Today we celebrate Passion Sunday or Palm Sunday with a very special liturgy¹. For one thing, we have two Gospel readings today, one at the beginning of Mass and another one at the usual time. Secondly, you’ll also be able to enjoy two homilies from me this morning. But I promise you, both of them will be as short as possible.

Now I have a question for you. You didn’t think you were going to get away without a question, did you? My question is this: When does Lent end? Some old-timers might say, “noon on Holy Saturday, the day before Easter.” For many of us growing up as Catholic kids, that was when fasting ended. You could start to eat meat for Saturday lunch. However, “noon on Holy Saturday” is not the right answer.

Lent officially ends this Thursday, Holy Thursday, when the great Triduum begins. Triduum is an old Latin word which means “three days.” Three days which are so important they make up their own part of the liturgical year. These are the three days when each one of us is invited to share in the celebrations which mark our beginnings as a Christian community.

First, there’s Thursday evening at 8 o’clock. On Holy Thursday, we celebrate the evening Mass of the Lord’s Supper. It’s the only Mass allowed on this day, no matter how large the church. In a very special way, this liturgy celebrates the institution of the Eucharist. The service includes the Gospel of John and how Jesus washed the feet of the disciples and instructed them to do the same. And so we do. Those who attend this Thursday service are not forced in any way to participate in this part of our celebration of the Eucharist. However, if you accept the invitation to participate, it’s suggested you wear shoes and socks that are easily removable². The service concludes with a special procession in which all of the remaining hosts consecrated at this Mass are carried into the chapel.

Friday, of course, is Good Friday. For a lot of us, we have the day off from work. It’s part of a long weekend. And what do you do on a long weekend? Work around the house? Catch up on all those important things you couldn’t get to for the last month? Maybe do some last-minute Easter shopping so you’ll look good on Sunday? Well, we have an alternative for you. It’s called “Stations of the Cross.” The service begins at 2:30 in the afternoon of Good Friday. But there’s no prohibition about coming early to pray on your own or staying later.

Then there is our Good Friday evening service which begins at 8:00 p.m. There is no Mass on Good Friday. It’s the only day of the year when Mass is not allowed to be celebrated. Instead, we are invited to focus on the Veneration of the Cross. We are given an opportunity to meditate on the suffering our Redeemer undertook for our sins. For those who wish, communion will also be distributed, using the bread consecrated on Thursday evening.

Then comes Holy Saturday. At noon there will be a blessing of bread or other food which you might have for your Easter meal. But the main celebration is Easter Vigil which begins at 7:30 p.m. This liturgy is the major celebration of the Christian Church. It includes many symbols and rites, from the blessing of the new fire and the baptismal waters to welcoming the Light of Christ, in song and multiple scripture readings. Our catechumens will be baptized at this celebration and they and our other candidates will be confirmed and will receive their First Communion.

Then, of course, there is Easter Sunday. And now I have a warning for you. So, if the people next to you are napping, now is the time to wake them up. The warning is this: next Saturday morning at 2 a.m. we change from standard time to daylight savings time. Our first Easter Mass, our Sunrise Mass, will begin at 6:30 a.m. Daylight Savings Time, which would be 5:30 a.m. Standard Time. Our sunrise service is outside, so, if you plan to attend, please bring lawn chairs or blankets to sit on, and probably wear a jacket.

On Easter Sunday we will have Masses both here and at the Jewish Community Center next door. They have just completed their new worship space and we’re looking forward to using it³. The times are in the Sunday bulletin for services here at Good Shepherd and at the Jewish Community Center. And if you forget the times for the Triduum services, you’ll find them in the bulletin, too.

Holy week is about to begin. We, indeed, hope it is a truly blessed time for each one of you. As we begin our liturgy for this Palm Sunday, you are invited to gather in the hallway to be part of our special procession. And in the days ahead I would encourage you to be part of our celebrations and really pack this holy place on Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Please join with us now for our procession. Today’s Eucharistic celebration is about to begin.

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Well, you’ve now heard the so-called “long Gospel,” which is read every Palm Sunday. This year’s account was taken from the “Passion According to Mark.” You heard it but did you really listen to it? Have you been changed? Or when it began, did you tune it out as a re-run? Since you’ve heard it all before, did you start thinking about what important things you need to do this afternoon? The places you have to be. The tasks you have to accomplish.

On the other hand, if you really listened to it, did you really feel it? Were you changed? Did you feel the anguish of a mother who sees her son brutally beaten, with thorns pressed into the flesh of his forehead, hanging there, naked and bleeding, the people spitting at him and calling him names? If you are a parent, how would you feel, holding your child’s lifeless body in your arms?

Did you feel the terror of seeing a friend put on trial and not defended by anyone, even by you, when you had promised this man you would die for him? Can you weep tears of shame at your own cowardness?
Imagine yourself as a Roman soldier who captures this man whom the authorities say is a danger to the state and to civil well-being. A soldier who strips this man of his dignity, who beats him, mocks him, who hammers nails into his bleeding hands and then, in a blinding flash of lightening, suddenly realizes what he has done and cries out: “Clearly, this man was the son of God.” Can you join with this Roman soldier in his declaration? Or are you one of the crowd, who, one moment sings out, “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” and then, so soon afterwards, screams out, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”

Did you listen to a mere re-run or to part of the “greatest story ever told?” Did you listen? Did you feel? Were you changed?

Almost forty days ago, I was the homilist for the First Sunday of Lent and asked you questions about temptations and testing. At the beginning of today’s liturgy, I asked you another question: When does Lent end? For some, the question may be: when is Lent going to start? When is my time of preparation for Easter Resurrection really to begin?

It is still not too late. Today we begin Holy Week. The great three days are still ahead of us. On Friday evening we will hear another “long Gospel,” the one according to John, who as a teen-age boy, loved and idolized this man called Jesus the Christ. Who rested his head on Jesus’ breast at the Last Supper and who stood there weeping with his friend’s mother, there at the foot of the cross, who stood there with his own, new mother, looking up at his friend and brother, as he died before his very eyes. When you, again, hear his story, what will you feel?

And if for some valid reason, you cannot stand here on Friday before his cross, I urge you to take out your Bible sometime that day and read any of the four accounts of the Passion of our Lord as recorded by any one of the Gospel writers. Put yourself back in time. Read and feel the suffering of this Servant of God, this Son of God. The season of Lent begins with the words of Jesus the Christ: “Repent. Change your lives. The Reign of God is at hand.” There is still time for each one of us to listen to these words and to prepare ourselves to be, truly, Easter people.

^{Passion Sunday; March 18, 1994
Mt 21:1-11; Is 50:4-7; Phil 2:6-11; Mt 26:14 – 27:66}

1. Today’s liturgy began with the “exhortation for Holy Week,” i.e. an outline of the services and an encouragement for the people to participate in the events of the Triduum. This presentation preceded the reading of the entrance Gospel and the procession of the palms. It was followed by a homily for Passion Sunday.
2. All members of the congregation are invited to participate in the foot-washing. They come forward individually or in family groups. “Stations” matching the ones usually assigned for Communion are established with chairs, basins, towels and pitchers of warm water. The pitchers are refilled by volunteers who also empty the basins as they become filled. Usually over 95 percent of those in attendance at the Holy Thursday service actively participate.
3. The congregation of Jewish Community North (JCN), a synagogue built on property adjacent to Christ the Good Shepherd, used our church building for its own Saturday evening Sabbath services during the period during which their own facilities were being constructed. From 1994 until 2005, when the new General Instructions for the Roman Missal were implemented excluding Catholic services in non-Christian worship spaces, the JCN reciprocated by offering its worship space for two Masses on Easter Sunday, when there was a surplus of worshiping Catholics. For some twenty-five years previously the congregation from JCN joined with others from the local Baptist, Methodist, Presbyterian and United Church of Christ congregations for a combined inter-faith service on the morning of Thanksgiving Day. This service was held at CGS, since our structure had the largest of the sanctuaries among the participating communities

Have you ever seen a UFO? Have you ever talked with someone who has had an “Encounter of the Third Kind,” someone who has met “Starman”¹? If you, yourself, have had such an experience, the chances are you’ve been quiet about it, knowing other people might not believe you. We do live in a skeptical age where “seeing is believing.” On the surface, it would seem this should be the theme of today’s gospel story: “seeing is believing.” However, I think today’s readings ask a deeper question: What sign do I need in order to know that God loves me?

This is not a new question. The disciples of Jesus asked the same question some two-thousand years ago. And Jesus gave them an answer. He said God loves them like a father does. He taught his followers to call God, Abba, Daddy. And for a while, it worked. They accepted his answer. They had found God’s love through Jesus. They had found a purpose in their life by following him.

But now he has left them. They huddle in fear behind locked doors. They feel deserted, even, perhaps, betrayed. Jesus has left them. They think God has left them as well. Even today, when a loved one dies, we feel deserted and betrayed. We feel fearful about our future and being left alone. Being alone is one of our greatest fears. Being totally alone, abandoned.

I can feel that way about God. I need to feel God’s love for me. I need to feel his acceptance, his warmth. I need to know he loves me. And sometimes, just like the disciples, I sit behind the locked door of my heart and huddle in fear that he has left me, he no longer loves me. Yet, the stone rolled in front of a tomb could not imprison Jesus. A mere locked door could not keep him out. Even a locked heart might be open to his coming. And when he appears, what happens?

Twenty centuries ago, he appeared to his closest friends. They heard his voice as he said, “Shalom.” They saw him. They saw his hands and his side. They felt his breath. And what did he give them? He gave them his peace. He gave them the Holy Spirit. And what did he ask of them? To forgive one another their sins. To unbind all those who were trapped in their sins. To set one another free. To share the peace he brought to them. These are the same gifts he brings to us, and the same requests he makes of each one of us.

But what about Thomas? How much are we like Thomas? Thomas wanted the reassurance of touch. For him, it wasn’t enough merely to be told about Jesus. In fact, he implied it wouldn’t be sufficient for him to merely see Jesus. Eyes could be fooled by an apparition, by a ghost. Thomas demanded he be able to touch Jesus before he would believe that Jesus was truly there.

We, too, are like Thomas much of the time. We want to feel the presence of Jesus. We want his hugs and touch. And when they are missing in the way we want to experience them, we ask ourselves a devastating question: why? We fear we do not merit the love of God, the love of Jesus. Could Thomas have been asking himself the same questions when he heard the excited reports of his friends? In his mind, could Thomas have asked, “Why did Jesus not wait until I was present? What have I done to anger him so that he did not come to me? After all, did I not once say I would die for him? Doesn’t Jesus love me?” Perhaps Thomas was making the same mistake we all make: thinking it is through my own merits, through what I have done, that Jesus comes to me and shows God’s love for me.

Thomas did not earn the right to see Jesus. Rather, Jesus came freely, in the way he wanted to come. I do not earn a sign of Jesus’ presence. Nothing I can do can conjure up our Lord. He comes freely when he wants to. He gives me signs of his presence and of his love in unexpected ways.

For most of my life I’ve sought God through my head, through my intellect, without really experiencing him, without really touching him or having him touch me. But about six years ago I had one of my first real encounters with the Lord. It occurred during my first, silent retreat at Grand Coteau. However, the things that happened, the signs I saw, weren’t all that earthshaking when you think about them rationally. In fact they’re downright simple. Like the time I had gone out to the fields to pray.

Grand Coteau covers some five hundred acres north of Lafayette, Louisiana. There are fields and pastures and wooded areas to roam through. This one afternoon I had wandered down an old lane with huge live oaks along it and climbed over several gates until I came to a secluded pasture. I had a blanket and my Bible with me. I spread out the blanket and started to pray one of the scripture passages. But the prayer period didn’t go very well. I found it difficult to pray. All of a sudden, the sky began to cloud over. It looked like a storm was coming up. I knew I had to get back to the Retreat House. I suddenly felt lost. I knew intellectually that the House was in a certain direction, and probably less than a mile away. But I felt absolutely trapped. There was a barbed wire fence and thorn bushes around the pasture. I knew I couldn’t crawl over them.

I don’t know if you’ve ever had a panic attack, but I had one just then, and it was no fun. I didn’t know what to do when I heard a voice in my head ask, “Do you trust me? Do you, really, trust me? Or is this all an intellectual game you’ve been playing?” I finally agreed that I did really trust. And then the voice in my head said, “Follow me.”

I saw a small yellow butterfly and began to follow it. It led me across the field directly to a hole in the fence! Once I was through the hedge, I could see the Retreat Center in the distance. I firmly believe there are many signs in this world, but for me, personally, little yellow butterflies have a special meaning about trust in God and knowing that God loves me.

In order to know something in our world of 1987, we try to measure it. In order to be scientific, we use all sorts of fancy ways to measure things. We are caught up in science and technology as our 20th century way of knowing. In the process, we have eliminated a sense of Mystery. But even more sadly, we have taken respectable words like “belief” or “faith” and made them into second-rate ways of knowing.

To believe means “to know something very deeply.” To know it so well you don’t need to measure it with yardsticks or scales or fancy technology. What do we mean when we say to someone, “I know you love me?” How do we measure that kind of knowing?

Jesus asks each of us the same kinds of questions. Do you know, do you believe, I love you? Do you know, do you believe, God has sent me to bring salvation to you? Do you know, do you believe, you have life in my name?

In response, do I need measurements of his love, or can I say: I know deeply, I believe you love me, without needing to measure that love? You have given me simple signs of your love, of your presence. They are all around me. It’s not a question of what measurements, or even of what signs, do I demand to know God loves me, but, rather, what sign is I to others that God loves all of us?

In the upper room, Jesus gave his beloved followers his peace, his Holy Spirit, and he sent them forth to bring reconciliation to others. To be signs for others of his love. We heard in our first readings how they carried out this commission he gave them.

A few years ago, there was a new book written about the sacraments. You’ll recall how the sacraments are referred to as signs. Well, this book talked about these sacramental signs and other signs as well. The title of the book was Doors to the Sacred.²

Perhaps, today’s Gospel story has two points for our reflection. First: we need not huddle, alone, behind a locked door. Instead, it is through us that others can pass on their way toward God, for we are all “doors to the sacred.” And second: each of us, at times, lacks trust in the Lord. In our lack of trust, we doubt that God loves us. It’s in moments like this when we each need to find and follow our own butterfly, and to say, as did Thomas, “I believe, my Lord and my God.”

^{Second Sunday of Easter; April 26, 1987
Acts 2:42-47; 1 Pt 1:3-9; Jn 20:19-31}

1. _{^{Encounter of the Third Kind and Starman were 1987 science fiction films of friendly aliens from space visiting the earth.}}
2. _{^{Joseph Martos, Doors to the Sacred, Doubleday & Company, Garden City, New York, 1981}}

To begin today’s reflection, I’d like to try something a little different. Instead of my asking you a question, I would ask each one of you turn to the person on your right and your left and shake hands with them. If you want to, you can even say “hello!” Go ahead. I’ll wait for you.

Ok. So now you’re asking what does deacon Pat have in mind this time? Why begin a homily like that? Some of you might think I wanted you to shake hands in honor of Earth Day 1990, a day dedicated to reminding us that we must all work together to protect our environment. Although this might be a good way to begin a homily about planet earth, I asked you to shake hands for another reason.

You see, I have a problem. This is the fifth year in a row I’ve been assigned to be the homilist for the Second Sunday of Easter, and the Gospel reading is always the same. I admit Thomas is one of my favorite apostles, but just what can I say that’s new about the Message in this reading?

If you have a good memory for homilies, you might recall my story one year about “trust” and following yellow butterflies at Grand Coteau. Last year, I talked about climbing backwards up a flight of stairs. Of course, I suppose I should realize a lot of people forget the homily by the time Mass ends, so, perhaps, I shouldn’t be too worried about repeating myself. Well, anyway, I wanted to begin today’s reflection using something tangible, and what is more tangible than another person’s hand?

I now have my question for you. It’s one you don’t need to answer out loud. It’s this. What do you remember about the hand you held a moment ago? Was it warm? Cold? Was it soft or callused? Did it belong to someone older or younger? Did you recognize the feel of the hand? Was it the hand of a stranger or of a loved one?

Today’s Gospel is about hands, about pierced hands. The hands of our Lord and our God. Today’s Gospel is, also, about Thomas, about a man who said he would not be able to recognize the hands of his once-dead friend until he, himself, put his finger into the holes in the hands of Jesus. This brings me to the focus for today’s reflection: How do you, each one of you, recognize the hand of Jesus in your life?

I believe that just as there are the five wounds of Christ, there are five words which can lead us to a response to this question about the hands of Christ. These words are: People, Prayer, Practice, Patience and Peace.

First of all: People. In our Gospel reading for today, we heard how the risen Christ appeared to the group of his followers and how when he finally came to Thomas, it was once more when they were gathered as a community. He did not appear to Thomas when the disciple was alone. Jesus comes to us in the company of other people. This is made even more clear in our first reading from the Acts of the Apostles, which says, “The brethren devoted themselves to the Apostles’ instruction and the communal life .. those who believed shared all things in common.”

Thus, one important way to recognize the hand of Jesus in my life is through the presence and action of other people, Christian people, who witness by what they do and say in their normal, everyday life that Jesus Christ has risen and is with them and with me. And by witnessing, I don’t mean they preach to me like some street corner evangelist, but, rather, by their simile, their touch, their acts of kindness and thoughtfulness, they speak to me of Christ, of the presence of the risen Lord who is with me.

Prayer is a second way in which I recognize the hand of Christ in my life. Through communal prayer such as this very liturgy. Again, in our first reading, we heard how “the brethren devoted themselves … to the breaking of the bread and the prayers.” In addition to this public prayer there is private prayer when I speak to Jesus and he listens. There are, also, times of prayer when Jesus speaks to me and I listen, and most important, there are those very special times when he and I are present to one another without speaking, when we listen in silence. This is the moment wherein I can truly understand the Psalm which proclaims: “Be still and know that I am God.”

People, Prayer and then Practice. It takes practice to recognize the hand of Christ in my life. It takes practice to see that where I am today and what I am today, is entirely because of him. Many times in my life, Christ has led me in a certain direction without my realizing it at the moment. It’s only when I’ve thought about the event much later that I was able to say with certainty he was there with me.

All of us have had that experience in the major events of our life. We all need, however, to practice this kind of reflection more often. When we practice anything, we are able to do it better and more quickly. We each need to see the hand of Christ in the little events as well as in the big ones. The time between the event in which Christ participates with me and my recognition of his presence needs to be shortened. The only way to do that is through practice, through stopping to reflect just how he is here with me in the every-day happenings of my life.

People, Prayer, Practice and Patience. Even with practice it’s not easy sometimes to recognize the hand of Christ in my life. To see how his hand reaches out to me through other people and through prayer. I want quick answers to my questions, rapid solutions to my problems. I want everything now, on my terms and my schedule. I can’t wait. Perhaps, Thomas was that way too. After Jesus appeared to the other disciples, why did he not come immediately to Thomas? Why did Jesus wait an entire week before he appeared a second time to the gathered community which now included Thomas?

When there is a delay in Christ’s coming to me, I begin to doubt he really hears my call. I become like Thomas. But just as Jesus came on his own schedule to Thomas, he will come to me. Sometimes I can recognize the hand of Christ only after patient expectation.

People, Prayer, Practice and Patience. What is left? Peace. Peace, the most important way in which to recognize the hand of Christ in my life. When Christ comes to me, the ultimate gift he brings is his peace. This peace cannot really be described by one person to another. It can only be experienced. Deep down inside of me, when he is with me, I know it. As someone once said, there comes a time when you know in your “knower” that Jesus is there with you.

This is the peace which Jesus breathed on his friends some two-thousand years ago. This is the peace we wish one another each Sunday when we turn to those around us and take part in the “sign of peace.” When peace enters my being, that is the time when I recognize the hand of Christ has once more touched me. To recognize his presence, I need not put my finger into the hole within his hand, nor my hand into the wound of the lance.

Just as I can feel the touch of a living handshake with a friend or a stranger and realize the difference, I can feel the touch of Christ and know, once more, I have encountered “my Lord and my God”. Through people, prayer, practice and patience, may all of us recognize the hand of Christ and be touched by his peace.

^{Second Sunday of Easterl April 2, 1990
Acts 2:42-47; 1 Pet 1:3-9; Jn 20:19-31}

Today’s question requires a little bit of imagination. You need to imagine you’re on a trip, perhaps, from Houston to Orlando. You’re driving there with the kids to visit Disney World. You’ve gotten as far as Beaumont when the kids ask you a question. So, my question is this: What question do the kids ask you as you drive into Beaumont?

Right! The question they ask is: “Are we there yet?” No matter how many puzzles and DVD’s you’ve provided them with, they have already exhausted their supply and will keep repeating their question at least every two hours for the next couple of days, which is why many parents would rather fly than drive to where they’re going. And what with the price of gasoline, it might be cheaper to fly.

Well, as you can probably guess, my homily for today will not be about the price of gasoline. But, it will be about travel, about journeys, about pilgrimages. Today’s Gospel story is about a journey or, at least, a long trip. We heard how two travelers went by foot on a seven-mile walk from Jerusalem to the village of Emmaus, on an early Sunday morning, on the “first day of the week.”

We know the name of one of them: Cleopas. His companion may very well have been his wife, since back in those days, the name of the husband was enough of a reference. Besides, I like to think it was a married couple, a husband and wife, who walked that ancient road and had their lives changed so dramatically.

They had begun their homeward journey with great sadness. Their master, the one whom they had loved and followed, had died three days ago. They spoke to one another about all of the events of the past week:
● how, a week ago, he had been welcomed into the city with shouts of joy and jubilation,
● how, a mere four days later, he was crucified by the Romans on that hill outside the city,
● how they had been awakened this very morning, just after sunrise, by the news from the women that his body was missing from the tomb where it had been laid to rest,
● and how they had joined his other followers as they rushed to the tomb and found it empty.

A few moments ago, they had met a stranger who joined them as they continued their path homeward. However, as we heard, he was really no stranger, although he was one whom they did not recognize, one who explained the ancient scriptures to them about how their Lord, the Anointed One of God, must suffer first in order to enter into his glory. He held them spellbound as they walked throughout the day and finally approached their village as the sun began to set and the long day turned to twilight. Although it seemed he would continue on his own way, alone, this couple, with open hospitality, invited him to enter their home and share their evening meal.

Although Cleopas, as head of the household, had the right to offer the opening blessing over their humble food, he invited the stranger to recite the ancient words of blessing. And as the stranger spoke and broke the bread, he became no longer the foreign one, no longer the stranger, but rather they recognized him as their friend and master, now risen from the tomb they had visited this morning.

As he vanished from their sight, his presence remained with them, a presence consuming them, empowering them to leave the table, at once, and return immediately with overwhelming joy to Jerusalem, to tell the other disciples about what, and about whom, they had experienced in the opening of the ancient scriptures and, especially, in the breaking of the bread. They were compelled by this internal joy of the first Eucharist, their First Communion with the risen Christ, to spread the Good News: he has died, he is risen, he is with us now.

Yes, it is our tradition that the institution of our Eucharist occurred on the night before he died and was buried, there at what we call “The Last Supper.” But the first post-resurrection encounter of his followers was here on the road to Emmaus and here in their home when the bread of life was first broken and shared.

Some two thousand years later, we continue to participate in the liturgy begun on that evening in Emmaus, on that journey to and from Emmaus. We continue to listen to the ancient writings of the prophets, we continue to break open the word of God to which we listen. And having completed the liturgy of the word for the first part of our mass, we continue to share in the liturgy of the table with the breaking of the bread. And having recognized his presence in the elements of sacred word and consecrated bread and wine, we are urged to go forth to share his presence with others.

The story of the road to Emmaus is, however, more than the model for our liturgy. It is, also, the model for our lives, for our own journeys in and to the Kingdom of God. On our journey, each of us encounters the stranger, the foreign one, the one who may be our hidden Christ, the one who speaks words of wisdom to guide us on our journey, a journey in which we share with one another the resources of our lives.

At the same time, the road to Emmaus is more than a journey in itself. A journey is a trip counted in hours or in days, a trip that ends when a specified destination is reached. But instead, our path to Emmaus is not a “journey” but rather a “pilgrimage.” It is a journey of faith to a place of faith. What matters in a pilgrimage are the events along the way. This is the meaning of a pilgrimage
● a journey of faith, made with faith, to a place of faith,
● a journey of hope, made with hope, to a place of hope,
● a journey of love, made with love, to a place of love.

We are said to be a “pilgrim church,” a gathering of pilgrims. For the last twenty-six years, we have been led on our pilgrimage by a kind and gentle shepherd. There have been other shepherds before him. Some of us remember with the greatest of affection, the one known as John the Twenty-Third. There will be other shepherds, known at present, only to the Holy Spirit. Our pilgrimage with them will continue until the return of the first Shepherd, the one who encouraged his fellow pilgrims on the road to Emmaus, the one who empowered them with his breaking of the bread to be shared on our pilgrimage.

We may wish to be like children on the way to Disney World and ask: “Are we there yet?” But as his true companions, we know we’re not “there” yet. We still have miles to walk, stories to share, bread to be broken and a message to be proclaimed.

^{Third Sunday of Easter; April 10, 2005
Acts 2:14, 22-33; 1Peter 1:17-21; Lk 24:13-35}

1. _{^{On this weekend the price of gasoline in Houston was at least $2.30 for regular grade, considerably higher than that of earlier years. {The price of gasoline has, in more recent years, been close to $5.00 per gallon. It, currently, is in the mid-three-dollar range.}}}
2. _{^{Pope John Paul II had returned to the Father the previous weekend, April 2, 2005. During the liturgy it seems very strange to not hear his name immediately before offering the prayer for our bishop and all the clergy.}}

Today’s question is for those of you who drive a car, especially for anyone who has driven without a passenger. My question is this: have you ever made a wrong turn? Or worse yet, failed to make the correct turn? You’re driving along, enjoying the spring scenery around you, a variety of thoughts come and go in your head. You’ve driven this road many times before, so it’s OK for your mind to wander. You come to the usual stop sign and are momentarily distracted by a group of bike riders crossing in front of you. After they pass, you continue on your way. It’s only a few minutes later when you ask yourself: shouldn’t I have turned back there at the stop sign? You continue on for a few more miles until you see the name of a road you half-recognize and make a turn. Then you arrive at another intersection, but this time you know where you are. Do you give a sigh of relief, make the correct turn and continue on toward your destination?

This kind of experience happens to me, maybe more often than it used to. I’m sure it must happen to a lot of men. Perhaps, not to as many women, since they would have stopped along the way to ask for directions. But, from time to time, all of us get lost. We make the wrong turn or fail to make the correct one.

Yes, from time to time, we all need a shepherd, a Good Shepherd, to guide us, to lead us, to keep us from going astray. And that’s what today’s reflection, of course, is all about. Today, throughout the world, the church celebrates “Good Shepherd Sunday.” And for us, members of Christ the Good Shepherd Catholic Community, this is the day for the celebration of our founding some twenty-one years ago.

Today is, also, the day to consider something more. Pope John Paul II has designated today for the celebration of a “world day of prayer for vocations,” a day to consider how each of us is called to serve the Lord through one another, whether our calling is to a single, married or religious vocation. Today, as really every day, we are called to be Christians, those who manifest themselves as imitators of Christ, himself, those who are called to be like the Good Shepherd, himself. And, so, it’s appropriate for us to ask: what is a “good” shepherd like?

In our Gospel reading for today, Jesus answers that question by telling two stories. The meaning of these stories was clear to not only his disciples who followed him, but also to the Pharisees who questioned him. On the other hand, we who have very little to do with sheep, except maybe once a year at the Houston Livestock Show¹, we may not fully appreciate the background known by those disciples and Pharisees some two millennia ago. So, let’s take a closer look at what it meant, back then, to be a shepherd.

Picture, if you will, an early morning outside a small village in Judea. The sun has not yet risen. Several men, young boys and a few women and girls approach a sheepfold with its gate. And standing there by the gate is the keeper, the one who was hired to stand guard during the night. He was supposed to make sure no one entered the sheepfold during the dark of the night. If anyone did, it would have been someone who came to harm the sheep. A thief or a robber. But now it’s morning and the gatekeeper’s job is done. What happens now?

As the herders come near to the open gate, each shepherd, or shepherdess, begins to call out the names of the sheep. Each herder has a pet name for each animal. When the sheep hear their names being called, they scramble toward the herder. In some marvelous, mysterious way, the sheep gather around their own, special leader, who slowly walks off, guiding them away from the village toward the hills where they are to be pastured for the day. When the disciples and the Pharisees heard Jesus, tell his story, this is what they saw. They knew Jesus was telling them that those who were truly of his flock heard his voice and recognized his calling to each one of them. They would follow him and only him.

For a more modern story, consider there is a parent on the edge of a crowded playground, who calls out “Johnny” and only one boy of the many named “Johnny,” runs off to join his parent. He knows the voice of the one who calls him.

If I, too, am truly one of the shepherd’s flock or one of the offspring, I need to do three things. First, I need to hear his voice. Then I need to recognize he is calling me, by name. And finally, I need to go to him, to follow him. For many of us, this is a straightforward process. We are asked to follow Jesus, the Good Shepherd. Yet, for some, this is a difficult task. Some don’t like to be thought of as sheep. We balk at being called. We are stubborn and fail to follow. We ask: why should I follow? What is to be gained? What is being asked of me? And so it was that Jesus told his listeners another story.

He began by saying: “I am the sheep-gate.” Now what could he have meant by that? His listeners knew. To see what they knew, let’s imagine what happened at the end of the day in the pasture, when night began to fall, and the herder was still up in the hills with the flock. Darkness would soon be here. There’s no time to return to the safety of the village and its community sheepfold. The herder knows the flock cannot be left out here, unprotected from the wild animals of the night. However, this is country in which other flocks have roamed. Nearly is a makeshift corral. It’s a small area enclosed by bramble bushes, piled up over the years by many herders to make a safe haven for their small flocks. Now, the herder leads the sheep into the rough enclosure through the only opening there is. As night quickly falls, the herder lights a small campfire near this opening and hopes the flames will keep away the wolves who prowl through the hills at night looking for stray sheep. Then as darkness arrives, the shepherd gathers his cloak around him and lies down in the opening of the thorn bush corral. The shepherd has become the sheep-gate, the gate to protect the flock from the ravening wolves and jackals. Anything that tries to enter the corral must do so over the body of the shepherd.

Tonight, the sheep are safe within the rough enclosure. This shepherd, this “good” shepherd, will stay here until the morning light arrives and the sheep can be led off to new, green pastures. This shepherd is not a hired gamekeeper in a protected village. This shepherd is the one who not only leads the flock during the light of day, but protects them in the dark of night. This is what his listeners recognized when they heard Jesus say, “I am the gate. Whoever enters through me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. A thief comes only to steal and slaughter and destroy; I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.”

Perhaps, we can readily understand the first story heard in today’s gospel. We can understand it is necessary to hear the voice of the shepherd, to recognize I am called personally, and I must follow the shepherd to be nourished in green pastures. But with the second story, do we as readily recognize that the shepherd, the guide, the leader, is also the gate? When we see the shepherd in front of us, we feel safe. But what about at night? Do we as readily see he is, also, the sheep-gate protecting us? Do we see that in one direction, we are led into safety through the sheep-gate, and that in the other direction, through this same gate, we are led to pastures where we are nourished? Do we fully understand that when we can no longer see the “good shepherd” in front of us, he is still there protecting us from harm?

If we remain in the presence of the good shepherd, we need not be concerned with taking the wrong turn or failing to take the correct one. Do we appreciate, with equal importance, that we are called not only to be members of the flock, to be led and protected by the good shepherd, but also, each of us is called to become a shepherd or shepherdess?

As we are led and protected by Christ the Good Shepherd, we are also asked to become leaders and protectors of others. On this joint celebration of Good Shepherd Sunday, and of our call for world prayer for vocations, perhaps we can, also, ponder several questions written on a prayer card distributed by the national coalition for church vocations: “If not us, who? If not here, where? If not now, when? If not for the kingdom, why? Dare the dream^.2” To which we might add: The dream to follow, and to become the image of Christ the Good Shepherd.

^{Fourth Sunday of Easter; April 25, 1999 (World Day for Prayer for Vocations)
Acts 2:14a, 36-41; 1 Pet 2:20b-25; Jn 10:1-10}

1. _{^{The Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo is a two-week event held every spring when it is time for everyone to “go Texan.”}}
2. _{^{This prayer card was produced by the “National Coalition for Church Vocations” 1603 South Michigan Avenue, Suite 400, Chicago, IL 60616 for distribution at Masses on Vocation Sunday, 1999}}

Last week we celebrated the 30th anniversary of our parish of Christ the Good Shepherd. Depending on which mass you attended, you heard either Fr. John or Deacon Pat Hancock reminds us of our history over these past three decades. Today, I have a question for you that is about these thirty years. However, it’s one maybe only the old-timers among us can answer completely. My question is this: Over the past thirty years, how many “married clergy” have been associated with Christ the Good Shepherd? First of all, does this question surprise you? How many of you are aware we even have a “married clergy?” Men who have been ordained, who have received the sacrament of Holy Orders and were married at the time of their ordinations.

OK. Most of you realize this is a trick question, because almost all of you recognize Permanent Deacons are members of the “clergy” and all of us who were ordained through Christ the Good Shepherd have been married. So, the question really is: over the last thirty years how many men from CGS have been ordained as Permanent Deacons?

Maybe it would help if I recalled their names for you. First of all, there is Steve LaBonte who was the first deacon Fr. Ed had with him when he founded our parish thirty years ago. He was joined by Glenn Cuiper who is now at St Ignatius. A few years later, five of us were ordained at the same time. The four who were ordained with me some twenty-four years ago include Al O’Brien and John Charnisky, who now serve in Kingwood and in The Woodlands. Two of the five have returned to the Father: Bob DeGrave and Barry Beckman. We five were joined, later, by two more: Les Cooper and John Rooney. They were followed by C.J. Mangano and most recently, of course, by Alberto Patetta and Pat Hancock. So, if you’ve been counting, this makes twelve men who have been ordained as Permanent Deacons. And finally, there is Bill Hartman, our current candidate, so we hope, in a few years, to have a so-called “baker’s dozen” of married clergy who have been associated with our parish. However, we all pray the number doesn’t stop there.

Of course the reason why I’m recalling the names of these twelve ordained men is because of the action taken by another Twelve men and their community some two-thousand years ago. In today’s reading from the Acts of the Apostles we heard how complaints were made by certain widows in the first Christian community and how the community chose seven men to serve them. And so, we had the first deacons, the first seven men presented to the Apostles “who prayed and laid hands on them” in blessing.

Because of this Reading, it seemed appropriate to me I should recall, as part of our own ongoing history, the names of those who have been chosen to serve this community through the Diaconate, a word which means “service.” Today’s Gospel Reading speaks of “service,” although we may not recognize this at first. There are so many other important matters contained in what Jesus said to his Disciples during his last dialogue with them the night before he died. Jesus told them to have faith in God, to have faith not only in the Father but also in the one sent by the Father. Jesus urged them to have faith in Him, the visible image of the Father.

We have been reminded of this need for faith in God, faith in Father, Son and Holy Spirit, during this past week as we have listened to the words of Benedict XVI during his visit to the United States. Once more, our attention has been recalled to the words spoken by Jesus, himself: “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places.” And then, Jesus promised those who heard him that he would prepare a place for them in his Father’s house and would return to take them there. He also promised them, in the meantime, he would send the Holy Spirit to be with them.

The Holy Spirit to help them to follow him, the one who is “the Way and the truth and the life.” The Holy Spirit would help them to serve the Father and to serve him who is in the Father. And what does this service demand?

This service demands two actions of those who would be called Christians. This service demands that all of us proclaim, first, that Christ, himself, is the Living Word of God, the Only Son of the Father and, second, he who sees the Son, sees the Father. In addition to this proclamation, this service demands that all of us do the works which have been done and are still being done by the Son.

In today’s Gospel reading we heard Jesus say: “Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me, or else, believe because of the works themselves. Amen, Amen, I say to you, whoever believes in me will do the works that I do and will do greater ones than these, because I am going to the Father.” Jesus told his Disciples, as he tells us in today’s world:
● We are to see God, the Father.
● We are to see his Son in Jesus the Christ.
● We are to follow his Son in order to find the Father.
● We are to align ourselves with Christ.
● We are to become the Body of Christ.

Saint Peter, in his letter which we heard today, calls Christ the cornerstone of the faith. And what is the function of a cornerstone? A cornerstone is the stone with perfect edges, with perfectly straight edges. It is on the foundation of this perfect stone all other stones of the structure are to be aligned so the entire structure does not collapse.

In a similar manner, each one of us must align ourselves to the cornerstone which is Christ. And how do we accomplish this alignment? It is through the power of the Holy Spirit sent to each of us. Through our Baptism we are empowered to become the living stones, the living cells, the living tissues of the Body of Christ. Through Confirmation we reaffirm our being called to do the works of the Holy Spirit. Through Holy Orders or through Matrimony we join others, in community, to become an integrated part of the structure of his Church, of his temple, of his body.

Through Anointing within the community, we are to regain our spiritual health in times of physical duress. Through Reconciliation we are encouraged to reaffirm our connectedness with one another when we have been weakened by the stresses of the world around us. And finally, and most important, through Eucharist we are strengthened to become active members of the Church, of the Body of Christ.

In the words of Saint Peter: “[We] are a chosen [people], a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people of his own, so that [we] may announce the praises of him who called [us] out of darkness into his wonderful light.” Yes, whether we are ordained or are part of the laity, the people of God, all of us are all called to serve. To serve by proclaiming that Jesus is the Son of the Father. To serve one another by doing the works of the Lord.

^{5th Sunday of Easter; April 20, 2008
Acts 6:1-7; 1 Peter 2:4-9; John 14:1-12}

Let me assure you, today’s question is not left over from the last national elections and there’s no political significance in it. My question is this: Do you think there are too many lawyers today? Do you think we really need more of them? But if I’ve annoyed you with this question, how about this one? Do you have a trusted friend available when you run into trouble? Someone who can listen to your problems and give you wise and useful advice. Someone you can confide in. Someone whose opinions you greatly respect. A person who is there for you, day or night. Who will defend you when you’re under attack.

Every one of us, I think, longs for such a friend. It’s probably been that way for thousands of years, maybe all the way back to Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble¹. It was certainly that way some two thousand years ago when Jesus promised his disciples, his friends, he would send them another trusted friend to take his place once he was gone from their sight. He called his friend a “paraclete”.

Paraclete. Now that’s a strange name. Some translations try to make it sound more familiar. They use the word “advocate” or “counselor.” These are terms we use for the person usually called the Holy Spirit, the sacred breath of God blowing upon the Apostles at that first Pentecost. However, if translators were, perhaps, less prejudiced, they would choose a closer English word to translate “paraclete,” the word, “lawyer.”

Once again, how would you react, if you heard Jesus say, “I’m going to have my Father send you a lawyer to take my place?” Yet, this was what he promised. You see, in Roman law, a paraclete was the defense attorney. Sort of the Perry Mason² of 33 AD. The one who spoke on your behalf if you were taken to court. A person who had your best interests at heart, who would defend and protect you. The one who would offer sound advice. Your advocate. Your counselor. Your trusted friend. Someone to guide you and keep you from getting lost in the world.

It’s a terrible thing to get lost in the world, in a crowd of strangers. Every little kid and parent knows this, especially in a place like Greenspoint or Willowbrook³. Or when visiting a foreign country. I know this feeling from personal experience, as I’m sure many of you do, too. Recently, my wife and I went on a Mediterranean Cruise to celebrate our 35th wedding anniversary. When we go on a trip, I seem to see most of it through the viewfinder on my camera. Which is OK, except in a place like Pompeii, with acres of narrow streets packed with other tourists. And since they’re always in the way of my taking the best photo possible, I have to wait for them to clear out before I can take my shot. Which means the rest of the tour group disappears around the next corner, leaving me feeling very lost. Which is why I prefer my wife wear very recognizable clothes when we are touring, so I can spot her and the rest of the group when I get lost. When you’re surrounded by foreign tourists, it’s comforting to be able to recognize your spouse, or the next best thing, your guide waving some sort of flag on the end of a stick. A good guide allows you the freedom to wander around without getting lost in the crowds.

Well, Jesus must have taken his own tours in the cities of the eastern Mediterranean, and knew about the problem of getting lost or, maybe, it was a childhood trauma from being left behind in Jerusalem as a young teenager, even if it were his own choice. But whatever the reason, Jesus promised his companions they would be able to recognize the guide, the wise friend, the counselor he and his father would send. And how would they recognize him? Not by what he wore, not by any flag on the end of a stick but, rather, because this friend, this counselor, this lawyer, would speak the truth.

The truth. A few weeks ago, we heard Pilate ask Jesus the question: “What is the truth?” And now the question is: How do I recognize this truth? When I’m under attack, either by outside enemies or by my own accusations, how am I to know the truth? When others try to tear me apart, who is there to put me back together again? Who is there to render an objective opinion of what is really true? Where do I find the wise friend who listens without judging. Who counsels without lording it over me. Who has my best interests at heart and can help me see both what is right, without prejudice, and what is wrong, without condemnation. How do I recognize the friend who speaks the truth when I need to hear it?

Jesus, in today’s Gospel reading, tells us this special friend, this Advocate, is inside of each one of us and we will recognize him because he is the spirit of truth. But how do we recognize this spirit of truth within us? What do we look for? Perhaps, there is a clue in another verse from the Gospel of John. In chapter 8, Jesus says to his friends, “If you remain in my word, you will truly be my disciples and you will know the truth and the truth will set you free.”

“The truth will set you free.” Truth and freedom. Is Jesus telling us we will recognize the Holy Spirit within us because of the sense of freedom we find within us? But then, what is this freedom? We know it is not a license to do whatever we want, whatever gives me pleasure, without regard for others. To be free is not to be uncontrolled. To be uncontrolled results only in anarchy, not freedom.

For a moment, let’s consider the idea of “free time,” something we all desire, those moments of freedom from all cares, duties and responsibilities. A time merely to be, and not a time to do something. Free-time is truly a gift of freedom, a gift of being. A gift of a moment of being loved.

What is it to be loved? Is there not, in that moment of being loved, a feeling of complete freedom? A feeling you are whole, everything is at peace, at oneness. Is this not what Jesus is telling us in today’s reading: “Those who love me will be loved by my father. I too will love them and reveal myself to them.” Is this how we are to recognize the Holy Spirit with us? By knowing that each one of us is beloved by God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit.

To be loved by God is to be called to be my true self, to be the best I can be, to be called to wholeness. Each one of us is loved by God, not for what we can do but, rather, for who each one of us is. We truly love our kids for who they are and not as replicas of us and a demand they do everything we command of them. Rather, we hope they will do what is right because we love them and they love us. The same is true for our spouse. We love a spouse not as a servant, boss or wage-earner, but rather because we need this other person for our own completeness.

Again, Jesus has said, “Those who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me.” And so, once more, Jesus gives us his promise. We are not left alone in this world. We each have within us, a trusted friend to assure us, to counsel us when we meet with the trials of this world. The Father and the Son have given each one of us a guide to follow when we are lost in the crowds of the world about us. This friend whispers the truth to each one of us, the truth about how each one of us is the beloved of God. And knowing this truth, we have the freedom to follow where we are led. And where we are led is into the Kingdom of God.

^{Sixth Sunday of Easter; May 16,1993 Acts 8:5-8,14-17; 1 Pet 3:15-18; Jn 14:15-21}

1. _{^{Fred and Barney probably do not need a cultural footnote. They are the quintessential friends, albeit in cartoon form, dating back to the stone age.}}
2. _{^{Again, a cultural footnote is probably not needed for Perry Mason, the quintessential defense attorney of books and TV.}}
3. _{^{Greenspoint and Willowbrook are two major malls in northwest Houston, serving the area where the members of Christ the Good Shepherd live.}}

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. That short prayer is the way many an old-time sermon began. But somehow, I’m expected to begin my homilies with a question. So, not to disappoint you, I do have a question. In fact, it’s almost a poll I would like to take. However, since I don’t want to embarrass anyone, you don’t need to raise your hand or answer out loud. The question is this: When you pray to God, do you usually pray to God the Father? Or do you usually pray to God, the Son? Or do you usually pray to God, the Holy Spirit?

When this question appears in surveys, the majority of Catholics will say they usually pray to either God, the Father, or to God, the Son, that is, Jesus. Roughly only 10 to 20 percent address their prayers routinely to God, the Holy Spirit¹. Well, today, the focus of my reflection will be on the Third Person of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit. After all, the Holy Spirit is the focus of today’s Gospel reading. This next Thursday we’ll celebrate the Ascension of the Lord and nine days later, Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit came down upon the Apostles. So, it’s appropriate I speak about the Holy Spirit, today.

It’s also appropriate I talk about another important person, or persons, today. Of course they are “mothers,” since today is the special, once-a-year-day when we honor them. So, the real focus for this reflection is on both the Holy Spirit and upon mothers, upon the similarity of these two manifestations of God’s love for us. ²

So, to begin, let’s take another look at today’s Gospel reading from John, where Jesus says: “If you love me and obey the commands I give you, I will ask the Father and he will give you another paraclete — to be with you always: the Spirit of truth ….” And Jesus goes on to say: “I will not leave you orphaned; I will come back to you. …. on that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you.”

I find it interesting, and comforting, that Jesus, himself, says he will not leave us orphaned. He, himself, will come back to us, almost as if he were our parent as well as our brother. And how will he return? As another paraclete.

“Paraclete.” That’s a strange word. In some translations it’s rendered as “advocate.” But I’m not sure this makes it any easier to understand. Yet, it does come close to the original meaning of the term, lawyer, one who speaks for you and defends you in a court of law. But somehow, for most of us, we would not be greatly comforted if we heard Jesus say: “I’m going to send you a lawyer … to be with you always.” So, instead, let’s look at some other ways we might describe this paraclete, this advocate, this lawyer, this Holy Spirit.

One of the first words that might come to mind is: consoler. We often speak of the Holy Spirt as the great consoler or comforter. And in this light, I would offer you the image of a mother as the great consoler or comforter in the life of her child. After all, who is there, kneeling beside you, when you fall off your bike, or scratch your leg when the roller skates go out from under you? Or now a-days, perhaps, it’s a skateboard or roller blades. But no matter what it is that we fall off of, or out of, from moving objects to stationary tree houses, mom is always there to console, to comfort. And so is the Holy Spirit.

And how does mom make the wound better? She kisses it. A mom’s kisses are very therapeutic for the young, and for the old. They heal a hurt even faster than her chicken soup heals a cold. Both moms and the Holy Spirit are spoken of as “healers.”

Advocates, lawyers – and moms – are also councilors. Mom advises us on how to get along with other people, with friends at school. And while dads offer much advice, the chances are that when the son or daughter goes out on a first date, most of the advice you really listen to comes from mom. And when you return from a date, or from any event in your life having real importance to you, your mom is among the first to hear all about it. Just like the Holy Spirit is there, inside of each one of us, to offer council and to listen intently to how the relationships and the events of our lives are going, either well or not-so-well.

When relationships or events don’t go well, mom is always there to protect us and defend us. Dad may offer young boys advise on how to combat bullies, but it’s mom who goes to the principle’s office, or to the school board. It’s mom who chases off the puppy dog nipping at your heels. And she may even yell at those bullies, themselves, if the opportunity arises.

Dads aren’t as sure as moms about who cause what in life. Dad might suspect a child has done wrong, but mom knows, with absolute certainty, her child is never, or at least seldom, wrong. Perhaps, mom and the Holy Spirit have something in common when it comes to protecting us from the rest of society and from ourselves.

And when something does go wrong, when we feel estranged from dad, or have had a bad argument with a brother or sister or a friend, mom is there as the great reconciler. Reconciler. That’s another name for the Holy Spirit. Mom and the Holy Spirit are there to help us get back on the right track, to make amends, to help us kiss and make up, to become reconciled.

When we need to do the right thing, mom and the Holy Spirit are there. When a piece of unpaid-for candy leaves the store, she is the one who finds out by the look on our face what we did and makes us return it. Mom has a keen eye for looking into our hearts. Or as Erma Bombeck has written: mom has three pairs of eyes. “One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, ‘what are you kids doing in there?’ when she already knows. Another in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn’t, but what she has to know, and of course the ones in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and say, ‘I understand and I love you’ without so much as uttering a word.”

I love you. That’s really what Jesus was saying in today’s Gospel reading. I love you and I will teach you about love. At the end of today’s Gospel he says: “The [one] who loves me will be loved by my Father. I too will love [you] and reveal myself to [you].”

Reveal myself. The Holy Spirit is also called the one who reveals God to us. This, too, is the role of a mother. She is the one who usually teaches us our first prayers. And when we go to church, it is from her pocketbook that she pulls out the car keys to keep us occupied so others will not be distracted. And it is from this same bottomless purse that she pulls out a small plastic bag of Cheerios – and mints – and picture books of Bible stories – and small images of Pocahontas and John Smith³. Yes, mom reveals God to us in the prayers she teaches and the little things in life that make us happy in his house.

And from that purse, she also pulls out a Kleenex. She notices a dirty spot on the tip of our nose, and licking her finger, applies both moisture and a dry tissue to clean us up. I maintain, while modern dads may do many of the things moms do, there is not a single dad who would clean a child’s face that way. He would look for the wet wipes.⁴

But in this image of mom cleaning up a child’s grubby face, I also see an image of the Holy Spirit who offers us the cleansing waters of Baptism. For it is with these waters, we are, indeed, washed clean. It is with these waters, empowered by the Holy Spirit, we are welcomed into the family of Christians. It is with the same diligence a mom has in trying to keep her kids free from grime and dirt, that the Holy Spirit takes in making us worthy of the Kingdom.

Often we perceive life as a struggle, as a battle, as a contest. Some might use the analogy of a sporting event. St Paul certainly liked to talk about running and about races. And when we watch a live TV presentation of football players who have been making mincemeat of one another on the field and the camera pans to a particular dirty and messed up player resting on the bench and he looks up shyly at the camera, what does he say? “Hi mom!”

And so, perhaps, when we engage in our own daily battles, in the many games we play each day, when we feel especially beat up by everyone and everything we see, perhaps, each one of us can look up into the heavens and say, “Hi, Holy Spirit,” with the same love shown by that football player for his ever-present, ever-loving mom.

^{Sixth Sunday of Easter; May 12, 1996 and Mothers’ Day
Acts 8:5-8, 14-17; 1 Pet 3:15-18; Jn 14:15-21}

1. ^{_{The “statistics” came, I believe, from a copy of US Catholic I had read shortly before preparing this homily, so, the issue must have appeared in the spring of 1996.}}
2. _{^{{In the original draft for this homily I included a paragraph on the “gender” of God. It was not included in the delivered homily, in order to decrease its length. The omitted paragraph follows.} Some of you might prefer for me to talk about God as mother. Others would be very disturbed by such a reflection. For both groups I want to emphasize that my words are used by way of analogies and metaphors. To make myself clear, I’d like to read part of a paragraph from the Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraph 239, which reads: “… by calling God “Father,” the language of faith indicates two main things: that God is the first origin of everything and transcendent authority; and that he is at the same time goodness and loving care for all his children. God’s parental tenderness can also be expressed by the image of motherhood, which emphasizes God’s immanence, the intimacy between creator and creature. The language of faith thus draws on the human experience of parents, who are in a way the first representatives of God for us. But this experience also tells us that human parents are fallible and can disfigure the face of fatherhood and motherhood. We ought therefore to recall that God transcends the human distinction between the sexes. [God] is neither man nor woman: [God] is God.”}}
3. _{^{The Disney movie Pocahontas was popular during this season and the action figures were evident among the smaller members of the gathering.}}
4. _{^{After Mass, one of my sons (who at latest count has seven children) disagreed with me on this point. Evidently, he, too, licks.}}

Today’s question is about prayer. Unfortunately, however, you may need to be over 30 in order to answer it. My question is this: How many of you can recite the prayer “Hail, Holy Queen?” Ok. Let’s do it! “Hail Holy Queen, mother of mercy, our life, our sweetness, and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve; to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears. Turn, then, most gracious Advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us; and after this our exile, show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus, o clement, o loving, o sweet Virgin Mary.” And if you’re really into old-time prayer, you might add: “Pray for us, o holy Mother of God. That we may be worthy of the promises of Christ.”

“…the promises of Christ…” and just what did he promise us? Many things. And one of them was the promise he made in today’s Gospel reading: “I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you.” He made this promise right after he told his disciples: “…I will ask the Father, and he will give you another advocate to be with you always, the spirit of truth …”

And just what is an “advocate?” Some scholars tell us it’s the English equivalent for the Greek word: paraclete. And they go on to say that “paraclete” or “advocate” was the term used in a Roman court of law for the man who defended his client. In other words, Jesus told his disciples he was going to send them a lawyer who would be with them always, a lawyer who would be known as “the spirit of truth.”

I don’t know about you, but I, myself, find it difficult to think our triune God could be known as Father, Son and “Holy Lawyer.” So, maybe it’s appropriate to take a closer look at that advocate, that “paraclete,” Jesus promised would be sent by God the Father to those who loved him and kept his commandments.

And what better time to do this than on the day when we celebrate mothers, who they are; and what they’ve done for us. Because it’s with a consideration of mothers that we may be able to come to a better appreciation for just what might be meant by the advocate who would be sent to us. I believe it’s not far fetched to think of an advocate in terms of mothers, of those women who dedicate their lives to their children.

For after all, in that prayer we recited a few minutes ago, we referred to the Blessed Virgin Mary as the “… most gracious advocate …” So, let’s take a closer look at some characteristics of human mothers who are earthly models of the holy spirit. Or looking at it from the other direction, we might reflect for a moment on other titles we use for the Holy Spirit and how these qualities relate to mothers.¹

^{_{Sixth Sunday of Easter; May 3, 1999, and Mothers’ Day, 1999
Acts 6:1-7; 1 pet 2:4-9; Jn 14: 1-12}}

1. _{^{The remainder of this homily included the major thoughts expressed in a previous homily when the Sixth Sunday of Easter occurred on Mothers’ Day, i.e. in 1996. The terms are: consoler, healer, councilor, protector, reconciler, confronter (per Emma Bombeck), lover, revealer of God, and washer of grime. In deference to my son (see footnote for 1996), the statement about dads using wet wipes instead of spit-and-polish was omitted}}.

Today I have a question, or really a series of questions for which there is no single answer. Actually it’s a general question, perhaps, a topical question you might consider. The topic is about “waiting.” When was the last time you had to wait for something? How did you feel about waiting? The reason there is no one answer is that waiting is a very personal event. And how we respond is personal too.

There are many different circumstances for waiting. There is waiting in line at the bank or postoffice, or at that so-called “fast food” restaurant, and wondering why the character in front of me is taking so long to make a simple decision, like how much money should I take out, or how many stamps should I buy, or do I really want to super-size my fries?

Or there is waiting in a regular restaurant for the so-called “wait staff person” to notice I really exist and have existed at that same table for the last ten minutes. Or there is waiting for the bus to arrive and wondering if I just missed the last one by a few minutes and will need to wait an hour for the next one. In each case we may, at first, feel frustrated or irritated. If the waiting goes on even longer, we may feel lost or abandoned. But these instances are trivial compared with other events for which we might wait.

Some of us are now waiting, longingly, for the school year to end. Of course, I’m thinking of the teachers, not the students, and certainly not the parents. Each group has its own reasons for the time to pass either more quickly, or more slowly. But this, too, may be a trivial example of waiting for the passage of time, the moment when a conclusion is reached, and the next period of waiting can begin.

There are, however, other events we want to see concluded. We wait for them, too. We wait for the results of the meeting of our bishops in Dallas next month and a meaningful resolution of the turmoil in our church¹. Some wait for a true change in our economy and an end to the confusions of the marketplace. And some wait for an end to violence in the Middle East and a time when the Church of the Nativity represents, once more, “life” rather than “death.”²

Yes, this is a time for waiting. A time when we are irritated and frustrated by the events around us. A time when we may feel lost and abandoned. Yet, this is also the season for hope. A season when we know, without firm proof, our God is still with us. It is a season in which we hear the words written by St Peter to the first Christians: “Beloved: sanctify Christ as Lord in your hearts. Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope, but do it with gentleness and reverence …”

A reason for your hope. What, indeed, is the reason for your hope? The reason why we can wait without frustration and irritation. The reason why we can wait without feeling lost and abandoned. The reason why we can know with full conviction that we are not alone. Why we are not orphans.

In today’s Gospel, today’s Good News, Jesus was about to take final leave of his friends or so they thought. They would now need to wait for his return at the end of time, when all would be reunited with God. He knew they might feel as if he were abandoning them. And so he told them, and he tells us: “I will not leave you orphans, I will come to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me, because I live and you will live. On that day you will realize that I am in my Father and you are in me and I in you.”

Yes, this is the season when we are again reminded that the Holy Spirit has been given to us, sent to us through the love of the Father and of the Son: To be our advocate, our guide, our defender, our counselor, the one who will be with us to show us how to wait with love and fortitude, with courage and patience.

Next Sunday we celebrate the Ascension of our Lord.³ The following Sunday we will celebrate the Feast of Pentecost and recall how the Holy Spirit was sent to the Apostles two thousand years ago. But today, and every day, right now in this very moment, and in all the moments to come, we celebrate the actual presence of this same Holy Spirit in our lives.

We do not wait for the Coming of the Spirit. In our baptism we have already received the Holy Spirit. In our daily actions, in our daily love for others, we reveal his presence in this world, a world that sometimes seems to be dominated by violence and terror but which we know is a world infused with hope and the Spirit of Truth, the spirit of life, the Holy Spirit of God.

^{Sixth Sunday of Easter; May 5, 2002
Acts 8:5-8, 14-17; 1 Pet 3:15-18; Jn 14:15-21}

1. _{^{This is the meeting at which our Catholic bishops discussed and promulgated the guidelines for addressing the issues of child abuse within the Church.}}
2. _{^{The Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem had recently been taken by Iraqi militants and used as a refuge or fortification against “coalition” soldiers.}}
3. _{^{In the United States, this was the first year in which the Feast of the Ascension was transferred from Thursday, the fortieth day after Easter, to the Sunday following the Sixth Sunday of Easter.}}

Today’s question is a very personal one: Is there something you wish you could do that you have absolutely no talent or skill to do? Is there some activity in which you are a real klutz? I have one which I am reluctant to admit. It’s this: I cannot sing. Sometimes I’ve laughed it off by saying: “If I’m perfect at anything, I’m a perfect monotone.” You may not think an inability to sing is very traumatic, but I assure you it is.

It started way back in elementary school. At that time, children’s musicals were popular. Back then, I usually was given the lead part. The reason was: I was the only boy who would take the time to memorize all of the lines. But since the teachers said I could not carry a tune, I had to recite all of my lines like poetry. When it came time to sing as part of the chorus, I was instructed to mouth the words and not utter a sound. In junior high, when everyone had to take a class in choral singing, I was excused from taking it. As a result of all of this, I never sang in high school or college.

Back then, going to church wasn’t too traumatic an experience for me. Thirty years ago, Catholics weren’t expected to sing at Mass. But then came Vatican II and a change in the liturgy. To make matters worse, my wife has a very lovely voice. Some of you have heard her sing. Many of you have also heard our older son’s voice. He sometimes is part of the music ministry. (He’s the tall guy with the mustache.) With both Karen and Ken standing next to me at Mass, I always felt very intimidated. I refused to make a fool of myself and so would stand there determined not to open my mouth.

Why am I telling you this? Because I wanted to start today’s homily with a particular song, but there is no way I could to that myself. So, what I would like to do is invite one of the cantors to come to the microphone and do it for me. (I haven’t told them about any of this ahead of time. Surprises can be good for musicians, too.) The rest of you who aren’t like me, can sing along with our cantor. I’d like all of you who know the words to join in. It’s only one verse. The song is an old one. The words go back to the 1600’s. It’s “Praise God from whom all blessings flow.”

“Praise God, from whom all blessings flow. Praise him, all creatures here below. Praise him above, ye heav’nly host. Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”

Very good. Do you know what else that song is called? Yes, it’s also called “the doxology.” The word “doxology” comes from the Greek word, doxa, which means “glory.” And that’s why I wanted to begin this reflection with a “doxology.”

The focus for today’s homily is on the meaning of glory, of giving glory to God, of being glorified. The word “glory” or “glorified” appears six times in today’s Gospel reading from John and three times in the Second Reading taken from a Letter from Peter. So, today, I’d like for us to think for a few minutes about glory.

I believe in our modern society we have lost our cultural sense of what glory is all about. Glory deals, in a way, with pomp and circumstance, with a sense of celebration of victory. At this time of the year, we are reminded of what glory meant to the people of the Middle Ages when we attend a graduation exercise, especially a college graduation.

How do you feel when you hear the processional music and see the students and faculty march into the auditorium wearing their academic gowns? The robes and colored hoods worn by the professors date directly back to the thirteenth and fourteen century when universities were established in Europe. The sense of glory goes back even farther than the Middle Ages, back to the time of Rome with its triumphal marches of victors with their captured armies and war booty brought back for all to see.

Back to the Hebrews of the time of Jesus. Their word for glory was related directly to God, rather than to human victors. The Hebrew word for glory was associated with the thunder and lightning of Mount Sinai when God appeared to Moses. It meant the brightness of the God who could not be seen by mortals except in this shining radiance. Can you feel some of the sense of that kind of glory when you hear the words of Jesus in the Gospel of John: “Father, the hour has come! Give glory to your son, that your son may give glory to you. Father, give me glory at your side, a glory I had with you before the world began.”

In our modern society when we think of Jesus, our brother, it is difficult to see him as the glorified Christ, a Christ triumphant over sin and death. And yet, this is what we are called to do. He is more than every rock star, movie idol, or million-dollar athlete rolled into one.

Yet, there is another side to this call to glory. It is this side to which we are also called. Returning to the words of John’s Gospel, we hear: “It is in [these who believe that you, Fathers, have sent me] that I am glorified.” And the Letter of Peter goes on to say: “[every Christian] should. Glorify God in virtue of the name of Christ.”

Although we might be able to see how Jesus is glorified by God, the Father, how are we to give him glory? How are we to give glory to God who has everything? How can we glorify Jesus?

Think for a moment about reflections. There are two kinds of reflections: the interior ones which go on in our minds when we are asked to reflect upon the words of scripture and the exterior reflection of a mirror. Imagine for a moment, the power of a mirror which reflects and focuses the light of the sun. Have you ever been blinded by that reflected light? As a child playing with a mirror in the yard. As a driver seeing green spots because of the reflection off the back window of the car ahead of you on the highway. A simple mirror reflects the light and heat of the sun. A mirror focuses this light and heat to an intensity not seen in the original radiation. In the same manner, we are called to be mirrors of God, mirrors reflecting back and magnifying the light of Christ.

How are we to do this? Think for a moment about still another meaning of the word, “reflect.” How often have you told your child what he or she does “reflects” back on the family? Haven’t you kids been told time and again you are a “reflection” of the family? Have we all not been reminded each Christian is to be a reflection of Christ? Everything we do, or don’t do, is a reflection of who we are.

Some of you may recall the motto of the Jesuits: everything is to be done “for the greater glory of God.” Each one of us glorifies Christ by each and every action that is truly “Christian” – even, as the Letter of Peter reminds us, by our Christian suffering, a suffering that does not come as a result of our own wrongdoing but rather a Christian suffering that comes because we defend the rights of others.

We need to recall the words of the doxology we heard a few minutes ago. We need to “praise God, from whom all blessings flow.” We need to recognize the talents and skills he has given to us, his creatures, come from our creator God and we should use them to reflect back his glory. And yes, sometimes we even need to make use of the limited talents he has given. To use our major gifts in giving glory to God is easy. The difficult task is making use of our limitations.

I said that for many years of my adult life I refused to sing at Mass. But about twelve years ago¹ Karen and I made a Marriage Encounter weekend which radically changed my life. Shortly after that weekend, I began to sing while part of the congregation. After all, scripture does say we are to make a joyful noise unto the Lord. I also admit I don’t sing very loudly, I still have compassion for those around me, but I do make an attempt. I think this is all God really asks of each one of us: to make an attempt. To try to change. To try to do whatever can be done “for the greater glory of God.”

In that attempt, we have the help of Christ, himself. There is another “doxology” which is part of each Eucharistic celebration. This doxology reminds us of this fact that Christ is with us to help us give glory to his Father. At the completion of the Eucharistic prayer, just before we join together to pray to our Father, the priest elevates the host as the deacon raises the cup. The celebrant then proclaims the doxology which says: “Through him, with him, in him, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, all glory and honor is yours, almighty Father, forever and ever.”

And to these words we all respond with the Hebrew word, “Amen” which means “I agree” or “I believe,” a word some say is better translated by the common expression: “right on!” Perhaps, at this liturgy we can once again reflect upon how each one of us can give glory to God, how each one of us, using our gifts and overcoming our limitations, can reflect back what he has given us. And in our hearts, perhaps each one of us can offer a true “amen!” – “Right on!”

^{Seventh Sunday of Easter; May 27, 1990
Acts 1:12-14; 1 Pet 4:13-16; Jn 17:1-11}

1. _{^{We made our Marriage Encounter in December 1977.}}

This morning, I have a slightly different kind of question for you. Or maybe it’s the way you need to answer it that’s different. Right now, I’d invite each of you to turn to someone you don’t know and introduce yourself to that person. Tell whomever you greet, where you were born and, if you weren’t born here, where you lived before coming to Houston. OK. Do it now, and only with one person, not everyone around you. Introduce yourself to a stranger and tell one another where you were born or where you came from.

From the sound of it, I’d guess it may be a little like the confusion heard some two thousand years ago, when Jews from all over the Mediterranean world crowded into Jerusalem to celebrate their Feast of Pentecost. Here at Good Shepherd, we might not have anyone from Cappadocia, or as the passage from the “Acts of the Apostles” has it for today, “from the regions of Libya near Cyrene,” but we do have folks from New England, California, Michigan, Florida, and all points in between. We have others from Asia, Africa and Europe as well as from Islands in the Pacific. I’m sure we have many from Mexico and from Central or South America. This mix of geography and accents we heard, along with the sounds of our greeting one another, leads me to the focus for today’s homily, a focus on communication.

However, when I first reflected on the readings for today, the Feast of A Pentecost, it wasn’t the sound of many voices and languages that prompted me to focus on communication. Instead, it was the absence of sound and the complete lack of communication. We need to begin, not with sound, but with isolation. For me, the point of today’s Pentecost proclamation is this: to realize God comes to us in our isolation, gives us the Holy Spirit, and sends us forth to reconcile others through our gifts, our ministries and our actions. Let’s begin with the isolation of the disciples and that first Easter, rather than fifty days later.

Today’s Gospel reading puts us back in the upper room on the evening of that first Easter. The disciples of Jesus had isolated themselves in the room where they had eaten the Passover Meal with him, where they had last been so happy with him. But now they were in fear and puzzlement. They had seen him crucified three days ago, and yet this very morning, some of them had seen the empty tomb where they had laid him. It’s no wonder they huddled together behind locked doors in fear for their own lives. When suddenly, Jesus was there to bring them his peace. At the sight of the Lord, the disciples rejoiced. Their isolation had been broken.

Now let’s shift to fifty days later, to the Jewish Feast of Pentecost, which they called Shavuot. This feast day commemorated the giving of the ten Commandments to Moses. Just as Passover celebrated Exodus and the Israelite’s freedom from the Egyptians, Pentecost celebrated the coming of Torah, the giving of the Law, the Center of Jewish life. It’s no wonder Jews from all parts of the Mediterranean were gathered in Jerusalem.

In other years, the disciples would have been as joy-filled as all the other Jews gathered to celebrate the giving of Torah to the Jewish nation. But not his year. A short nine days ago, their Lord had left them a second time. Can you image how they felt, gathered once more in that upper room where they had shared the Passover Meal with Jesus, where on the first day of the week, he had appeared to them? He had stayed with them for forty glorious days. But then, a week ago Thursday, Jesus had left them. Once more they were alone, perhaps even more alone than the first time. How alone would you feel, having regained a loved one, and then losing your beloved a second time? Once more, those men and women who had followed their Lord were isolated behind locked doors, afraid, lonely.

Now, let’s leave that scene and travel some two-thousand years forward in time. Here we are at Pentecost 2005, fifty days after Easter. Do you feel isolated, alone? How fearful are we as a nation on this Pentecost?2 What is the nature of our collective isolation when we think about terrorism here and abroad? How lonely and fearful are we about those we love being engaged in a war so far away from us?

Who among us feel isolated, because of job cutbacks or economic events? How many of us are isolated here in Houston, with our family and closest friends living in other parts of the country? We may have access to e-mails and cell phones, even those which show us photos of those we love. Yet, we hunger for their real presence.

Who among us feel isolated because of sickness or ill-health, because of the advance of years and the death of loved ones? We may not be physically walled-off or imprisoned, but how many are there who are emotionally walled off through anger or misunderstanding? There are teenagers and parents who give one another the silent treatment between bouts of shouting and anger. There are friends we no longer speak to, even in the same neighborhood or at work. Where in our world of 2005, are the interactions and communication which can pierce our shell of isolation?

Are these the feelings the disciples had on that Pentecost long ago? When suddenly, they heard the wind and saw the tongues of fire descending. When suddenly their isolation was ripped apart and they went shouting out into the streets to proclaim the mighty acts of God. Today, the question really is: can the Pentecost of yesterday be with us today? Can the wind and fire of that Pentecost break through today’s isolation and move us to action and communication? Perhaps, the answer can be found in the words we heard proclaimed a few minutes ago.

We say Pentecost is the Birthday of the Church, but birthdays are not merely one-time events. Birthdays are celebrated every year, so long as one is alive. In between the days of celebration are the days for life, itself. And that is what today’s proclamation of God’s word is about: our life in the Spirit, not what happened two thousand years ago, but what happens every day. The Church lives today, just as it has each day for the past twenty centuries. We live, today, as members of one body. We are linked to one another. We are to share our gifts with one another.

As Saint Paul reminds us, we perform different ministries, different services, and different works, but we are one people, one community, one Body of Christ. We are diverse, yet we are one. We become one through communication. It is only through communication that our isolation can be destroyed. Communication does not mean that the misunderstood teenager becomes a parent. The worker who has lost a job still has problems. Our family and friends still live up north or in foreign lands. But when we allow the Holy Spirit, who is in each of us, to listen through each of us, to speak through each of us, and to act through each of us, we begin to destroy the loneliness, the isolation, and the fear. Where do we begin?

Sometimes, the Holy Spirit seems to come in the noise, the wind and fire of a major rebirth. Yet, we need to remember the time when Jesus gave his disciples his Peace and the Holy Spirit, not in the form of a wind and tongues of flame, but rather in the form of his gentle breath. He breathed on them and gave them the Holy Spirit. He asked them to forgive one another, to be reconciled to one another, to pray for one another.

Isolation can be broken by a smile and by prayer. Prayer for another. If you know someone is praying for you, how can you continue to feel isolated, to be lonely? A few minutes ago, I said the focus of this reflection would be on how God comes to us in our isolation, in our own locked upper room, how he gives us the Holy Spirit and sends us forth to reconcile with others. I believe he gives us his Holy Spirit in the ways St Paul tells us about, through being members of the body of Christ. As members of this body, we need to help one another overcome our sense of isolation.

When we began today’s reflection, I asked each of you to introduce yourself to a stranger. We heard the sound of the Holy Spirit in our greeting. In a moment I would invite you to smile at that person who is part of the Body of Christ. And then for the remaining minutes of our reflection, I would urge you to pray for that person. Let us pray that the former stranger you met a few minutes ago may know Jesus has said to each one of us: “My peace be with you.” Let us, now, pray for each member of the Body of Christ.

^{Pentecost Sunday: May 15, 2005 (Cycle A) revised from May 18, 1986 (Cycle C)
Acts 2:1-11; 1 Cor 12:3b-7, 12-13; Jn 20:19-23}

The version for 1986 contained the following introduction at the beginning of the homily:
This morning we’ve heard the word of God proclaimed in a way that’s very different from what we usually hear. Instead of having three separate readings, we’ve heard a single one which has parts of all three readings* in it. And we’ve heard the message in more than one language. Since today’s reading provides a different beginning for today’s reflection, I’d like to continue in a slightly different way.
Right now I’d invite each of you to turn to someone you don’t know and introduce yourself to that person. Tell whomever you greet, where you were born and where you lived before coming to Houston, if you weren’t born here. OK. Do it now: and only with one person, not everyone around you.

* The following is the instruction and combined reading:

A series of quotations from the three readings was prepared in English and in four other languages which varied with each Mass, depending upon the native speakers available at the time of the liturgy. Each non-English reader was to use the concept found only in the given quotation. (They were encouraged to use a native language version of the Bible.) Each statement was read in English and then repeated in the other tongues. The languages included: Arabic, Filipino, French, Gaelic, German, Italian, Polish and Spanish. The English version follows:
● “A Reading from the word of God.
● While the disciples were behind locked doors for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood before them. ‘Peace be with you,’ he said. (John 20:19)
● ‘As the Father has sent me, so I send you; for those whose sins you forgive, they are forgiven.’” (John 20:21b)
● “On the feast of Pentecost, the disciples were again gather in one place. (Acts 2:1)
● Suddenly, there came a noise like a strong driving wind. Everyone heard it. Tongues, as of fire, appeared which parted and came to rest on each of them.” (2:2-3)
● All were filled with the Holy Spirit and made bold proclamations in foreign tongues. (2:4)
● [spoken together in all languages] They proclaimed the marvels God had accomplished.” (2:11)
● “There are different gifts, but the same spirit. (1 Corinthians 12:4)
● There are different ministries, but the same Lord. (12:5)
● There are different works, but the same God who accomplishes all of them in everyone. (12:6)
● The Spirit is given to each person for the common good.” (1 Cor 12:7)
● [spoken together in all languages] “This is the Word of the Lord.”

Have you ever looked out of an airplane window at thirty-thousand feet and wondered what it would be like to be God? Seeing the earth from five miles up is an impressive sight, seeing the wrinkles of the Rocky Mountains or the U-turns of the Mississippi give me a feeling of awe. What must God see when he looks down on this planet?

Ancient people wondered about this too, even without the experience of airplanes. In their imagination, they saw their gods looking down from on high, perhaps from Mount Olympus, or from Valhalla. Their gods flew above the earth, they were really not part of it. Even the God of the Israelites was known as El Shaddahi, the God of the mountain. Generations later, Yahweh appeared to Moses on the top of Mount Sinai. The most holy place of all was Mount Zion. But then, something occurred which changed all of that. “Yes, God so loved the world that he gave his only son, that whoever believes in him may not die but may have eternal life.”

Today is Trinity Sunday, the feast day when we celebrate our One God in three divine Persons: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. On such a day, a homilist might say this is an unexplainable mystery. I could say that, too, and then sit down, having given one of the shortest homilies you’ve ever heard me give! Although some of you might prefer it that way, Father Ed says I have to do more than that, otherwise I might set a bad example, and you might expect he should give two-minute homilies on Sundays!

Yes, the Trinity is a mystery which cannot really be explained but must be accepted. However, I do believe it’s worthwhile for us to reflect on what the Trinity means to each one of us. So, the focus of my reflection for today is on what the Trinity means to me. I also need to mention what the Trinity is not. It’s not three separate things. Whatever I might say about God-the-Father is equally true for God-the-Son and God-the-Holy Spirit. That’s what makes it a mystery.

Today is also Flag Day. And it would be tempting to think of the Trinity in terms of the red, white and blue of the flag. After all, the flag has a meaning only when all three colors are present. Take one away and you don’t have a U.S. flag. In that way, the flag is a little like the Trinity. But in our flag, the three colors are always completely separate. Somehow in the Trinity, the three persons, although distinct, are never separate.

All of this can become very much of a head-trip. From time to time the Trinity has been called the toy of the theologians, meaning the idea is so abstract only theologians can play around with it. But the Trinity, our God, is not for just theologians. The Trinity, our Three-in-One God, is for you and for me. So, what do I mean when I think about the Trinity?

First, of all, I think about the Father. For me, God, the Almighty, was originally a white-bearded grandfather figure. And that’s what he was for the Hebrews too. In our first reading from Exodus, Yahweh-God described himself to Moses. Yahweh-God said that he, himself, was “ … merciful, gracious … slow to anger and rich in kindness and fidelity.” Isn’t that a description for most grandfathers you know? After all, most grandparents are usually more understanding of little kids than their parents are. Sometimes we hear descriptions of God as Father, or Abba, and have trouble relating to this image because of problems we’ve had with our own father. In fact, in some non-European cultures, where the biological father was not around, and the true support came from the grandfather, early missionaries spoke of God-our-Grandfather, rather than God-our-Father

When we speak of the Trinity and say God-our-Father, what we are really saying is that God is someone who offers us warmth, protection, mercy, kindness, forgiveness (just like a papa or mama does, or a favorite grandpa or grandma or uncle or aunt does.) God offers me a lap to cuddle up in, and warm arms to hug me. When I say God-our-Father, I mean God is like the perfect parent I long for.

But God is more than that. God is also my perfect brother. And since I’m an only child, this person is like the perfect brother or sister I never saw but dreamed about. God-the-Son is that perfect sibling. God-the-Son is like a friend or companion. He is also a guide or teacher. But he’s not an authority figure.

Think for a moment, of your very best friend, your buddy, your pal, your favorite brother or favorite sister. Now then, God-my-Best-Friend is just like that. God is someone I can laugh with, or cry with. God is someone I can argue with and still speak with when the argument ends. God is someone I can tell my secrets to who won’t laugh and will not think I’m either crazy or bad. God-my-Best-Friend is someone who listens to me no matter what I say or when I say it. My best friend also challenges me to be better than I think I can be. My best friend shares my experiences and helps me see what they mean in my life. While God-the-Father gives me comfort, God-the-Son gives me companionship.

And what about God-the-Holy-Spirit? Here we need to reflect for a moment on how we say that God is Love. The Holy Spirit is the love of the Father for the Son and of the Son for the Father, the love of the parent for the child and of the child for the parent. The Holy Spirit is, also, the love between two best-friends, between perfect brothers or sisters. The Holy Spirit is love and also the lover. The Holy Spirit is not only the lover but also the beloved. Every lover and every beloved experience the strength and the courage which come from the love they share. When we truly are in love, we say we’d climb the highest mountain or swim the deepest ocean.

But love is even more than that. When you are truly in love, you can close your eyes and feel the presence of the lover, of the beloved. You can be half a world away from one another and still be present to one another. And this is what Jesus, the Son of God, promised to each of us. He promised he and his Father would send us a lover and a beloved who would defend us, strengthen us, give us the gifts of the Father. One who would always be with us. When we speak of the Trinity and say God-the-Holy-Spirit, what we are really saying is that God is like the lover, the beloved, who is constantly within me, who is as real to me as anything I can touch, because this lover/beloved is part of me. While God-the-Father gives me comfort, and God-the-Son gives me companionship, God-the-Holy-Spirit gives me completeness.

A few minutes ago, when I began this reflection, I used the image of an almighty God flying above the earth, or looking down on mere mortals from some high mountain. But such a God is not our Trinitarian God. Our God does not soar above us. He is not some external power who judges us and condemns us. In the words of today’s Gospel: “God did not send the son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him.” Our Trinitarian God, instead of being above us, is with us, as a parent, as a companion and as our completeness. Yes, most important, our God is within us, within you and within me. He calls each one of us to recognize and honor this fact, to live in harmony and peace with ourselves and with others. In this way, the God of love and peace will be with you.

What more can I add than the greeting of St Paul to the brothers and sisters at Corinth? “May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.”

^{Trinity Sunday; June 14, 1987
Ex 34:4-6, 8-9; 2 Cor 13:11-13; Jn 3:16-18}

This weekend we celebrate “Trinity” Sunday. So, my question should probably be about the Trinity. How about this one, this question, for Trinity Sunday: What is the usual symbol we use to denote “The Trinity?” If you’re Irish, I suppose you thought of St. Patrick’s shamrock. However, the more ancient symbol for the Trinity is the triangle, an equilateral triangle, one in which the three sides are equal, and the three angles are equal. Yes, this is often how in religious artwork the Trinity is depicted, a triangle standing for the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, the three “persons” who compose our one, Trinitarian God.

But there is a third symbol, a predominantly Catholic symbol, that also represents the Trinity of Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Of course, I mean the “Sign of the Cross” which every one of our children learns to make at an early age, even if they aren’t quite sure whether the left or right shoulder comes first. Yes, Father, Son and Holy Spirit (or Holy Ghost, if you are as old as I am) have played an import role in our lives. Or is it “roles?” Do the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit play one and the same role, or do they each play a different role in our lives?

The answer to this question is not an easy one. Scholars and people, in general, have wondered about it for centuries. Just what do we mean by our One, Trinitarian God? What do we mean when we say we believe in One God with three divine “persons:” Father, Son and Holy Spirit? In fact, there are some so-called “modern” interpretations which do not use these words in describing the Trinity. Rather than saying “Father, Son and Holy Spirit” some would prefer to say, “Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer.” Somehow, they feel that these terms are more “inclusive,” since they do not rely on gender-suggestive words like “Father” and “Son.”

The Catholic Church does not agree. In the rite of Baptism, a priest or deacon must use the words: “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” We’re not allowed to say: “I baptize you in the name of the Creator, and of the Redeemer and of the Sustainer.”

On the other hand, these words can be used in an attempt to describe our Trinitarian God who acts as “creator,” and as “redeemer,” and as “sustainer.” In the same way, our readings for today, also, include these concepts of the Father who creates us, the Son who redeems us, and the Holy Spirit who sustains us.

In our first reading from the Book of Exodus we heard how: “Having come down in a cloud, the LORD stood with Moses there and proclaimed his name, “LORD.” Thus the LORD passed before him and cried out, “The LORD, the LORD, a merciful and gracious God, slow to anger and rich in kindness and fidelity.”” The LORD pronounced his own name to Moses. A word which in English is often said to be Yahweh: I AM WHO AM. The name of the God who has the attributes of an ideal father, one who is merciful and gracious, a father who is slow to anger and rich in kindness and fidelity.

At the same time Moses, admitting his people were stubborn and, thus, reluctant to change, Moses pleaded with the LORD, saying: “… yet pardon our wickedness and sins and receive us as your own.” And the LORD did just that. The LORD GOD sent us his only Son to pardon us of “our wickedness and sins” so that we, as his people, could be received as his own. The Father-Creator sent his Son as our Redeemer, our Savior. We heard these words clearly stated in the passage from John’s gospel I proclaimed a few minutes ago: “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him.”

But let’s return for a moment to another request Moses made in today’s first reading. Moses said: “If I find favor with you, O LORD, do come along in our company.” And our Trinitarian God has done just that. He has joined with us and remained in our company as the Holy Spirit who sustains us on our journey.

Saint Paul made this clear in his blessing in today’s reading from his second letter to the Corinthians when he wrote: “The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with all of you.” How often have we heard those words and not really thought about what they might say about our Trinitarian God?
● Our Trinitarian God who is “the love of the Father”
● Our Trinitarian God who is “the grace of the Son”
● Our Trinitarian God who is “the fellowship of the Holy Spirit.”
Our Trinitarian God who is, at one and the same time, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Our Trinitarian God who embodies Love, Grace and Fellowship. The One who is Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer.

Perhaps, for a moment, in an attempt to appreciate the Trinity of our spiritual lives, we might think about other trinities in our secular lives. There is the secular trinity of time, itself. The trinity we call “past, present and future.” If we remove any one of them, time as we know it, ceases to exist. There can be neither present nor future without a past. If only the past exists, how can there be either a present or a future? Who can say when the past becomes the present or when the future takes over from past and present? Is an attempt to separate past, present and future any easier than trying to figure out the relationship of Father, Son and Holy Spirit, or of Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer, being one and the same?

Or consider space. What is the reality of length without both width and height? We exist in three dimensions and would cease to exist if we lost any one of them. And yes, we now say we exist in four dimensions. In our modern world we believe in the unity of a space-time continuum, a joining together of length, breadth and height with past, present and future.

However, I would suggest we might also consider the unity of what might be called a “spiritual space-time continuum.” A continuum based on three holidays, three “holy days”: Christmas, Easter and Pentecost. In this spiritual continuum, we celebrate the Incarnation of our God, the Resurrection of our God and the Inspiration of our God. In this Trinity, we recognize the Father who sends the Son, and then the Son who returns to the Father, and finally their sending of their Holy Spirit to us. In the continuum of Christmas, Easter and Pentecost, we acknowledge the Trinitarian love of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit which prompts this Incarnation, this Resurrection and this Inspiration.

Sometimes we say, “love makes the world go around.” Indeed, it does. In fact, it is love that makes the universe go around. This “universe,” this so-called “one turning,” consists of a dance of love. Dancing with the Stars may be a popular TV program, but it is in the dance of the universe, it is in the dance of the Trinity, that the Father and the Son become the dancers, and the Holy Spirit becomes another name for the dance itself.

Perhaps, it is now time for all of us to be caught up in the rhythm and movement of this dance of the Trinity. As Saint Paul has said: “May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with [each one of us.]” In the name (†) of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen. So be it.

^{Most Holy Trinity; May 18, 2008
Ex 34:4b-6, 8-9; 2 Cor 13;11-13; Jn 3;16-18}

This weekend many of us will be involved in celebrating two events: one a national holiday, the other a major feast day, a significant “holy day” of the Church. As you’re well aware, Fathers’ Day and Trinity Sunday are the holiday and the holy day we celebrate. The former is a national holiday, proclaimed by Congress in 1972, to honor our fathers. Although some would maintain it’s mainly a commercial holiday to go along with Mother’s Day, we celebrate it never-the-less.

The latter celebration, Trinity Sunday, has a much older history. It goes back to the 4th century, to the time known as the Arian heresy, when some Christians denied the divinity of Christ and broke away from the established Church. However, it wasn’t until the 1300’s that Pope John XXII (yes, the twenty-second, not the more recent John the 23rd) declared the Sunday after Pentecost should be designated as “Trinity Sunday,” a special day to honor our Triune God: the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

OK, for those of you who have been waiting for my question, here it is. How do you plan to celebrate these two events this weekend? For Fathers’ Day, do you give your dad another tie or another bottle of aftershave lotion? Was it Polo or Old Spice you bought him last year? Or will you be treating him to a dinner he doesn’t have to pay for? Or maybe you’ll gather together for a special barbeque he prepares for you? Or perhaps, this will be merely a day for him to relax and not have any weekend chores to do or places for him to take you. Yes, there are many ways for us to celebrate Fathers’ Day and make it a special day for each of our Fathers.

But what about Trinity Sunday? What are your plans for celebrating this special day for the one we call Father, Son and Holy Spirit? Perhaps, for many of us, the response is: “Nothing.” After all, what is so special about Trinity Sunday, anyway? In fact, what’s so special about the Trinity, itself. What’s the big deal?

Actually, for two-thousand years, the Trinity has been a very “big deal.” Our belief in a Three-in-One God has divided us from others. As I mentioned a few moments ago, early Christians were divided in their beliefs about the divinity of the one called Jesus. They asked: Was he divine or only another prophet? Did God really become man and take on human flesh? Did our God really suffer on a cross, die for us and rise from the dead?

And what about the spirit of God? Is God really present here and now, within this assembly, within each one of us, guiding us and strengthening us in our journey in and toward his kingdom? In reply to these questions, early Councils of the Christian church established a creed, a belief statement, about our Trinitarian God, our God whose name is Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

This response, contained in the Nicene Creed we proclaim during each Eucharistic celebration, did not end the conflicts among us. In fact, our belief in a Trinity has been a major point of difficulty between Christians and Jews and Muslims for centuries. This Trinitarian belief has led to accusations by Jews and Muslims that we Christians worship three gods, whereas they worship only one God. And at certain times, this may seem to be the case.

Each one of us, at different times during our lives, seems to have a particular fondness for one of the three Persons of our Triune God, almost to the exclusion of the other two Persons. Many look upon Jesus as Lord and pay minimal attention to either the Father or the Holy Spirit. Others may be very spirit-filled with a particular relationship with the Holy Spirit and the charisms or gifts given to us through the Holy Spirit. And of course, there are those who find a special comfort in God, the Father, to whom we offer the prayer taught by his son.

Although these views are valid and helpful to each of us, we must not lose sight of what the early Church fathers taught us, namely:
● the divine nature of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit is one, their glory is equal, their majesty is coeternal,
● both Trinity in Unity and Unity in Trinity must be venerated,
● whatever is said about the Father is equally true for the Son and for the Holy Spirit,
● whatever is said about the Son is equally true for the Father and for the Holy Spirit,
● whatever is said about the Holy Spirit is equally true for the Son and for the Father.

Sometimes, even our holy days may tend to emphasize one of the Persons of the Trinity with partial neglect of the other Persons. With Christmas, we may focus on the Incarnation of God the Father as the Son and downplay the role of the Holy Spirit overshadowing Mary. With Easter, we may focus on the passion and resurrection of Jesus, the Son of the Father, and downplay the role of the Father and of the Holy Spirit in our total redemption and salvation. With Pentecost, we may focus on the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the Apostles and minimize the role of the Father and Son in the gifts which are included within this action.

Perhaps, this is part of the reason why John XXII designated the Sunday after Pentecost as Trinity Sunday, a celebration combining Christmas, Easter and Pentecost, a celebration of Father, Son and Holy Spirit joined as our one, loving and saving God.

Our readings for today call to mind our Three-in-One God. In our first reading from Exodus, we once more heard how the Lord God appeared to Moses and proclaimed Himself to be: “… a merciful and gracious God, slow to anger and rich in kindness and fidelity.” In the Gospel reading we heard: “.. God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.” And Saint Paul in his writings to the Corinthians prays: “… The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with all of you.”

Perhaps, in our mutual celebration of Fathers’ Day and Trinity Sunday, we can also honor not only our human fathers but, also, our God who is Father, Son and Holy Spirit. We do not need to give our Triune God, a tie or aftershave lotion, but we can clothe Him with our honor and love. We do not need to take Him to dinner or have Him prepare His special barbeque, but we can participate actively in the fellowship meal He has prepared for us at this Eucharistic celebration. We do not need to offer God an opportunity to relax and take a day off from caring for us. Instead, we need to acknowledge He has given us a day of rest, the day of Sabbath, in celebration of all that He has created and given to us.

We do not need to reserve only the “Sunday after Pentecost” to honor our Trinitarian God. We can do this every time we pray: (†) “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

^{Trinity Sunday: June 19, 2011
Ex 34:4b-6, 8-9; 2 Cor 13:11-13; Jn 3:16-18}

Today’s question involves your own personal philosophy. It’s this: Do you get what you deserve? Do you get what you have earned? Most of us, I believe, like to think we do. And when we don’t get what we deserve, what we’ve earned, we, at least, think we should have. After all, it’s the “American Way,” isn’t it? You work hard and you get your reward. You don’t work hard; you’re a loser.

We learn this at an early age. Parents tell their kids, “You study hard and you’ll earn good grades. You goof off and you’ll fail.” Later on, our boss tells us: “You work hard and you’ll earn that promotion and the raise which go along with it. If you slough-off or miss the deadline, you’re going to be fired.” None of us wants to play the “Donald Trump” game and hear the words: “You’re fired.” We all want to be the final “Survivor” who earned the position because of how we played the game, no matter how bad our actions were in order to get to be among the “final four¹.”

We call it a Meritocracy, a society in which each one of us gets what we merit, what we’ve “earned.” We believe a Meritocracy is good and greatly preferred to an “Aristocracy” in which we inherit from our ancestors everything we have. We’re told inherited wealth is not as “good” as what we, ourselves, have earned, even if we would probably enjoy having inherited money and not need to go to a job each day. Yet, deep down, we’re willing to make sacrifices in order to earn our living. We tell each other, if it’s not worth our own self-sacrifice, it’s not really worth the getting.

When we get what we’ve earned it’s OK to feel self-righteous about it. After all, I earned it. It’s my right to have it and keep it. Why do I need to share what my hard work accomplished? Let others work for what they want. Let others earn it. The poor are that way because they don’t want to work. They’re just lazy and so they get what they deserve. Nothing. That’s what capitalism and free enterprise are all about. You get what you earn and you keep it.

Sometimes, we call it the modern business ethic: work hard and you’ll get what you earn, slack off and you won’t get anything. A number of us turn this “business work ethic” into our personal “religious ethic” as well. We tell ourselves, if we pray more, God will give us more.

It’s not a new idea. It’s an idea going all the way back to the Prophet Hosea whose words we heard in the first Reading from today. “In their affliction, people will say: ‘Let us know, let as STRIVE to know the Lord; as certain as the dawn is his coming, and his judgment shines forth like the light of day! He will come to us like the rain, like spring rain that waters the earth.’” But what does Hosea say is God’s reply? The Prophet, speaking on behalf of God responds: “What can I do with you people? Your piety is like a morning cloud, like the dew that early passes away. … It is love that I desire, not sacrifice, and knowledge of God rather than holocausts.”

In no uncertain terms, Yahweh told those he loved, he did not want, nor need, the sacrifice of animals and the other burnt offerings of holocausts. He did not want superficial demonstrations of piety which vanish into the air as moisture evaporates in the heat of day. Instead, Yahweh told those he loved that indeed, he had loved them into existence and all he desired was for them to love him in return. To love him, by loving one another. Not because they earned or merited his love. Not because others earned love by doing things for one another. God’s love is unconditional. He loves those he created without demanding they do anything to merit his love. He asks the same for those he created out of his love – to love one another because they are creations of his love and not because they earn the love of one another. It is said: God loved us first. Our loving Him should come in response to His love of us. What we offer to Him and to others should be given in gratitude for His love, and not as an attempt to earn his love.

We heard similar words in today’s reading from the Gospel of Matthew. We heard how there were those who asked Jesus’ followers: “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” They were, in fact, asking how can he gather with those who do not merit his attention. With those who are the riffraff, the dregs of our society? With those who consort with our enemies, the Romans, and work on their behalf? With those who do not exhibit our own kind of piety in how we follow the teachings of God? How can be break bread with those who are not righteous, who haven’t made it in the sight of God?

The disciples did not need to reply to the question, for Jesus, himself, responded with the words echoing those of God: “‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’” Mercy. A gift given not because it is earned, not because it is merited, but rather a gift given because it is the right thing, the loving thing to do. It is a gift which is not the result of a pious act, an act performed in an attempt to appease God. It is not offered to make God change his mind and react favorably.

The Lord does not demand a superficial action to gain his love. Instead, he desires that we love unselfishly, without requiring anything in exchange. Mercy means loving those who hate you, those who abuse you. It means loving your worst enemies, no matter what they have done to you. It means loving others without waiting for them to do the “right thing,” without their needing to earn your love in order for you to treat them well. And it’s not easy to do.

Each of us is self-righteous. Each of us believes we do the right thing for the right reason. We believe we repay kindness with kindness. But we also repay ingratitude with our own ingratitude. When a car suddenly pulls in front of us, we don’t let the driver into our line without thinking we are being taken advantage of. When a store clerk is rude, we react with our own rudeness, without considering what a rotten day the clerk might have been having. When we see a street-corner beggar, we wonder why he’s not employed and working like we are working. When we hear about those who have no insurance or cannot pay for needed medicine, we say that’s their tough luck, I have no responsibility for changing the system. And when we read about the killing of Iraqis by insurgents, we wonder why they can’t learn to get along with one another as we do.

And each time, we feel righteous in our beliefs. We feel justified in our actions. Justified. To be right with God. To be aligned with God. It’s true my computer program will allow me to “right justify” or “left justify” my sentences. It will also allow me to use “full justification” in which each line is accurately spread out to fill the entire space between the two margins. But what program, what action allows me to be “fully justified” with God, to be aligned with God as completely as God wants me to be?

The answer, perhaps, can be found in the final words we heard Saint Paul address to the Romans in today’s Second Reading. He reminds us our Lord “was handed over for our transgressions and was raised for our justification.” It is not through our own merits that we are justified. It is not because of what we do here on earth that merits a reward in heaven. Rather, it is because of the love shown by Jesus the Christ that we are saved, we are rented, reconciled, with God, the Father, who sent him to us out of His love for us. It is through their love sent to us in the Holy Spirit we are able to return our love to the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Perhaps, we need to remember the words spoken by Jesus in the last line of today’s Gospel: “I did not come to call the righteous but sinners.” Perhaps, we all need to accept we are all “sinners,” we gather as a Church of Sinners who are in need of the mercy of God. A God who desires us each show mercy to others, a mercy given not because it is merited but, rather, because of our gratitude to the God who loves us, first.

Two thousand years ago, Jesus saw Matthew, a tax collector, doing his assigned work, collecting tolls from those bringing goods into the city. And while Matthew was continuing in his daily work, Jesus said to him: “‘Follow me.’ And he got up and followed him.” Today, we are invited to give up what we have been doing, all those actions which have been our attempts to earn our way in this world and, we believe, into the next. Today, when Jesus says: “Follow me,” can it, also, be said: “And WE got up and followed him?”

^{Tenth Sunday in Ordinary Time; June 5, 2005
Hos 6:3-16; Rom 4:18-25; Mt 9:9-13}

1. _{^{Two television reality shows were popular. Donald Trump at the end of his Apprentice would tell the losers, “You’re fired.” In the program Survivors, contestants were eliminated weekly. Basketball elimination games were played until the “final four” were selected for the semi-final games.}}

You don’t need to be a computer geek to answer today’s question. But it would be helpful if you know something about word processing on a computer. So, first of all, how many of you can type a letter on a computer? Do any of you use a typewriter, you know, that old machine where the input and output are done at the same time? Ok, so my real question is: On a computer, or even a typewriter, what do you mean by the term: “justification?” Yes, it relates to how the sentences are lined up.

With left justification, every line begins on the left side of the page. With right justification, the lines appear to be staggered, with the right-end of the line touching the right margin of the page rather than the left margin. And if you’re using a computer, even an old IBM Selectric, you can set it for “full justification” where the line is spread out and it goes all the way from the left margin to the right margin. So, “justification” refers to how sentences are aligned on the page, how they are correctly lined up the way you want them. And basically, that’s what we mean when we speak of “justification” and God. “Justification” means we are aligned with God, lined up with God, just as God intends us to be.

In the conclusion for today’s reading from Saint Paul’s Letter to the Romans we heard how “ … [Jesus] was handed over for our transgressions and was raised for our justification.” In other words, he was raised so that we could be made “right” with God, be aligned with God as God intends us to be. We also heard how Abraham “… did not doubt God’s promise in unbelief; rather, he was strengthened by faith and gave glory to God and was fully convinced that what [God] had promised he was also able to do. That is why it was credited to [Abraham] as righteousness.”

“Righteousness,” another word for “justification,” for being right with God, being in the condition which God desires us to be, the status in which God has made us to be – aligned with him. All of us hope to be “justified,” to be “righteous” with God. At the same time, each one of us does not want to be “self-righteous,” to appear to be aligned with God externally, but not internally. We do not want to appear to be pious by our outward actions while on the inside we remain hard of heart. We are to avoid external ritual in the form of sacrifices while bearing a stony heart.

In our first reading from the Book of the Prophet Hosea we heard God speak an admonition to the Israelites: “Your piety is like a morning cloud, like the dew that early passes away. … for it is love that I desire, not sacrifice, and knowledge of God rather than [burnt offerings.]”

In today’s Gospel reading, we heard how Matthew, a despised tax collector for the Roman authority, was called by Jesus. We heard how Jesus went to Matthew’s home and there Jesus sat down to eat with Matthew and other so-called “sinners.” We heard Jesus’ response to his critics when he said to them: “Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do. Go and learn the meaning of the words, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ I did not come to call the righteous but sinners.”

Jesus said he came to call not the righteous, not those who are already aligned with God, but rather he came to call sinners, the sick who are in need of him. And what about us? What about you and me? Did Jesus come to call us? Are we, too, sinners? Consider for a moment, what the Israelites, and Jesus, meant by sin, and sinners. The Jewish concept of sin, we are told, means “to miss the mark.” It’s like an archer who aims at a target but misses the bull’s eye. A sinner is someone who fails to reach the target toward which the arrow was aimed. A sinner is someone who falls short of one’s goal. That includes me. It may also include you.

When we think of sin, we usually think of the “biggies, like murder or killing someone. And yes, taking the life of another person is very much a “biggie.” It’s possibly the biggest of all sins. Yet, what about taking away one’s spiritual life or emotional life? Am I also a sinner when I take away a person’s life through gossip, rumors and innuendos? Is it not a sin to engage in physical abuse, from torture through striking another person? Is it acceptable to participate in verbal or emotional abuse of another adult or of a child, killing a person’s spiritual and emotional life but leaving the wounded one unharmed physically?

And what about “self-abuse?” Can it be sinful to overindulge in alcohol? To take drugs? Or what about smoking, when you know it can lead to cancer, heart attack and stroke? Or what about taking away the family life of others? Is it sinful to enforce a policy which divides families, which can lead to the death of family relationships? Is it sinful to harm the life of society, itself, through my actions, or inactions, when it comes to pollution of the planet or the death of its living resources?

Again: “What is a sin?” A sin is missing the mark, falling short of the goal intended by God. It is living a life not aligned with what God has desired for me. And what does God desire for me?

Recall the words of the prophet Hosea who spoke on behalf of God: “ … it is love that I desire, not sacrifice, and knowledge of God rather than [burnt offerings.]” And Jesus, himself, responded: “I desire mercy, not sacrifice. I did not come to call the righteous but sinners.”

Love and mercy. Unconditional Love, for that is what mercy really means: to love without the love needing to be earned. Mercy is giving love even if the recipient does not deserve it. Even when we do not deserve it. Yes, Jesus the Christ calls each one of us. In one way or another each one of us is a sinner. Each one of us seeks the love and mercy of God. Each one of us is called to give our love and mercy to all those we encounter on our journey in life, our journey to become aligned with God, our journey to life everlasting.

^{10th Sunday in Ordinary Time; June 8, 2008
Hos 6:3-6; Rom 4:18-25; Mt 9:9-13}

My question for today relates to this particular time of the year. This question makes sense only in early June. My question is this: How many of you have attended a graduation within the last few weeks? Most of us have gone to at least one. For my wife and me, it was the graduation of one of our grandsons. And yes, believe it or not, we are too young to have a grandson graduating from either high school or college. No, his graduation exercise was at St Ann’s, upon completion of kindergarten! With the seven grandchildren we now have, I expect we’ll be attending a lot more graduations over the next years.

But what do we really mean by a “graduation?” As the word, itself, says: it’s a time for stepping out, a time to advance upward to a new level. It can be the time for the change from kindergarten to the new world of first grade. Or from high school or college to the world beyond the confines of academic learning. But most important, graduation marks the moment in time when we now must do what we’ve learned to do. A time to share with others what we have learned and experienced. A time to integrate our learning and experiencing so that we may grow, not only in knowledge, but also, in wisdom.

There’s another name for this process of stepping out, advancing to a new level, another name for this opportunity to share with others what we have learned and experienced. That other name is “evangelization.”

Evangelization. A word which literally means: spreading the good news. Good news. What is this good news we are to spread? It is this: the Kingdom of God has begun. The Reign of God has begun. This is what Jesus taught his disciples, his students. We are taught the same lessons.

We are, also, taught the risen son of God is with us now and each one of us is called forward, toward God. We are taught by the Holy Spirit, who was sent forth by the Father and the Son at that first Pentecost. We are taught we, too, are sent forth on a mission. Just as some two-thousand years ago, Jesus sent out his twelve students, we are sent out. And why are we sent out?

Our Gospel reading reminds us: “at the sight of the crowds, Jesus’ heart was moved with pity for them because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd.” And so, he said to his disciples: “the harvest is abundant, but the laborers are few; so, ask the master of the harvest to send out laborers for his harvest.” And what did he ask his laborers, his students, to do? He said: “… make this proclamation: ‘the Kingdom of God is at hand.’ cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers, drive out demons. Without cost you have received; without cost you are to give.”

We are reminded, once more, all we have, all we truly are, has been given to us by God and we are to share these gifts with others. Paul, in our Second Reading, reminds us it was not through our own merit the gift of eternal life was given to us but, rather, “ … while we were still sinners.” While we were still estranged and separated from God, it was then that “… Christ died for us … [so that] … we have now received reconciliation.” This is why each of us is sent forth: to help others recognize that this reconciliation has been gifted to us by God. And who are these “others?”

In today’s reading taken from the Gospel of Matthew, the disciples were not sent to the pagans who did not believe in God, nor to the Samaritans who believed in the same God as the Israelites but worshiped in a different way. No, instead, Jesus sent them to the lost sheep of his own people.

Often when we think of evangelization, images of Bible-thumping street preachers come into our minds. We focus on the first instruction Jesus gave to his twelve students: proclaim the good news. But there are those other instructions.
● The instruction to “cure the sick,” to attend to those lost sheep who are still in the process of giving up and turning away from God.
● The instruction to “raise the dead,” to attend to those lost sheep who have already given up and have turned away from God.
● The instruction to “cleanse lepers,” to attend to those lost sheep who seem to be beyond the reach of the community, who believe God has turned away from them.
● The instruction to “drive out demons,” to attend to those whose internal addictions to soul-devouring elements prevent them from returning to the God who calls to them.

All of these instructions are instructions for actions. Actions we are to undertake. Actions beginning with ourselves, for once again, it is not a matter of “do what I say” but rather “do what I do.” I must cure my own self-contempt, the belief I am not worthy of God’s love. My belief my body is not good enough: I’m too fat, too thin, too short, too tall. My belief my actions are not good enough: I don’t pray enough, I don’t help others enough. My belief that, because of my shortcoming, God cannot love me.

Just as I am called to cure myself of those parts of me which say I am not worthy of God’s love, I am called to raise the dead parts of myself: those parts which killed me, and others, through hatred. Parts of me that say: others are not worthy of either my love or God’s love, because they are of the wrong gender, the wrong color, the wrong age, the wrong economic class.

And with this healing of self, it is then time for me to step forward and heal others. Not merely by what I say, but equally, in what I do as a result of what God has done, not only for me but, also, within me. Not only must I speak of the kingdom, I must also act. The works of mercy are still needed. We are called to undertake the corporal works of mercy: feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, shelter the homeless, visit the sick, visit the imprisoned and bury the dead. We are called to practice the spiritual works of mercy: counsel the doubtful, instruct the ignorant, admonish the sinner, comfort the sorrowful, forgive injuries, bear wrongs patiently and pray for the living and the dead

I began this reflection with a question about graduations. But now, as we remember all those who have participated in a formal graduation, now is the time to recall how the disciples were sent forth to put into practice what they learned from Jesus. We are, also, reminded in our First Reading from the Book of Exodus, the going forth of the Israelites from bondage to freedom, that the Lord God in his graduation speech to them reminded them “… how I bore you up on eagle wings and brought you here to myself.”

We, too, have been born up on eagle wings. We remember God has entered into our lives and the lives of others. Each of us must acknowledge this event. Yes, we are to go beyond the mere knowledge held in our heads and acknowledge with our hearts we are loved by God. A God who now asks us to step forward and put into practice what we continue to learn. A God who calls us to our own graduation.

^{Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time; June 13, 1999
Ex 19:2-6a; Rom 5:6-11; Mt 9:36-10/8}

Today’s question is a personal one. It’s this: What kind of a motivational talk¹ turns you on? Maybe this question seems even stranger than some of the other ones I’ve asked you over the years. I mean, isn’t this the whole purpose of a motivational talk, a pep talk: to “turn you on,” to make you excited, more willing to do something than is your normal inclination?

There’s a whole TV industry devoted to motivational talks. We usually call them “infomercials.” But for me, personally, there are a lot of infomercials that turn me off. They make me want to stay away from even looking at the product, let alone buy it. It would seem, what turns one person on, what motivates one person toward an action, can also turn off someone else. Jesus may have experienced this problem some two thousand years ago when he gave his own form of an “infomercial,” a pep talk.

How many of you recognize the Gospel passage we heard today is the conclusion of an “infomercial” Jesus gave to his disciples? How many realize it’s part of a motivational talk, a pep talk, he gave to the Twelve just before he sent them out on their mission to the “lost sheep of the house of Israel?” Well, it is.

Today’s passage brings to a conclusion the chapter of Matthew’s Gospel usually referred to as the “great commissioning of the Disciples.” Remember two weeks ago when Fr. Sunny spoke about how Jesus sent them out to “… cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers, drive out demons” … and how we are called to do the same in the modern world. And in last week’s Gospel we heard the words: “do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.”

There are many passages in this Chapter from Matthew’s Gospel that are omitted from the Sunday Readings. Passages describing what actions the Disciples should take and what they should expect on their missionary work. After he tells them not to take any provisions with them, but to go off without any money, food or a change of clothes, Jesus has this to say: “Behold, I am sending you like sheep in the midst of wolves; so be shrewd as serpents and simple as doves. But beware of people, for they will hand you over to courts and scourge you … and you will be led before governors and kings for my sake as a witness before them and the pagans.” He goes on to say: “You will be hated by all because of my name, but whoever endures to the end will be saved. When they persecute you in one town, flee to another.”

And then he speaks the words we heard in today’s Reading: “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me. Whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. Whoever does not take up his cross and follow after me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” These are, indeed, harsh words from a Master who is trying to motivate, to encourage, his followers, to do what he has done, to follow in his footstep.

Basically, he’s telling them: you must be ready to give up all relationships that bind you to this world, that bind you to past generations, that bind you to future offspring. He goes on to tell them: you must be ready to suffer like a common criminal hung upon a cross. He does, however, go on to inform them: some will hear you as prophets and they will be rewarded, some will hear you as holy people and they, too, will be rewarded. And some may merely give you a cold drink of water and they, too, will be rewarded. So, here we have Jesus’ commissioning speech, when he said, in effect: go out there and preach what I’ve taught you and here are the hardships you can expect. And your only tangible reward might be a drink of water.

However, I still say this is a kind of “pep talk.” After all, isn’t this what a lot of coaches tell their players. Go out there and do battle. We’re going to get badly beaten up. But get out there and show them what we’re made of, what we stand for. OK, so maybe that’s what he told his twelve disciples in order to motivate them. But that was then. And this is now. Does Jesus really mean the same thing for us? Does this “pep talk” apply to us?

Well, if we believe the rest of his words should guide us today, in 2005, then I think we’re forced to accept these words spoken to his followers some two-thousand years ago are equally relevant to us, right now. As with the disciples, we have been given the message to preach, to preach through our words and our actions.

We know what is right and what is wrong. But are we afraid to speak or to act, because we fear, not scourging and being hung on a cross, but rather, we fear rejection? Rejection not necessarily by those who love us, not by our parents and children, so much as rejection by those around us, by our acquaintances, by society. Rejection not necessarily because of our belief and behavior about major events, but about the everyday events of our lives.

When we hear a joke about a minority member or hear an ethnic slur, do we laugh in order to be part of the group or do we have the courage to say, “That’s really not funny” and risk the possible rejection of the one who said it and those around us? When we learn a friend is having an extramarital affair, do we look the other way or do we ask how can we help to get the marriage back on track, and risk being told to mind our own business? When a young person is out on a date and wonders just how far does my partner expect me to go, do we have the courage to stop before we go too far, even if we think our partner may reject us for being too cautious?

In today’s world, a lot is said in derision about being “politically correct,” how the “liberal establishment” tries to force us into “political correctness.” Yet do we have the courage to point out that much of political correctness includes a respect for diversity and individual rights, and an awareness of the needs of the underprivileged and the marginalized? Do we dare to say the goals of “political” correctness may be the same as those for “Christian” correctness?

And if this last example, or any of them, for that matter, make you angry, then perhaps you understand what I mean by Jesus’ pep talk. What motivates one person to act may turn off another person. Some of us are motivated by righteous anger when we see what we perceive as a moral decline in our society, when we believe we must take up the sword in order to preserve freedom. Others are equally motivated by love and passive resistance on issues of armament, capital punishment, environmental concerns, civil rights, pro-life, the underprivileged and the disadvantaged.

Some of us are motivated by passion, others by compassion. But each one of us must be motivated, moved to act, as a Christian, a follower of Jesus the Christ. Here in this year dedicated to the Eucharist, we must become Eucharist for others. We are to become what we consume at this celebration, at this table. We are sent out on our individual missions, but united as members of the Body of Christ, as members of his Church, as his Disciples.

We may suffer the rejection of all those around us, even, in the long run, rejection by those we love. Yet, we need to ask: How can we be motivated today to preach by our words and by our own actions what we have been taught, knowing we risk being rejected? And our only reward in this life on earth may be a cold drink of water.

^{Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time; June 26, 2005
2 Kg 4:8-11,14-16a; Rom 6L3-4l8-11; Mt 10:37-42}

1…The original homily given June 27, 1993, was entitled “Pep Talk.” The opening and closing lines were modified whereas most of the rest the homily remains the same for “Infomercial.”
My question for you today is one you may need to think about for a while before you can answer it. But that’s OK, since this question is the focus for this morning’s homily. My question is this: What kind of a pep talk do you need to motivate you to be an active disciple of Jesus the Christ? Pep talks? Motivational talks? What do pep talks and motivation have to do with the Gospel message? Aren’t they part of either winning football teams or of late-night TV pitches for pyramid sales? It’s either “win one for the Gipper!” or “if you get out there and hustle, and get all of your friends to join us, then you, too, can be a million-dollar seller.” Well, pep talks, motivational talks, existed long before Knute Rochne or Lou Holtz*. In fact, they go all the way back to the days of the original “Notre Dame,” some two-thousand years ago. In today’s Gospel reading, we hear the conclusion of her son’s pep talk to his followers. In fact, because it is the conclusion, the wind-up of an impassioned pep talk, we could have become very disturbed, rather than challenged to be one of his followers, his disciples, when we heard the words he spoke to them:
……..

How then, can we be motivated today to preach by our words and our actions what we have been taught, knowing we risk being rejected? For this is what it was about then … and now. Do we still hear the words of Christ when we speak out for justice and equality, knowing we may be rejected? Or when you come to the aid of the underprivileged, are you ready to be attacked? Are you ready to be rewarded by only a cold drink of water? At the same time, do you recognize that those who do listen to what you say will share in greater rewards, the gifts of prophets and holy ones? So once more I ask you my question: What kind of pep talk do you need to motivate you to be an active disciple of Jesus the Christ?

* I have the good fortune to be a fraternity brother of Lou Holtz (Kent State chapter of Delta Upsilon) back in the mid-50's.  He was “motivational” back then, too!

This past week we celebrated Independence Day, the Fourth of July, with all of its patriotic pageantry. And so, today, I have a question for you about a very important component of our country – our money. My question is this: In addition to the words “The United States of America,” what words can be found on each and every coin in your pocket and on each and every piece of currency in your wallet? Yes, they are: “In God We Trust.” It would appear, however, there are people in this country who, while they have no problem carrying these words in their pockets, find it troublesome, if not unconstitutional, to speak them in public.¹

Perhaps, it’s a good thing our “Declaration of Independence” was written before our Constitution, since there might be some who would maintain this Declaration is “unconstitutional.” After all, the opening sentence of this Declaration makes reference to “… the laws of nature and of nature’s God …” This Declaration even goes on to state: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness …”

These words were written some two and a quarter centuries ago to declare our independence from a country that had placed us under the yoke of tyranny, a yoke of “taxation without representation,” one of several unreasonable burdens. Today’s Gospel reading speaks of a different kind of yoke, a different kind of burden.

Jesus, himself, knew of the many burdens of those who listened to him: their personal burdens, their political burdens and their religious burdens. He, also, realized God knew of these burdens, as well. Jesus remembered that when the Israelites, many generations ago, had been burdened by the Egyptians, they called out to the Lord God who sent them a leader, a savior named Moses. Moses led them out of bondage into the Promised Land. Through Moses the Israelites received the laws of God. They received Torah: the Way, the Law which would ease their burdens. Originally, it was said the “yoke of Torah” joined the Israelites with their God. But over time, the Law, itself, became a burden. It took away their freedom. It bound them in meaningless rituals. Now the Law, itself, had become a burden.

Once again, God heard their cries and sent a “new” Moses, but one even mightier than Moses. God sent his only son, Jesus the Anointed One, Jesus the Christ. God sent him, not as a new conqueror, not as someone who would take away the burden of foreign occupation by the Romans. Instead, the Lord God sent a “just” savior, one who is meek, one who is humble enough to ride on a small donkey, and not on a war chariot.

God sent one whose very person reveals the nature of God not to the wise and learned ones, not to those in power but, rather, to those who can see in this human form the revelation of God, the Father. God sent not a royal king, but, rather, a humble carpenter. He sent a man who knew, first-hand, about yokes and burdens.

Scripture scholars remind us that a major product made by carpenters was a yoke. And these were not mass-produced yokes. Each yoke was one-of-a-kind. The carpenter measured both the yoke and the oxen obliged to carry it to make sure the yoke fit properly and would not be a burden to the animal carrying it. Humans also carried yokes – yokes with buckets on them for hauling water and farm produce, yokes for primitive ploughs needed to make the fields ready to receive the seeds. Yes, all of these yokes needed to fit those who bore them for their daily tasks. Yokes were required, but they, themselves, must not add to the hardship of the tasks. And, so, when Jesus saw his friends laboring under the yoke of a Law which no longer freed them, he urged them: “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.”

Jesus speaks these same words to us. He knows we, too, are burdened by life, by personal needs and communal tasks. However, as a carpenter who fashioned yokes, Jesus also knows those who are yoked together have an easier time of it than those who carry their loads separately. Therefore, the yoke he offers to us is a double yoke, carried by two rather than by one, alone. Yes, he fashions a new yoke for us. A yoke made from the wood of the cross he carried. A cross he asks us to carry as well. For this cross is shared as the yoke is shared.

In the Second Reading we heard today, St Paul reminded the Romans, and reminds us: the spirit of God dwells in us, the spirit gives us life and we are joined together in the spirit of God. Yes, we have our burdens to carry, our tasks to accomplish, but they are ones we do not carry alone. The spirit of God joins us together. Jesus the Christ assures us that, joined with him, our burden is light.

A few minutes ago, we recalled how we carry coins and bills bearing the words: “In God We Trust.” There are, however, other words found in common on all of our coins, and on the one-dollar bill, words we need to remember as well, not only during this week of our Fourth of July, but also in the days ahead of us. These are Latin words: “e pluribus unum. – One from many.” They speak of our diversity and how we join together. How we join together into one nation, under God. How we, though many, join together into the one body of Christ.

^{14th Sunday in ordinary time; July 7, 2002
Zech 9:9-10; Rom 8:9, 11-13; Mt 11:25-30}

1. _{^{Two years later, in the political campaign for the 2004 national election, the general public, in fact, began to discuss, sometimes vehemently, the Constitutionality of the words referenced in this homily. I lost track of the e-mails in my inbox pointing out how our money and our documents as well as our Pledge of Allegiance refer to God, to say nothing of those in favor (or not) of allowing copies of the Ten Commandments to appear on public grounds.}}

T’was brillig, and the slithy toves
did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogroves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

If you remember your Lewis Carroll and his Through the Looking Glass, you’ll recall Alice asked Humpty Dumpty for his interpretation of this poem called, “Jabberwocky.” I’m not, however, going to ask you what it means. So, why would I begin today’s reflection by quoting a poem which needs a personal interpretation? I did it in an attempt to let you feel as puzzled as the disciples of Jesus might have felt some two thousand years ago.¹

Just as you hear the words of “Jabberwocky” without really understanding them, the followers of Jesus heard him without understanding his words. But unlike Humpty Dumpty, who made up the meaning of words to suit his own pleasure, Jesus tried to give his companions an explanation which might bring them nearer to the Kingdom of God. Yet, there is still difficulty for us, some twenty centuries later, in truly understanding what he meant. This is, then, to be the focus for today’s reflection: How do we make sense out of the parables of Jesus?

First of all, what is a parable? Many Christians would say they are stories Jesus used in order to get his followers thinking about the Kingdom of God. There is nothing wrong with that answer. Except, it suggests Jesus originated the idea of teaching with parables. But he didn’t. The parable was a common form of teaching used by all rabbis. It’s said there are some two-thousand rabbinic parables. So, why did rabbis use parable stories?

The answer to this question relies upon another set of questions. How do you feel when you hear a parable of Jesus? Do you hear a story in which you see yourself in a new light? That’s the real purpose of a rabbinic parable: a story where the listener concludes that what is being talked about really applies to him, even though he did not originally think the point of the story affected him at all.

A parable is a very real story, one you can personally identify with. It’s not a fable or fairy tale with talking animals and impossible situations. There are other kinds of literary devices which are not really “parables.” Allegories are one. When Jesus speaks about himself and says, “I am the vine and you are the branches,” he’s using an allegory, not a parable. Along with allegories, there are also similes. During the next few weeks, we’ll hear quite a number of them in the Gospel readings. In each case, Jesus tries to tell us something about the reign of God. Things such as:
“The reign of God is like a mustard seed …
“The reign of God is like yeast …
“The reign of God is like buried treasure …
“The reign of God is like a merchant’s search for fine pearls
“The reign of God is like a dragnet thrown into a lake …
“The reign of God is like the head of a household who can bring from his storeroom both the new and the old.”

Usually, Jesus does not try to explain his stories. In fact, some scholars maintain Jesus, himself, did not explain any of his parables, including today’s parable about the seed, but the interpretation was added by the early Christian community when the Gospel stories were written down.

Actually, if you are familiar with the Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke, you may be confused by the interpretation you heard in today’s reading. A few moments ago, we all heard the familiar parable about the sower who went out to sow some seed and the different soils where it fell. In order to interpret the meaning of this story, we might all agree the sower is God. But what about the seed? Your immediate response might be the “seed” is “the word of God,” and we are the “soil.” How many of you believe this is what Jesus said when he gave the interpretation we heard a few minutes ago?

Well, you would be correct, if the Gospel reading had been the one taken from either the book of Mark or of Luke. In Chapter Four of Mark’s Gospel, when the disciples ask for an explanation, the response of Jesus is: “What the sower is sowing is the word.” And in Chapter Eight of Luke, the response of Jesus is: “This is the meaning of the parable. The seed is the word of God.” But today’s reading is from Matthew’s Gospel. Here the response of Jesus is: “the seed along the path is the man who hears the message about God’s reign without understanding it. The seed that fell on patches of rock is the man who hears the message and at first receives it with joy … but falters. (The seed) sown among briers is the man who hears the message … but (things of this world) choke it off. (And finally … the seed) sown on good soil is the man who hears the message and takes it in. He it is who bears a yield a hundred- or sixty- or thirty-fold.”

So, what is the “correct” interpretation? What is the seed? What is the soil? Do you see yourself as the seed, actively growing, maturing, struggling to survive, yielding fruit? Or do you see yourself, and others, as the passive soil with different environmental conditions, so that what becomes of the word of God, the seed which falls upon you, is not really up to you? After all, if you are rocky soil, how can you become good soil? Or must the soil, indeed, remain passive? Can the rocks be pulverized, and their rich nutrients be released so that the seed, the word of God, can grow within your spirit?

And what about the sower? Is this really God, the Father? Does he scatter his seed willy-nilly, not caring where it lands? Why would he knowingly scatter it on the path where birds can consume it? Why on the rocks or among thorns? He doesn’t seem like a very efficient farmer.

What is the effect of the wind? Do external forces control where the seed falls? If you are the seed, what responsibility do you have for your own choices? Are you controlled by those around you? By the events of your life? Could it be that you, rather, than God, are the sower? And the seeds are your own actions, what you do, or fail to do?

The people who lived some two thousand years ago had a completely different idea of agriculture than we do, today. There was no concept of simple crop rotation, for example. The idea of using different fields every few years for crop rotation, did not come into practice until the Middle Ages. Fertilizer was manure obtained directly from the source, not the right ratio of nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium and other trace minerals. Does that mean, that in order to interpret the parables of Jesus, we must continue to think like men and women of the first centuries of the Christian era?

A few minutes ago, I began this reflection with “Jabberwocky,” with words which have strange sounds. Instead, I could have said: “It’s about four o’clock in the afternoon — the time when you begin broiling things for dinner, and the active, slimy creatures, which look like a hybrid of a badger and a lizard with a corkscrew head, were tumbling like gyroscopes and poking holes in the grass around a sundial.” Instead, I said: “t’was brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe.” To interpret the line, I used the meanings given by a silly character called Humpty Dumpty.

For some people, the parables of Jesus may be as confusing as Jabberwocky. And some might ask for a straightforward interpretation of what each word means. They seek a so-called “correct” or literal meaning for the words. So, finally, what is the “correct” interpretation for this parable about sower, seeds and soil, or for that matter, what is the “correct” interpretation of any parable of Jesus?

For one thing, it’s not any interpretation I might give. It may not even be one the early Christian community gave when the Gospels were written down. The only “true” interpretation of a parable comes from what is revealed in your own heart.²

You must put yourself in the presence of God. You, yourself, must respond to what you hear. You, yourself, must be changed by that response. But you need not do this alone. You have the help of God.

Listen once more, to the first reading we heard from the book of the prophet Isaiah who spoke to us about the help of God in our lives: “Just as from the heavens, the rain and snow come down And do not return there till they have watered the earth, making it fertile and fruitful, giving seed to the one who sows and bread to the one who eats, so shall my word be that goes forth from my mouth; it shall not return to me void, but shall do my will, achieving the end for which I sent it.”³

^{Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary; July 15, 1990
Is 55:10-11; Rom 8:18-23; Mt 13:1-23}

1. At this time there were several members of the congregation who had a hearing impediment. Each Sunday they sat in the first pew, directly in front of the homilist. An interpreter sat facing them and used ASL to sign all of the Mass, including the homily. As I began today’s homily, I noticed the interpreter was having a problem. Afterwards, I inquired how she signed the opening lines. Her reply: “I signed I couldn’t understand anything he’s saying and just waited until I could.” Afterwards, I gave an advance copy of my homilies to her!
2. Not everyone agrees with this point of view. The following day I received a letter stating: “Dear Mr. Camerino: Last evening, my husband and I heard your Homily during 5:30 Mass, and I was frankly shocked by the phrase with which you chose to end your ‘reflection.’ To paraphrase that particular remark would be something like the fact that each of us ‘may interpret Scriptures within our own hearts’ or words to that effect. First of all, I don’t believe that our Church has suddenly or even gradually endorsed self-interpretation of the Scriptures. From my own knowledge, I believe self-interpretation of Scriptures is a major tenet of the Protestant persuasion and one of their major objections to the Catholic Faith. I was always taught that the Magisterium, Theologians, priests, and people otherwise trained in Catholic Theology were those to whom we the laity looked for the Holy Mother Church’s guidance in interpretation of Scripture. To me, your remark is heretical. I was so distracted and shocked, I couldn’t concentrate on praying.
   “However, nothing should surprise me anymore during Mass in CGS. Every week an innovation is attempted with the express purpose to distract the faithful from prayer and contemplation. I found your remark very offensive, and I left church very sad indeed. I am sad because so many good Catholic people have only the Homily on Sunday as their guide for their Faith, and remarks such as yours only serve to mislead. Many people do not read or educate themselves. I am fortunate because I am a well-educated woman, and I also keep myself informed through much reading of sound Catholic material. Do you realize that many people in those pews hear what you say and take it to heart? Your position enables you to be a teacher, and your word is taken to be true. What you said last night was false, period.
   “I shall continue to pray for a return to Orthodoxy in this parish even though my family and I are moving out of state. I look forward to the move with great joy because I am returning to a place where true Catholic orthodoxy is still alive. God bless you. Sincerely, [MEL]”
3. However at least two members of the congregation seem to have gotten something positive from the homily. At that time the parish made use of Homily Resource Teams (HRTs). Each HRT had about five or six members who met with the homilist for a reflection on the Sunday Scriptures several weeks before the homily was to be given. Following the homily, another HRT would offer written comments about the presentation. The question form stated: “The feedback on the homily is descriptive (‘what I heard’); it is not evaluative (‘what I liked or didn’t like’) or judgmental (‘this was good,’ ‘that was not good’). So in a descriptive way please answer the following questions … 1.) What was the message you heard in this homily? 2.) What connection(s) were there between the homily and the gospel and scripture readings? 3.) What connection or application to your life did you see or hear in the homily? 4.) Please add any other comments that you want to make about the homily.”

Two responses were received for this homily. A.) “1.) We are the seed – able to provide zero or 30-fold or 100-fold. The power to do so is not so much our own as it is the Lord working in us (as rain works and produces what it is supposed to). 2.) Explicit attention/explanation of parable in gospel and inclusion of Old Testament reading to highlight message. 3) We are the seed – we have a proactive role rather than a passive one. It is up to us to make sense of the parable rather than passively accept some explanation from others or dismiss parable as jabberwalky. 4.) Jabberwalky was a powerful illustration to make/support the point. Hit a key issue head-on: what is the seed? The word of God? Us? Was there a reference to eyes that do not see and ears that do not hear? I could have missed this but it tied to your focus: that we ourselves have responsibility to make sense of parable and then be productive.” [K] B) “1.) Understanding of parables is a personal thing. It is our response to a parable that is important. 2.) The ‘seed’ can be the word of God or the seed can be man or the seed can be our action – what we do with it after hearing the parable. 3.) I feel much better about my response to the parables after hearing your homily. I now understanding (sic) that having a different response and understanding of a parable at different times in my life or in reading of a parable is OK. [MS]”

Today’s question is a straightforward one: What is a parable? Unfortunately, the answer to this simple question may not be straightforward. If you google the word “parable,” you’ll come up with some 6,780,000 hits. If you go to the one for the definition according to the American Heritage Dictionary, you’ll find the brief statement that a parable is: “a simple story illustrating a moral or religious lesson.” But if you search more deeply and go to the modern fount of wisdom called Wikipedia, you’ll find a three-page discussion about parables. If you surf over to the entry for the Catholic Encyclopedia, you’ll find fifteen pages about parables. If you wanted to, you could continue surfing the world-wide-web and obtain even more information about parables.

We tend to use the Internet for finding out about almost everything. It’s quick and efficient. We don’t like to wait for answers anymore. We no longer have the patience to sit and wait. We no longer take time to contemplate. If Jesus were able to use modern examples for his stories, his parables, it would be interesting to ponder if he would include some based on modern communication. Could we speculate on how God is like the Internet with 24/7 access for finding all the answers to our questions?

However, Jesus lived in a time of personal agriculture, when those who heard him knew about farming and tending sheep and not about I-pods and downloading. His parables about God and the Kingdom of God relied on stories about the sower and seeds and the soil upon which the seeds fell. Nevertheless, the disciples who heard the parable found in today’s gospel reading, asked Jesus their own question about parables. When he had finished telling the crowds about the sower, the seeds and the soil, his disciples gathered around him and asked: “Why do you speak to them in parables?”

His answer to them is perhaps a bit surprising. Matthew writes: “He said to them in reply, ‘Because knowledge of the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven has been granted to you, but to them it has not been granted. To anyone who has, more will be given, and he will grow rich; from anyone who has not, even what he has will be taken away. This is why I speak to them in parables, because they look but do not see and hear but do not listen or understand.’” And he goes on to say: “But blessed are your eyes because they see, and your ears, because they hear.”

Jesus then did something he seldom does, he explained the meaning of this parable. However, don’t jump to the conclusion his disciples, and us, for that matter, really appreciated his explanation. For one thing, there is more than one explanation.

This parable of the sower, the seeds, and the soil is told in all three synoptic gospels: Mark, Luke and Matthew. A slightly different interpretation is given in each one. I’d invite you to make your own comparisons during this coming week. However, for the present, let’s stick to today’s reading from Matthew’s Gospel. We’ve heard this story many times before. The story about the sower, seeds and soil. And most of the time we tend to focus on the soil.

There is the trampled soil of the pathway where the birds came and ate the seed. There is the thin soil on the rocks where the seed quickly withered and died for lack of roots. There is the soil covered by weeds which choked out the growing seeds. Finally, there is the good soil where the seeds grew and produced fruit a hundred or silty or thirty-fold. Each time we hear this list we’re urged to consider what kind of soil are we? Hard soil, thin and rocky soil, soil harboring weeds, or rich soil for the growth of the word of God. The problem is: this interpretation tends to make us passive observers in the growth of the word of God. If we are merely the soil upon which the seed happens to fall, what responsibility do each of us have for the growth of the seed?

After all, the trampled earth did not ask to be trampled. The thin soil cannot, by itself, become rich soil. And what responsibility does the soil have if weeds happen to be growing there? However, we need not take on the passive role of the soil. In Matthew’s gospel, which is a teaching gospel, a gospel of instruction for new Christians, we hear Jesus’ interpretation:
● “The seed sown on the path is the one who hears the word of the kingdom without understanding it … ● “The seed sown on rocky ground is the one who hears the word and receives it at once with joy. But he has no root and lasts only for a short time. ● “The seed sown among thorns is the one who hears the word but then worldly anxiety and the lure of riches choke the word and it bears no fruit. ● “But the seed sown on rich soil is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields a hundred or sixty or thirty-fold.”

According to Matthew’s gospel, we are not to be the passive soil but the active, growing seed. Everyone hears the word of the Kingdom of Heaven. But some do not understand what is meant by the kingdom, the reign of God, and do not continue to grow on the journey in and toward the kingdom. Others hear the word and do not have the stamina to grow in the word or to continue the journey in, and toward, the reign of God. Some hear the word and, yet, worldly concerns and daily living prevent them from continuing the journey or the growth of the seed planted within them.

But there are, also, those who hear the word and understand it. Theirs is not a superficial, intellectual knowledge but a deeper understanding in their hearts. They are the ones who put this understanding into practice. They are the ones who yield the fruit by which Christians are to be known. Jesus told his followers the meaning of his story about the kingdom in order to break open for them his words about the gift which God has given to them, the gift he gives to each of us. It is a gift demanding our cooperation in order to grow and to yield fruit.

It takes time to grow a seed, to BE a seed. Some people demand quick results and, unless they get them immediately, go on to other events, other desires. They give up even before they start. Others begin their growth, but do not have the inner strength to continue. Some allow the external, daily grind to interfere with their growth, with their journey. But then, there are those who take time to live with the mystery of the Kingdom.

Remember, Jesus said: “… knowledge of the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven has been granted to you.” He goes on to say there are those who look but do not see. There are those who hear, but do not listen or understand. On the other hand, there are those who see not with their eyes, but with their soul. Those who hear, not with their ears, but with their heart. It is within the soul and heart that each of us sees and listens to his words. It is within the nurturing soul and heart that the words of the Kingdom grow.

At the beginning of the readings for today, we heard God speak through the Prophet Isaiah. “Thus says the LORD: Just as from the heavens the rain and the snow come down and do not return there till they have watered the earth, making it fertile and fruitful, giving seed to the one who sows and bread to the one who eats, so shall my word be that goes forth from my mouth; my word shall not return to me void, but shall do my will, achieving the end for which I sent it.”

It is in our heart and soul that each of us prepares a place for the seed of God to be planted and to grow. The kingdom is for those who cooperate with the word of God, for those who are as patient with God, as if they were seeds planted in good, rich earth. We are not called to surf the world, to skim quickly over its surface. Rather, we are to grow patiently in and toward the Kingdom of God, the reign of Heaven.

We are to understand with our souls and with our hearts so that we can do the will of God and can achieve the end for which the word has been sent. Each of us is to become a living parable, a simple story illustrating the Kingdom of God is within us and each of us is becoming part of the reign of Heaven.

^{15th Sunday in Ordinary Time; July 13, 2008
Is 55:10-11; Rom 8:18-23; Mt 13:1-23}

Today I have a question for “Children of All Ages.” It’s an easy one: What is “The Greatest Show on Earth?” Of course, it’s Ringling Brothers and Barnham & Bailey, the Circus. Now I have a second question, one that may sound like it’s an easy one, but maybe it’s a little more difficult than what it appears to be. The second question is: What is a circus? Is it a “place” where you see clowns and animal acts? Or is it an “event,” a happening, rather than a place? Is a circus the whole happening: laughing at the actions of the crazy clowns, not breathing for a moment when the acrobats fly through the air, clapping your hands when the elephants parade around the ring, and eating pink, cotton candy and cracking open the shells of peanuts? Yes, a circus can be a “place” you go to, or it can be an “event,” an action which we experience.

A similar question can be asked about what we heard in today’s Gospel reading. Is the “Kingdom of Heaven” a “place” you hope to reach, or is the “Reign of Heaven” an “event” you now experience and want to continue to experience?

In today’s Gospel, we heard three parables spoken by Jesus, along with what some scholars believe is a sermon of the early Christian church, a homily attempting to explain one of these parables: the parable of the sower who sowed good seeds but found weeds growing up along side of the wheat. These scholars say Jesus, himself, probably, didn’t give the explanation we heard a few minutes ago. Instead, it was added by scriptural editors in the early Church to help others understand the parable.

It possible, however, these editors did a disservice to all future generations. They turned Jesus’ living parable into a dry academic allegory, a story in which everything represents something else. In the explanation of the story, we heard how: He who sows good seed is the Son of Man, the field is the world, the good seed the children of the kingdom. The weeds are the children of the evil one. The enemy who sows them is the devil. The harvest is the end of the age, and the harvesters are angels. Just as weeds are collected and burned up with fire, so will it be at the end of the age.

While an allegory can use an explanation such as this, a parable does not need one. So, what’s the difference between an allegory and a parable? In an allegory, everything has an assigned meaning, but a parable is a story in which the listener suddenly becomes part of the story. A parable causes us to ask, who am I? What role do I play?

It’s said that at the same time a person interprets a parable, the parable interprets the person. There is no one, correct and absolute interpretation of a parable. Each listener hears the words of Jesus come alive within one’s own mind and heart to move the person to new perceptions, to new changes, to new actions.

When we listen to the interpretation given by those early Bible editors about the “good seed and the weeds” we are forced into a single interpretation. We are urged to focus on God’s judgement when: “The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all who cause others to sin and all evildoers. They will throw them into the fiery furnace where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.”

However, for me and for many others, this parable speaks of God’s patience, of God waiting for the wheat to grow strong before it is harvested. This parable also speaks of God’s mercy, of allowing the weeds to grow as well as the wheat. It would appear those who selected the first reading for today might also have this same point of view. For in our first reading from the Book of Wisdom we heard: “… though you are master of might, you judge with clemency, and with much lenience you govern us … You taught your people, by these deeds, that those who are just must be kind … You gave [us] good grounds for hope that you would permit repentance for [our] sins.”

The allegorical interpretation we heard for today’s parable has another problem. In an allegory you’re stuck in one position. You are either the wheat or the weeds. But in a parable, you have more choices. Sometimes, I can be the sower who exhibits the patience. Perhaps, this parable suggests I’m being called to wait for the growth of both wheat and weeds, until the wheat is ripe for the harvest, so that I will not destroy the tender wheat as it is growing. Perhaps, I must be patient in my own life and not get rid of something too quickly and hurt someone else in the process.

Or maybe I’m the weeds. I’m reminded a weed is a plant which grows where it is not wanted, where it is inappropriate for it to be. A rose bush in a wheat field is a weed. In real life, a weed must remain where it is growing or be destroyed, but in a parable, there is more openness. Perhaps, a rose bush growing as a weed in the wrong place can be moved to a rose garden. Or perhaps, it could be of value right where it stands, by reducing its thorns and increasing its number of magnificent blooms. Rather than remaining a so-called “weed,” maybe I need to change.

In this parable, growth and change are possible. The other two parables we heard today also speak of growth and change. How the tiny mustard seed becomes a large bush which becomes a home for God’s other creatures. How a woman kneads a small bit of yeast into flour and water that rise up into a much larger mound of dough baked into life-giving bread.

Each of the three parables speaks about the Kingdom of Heaven, about the Reign of God. And here is where we come back to my question about whether a circus is a place or an event, for in each parable we do not see a particular “place” but rather an action, an “event.” We see something happening.

In the first story we heard from Jesus, our attention might not be directed either to the seeds of wheat or to the weeds, but rather, to the farmer planting the wheat which grows and to the harvesters gathering the wheat and storing it. In the second parable, it might not be the mustard seed, itself, but rather the growing seed becoming a bush which serves the needs of others. In the third parable, it might not be the yeast, but the woman working the yeast into the lifeless flour and water and the action of the rising of the dough because of the hidden yeast which now exists throughout the bread.

So again I ask: Is it better to speak of the “Kingdom of Heaven” or the “Reign of God?” A “kingdom” suggests a place, a static location. On the other hand, a “reign” suggests a dynamic action, a living event. And so it is that the concept of the “Reign of God” seems more in keeping with the parables found in today’s gospel readings. Each one of them speaks of actions, of change.

For some, the change may be too slow, too silent, too hidden from sight. In our modern culture, we yearn for action. Others may not fully appreciate the size of mustard seeds and of the mature plants. Now-a-days, fewer people than in the time of Jesus have seen the effect of yeast on a mass of dough. Today, we desire to make use of all of our five senses. And so, I offer you a modern parable. No doubt each of is could offer our own parable about the “Reign of God.” And you’re welcome to do so in your prayer time today. But here’s my modern parable.

The “Reign of God” is like someone making popcorn. You take a small measure of dry kernels and place them in a large, metal pot over a gas flame. Soon, you hear a tiny explosion. Something strikes the lid. Very shortly other rapid sounds, like a downpour on a tin roof, can be heard, even though nothing can be seen. Finally, the noises cease. It would appear nothing else will happen, even though an occasional, metallic ping can be heard on the lid of the pot.

Then you remove the lid and a wonderful aroma fills the house. Everyone who was looking at the TV in the family room comes running into the kitchen to watch in anticipation, as bowls are filled to overflowing with popcorn. But there in the bottom of the kettle, several hard, dark kernels still remain. They had the same opportunity as all of the others which popped into fluffy, white pieces ten-times their size. Yet, there they sit, waiting to be tossed into the wastebasket.

Let those who have ears hear. Let those who have a nose smell. Let those with a tongue taste. Let those with eyes see how the “Reign of God” becomes present among us. Amen.

^{Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary; July 21, 1996, July 17, 2005 (revised)
Wis 12:13, 16-19; Rom 8:26-27; Mt 13:24-43}

Here we are in the middle of summer. So, I have a summertime question for you. It’s this: Have you had a chance yet to relax, to really relax? Like in the nostalgic days of long-past years. Back then, summertime was when the “living was easy.” We’re told people were able to kick off their shoes and go fishing. There was time for daydreaming, for picnics, for lemonade on the front porch, for really living out all of those scenes found in Norman Rockwell paintings. So, when was the last time you really had a chance to kick back and relax, to take life easy?

For most of us, that time hasn’t arrived yet. Sure, it’s the middle of summer, but it’s also the time for many of us to get ready for school to start, to buy those new clothes at the “no tax” sales¹, to finish off those projects around the house before Labor Day, which is only five weeks away. Maybe we can schedule some relaxation time between now and the end of summer, but events will probably intervene and, once again, we’ll be subject to demands on our time, demands made by others around us, our family, our friends, our co-workers.

However, we’re in good company. Jesus had the same problems. Maybe even worse ones. He found it difficult to get away from the demands of the crowds who followed him. Today’s gospel reading tells us something about that. But to really appreciate his problems, maybe we need to recall two events which happened immediately before the story we heard about in today’s account written by Matthew.

The first event occurred in Jesus’ hometown of Nazareth. Matthew tells us how Jesus was rejected by the people who had known him while he was growing up there. And because of their lack of faith in him, he did not perform the mighty deeds they had heard about. The next verses speak about the death of John the Baptist. And then today’s reading begins with the line: “when Jesus heard of the death of John the Baptist, he withdrew in a boat to a deserted place by himself.”

Actually, he wasn’t completely by himself. His friends were in the boat with him as he was taken by them to the eastern shore of the Sea of Galilee. The crowds who had heard about the cures he was making went along the northern shore and were there when he landed. Matthew then says when Jesus “saw the vast crowd, his heart was moved with pity for them and he cured the sick.” Jesus had no time to mourn the loss of his friend, of his cousin, John the Baptist. He had no time to ponder what this death meant in his own life, to his own ministry. Instead, in his compassion he continued to give of himself.

There are times when each of us would rather say, “Hey, wait a minute. I need some time for myself. I need to get away by myself. “ But then our sense of responsibility takes over and we continue to do what we know we are called to do. Today’s gospel reading reminds us of that Christian duty.

However, this reading doesn’t end there. It goes on to tell us how we are able to continue. The story doesn’t end with Jesus curing the physical ills of those who came to him. Matthew tells us something even more important for us to hear. “When it was evening, the disciples approached him and said, ‘this is a deserted place and it is already late; dismiss the crowds so that they can go to the villages and buy food for themselves.” These friends and companions of Jesus were only being logical. They knew the people were hungry and needed to fend for themselves.

Jesus knew the same thing. He, too, knew the crowds were hungry. But he proposed a different solution. He did not suggest the crowds go off to the villages. Rather, he proposed the twelve disciples feed the people. Although his friends did not refuse, they were once again logical. They told him they had only five loaves of bread and two fish to offer the vast crowd, a number we later learn was probably at least twenty-thousand people, which is more than attend all of the masses at Christ the Good Shepherd or the service at First Baptist in Houston.

We know the rest of the story. Or we think we do. Jesus had all twenty-thousand people sit down. Then “ … taking the five loaves and two fish and looking up to heaven, he said the blessing, broke the loaves and gave them to the disciples, who in turn gave them to the crowds.” Sometimes, we hear these words so often we fail to listen to what is being said. We fail to appreciate the usual Jewish blessing Jesus prayed: “Blessed art thou, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who bringest forth bread from the earth.”

We fail to recognize Jesus gave the blessed food, not directly to the crowds, but rather to his disciples, his followers, his friends, and they, in turn, fed the people. We fail to understand an even deeper miracle than the one-time multiplication of the loaves and fish by Jesus. We fail to remember the miracle of sharing.

Sometimes, we are less logical than the disciples. For if we were logical, we might wonder about twenty-thousand people who go off to a deserted place without taking along some food. Yet, we might understand how a large group of men and women, each with only a modest supply of food, might be reluctant to bring out the hidden supply they carried. Until they were moved by the words of Jesus so that, as the disciples passed among them with their own limited morsels, the twenty-thousand began to turn to one another and to share the bread and fish they, themselves, carried with them.

Yes, some biblical scholars point out there is no mention made that the bread and fish were “multiplied” but rather that “ … all ate and were satisfied, and they picked up the fragments left over” and filled twelve wicker baskets with them, even though those who ate were about five thousand men, not counting women and children.”

And so it is that Jesus may have performed two miracles that day². He not only miraculous multiplied five loaves of bread and two fish, but he also brought about the miracle which allowed potentially selfish people to share what they had with one another. He allowed this to be accomplished through two events: through prayer to his father who created all things and through the assistance of those who love him and follow his words.

Yes, there were demands being made on Jesus. Demands for him to heal those who sought after him. Demands to feed the hungry and give drink to the thirsty. However, he did not view them as “demands” so much as they were “opportunities.” An opportunity to show faith in God and trust in the abundance of God. And secondly, an opportunity to help others understand how all of us must share with one another what limited resources we might have. An opportunity to recognize that, together, these resources constitute an abundance of God’s love for us.

Yes, we may be here in the middle of summer. A time when we would like to relax and not listen to the continuing demands made of us by others. But it is also a time to remember we continue to share in the abundance of God. A time to remember our Lord urges us to share with one another all that we have received from him. Once more, we hear the words of the prophet Isaiah: “All you who are thirsty, come to the water! … Why spend your money for what is not bread; your wages for what fails to satisfy? … Come to me heedfully, listen, that you may have life.”

^{Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary; August 1, 1999
Is 55:1-3; Rom 8:35, 37-39; Mt 14:13-21}

1. _{^{This was the first year of Texas’ elimination of state sales tax for most clothing items for one weekend as part of a back-to-school “tax break” for families.}}
2. _{^{At least one “fundamentalist” in the congregation took exception to this statement. He maintained, with scriptural references in his e-mail, that I was doubting the physical miracle of the multiplication of the loaves and fish. He was unwilling to buy into the sharing of their resources of those who came to this deserted place. I’m not doubting that Jesus in some unknown manner enabled a large crowd to be filled; I do believe in miracles but refuse to allow only one mode for their manifestation.}}

I have a simple question for you today. Yes, on the surface, it’s a simple question. But I warn you, the response can be very complex. The question is this: What do we require in order to live, to have life, itself? Yes, what are our basic needs for life?

The first obvious requirement is “air” – air to breathe. Oxygen is an absolute necessity. Some may even want to specify we need “clean” air, or breathable air in order to live. The second answer would probably be: “water” – water to quench our thirst. During these past rain-free months, and in particular during the more recent high temperatures we’ve been experiencing, we are very aware of the need for water, for what we speak of in modern terms as “hydration.” And quickly we would add “food” to ward off hunger. Yes, air, water and food are surely the major resources we need in order to exist. And immediately after them come things like “clothing and shelter” to protect us from the weather we experience.

Of course these are not new ideas. Our recognition of the physical needs of the body in order to have life, itself, are found in the Book of Isaiah, the prophet who wrote some five centuries before Christ walked among us. A few minutes ago we heard Isaiah’s call to the Israelites: “Thus says the LORD: All you who are thirsty, come to the water! You who have no money come, receive grain and eat; come, without paying and without cost, drink wine and milk! Why spend your money for what is not bread; your wages for what fails to satisfy? Heed me and you shall eat well, you shall delight in rich fair. Come to me heedfully, listen, that you may have life.”

In hearing these words, do we also hear that, in addition to what we identified as the resources needed for life, there is still one more important requirement. We have a need for the LORD GOD as well. On behalf of the LORD, Isaiah said: “Come to me heedfully, listen, that you may have life. I will renew with you the everlasting covenant, the benefits assured to David.”

Our gospel reading from Matthew continues to address this requirement. Once again, we heard how Christ, the new Covenant, made visible the words of Isaiah. The people believed Jesus could heal them. He could provide them with cures for their suffering bodies. Even when he tried to be alone, to attend to his own sorrow after the death of his kinsman, John the Baptist, even then, the crowds pursued him. And he responded.

As Matthew reports: “When he … saw the vast crowd [following him], his heart was moved with pity for them, and he cured their sick.” And later that day, as evening fell upon the crowds, an event occurred which changed the course of the life of those who listened to him. His disciples, his closest followers, urged him to dismiss the crowds so they could go, independently, into the villages to buy food to sustain themselves. But instead of listening to their advice, Jesus chose a different path.

Jesus took the five loaves of bread and the two fish offered to him by his disciples and blessed them. We are well aware how these meager resources were distributed to the crowd. How they ate of them. How their hunger was satisfied. And how the leftover fragments, when gathered together, filled twelve wicker baskets. But are we also aware of what this account of a miraculous event might add to our understanding of what is also required for life to exist? What is essential for life, itself? To the resources of water and food, to the need for air to breathe and for clothing and shelter from the elements, Jesus demonstrated there is also a requirement for “community,” for the coming together of the people, for the sharing of life, itself, with one another.

The disciples had urged him to disperse the crowds, to send them off so they could attend to their needs individually, privately. But Jesus did not do this. Instead, he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass. Jesus chose to keep them together as a community of followers rather than as individuals who would provide only for themselves among the “five thousand men … not counting women and children” who had been listening to him.

From this community, he obtained a meager resource: five loaves of bread and two fish. He blessed this offering, this sharing, and then he had another request. He did not have the crowd line up and receive individual handouts. Rather, he gave the blessed food to his disciples, his closest friends, and had them distribute the food to the rest of the community. And with their hunger satisfied, this community provided more than twelve times the amount of their original donation.

Sometimes, we tend to forget the importance of the community in the life we live. We are so focused on our own individual need for specific resources we fail to offer up what we have so that it can be blessed by the LORD GOD and returned twelve-fold.

For the past several weeks, we have heard the parables of Christ about the growth of seeds and the soil needed for this growth. We heard how the reign of God cannot be choked out by the evil of the world around us. We have been told the reign of God is like a mustard seed, like leaven in rising dough. We heard how it is like a buried treasure or a pearl of great price and must be eagerly pursued. And, finally, how the reign of God is like a fishnet which brings in a diverse collection to satisfy everyone.

And yet, the crowds who heard these parables did not really understand. Perhaps, this is why Jesus attempted to teach them through the specific actions he accomplished in today’s gospel reading. As important as the air we breathe, the water we drink, the food we consume, the clothing and shelter needed for our protection, there is also a need for community, for the gathering together of his followers, for the sharing of meager resources which he blesses and multiplies.

Jesus asked his disciples, his closest friends, to be a significant part of this sharing as they, themselves, distributed these resources. And once the people had been satisfied, he also had his disciples gather together what the crowd had to offer in return.

After all, unless the gathered leftovers of the twelve baskets were to be given out, again, what is the purpose of their being gathered in the first place? Is it not to show the abundance of our God and how we are to continue to share his abundance with one another. His abundance is not to be hoarded for personal use later on. Rather, it is to be returned to him for further distribution among those in need.

St Paul knew the importance of all of this to life, itself, when he asked his questions to the Romans: “What will separate us from the love of Christ? Will anguish, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril of the sword? No, in all these things we conquer overwhelmingly through him who loved us.”

We may believe we, as individuals, require the resources of nature and of our own actions, to possess life. And while vast numbers in the secular world might agree, the followers of Christ, on the other hand, also recognize we are called to share the abundant gifts he has given us. We also realize that, together, we are the body of Christ, and as members of his body, this community of believers, we must act as one, on behalf of the head of this body, Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen!

^{18th Sunday in Ordinary Time; July 31, 2011
Is 55:1-3; Rom 8:35, 37-39; Mt 14:13-21}

It’s that time of year again. And what time is it? Well, for some, it’s time to get ready to start school. Last week, we heard Fr. Fred1 talk about education, especially at our neighboring parish of St Anne’s in Tomball. Fr Fred also reminded us that this week we would be hearing about stewardship, since in the Diocese of Galveston-Houston it’s the time of year when we are reminded we are stewards of the gifts God has given us. Stewards: those who look after what the master has left in their charge. Which leads me to today’s question: What are the three gifts for which we are called to be stewards?

Yes, “time, talent and treasure.” Today, we are asked to focus on “time” – the time given to us by God and for which we are held responsible as his stewards. I don’t know about you, but I often feel the gift he has given me isn’t quite big enough, or long enough. My time seems to vanish without my realizing where it has gone or how it has gone. I’m sure there are now less than twenty-four hours in a day. And does a “year” really still have three-hundred-sixty-five days? How am I to spend more time with God when he seems to be giving me less and less free time to spend with him or with anybody else? I seem to be filling up my hours very easily, even if I have, supposedly, been “retired” for the last three years.

There are times when I want to be like the prophet Elijah we heard about in our First Reading for today and simply hide out in some cave, get away from it all, retreat to a place of quiet where I can rest for a while. Of course I would really not want to be Elijah who, in fact, was hiding out from the wrath of Queen Jezebel. Yes, Elijah was hiding out in that cave and not merely trying to get away from an active life.

So, what happened to him? Was Elijah able to hide out comfortably in that cave? No. Because what happened is: God called. Yes, it seems when we try to escape, try to be alone for a few minutes, either to rest or to escape from our pursuers, God calls. God calls us to spend some time with him, to be present to the Lord God. And we respond. We answer his call. We enter into prayer.

Yes, believe it or not, prayer is not something I do, it’s not something I, myself, want. Oh, I may say I want to pray, but it is God who calls me to prayer. Prayer is my response to God’s call, his call to be in his presence.

Elijah, himself, left the safety of his cave when he heard the call of God. Elijah looked for Yahweh in the power of nature, in the whirlwind, in the earthquake, and in the consuming fire. But the Lord God was not in any of these great events. Rather, the Lord God met Elijah in the tiny whisperings of a gentle breeze.

Although each of us might seek God in the wonders and great events of our life, he comes in fact, in gentle prayer, in the inner calling of our faith in him. Peter learned the same lesson. In our gospel reading, Peter and the other disciples saw their Lord and Master walking on the waves of the Sea of Galilee during a predawn storm. The terrified Peter wanted to be in the immediate presence of his Lord and Master, to be safely with Jesus, who from a distance, said to his frightened friends, “Take courage. It is I. Do not be afraid.”

However, Peter demanded a greater sign. He wanted Jesus to command him to come, to order him to walk across the waves. And Jesus responded, “Come.” But Peter took his eyes away from the one who called. He saw the dangers beneath him as he approached Jesus and began to sink. Yet it was then that Jesus reached out to Peter, took him from the raging waters, and spoke words which calmed both the fisherman and the waters, themselves. Yes, there are times when God calls me in prayer and I respond with my own demands, my own desire for proof God loves me and, therefore, will respond dramatically to my demands. And God does respond to our demands and allows us to do what we believe is the right thing. But then, when we behold not the face of Jesus, but rather the elements of our own world, we falter. Yet, as we begin to sink beneath the stormy waves of our life, our companion, who has never left us, reaches out and brings us forth from the dangers into which we have put ourselves.

Just how does he do this? How does he reach out to us? Perhaps, the answer can be found in what happened before Jesus walked across the storm-tossed waters. Jesus, on the evening before he walked across the stormy waves of the Sea of Galilee, went to the top of a mountain to spend the night in prayer, to be in the presence of Abba, his Father. Jesus gave his attention both to his Father and to his friends. Jesus was a steward who walked not only with his companions, but also with Abba. He gave of his time both to his Father and to his friends.

This Sunday we are again reminded we are stewards of the time given to us by God. We are to use this time for others and in prayer. Prayer is not a time for the demands of the steward. Rather, prayer is the time for us, who are his stewards, merely to be in the presence of the Master who loves us, the one who freely gives us all of the world for our use and for our protection – our protection for use by others, by all those whom he loves.

For this is what stewardship means. As stewards, we are caregivers for all of the gifts given to us, gifts to be shared with others. God calls us to be stewards of the time he gives, the time we share with others. But we are also asked to share our time with God as well.

God calls us to devote exclusive time for us to be with him, to be in the presence of God, to be in prayer with God. God calls us to a prayer life – a life lived in the presence of God. God also he calls us to a prayerful life – a life influenced by prayer, a life formed in prayer and lived for others.

While it is true that each of us is called to serve our brothers and sisters, to be stewards of his creation, God also calls each of us to be with him, to be present to him, alone. We need not climb to the top of a mountain. We need not walk across raging waters. But we do need to hear his call to each of us, hiding in our caves or in a storm-tossed boat. We need to listen for his whisper and respond. This may be the time of year for some of us to continue our education. It is always the time of year for me to continue my walk with the God who whispers to me in my heart and in my prayer.

^{Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary; August 11, 2002
1Kg 19:9a, 11-13a; Rom 9:1-5; Mt 14:22-33}

1. Fr. Fred Valone had recently been Parochial Vicar at Christ the Good Shepherd. In 2002 he was the Pastor at the neighboring parish of St Anne in Tomball, TX. St Anne had a struggling elementary school needing additional support. Since we did not have a school, but many of our families sent their children to St Anne’s, it seemed appropriate to allow him the use of our pulpit.

A few weeks ago, my question was “for children of all ages.” Today, I have another question for “children of all ages.” But today’s question is not about circuses. However, you’ll need to remember back to when you were a little kid. My question is this: When you were a little kid, were there monsters under your bed? If you were like many little kids, you knew they didn’t live there all the time. Not during the daylight hours. But only at night, when you were about ready to go to sleep. They began stirring just after mommy or daddy turned off the light. Some of you may not know what I’m talking about, but Calvin and Hobbes did!

How many of you remember Calvin and Hobbes? They were my favorite comic-strip characters. Calvin was the little boy who knew the world most of us live in is less important than the world of our imagination. He and his tiger friend, Hobbes, knew all about the monsters under the bed, about the things that frighten us. But Calvin had Hobbes to protect him. If I need to get out of my bed and look under it to make sure the monsters aren’t really there, I’d like to have a friendly tiger at my side.

Believe it or not, our readings for today have that same message: there is a friendly, gentle tiger with me. To begin, let’s take another look at our first reading from the First Book of Kings about the prophet Elijah hiding out in a cave. Do you remember why he was there? It’s because he had killed the seventy prophets of Queen Jezebel who was now chasing him. He was hiding out from her in that cave on Mount Horeb when the Lord God said He would allow Elijah to see Him, personally.

Elijah wanted to see the Lord God, but he also knew those who did, usually died in the process. Yet he was willing to leave the safety of his cave, to risk death to see the Lord God passing by. And what does Elijah see? First of all, there’s a strong wind, a tornado, ripping the mountain apart and pulverizing the rocks around Elijah. Next, there’s an earthquake. And then there is an all-consuming fire. Still there is no Lord God to comfort Elijah, His prophet. But then, after the fire, there is a tiny, whispering sound. It is then that Elijah knows Yahweh is present.

Would you have had the courage, after a tornado, after an earthquake, after a raging fire, to stand at the entrance of a cave to be present to hear the whisper of God? In the midst of your own tribulations, when you hide in your own cave to be safe from all that rages around you, do you dare to go out to listen for the gentle whisper of God?

And what about Peter, whose story we heard in today’s gospel reading? Am I like Peter? It’s been a hard day for Peter. But it had been a harder day for Jesus. It started before dawn, when word had reached Jesus and his friends that John, the one who had baptized them in the Jordan, was dead. Beheaded by King Herod. Upon hearing this terrible news, Jesus wanted to be alone, alone with his Abba, alone with his prayers. Jesus had set off in a small boat to a deserted place by himself.

However, the crowds had heard he was going. Perhaps, some had even heard the news about John and wondered how Jesus would react. Would Jesus now start preaching against Herod? What would Jesus do next? So, they went ahead of him, along the shore, and met him when he got out of the boat.

He didn’t preach to them about overthrowing Herod. He did not talk about revenge. The crowd listened intently to what he said. They did not leave. Even when dusk began to settle. There in the twilight the disciples urged Jesus to send away the crowds. You know what happened next. We heard in last week’s gospel how Jesus fed the five-thousand, not counting women and children, with five loaves of bread and a couple of fish. When it was dark, Jesus finally dismissed the crowds and sent his friends out in a boat so he could, at last, be alone to mourn for his friend and cousin, John the Baptist.

Jesus had spent much of the night in prayer. Yet, his disciples were still in his mind. Even in his own human sadness about John, Jesus could look out across the Sea of Galilee and notice in the cloudy moonlight their boat was being tossed about. So, sometime between three and six A.M., Jesus went to them across the water.

There was Peter, the able fisherman, who could not make any headway, out there in the boat with the others. When they saw Jesus walking on the water, perhaps they thought Herod’s men had killed Jesus, too, and it was, indeed, his ghost approaching them. Jesus knew what they must be thinking and so he called out to them, “Take courage. It is I. Do not be afraid.”

Peter heard those words of his friend and Master. Peter, the fisherman who knew the dangers of the waters of the Sea of Galilee, took his courage and began to walk across the waters toward Jesus, until Peter, remembering what those dangers might be, began to sink. Yet, in his very act of sinking, Peter was able to cry out, “Lord, save me!”

Yes, Jesus had the right to say to Peter, “How little faith you have.” And to ask him: “Why did you doubt, why did you falter?” But this question, which can also be asked of you and me, is less important than what happened next. Jesus did reach out to Peter and led him back to the safety of the boat. Only then did the storm die down.

But what about me? How many times have I been less than Peter and not had the courage to get out of the boat? How often have I had the initial onrush of courage to get out of my boat, but seeing the storm did not end and fearing for my own safety, began to sink beneath the waves? How many times have I asked for Jesus to help me, and then lost confidence, wondering if he really heard me? Did he really call to me and say, “Be not afraid. Come.”

“Be not afraid.” Of what am I afraid? “Come.” From what fear must I come? Do I fear the conditions of the world around me? A world which seems to be filled with monsters of terrorism and disaster. Or, perhaps, I need to look even closer to home. To my own bed, my own cave, my own boat. Perhaps, each one of us needs to begin to identify the boat in which we are tossed and turned. For some, the tossing boat may be a relationship which needs to be improved – with our spouse or with a parent, with a friend. For others, it may be a relationship which must be ended, rather than pursued. We know what must be changed. We try, but, seeing no immediate improvement, we give up instead of calling for help from the Jesus who walks toward us with outstretched hand.

Or perhaps we must begin to identify the cave of our isolation, a cave that may be an addiction which has hold of us, an addiction to drugs, to excessive alcohol, to computer porn or to other harmful behaviors. Perhaps, my cave is a general weariness – a weariness of not knowing what I should do, of wanting to seek God more closely, but not knowing how to begin.

So here I sit, locked in my cave of isolation. Here I am, being tossed by waves which threaten to drown me. Here I huddle, in my bed while monsters lurk beneath me. And all the time I lack courage – courage to begin. Courage to be like Peter. Peter had the courage to step out. He lost his courage to continue on his own, knowing the real dangers and difficulties on all sides. Yet, he regained his courage, to call out once more. And all the time, Jesus was there. There, not to stop the storm immediately, but there to help Peter to safety once again.

A few minutes ago, I began this reflection with comments about two comic-strip characters: Calvin and Hobbes, the friendly tiger. Perhaps, Jesus is not unlike my own friendly tiger. When I believe monsters lurk under my bed, he is there to encourage me to get out from beneath the protective covers and look under the bed, to see that the monsters are not there. And yet, if there be monsters there, he will still be with me to see me to final safety. But the first move is up to me. Only I can pull the covers off and put my feet on the floor. Only I can hear the high winds, the earthquake, and the fire, and still move toward the entrance of my isolating, protecting cave in order to hear, finally, the gentle whisper of my God. Only I can step out of my tossing boat and begin my walk toward Jesus. And when I do, I can hear him say, “Take courage. It is I. Do not be afraid. Come.”

^{Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary; August 8, 1987; August 11, 1996 (revised); August 7, 2005 (revised)
1 Kg 19:9,11-13; Rom 9:1-5; Mt 14:22-23}

Happy birthday! Do you know whose birthday we’re celebrating today? You don’t? Well, it’s your birthday – and mine. Today is the celebration of our birthday into the Kingdom of Heaven. You don’t believe me? Well, listen again to what St Paul wrote to the Corinthians: “Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep. Death came through a man; hence the resurrection of the dead comes through a man also. Just as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will come to life again, but each one in proper order: Christ the first fruits and then, at his coming, all those who belong to him.”

The resurrection of the dead, our birth into an everlasting life is not something we think about very often, even though at each Mass we recite as part of our Creed: “… we look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come . . . “ Somehow, many of us seem to gloss over the fact it is our own resurrection we’re talking about, our own rebirth into the Kingdom of Heaven in a very special way. The feast day we celebrate today is a reminder of our own forthcoming resurrection. On this Feast of the Assumption, we celebrate our Catholic belief that Mary, the mother of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, was assumed, or taken up, into heaven. We believe, as Christ is the first fruits, his mother is the example of what each of us is called to be.

Last March 25, on the Feast of the Annunciation, Pope John Paul made this very clear in the sixth encyclical he has published. This encyclical, called Redemptoris Mater, speaks about the pilgrimage of faith we are all on and how Mary is a guiding light, the Star of the Sea, on this journey. John Paul wrote this document as a prelude to the Marian year which began on June 7, Pentecost Sunday, and will end one year from now, on August 15, 1988, the Feast of the Assumption.

You might wonder why he has designated this particular year to be a Marian year, a special year dedicated to the honor of Mary. In his formal announcements he has pointed out two reasons why 1987-1988 should be dedicated to Mary. One reason will be clear this fall when the Synod of Bishops meets in Rome to discuss issues related to the pastoral concerns of the church, especially the role of the laity in the church. John Paul has asked for Mary’s assistance in these important deliberations which will be part of this Marian year.

But there is another reason as well. It relates, perhaps, to the first reading we heard a few minutes ago. Many people read these words, or others like them from the Book of Revelation, and see today as a time of trial and tribulation, the end of the world as we know it. However, we’re not the first to have such views. It happened in about 1000 A.D. It happened again around 1300 A.D. The people saw the end of the first millennium as ushering in the final days of the world. When the end didn’t occur in 1000 A.D., the people of 1300 A.D. were sure that year would be the time when Christ would return. The next major ”magic number” year arrives thirteen years from now: the year 2000 A.D. I dare say, as we approach 2000 A.D., there will be many dire predictions of the end of the world1.

Well, John Paul is not predicting the end of the world in 2000 A.D., but he is focusing on the celebration of the beginning of the Third Millennium of the Christian era. In his announcement for this Marian year, he emphasized that Mary “shines on the horizon of the advent of our times,” and, just as Mary precedes Jesus physically by approximately thirteen years, we should celebrate a year for her approximately thirteen years before we celebrate the beginning of the Third Millennium in his honor.

So, where does all of this leave us? Today, on the feast of the Assumption, we recognize Mary, in some way which is beyond our human understanding, is with God in a very special way. We believe we, also, will be with God in that very same way. In the meantime, we continue to follow the example of Mary, who freely said “yes” to God’s invitation. We look forward with joy to whatever the next thirteen years may bring and await with great expectation the Third Millennium of Christ. It is in this continuing joy that we are able to say, once more, happy birthday to one and all.

^{Feast of the Assumption; August 15, 1987
Rev 11:19, 12:1-6, 10; 1 Cor 15:20-26; Lk 1:39-56}

The answer to today’s question can be found in the readings we just heard. It’s a question about history and about the Church. My question is this: What is the usual symbol used for the papacy? What symbol is found throughout history on every papal flag or coat of arms? Yes, it’s the symbol of two crossed keys, usually, one is gold, the other silver. You can check it out on the flag in the narthex that you pass every-time you enter or leave Christ the Good Shepherd.

Today’s readings speak a lot about keys. In the First Reading from the prophet Isaiah, we heard about the “key of the House of David” and about two servants, Shebna and Eliakim. It seems Shebna had done something the Lord God did not approve of. From earlier lines written by Isaiah, it appears Shebna had become too proud of himself and of his place in King David’s royal household. So, the Lord God said he would transfer the authority of Shebna to another servant named Eliakim. And what was this authority? It was the power of carrying the key to the king’s chamber.

Back then, keys were a lot bigger than they are now. You couldn’t put a key to a palace door in your pocket. It was so large that the one who had the privilege of carrying it had to carry it over his shoulder. It must have been like the now-symbolic “key to the city” a mayor gives to a distinguished visitor. And so, Isaiah writes: “[The Lord God] will place the key of the House of David on Eliakim’s shoulder; when he opens, no one shall shut; when he shuts, no one shall open.” With these words, the Lord God gave Eliakim the authority to control access to the king’s meeting hall, King David’s chambers. Eliakim became the royal chamberlain.

Chamberlain: the one who controls the royal chambers, the royal rooms. I like the words “chamberlain” and chamber. They come from the Latin word for room, camera, which leads me to the Italian word for “a small room.” In Italian, the diminutive ending is “ino” like – “bambino” is a “small child.” So, in Italian, a small room or a small “camera” is: “camerino.” Yes, my last name literally means “a small room.” It’s also the name of a town in central Italy, near Assisi. That’s probably where my family name originated, even if my grandfather did come from a town near Naples.

I don’t know about you, but I’m fascinated by names, by the words we call places and things – and people. Some two-thousand years ago, back in the days of Jesus, names were very important. They were especially important to the Hebrew people who thought knowing the name of something, or someone, gave you power over that thing or person. This is why it was so important for Adam to give a name to all of the animals and things which God created. Naming them, showed Adam had power over things God created. And why it was so important for Moses to know the name of the Lord God, the Lord God who told Moses his name was “I AM WHO AM?”

Centuries later, long after the time of Moses, it was equally important for Jesus to ask his friends, “Who do the people say that the Son of Man is?” According to Matthew’s gospel: “They replied: ‘some say John the Baptist, others Elijah, still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.’ ” In other words, the disciples responded by saying the crowds thought Jesus was like one of the many who had spoken, before, about the coming of God. But then, Jesus, speaking almost in the words addressed to Moses, asks the question: “But who do you say that I am?” And Simon replies, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.” Messiah, the Hebrew word for “the Anointed One, the Chosen One.” In Greek, the word becomes: Christos, the Christ. Simon named Jesus to be “the Christ,” the Anointed One whom God had promised to the Israelites since their beginning as a nation.

And once again, we hear those famous lines: “Blessed are you, Simon, son of Jonah, for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my heavenly father. And so I say to you, you are “Petros,” and upon this “petra” I will build my church, and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it. I will give you the keys to the kingdom of heaven. Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.”

And so, over the remaining centuries, the popes, the successors of Peter, the Rock, have maintained the authority over the Church, given by Jesus, that has been passed down to them. And for this reason, the symbol of the papacy has been the keys given to Peter. But once more, the story does not end here.

Rather, it begins here. It begins with what Jesus established on his “rock,” on his foundation. Jesus said that on this rock, on this foundation, he would build his ekklesia, his Church. This Greek word for church, ekklesia, means “those who are called forth by a herald” or “those who are gathered together.” And so it was that on the foundation of Peter, his Rock, Jesus calls forth his people, his people who are gathered here this day, right now, this moment.

We are gathered here for two purposes: to hear his word and to approach his table. Here at this liturgy, at this public gathering, God comes to us and we, in turn, come to God. To be part of this gathering, we, too, must take part in the conversation which began with Jesus and Simon, son of Jonah. Just as Jesus asked Simon: “Who do you say I am?” he asks each one of us: “Who do you say I am?” And each one of us must give an individual answer.

Some might respond with such names as “Lord” or “Master.” Others might reply: “Savior or Redeemer.” Still others might answer: “Brother or Friend.” As important as each answer might be, we also need to remember we heard a second response in today’s reading. When Simon gave a name to Jesus, Jesus gave a new name to Simon.

Yes, it’s important for each one of us to respond to the question Jesus asked Simon: “Who do you say that I am?” But it’s also important to listen to the reply Jesus gives to each one of us. As you call him “Lord” or “Master,” does he call you, Faithful Servant? As you call him “Savior” or “Redeemer,” does he call you, “Forgiven?” As you call him: “Brother” or “Friend,” does he call you, “My Companion?” For you see, what name you call him, influences what name he calls you. Simon named him “the Anointed One sent by the Living God.” In turn, Simon received the name “Rock,” the firm foundation.

Finally, I would remind you: when two people are deeply in love they usually have a pet-name, a term of endearment, which they use when they are alone, together. And so, today, as you speak the silent name you have for Jesus, you might listen with your heart, to hear what name, what true name, what name of endearment, Jesus speaks to you. In response to our answer to his question: “Who do you say that I am,” he tells each of us who we are to him. Yes, my first question to you today was about the Church, the gathered people of God. And my last question is also about the Church. My question is this: By what name does the Living God call you?

^{Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary; August 24, 2008; revision of August 22, 1999
Is 22:19-23; Rom 11:33-36; Mt 16:13-20}

All of you who come here to mass every week know I begin each homily with a question. Many of you realize I do this with a hope that, on a personal basis, you’ll enter into my attempt to break open the scriptures we hear at this particular celebration. I expect on some occasions you hear the question and wonder how in the world will I relate it to the readings? I also recognize a few of you, later, recall the question, but can’t remember anything else about the homily. I hope that’s not the case today. However, even if it is, it’s ok, because today’s questions are directly about scripture, itself.

The New Testament has a lot of questions. Today I’d like to bring four of them to your attention. They are four questions which have very related answers. Perhaps, one of the most basic questions in the New Testament is the one raised by those who followed Jesus. One of them asked him: “What is the most important commandment of God?” Is there anyone here who does not know the answer? (No, I won’t ask you to raise your hand.) Yes, of course: it’s to acknowledge that the Lord is one God and to love him and to love my neighbor as I love myself.

Immediately this question leads to another one: “Who is my neighbor?” The answer should be familiar to each one of us. So, again I don’t need to elaborate on the story of the “good Samaritan.” The next two questions I have in mind are ones Jesus asked Peter. The first one is found in the Gospel of John, when Jesus asked him: “Do you love me?” Again, you know his response, or series of responses, since Jesus asked the question three times. And the last of the four questions I’d raise for your consideration today, is the one we heard Jesus ask Peter much earlier in his ministry. Today, we heard Jesus ask: “Who do you say that I am?” And once more, we heard Peter’s response.

When I began this series of questions, I said their responses are related. I believe the answer to each question has something in common with the others. Recall – the questions are:
● “What is the greatest of all of the commandments?”
● “Who is my neighbor?”
● “Do you love me?”
● “Who do you say I am?”
I believe the answers to these four questions are related because each one deals with a matter of relationships. In the first two questions the response deals with the relationship between our God and each one of us, as well as with the relationship each one of us has with another person. The question about love is certainly about relationships. And the question “who do you say I am?” maybe the major question we can ask about any relationship.

If you listen closely, Jesus did not ask: “Who am I?” He knew the answer to that one. Instead, Jesus asked the question: “Who do you say I am?” This question is a relational one. The response is about the perceptions we have about our relationships with one another. How I respond to the question Jesus asked Peter tells me, and him, about the relationship I have with him – who I believe Jesus really is, who I believe I really am.

Consider for a moment, the relationship you have with others. How would you respond if your spouse asks you: “Who do you say I am?” Would you respond:
● “You are my spouse” … “you are my husband” … “you are my wife”
● “You are my beloved” … “you are my lover “ …. “you are my best friend”
● “You are the mother of my children” …. “you are the father of my child”
● “You are the one who takes care of the house”
● “You are the one who brings home a paycheck so we can have food and shelter”

I think you’d readily agree each set of responses is about the relationship you have with the person to whom you’re married. The answer may be about the other person, but it’s also about you. When Jesus asked his disciples who do people say he is, he was inquiring about second-hand information. And he received a second-hand opinion. He received “hearsay.” He was told some people believe he is a prophet like John the Baptist, or Elijah or Jeremiah. He is a spiritual leader who tells them about God.

But when he asked Simon the same question, he wanted a first-hand answer. It was then that his disciple replied: … You are the Christ, the anointed one of God, … You are the Son of the living God, … You are the Messiah, the One who will redeem us, the One who at the end of time will be there to usher in the final reign of God. Yes, Simon gave his first-hand response about the relationship he believed existed between the two of them. Simon gave Jesus another name, “Christ, Messiah.”

And Jesus, in turn, gave Simon another name. He called him Peter, the Rock, the foundation upon which he would establish his church, the gathering of those who would follow him, now and forever. A new relationship was formed between “Jesus the Christ” and “Simon the Rock.”

The question Jesus asked Simon is the same question he asks of each one of us. And how each of us responds to this question speaks about the relationship between the two of us. Yes, it’s important for each of us to respond, individually, to the question Jesus asked Simon Peter: “who do you say that I am?” It’s also important to listen to the reply Jesus gives to each one of us.
● As you call him: Lord or Master … does he call you: Faithful Servant?
● As you call him: Savior or Redeemer … does he call you: Forgiven?
● As you call him: Brother or Friend … does he call you: My Companion?

A few minutes ago, I implied there are many ways to respond when a spouse asks: “who do you say I am.” Sometimes, the reply could be a pet-name, a term of endearment, which is used when you are alone, together. And so, today, as you speak the silent name you have for Jesus, you might listen with your heart, to hear what name of endearment Jesus speaks to you. In response to our answer to his question: “who do you say that I am?” he tells each of us who we are to him.

I began by saying there are at least four relational questions asked in the New Testament. Two of them are asked by the crowds who followed Jesus: “What is the greatest of all of the commandments of God?” and “Who is my neighbor?” Two of them are asked by Jesus to Simon Peter: “Do you love me?” and “Who do you say that I am?” I would now ask you a fifth question. Not one asked directly in the Scriptures but one with a response equally important as any found in these writings. My question is this: “By what name does the Living God call you?” Listen quietly and hear his answer in your heart.

^{Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 21, 2011 (Modification of Homily of 8/22/1999 and 8/24/2008)
Is 22:19-23; Rom 11:33-36; Mt 16:13-20}

When was the last time you had a crisis? That’s your question for today. I ask it because today’s Gospel Reading begins with a crisis. Perhaps, we can reflect for a few minutes on how Jesus responded to his crisis, so we might be able to respond more appropriately to our own crisis.

For many of us, “crisis” means a problem, something to be overcome. We talk about a crisis at work when we have to make a deadline for the completion of a project we should have started weeks ago. Or a crisis in the home, when Johnny doesn’t pass a course at school or when Suzie starts to date a boy we’re not sure she should date. For some, a crisis is the loss of a job or the death of a loved one. For others, a “crisis” occurs when you break a shoelace and your car-pool is waiting for you. I admit these may be examples of crises in our lives, of major or minor burdens we have. But that’s not really the kind of crisis I mean when we begin to reflect on today’s Gospel message, on the crisis Jesus faces.

The real meaning of “crisis” is: a time of change, a time of a major turning point. For instance, when a physician talks about a “crisis” being reached in a disease, the doctor really means a point is being reached where the patient will make either a rapid decline and die or will take a sudden turn for the better and recover. A crisis is the time of a turning point in one’s life. In today’s Gospel, Jesus has reached such a turning point.

Until now, Jesus has been preaching in Galilee about the Kingdom of God, the Reign of God, which has now begun. Yet his words have not been understood, not even by his closest friends, his disciples. Do you recall last week’s Gospel? The passage last week is the one which immediately precedes today’s reading. Last week, we heard Jesus’ question to his disciples: “Who do you say I am?” And we heard Simon’s response: “You are the Messiah (the anointed one), the Son of the Living God.” And Jesus’ response to Simon: “you are Peter, the rock.” But now, only a few verses later, only a few minutes later, Jesus has another name for Simon-Peter. He calls him “Satan.” Surely, this is some indication of a major change, a turning-point, a crisis.

Although Jesus has been preaching about the God who is love, his friends have not understood him. He now accepts the fact he must show them what he really means. He tells them he must leave Galilee and go to Jerusalem where he will suffer, be put to death, and be raised up. He must show them that love, true love, must also accept the burdens which are part of true love.

Peter’s reaction is typically human and typically Peter! He takes Jesus aside and says: “God forbid that any such thing ever happen to you!” Wouldn’t we have said the same thing? When a friend comes to us and tells us of a hard choice, a difficult decision he must follow, wouldn’t we, too, say: “God forbid that it has to happen!” Or when I, myself, have a hard decision to follow, I too want to cry out: “God forbid that I really have to do it!”

It’s then, when Peter cautions Jesus not to go to Jerusalem, that Jesus called him: “Satan.” But what does he mean? He does not mean Peter is an evil devil, some kind of monster. Do you remember when we first meet Satan in both the Old and New Testaments? In the opening chapters of Genesis, Satan is the tempter, the one who counsels Eve about the easy way to be like God. And in the New Testament, Satan is the one who, in the desert, tempts Jesus to accomplish his mission the easy way, by bowing down to Satan who will then give him all the kingdoms of the world.

Now, here is Peter saying: “Surely Jesus, you don’t really need to go to Jerusalem to suffer and die.” But what does Jesus say, besides calling Peter the great tempter? He says: “You are not following God’s standards but rather human standards.” And then he goes on to say something I find very difficult to accept: the need to deny my very self in order to save my self.

When I began this reflection, I used the word “crisis,” a Greek word which means “turning-point.” To reflect about this crisis, and our temptation in a time of crisis to take the easy way out, I need to reflect on another Greek word, psyche. This word, psyche, is used several times in today’s Gospel reading and it’s essential we have an appreciation of what it means.

The Greek root-word is found in modern English terms such as “psychology” or “psychiatry” and so we usually think psyche means “mind.” But it doesn’t. Not really. In modern translations of the Gospel, the one word “psyche,” can be rendered by three different English words: life, soul, or self. The “psyche” is that element within a human being that makes a person a uniquely human person: one’s life, one’s soul, one’s self.

Let me read a passage from today’s Gospel using the word “psyche” and as you listen, think of the whole concept: of life, of soul, of self, of all that makes you a human being and makes you who you are as a unique person. “If you would try to save your psyche, you will lose it. But if you lose your psyche for my sake, you will find it. What profit would you show, if you were to gain the whole world and destroy your psyche in the process? What can you offer in exchange for your psyche?”

That last question is the most important one of all: what can you offer in exchange for your psyche? One answer is given in the Gospel of John: “There is no greater love than this: to lay down one’s psyche for one’s friends.” What we have then, in today’s Gospel Reading, is Jesus’ recognition it is not enough for him to preach about the reign of God and about the father’s love for us. Rather, he saw it was necessary for him to express his willingness to accept the suffering that love sometimes demands and lay down his very selfhood, his psyche, for his friends.

Sometimes, we seem to think this was no great decision. After all, Jesus trusted in God to raise him up. Besides, it’s no great marvel to trust in God. If we believe in a loving father, we are bound to trust him. However, the greater wonder is this: to recognize that God trusts us! He trusts us to do what is right, even when it may be difficult to do what is right.

In today’s gospel, we heard about a crisis, a turning point in the life of Jesus. But what about a crisis in my own life? In a time of crisis, at a turning point in my life, I need to recognize the world may urge me to take the easy way out. Yet, I have to recognize God trusts me to accept my burden, my responsibility, my cross and to do what I know is right. I have to give up my own ego-trip, my own self and to not be tempted to take the easy way out. Instead, if I really am to be a follower of Christ, if I am really to be a Christian, I must be willing to put aside my own selfhood to see what will benefit others and not merely what is of benefit to me, personally.

Jesus never said it would be easy. What he does say is that, since he did it and since he was as human as I am, than I can do it, too. He asks me not to follow the standards of the world, but rather those of God. He asks me to do what is difficult when I would rather do what is socially acceptable – and easier. He asks me to believe God trusts me to do what is right and not merely what is convenient. He assures me the reward, in the long run, is there – and here, as well – for the Reign of God is not some future event, it has already begun, this kingdom of the now and of the not yet.

What conclusion can I reach in this reflection? I could say: at the time of a crisis, of a turning-point in my life, when I am tempted to take the easy way out, God trusts I will accept my burden and, setting aside my own self-interests, my psyche, I will do what benefits others, just as the Son of God did for me.

I admit this is a complex sentence with a lot of words to understand and to follow. Our Lord used a much simpler one. And so, the best way to summarize this reflection is to use his very simple conclusion. All he said was: “Love your neighbor as your own self, your own soul, your own life, your own psyche.”

^{Twenty-second Sunday of Ordinary; September 2, 1984; September 1, 1996 (revised)
Jer 20:7-9; Rom 12:1-2; Mt 16:21-27}

For the last several weeks I’ve been asking questions about childhood. I asked about whether a circus is a place or an event and how the reign of God might be how we act right now rather than being a kingdom we hope to see someday. I asked about whether there are monsters under the bed and how to confront them with our own friendly tiger. Now I have another question which goes back to our childhood.

The question is this: When you were a child, did you play the “What if – game?”
● What if I step on a crack, will I break my mother’s back?
● What if I’m really extra good, will I get a bike for my birthday?
And as we got older, the what if’s changed and became somewhat open-ended.
● What if I drink a beer …
● What if I make out in the back seat of the car …
And adults are not immune to the what if game.
● What if I run this red light …
● What if I cheat on my income tax …
And, yes, some of the what if’s could have been positive.
● What if I study extra hard for this test …
● What if I put aside a few bucks every week for an emergency …
What if’s are like that. Positive or negative. Sometimes both.
● What will happen if …
● What will not happen if …
We can play the what if game on even a larger scale.
● What if the US had not dropped two atom bombs on Japan 60 years ago?
● What if the US had not invaded Iraq two years ago?

The what if game is not a new one. It existed over two thousand years ago, back in the time of Jeremiah, who wondered what if he had not allowed himself to be, as he said, “duped” by God. What if he had not allowed himself to be fooled into speaking for God and, as a result, being flogged and imprisoned because of his unwelcome prophesies? Or what if Jesus had heeded the tempting words of Peter and not gone to Jerusalem?

In today’s gospel, Jesus told Peter and his companions that the one Peter had just called the Messiah, the anointed one of God, must go to Jerusalem “… to suffer greatly … to be killed, and on the third day to be raised.” What if Jesus had not died on a cross and be raised again? What if there had been no “Last Supper?” What if the Eucharist had not been left to us? What if Jesus still has a physical body and resides in Jerusalem in the temple there? Or perhaps in Buckingham Palace, or in the still-standing World Trade Center in New York City?

Oh yes, the “what if game” can become rather fascinating. And totally unreal. We know what really happened. We know Jesus did sacrifice his own life so we could have life. We know he did leave us his Body and Blood so we, too, could become his body and blood. We know that through our actions, he has lived on in the world into the third millennium after his death and resurrection. We know he is not confined to a single building anywhere on this planet but lives in the hearts of each one who inhabits this world.

And there are those of us who know what he meant when he said, “For the Son of Man will come with his angels in his Father’s glory, and then he will repay all according to his conduct.” And what is this conduct which will be rewarded? It is the conduct of doing what we know should be done, what must be done. Some call it the “carrying of one’s cross.” But what is this cross? Is it something under which we shudder? Something we fear? Or is it something we embrace?

A few weeks ago, Fr John spoke about the sign of the cross we make on our mind, on our lips and on our heart. As little children, we were taught to make the Sign of the Cross … “In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” We do not shudder under this sign of the cross. We acknowledge it, not for the death of hope, but for the birth of hope. It is a sign of Passion, a sign of Love. It signifies the action of our Savior and the action to which he calls us.

He calls us to new questions of “what if?” What if I become my brother’s keeper? What if I love my neighbor as myself? He calls us to positive responses to this new game, this adult game of “what if?”

After today’s celebration of his own sacrifice and resurrection, after this liturgy, we are once again provided with opportunities to play the adult what if game. What if, upon leaving this building today, I jump in the car and merely return home? Or what if I go to the large hall across the plaza and see how I might join with others in living out the reign of God?
● What if I check off a couple boxes on this Ministry Form?
● What if I become a greeter, a lector? What if I distribute his consecrated body and blood to others?
● What if I take an active part in faith formation?
● What if I join with others in prayer?
● What if I become his hands for delivering care to others? Social justice to others? Peace to others?
●What if I become a steward for Christ?
What if …?

^{22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 28, 2005 (Ministry or Stewardship Sunday)
Jer 20:7-9; Rom 12:1-2; Mt 16:21-27}

Here we are once more. It’s Labor Day weekend, the unofficial end of summer. For many people this weekend also signifies a beginning, the beginning of a new year. While January 1 is the official New Year’s Day, for me, and, perhaps, for many of you, the real New Year begins with the end of summer vacations and a return to school, whether it’s elementary, secondary or college. So, with school in mind, I have a history question for you. My question is this: When did Labor Day become a legal holiday in the U.S.?

The answer may surprise you. It was 1894, some 99 years ago! It was a time when the labor movement was taking root both here and in Europe, a time when a man by the name of Karl Marx was writing about capitalism, and when Pope Leo XXIII was writing about labor and capital. You might ask, what, if anything, do today’s readings for the twenty-third Sunday of Ordinary time, have to do with Labor Day? Just this: Labor Day was created as a celebration of the solidarity of the working class, a holiday for the new community of workers.

Today’s readings speak of another community, one called ekklesia, the gathering of those who are called forth or, in English, “the church.” Therefore, it seems reasonable for the focus for today’s homily to be: How are we called to love within the Christian community, within the community called together under the name of our leader, Jesus the Christ? That’s the question for today: How are we called to love within the Christian community?

Today’s Gospel Reading is taken from the eighteenth chapter of Matthew’s writings, from a section called the “Jesus’ discourse, or sermon, on the church.” His discourse began with a question. (So, you see, my use of questions to begin a homily is not my own idea! It goes back to the greatest of all teachers.) And what was the question? In Matthew’s gospel, it came from the disciples who asked: “Who is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven?” Jesus replied by calling a child over to the group and saying those who would be childlike would enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

Then he goes on to talk about those who would lead others astray and how they might as well be thrown into the fires of Gehenna, which was the dump-heap just outside of Jerusalem, where all of the trash was continually burned. But what about the one who was not lead astray, but wandered off on his own? Jesus continued with his story of the ninety-nine sheep who stayed in the flock and the shepherd who went in search of the lost one, the one who wandered away. He spoke of the rejoicing when the lost sheep was found and returned to the community of the flock.

We have two stories about entering the Kingdom of Heaven. First, don’t lead anyone astray. Second, if someone leaves on his own, go in search of him. This brings us to today’s reading, which addresses a third consideration: what responsibility do you have before the sheep wanders away from the flock, before the brother or sister leaves the community?

First of all, you need to talk with him on a one-to-one basis to try to help him see where he’s going wrong, to help him get back on the right track. And if you fail in this, and it looks like the person is still going to leave the community through his own harmful actions, then it’s time to get some help. First, from a few close friends who can help you testify to what is right, to tell it like it is. And if that fails, to get help from the rest of the community-at-large, from the gathering, the ekklesia, from the church. What if all this fails? Then what? Then it’s time to bite the bullet and let him go on his way to self-destruction.

We heard this course of action right from the start, from the time of the prophet Ezekiel, and today’s First Reading. If you do not speak out to dissuade the wicked man from his way, he shall die for his wicked actions, but God will hold you responsible for his death. However, if you warn the wicked man, trying to turn him from his wrongful way, and he refuses to turn from it, he shall die for his own actions, but you shall save yourself.

Here’s a modern-day example of what Ezekiel was talking about. Consider what happens in the case of a friend who drinks too much and wants to drive home. You offer to drive him home or call a cab, like the public service announcements say. Or you even swipe his car keys. On the other hand, what if he has a second set of keys, jumps in the car and crashes into a tree? Most would agree if you didn’t try to warn him and do something to help, you share in the responsibility for the accident. Nevertheless, trying and failing is vastly different from not trying at all.

And so it is with the person who chooses any path of self-destruction. We are called to help him see it is self-destructive, to see this through our own efforts and with the help of others in the community. But, sometimes, we need to follow what is now called “tough love,” and let the person go, to allow the person to assume the self-responsibility for his own actions and their consequences.

Some would hear today’s Gospel Reading and find justification for forcing the wrongdoer out of the community. After all, is that not what is meant by Jesus’ instruction ” … treat him as you would a gentile or a tax collector.” The Jews shunned such people, they were outside the community. However, at the same time, there is a parallel question: How did Jesus, himself, treat sinners and tax collectors? Although they were outside the community, he continued to invite them back into it. The door to his fellowship meals was always open to those who repented, who changed their ways and asked to be forgiven. Yes, forgiveness is the focus for next week’s gospel.

Today’s homily, as I said earlier, is to focus on how we are called to love within the Christian community. How we are to help those who are in danger of leaving the protection of the flock. How we are to provide assistance so they can change their ways. Sometimes, however, we must recognize we also need to engage in “tough love” and allow the other person the freedom to wander away. Even when we are tempted to say, since I’ve done so much for you, I am owed something in return. I am owed to be loved back. You are obligated to love me, to do what I want. But this kind of relationship is not love.

Love remains a gift. It demands nothing in return. However, true love calls forth a response. A response to love in return. A gift from the lover to the beloved encourages a gift from the beloved to the lover. Not because of any obligation or demand, but rather, because the natural response to love, is love.

This weekend is the national celebration of Labor Day, a holiday for the community of workers. Yet, any day can be made into a type of “Labor Day” celebration. Here’s a final question for you: What is a “Labor of Love?” Is it not a gift prepared without any expectation of a return, a work done for its own satisfaction or to please another, the one we love? Perhaps, each of us is called to make every day a “Labor of Love” Day, one in which our actions, our works, our labors are to be gifts for others.

^{Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary; September 5, 1993
Ezek 33:7-9; Rom 13:8-10; Mt 18:15-20}

My question for today is about questions and about the Bible. My question is this: In the Old Testament who was the first being to ask a question? Ok, the giveaway is the word “being,” because the answer is “the snake, Satan,” who asked Eve: “Did God really tell you not to eat from any of the trees in the garden?” As a result of that question, the Lord God asked several others of Adam and Eve. Such as: “Where are you?” (when Adam and Eve were hiding from him.) And … “who told you that you were naked?” And, of course, the main question: “Why did you do such a thing?”

But now I have a follow-up question. It’s this: What was the first question asked by a human being? It was a question asked by Cain when the Lord God asked him where Able, his brother, was. In response to the Lord God’s question, Cain replied with his own question: “Am I my brother’s keeper?”

And that is a question which mankind has been asking ever since: “Am I my brother’s keeper?” What responsibility do I have for the welfare of others around me? Must I watch out for the interests of those who are not related to me by blood? This weekend we celebrate one national response to these questions. Monday is the public holiday established a century ago, in 1894, to honor the solidarity of laborers and of labor unions. It began back in the days of a German philosopher by the name of Karl Marx who wrote about capitalism and, more important for us, back in the time of Pope Leo XIII, who wrote about the rights of laborers and the dignity of work.

Yes, the responses to this question, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” come from many sources. They can be heard, in part, in all of today’s readings. In the first reading from the book of the prophet Ezekiel, we heard about the demands made by the Lord God on a prophet who must serve in the role of an appointed watchman.

Back then, the watchman, high on the city tower, stood guard during the night to call out a warning if he spied an internal danger, such as a fire, or the external danger of the approach of an enemy. If the citizens failed to heed his warning, the watchman was absolved of any harm which might befall them. But if he, himself, failed to warn the people, their death would be upon him. The Lord God said his prophet, the one who spoke for him, must be judged in the same way.

The prophet who saw wickedness and did not try to dissuade the wicked from continuing along a wayward path, well, such a prophet would be held accountable for the death of the wicked one. But if the prophet did warn the person and the wicked one continued to sin, then the prophet, himself, was absolved from any blame.

It would appear the Lord God told Ezekiel, and the Israelites, that yes, you are, indeed, your brother’s keeper, you are responsible for his welfare, but, if your advice is not heeded, then the fault is not yours but that of the one who continues to depart from God. The Lord God, it seems, is interested more in how you try to help rather than in how well you succeed.

In our Second Reading we heard more about just how we are responsible for the welfare of others. In this reading, St Paul reminds us the commandments: “You shall not commit adultery; you shall not kill; you shall not steal; you shall not covet” and how all of them can be summed up in the positive statement: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

He then goes on to remind us: “Love does no evil to the neighbor.” In Paul’s view, we are also our brother’s keeper by loving others and not doing evil to others. However, warning others about what might bring them to ruin and not doing evil to others are not the end of our responsibility for being our brother’s keeper. We still have the Gospel Reading to follow.

You may remember the Sunday before last, I spoke about the ekklesia, the church, the gathered people of God. At that time we heard the words Jesus addressed to Peter: “ … you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church … whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.”

In today’s gospel we heard a continuation of this interaction of Jesus and his disciples and how they are to treat those who are in need of moral and spiritual guidance, those who are not following the path. Jesus begins by telling his disciples they have individual responsibilities. If a friend needs to be informed of a fault, Jesus urges, first of all, a one-on-one conversation, a personal interaction. And if this fails to lead the friend back to the path, Jesus suggests a small group should meet with the straying brother.

But what happens if the person fails to heed the advice of the small group? Well, then, Jesus urges the matter be taken up by the large group, the whole gathering, the ekklesia, the church. And then he repeats what he said to Peter, however, this time with a slight, but significant difference. A difference that is apparent if the words are spoken as a Texan would speak them: “…. whatever y’all bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever y’all loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.”

In regular English we don’t have the distinctions found in other languages. However, every Texan knows there is a world of difference between “you” and “y’all.” And in today’s reading Jesus spoke not to “you, Peter” but rather to “y’all, disciples.” In today’s passage he spoke to the community. He reminded them – “where two or three are gathered together in my name, there I am in the midst of them.”

Jesus reminded his followers, and he reminds us, we have a shared responsibility. The gathering, the church, is not a collection of individuals but a gathering in which he is in their midst. He, himself, is an integral part of the gathering, of the church, of the community. When we act as community, we act as the Body of Christ, we are joined together as members of one body with Christ as our head.

What Jesus did while he was here on earth, we are now called to do as members of his one body. These are not mere words but reality. Jesus has said in many ways: whatever you do to the least of my people you do to me.

The first question addressed by a human being to the Lord God is perhaps the most important question anyone can ask: “Am I my brother’s keeper? Am I responsible for the life, welfare, and death of all others?” And God, our Father, speaks the answer silently in the heart of each member of this gathering, this church, this community, this one body of Christ. He speaks the answer to you, right now.

^{Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary; September 5, 1999
Ezek 33:7-9; Rom 13:8-10; Mt 18:15-20}

My question for today might test how observant you are. My question is this: What’s the full name for “CGS?” What name appears on the sign out in front, and on our bulletin, and on our stationary? Yes, “Christ the Good Shepherd Catholic Community.” And so here’s a second question: What is the purpose of a community? Just what is a “community?”

Of course there are a lot of answers. Basically, a community is a group which shares a common interest. A community is a group in which individuals have a responsibility for the welfare of others in the group. Our first reading speaks of the responsibility of each member of a community. The prophet Ezekiel reminds us: each of us has a responsibility to warn others of the dangers that might lead them away from the Lord God. He says, if someone goes against our warning, the responsibility for not heeding the warning is up to the wayward person. However, if we fail to warn someone, the responsibility for the person’s actions is ours. Both the wrongdoer and we will suffer the consequences.

In our Second Reading from the letter of St Paul to the Romans, our responsibility is put in “positive” terms rather than “negative” ones. Instead of saying we must warn others of potential wrong actions, Paul repeats the words of Jesus: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Now, the actions of members of a community are not about negative warnings as much as they’re about positive acts of love, of help, of assistance.

In our Gospel Reading from Matthew, we hear more about how we should help guide one another. Nevertheless, the ultimate responsibility is up to each person. If someone does not follow our guidance, this individual continues to hold the responsibility for knowing what should be done or not done.

This brings us to another question: How do we know what we should do or how we should guide others in what they should do? The response to this question might be found in the last line of today’s gospel: “… where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.”

This, then, is the purpose of “Christ the Good Shepherd Catholic Community,” to gather together in the name of Christ, the Good Shepherd. To gather together and learn what he has to say to us about how we are to believe in him, how we are to live with him in our midst. We, of course, gather together each Sunday. We learn more about him through listening to the scriptures proclaimed to us. (I hope we also learn something through the homilies.) But is this enough? Or are there other ways to learn more about who we are and what we should be doing, believing, being?

Some might think we’ve learned all we need to know, since we’ve attended religious education classes in preparation for our First Communion or later for our Confirmation. After all, there are a lot of teenagers around who know already everything they need to know about life. However, their parents may disagree with them on that.

But do these same parents, these same adults, feel they, themselves, have learned all they need to know about their beliefs, about what the church teaches us about God? Do the same people who know they must continue to learn about their professions in order to succeed think they can continue to get-by with an elementary or secondary education in matters of faith and beliefs?

This weekend our diocese has invited us to focus on adult Catholic education, on learning more about God, and about our adult relationship with God¹. There are many ways to accomplish this learning. For some, it can be done on your own, by continuing to read books and journals about Catholic teachings, about our history and our theology.

However, some may need the encouragement of a group and a formal classroom. For those who want to continue their learning as adult Catholics, our parish and our diocese offer many opportunities. The adult offerings for CGS can be found in this brochure: Adult Faith Formation 2002 – 2003.

I guess I should reveal my own potential-conflict-of-interest in this flyer. You may notice, I’m teaching two of the classes. Starting September 18, there will be eight, morning-sessions on “Basic Beliefs of the Catholic Church” and later, I’ll offer five evening-sessions on “The Catholic Church in the United States.”

In addition to such local classes, our diocese has its own advanced adult education program called “Formation Toward Christian Ministry.” The FTAM has been here at Good Shepherd. It’s currently being offered at St Anthony’s in The Woodlands and at Prince of Peace. You can call the director of religious education at any of these parishes for details about their programs.

Of course, there are also opportunities for young adults, and mature adults, to learn through formal classes in Houston or even in such places as Catholic University of America. I mention CUA, as well as our own University of St Thomas, since today’s second collection will be taken up to support both of them.

Today we have the privilege of hearing more about the University of St Thomas from Dr. Rebecca le Blanc, who has been a member of Christ the Good Shepherd Catholic Community, a community vitally interested in the presence of the Christ who is in our midst. Rebecca.

^{Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary; September 8, 2002
Ezek 33:7-9; Rom 13:8-10; Mt 18:15-20}

1. _{^{Occasionally there is a need for a “public service homily.” This is one of them, given because the Diocese of Galveston-Houston requested that all homilies this weekend be directed toward adult education for Catholics. This is the “homiletic” part, focused somewhat on the Readings. Professor Rebecca LeBlanc then gave a “reflection” on what the University of St Thomas means to her and her family.}}

There is only one appropriate question for today: What happens next? Or for me, personally, perhaps the only question is: What can I say in response to the three powerful readings we heard proclaimed here, today, on this special Sunday of 2005, this weekend of September 10 and 11, which holds so deep a meaning in our lives? Here a mere two weeks after the tragedies left in the wake of Hurricane Katrina.

In today’s gospel reading from Matthew, we heard about forgiving and the consequences of not-forgiving. Last week, we heard his words about correcting those who fall away from God and the consequences of not correcting others, of not heeding the corrections offered by others to us. In next week’s gospel, we will hear about the generosity of God and the consequences of not accepting the generosity of God when he showers it upon others.

Matthew relates to us the parables Jesus tells his followers about Community, about the relations of true brothers and sisters living together in Community. He speaks about correcting, forgiving and accepting. He speaks of our trials and tribulations and about the joys and gifts of God. He speaks of death and of life, death to sin, and life with Christ.

We have seen and will remember much of this (perhaps, we think, too much of this) as citizens of the United States, as residents of Texas, as concerned neighbors of Houston. We’ve experienced the tragedy of what we call “9-11.” We are now experiencing what will be remembered as “Katrina.” Nevertheless, today is also the day for each of us to look more deeply into our own personal call toward forgiveness.

In our first reading from the Book of Sirach, one of the Books of Wisdom from the Hebrew testament, we heard these words: “Wraith and anger are hateful things, yet the sinner hugs them tight. … Forgive your neighbor’s injustice: then when you pray, your own sins will be forgiven. … Remember your last days, set enmity aside; remember death and decay, and cease from sin! Think of the commandments, hate not your neighbor; remember the Most High’s covenant, and overlook faults.”

“Forgive your neighbor” In today’s gospel, practical Peter asked Jesus a question: “Lord, if my brother sins against me, how often must I forgive? As many as seven times?” Yes, Peter thought seven times would be more than enough. Seven is, after all, the number for “perfection.” Surely, this number would be more than sufficient to show how “perfect” a follower of Christ should be in the matter of forgiveness of those who sinned against him, of those who had injured him, if he forgave them seven times.

But what did Jesus reply? It was not enough to be “perfect,” to forgive only seven times. No, instead, one must offer a tenfold return of forgiveness. Not seven, but ten times seven. And add an extra seven for good measure. An infinite number, an unaccountable number of times is required of those who claim to be his followers.

Then, as usual, to make his point less abstract, to put it in terms Peter and the others might more readily understand, he told them a story about a servant who, although forgiven much by his own Master, demanded punishment of a fellow servant who owned a significant lesser amount to him. And Jesus concluded by pointing out that the Master, upon learning of the servant’s lack of mercy, his own lack of forgiveness, gave the servant a punishment even more severe than the one this servant gave to his fellow servant. Not only imprisonment, but torture as well, until the debt is repaid.

It would seem, for some, the threat of punishment, the act of punishment, is needed to motivate a person to change! Is it out of the fear of punishment, the fear that if I fail to do what is right, what is just, I, myself, will be punished? Is it only fear of punishment that impels me toward the goal of tenfold perfection, of forgiving others seventy-seven times? Or are there higher reasons for me to change, to be merciful to others?

Based upon the Pascal mystery as he understood it, Saint Paul gave a reply in his Letter to the Romans, which we have been reading these past weeks. He reminded them and, today, he reminds us: “None of us lives for oneself, and no one dies for oneself. For if we live, we live for the Lord, and if we die, we die for the Lord; so then, whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s. For this is why Christ died and came to life, that he might be Lord of both the dead and the living.” In other words, we live and die because the Son of God lived and died for us. We forgive because the Son of God brought us God’s forgiveness. He forgave us, he forgives us as we forgive others. These are the words we learned as children, words we must recognize and live out as adults.

This weekend those who have taken the responsibility to teach these words to our children and to us, the catechists among us, have been participating in workshops to learn more about their calling to a catechetical ministry. Next weekend, they will be honored here at Christ the Good Shepherd for this ministry. The theme for Catechetical Sunday this year is: “Life IS Christ.” It is equally true that “Christ IS Life,” just as both giving and forgiving are essential for the life of Christians.
● The giving of ourselves to Christ by being his face, his hands, his feet to others as we did four years ago following the devastation of 9/11 and the rebuilding, the rebirth of the great City of New York
● as we are now doing in the rebuilding, the rebirth of the great City of New Orleans
● as, together, we look forward to the coming of our spiritual city, the New Jerusalem, the City of God.

And in the meantime, what happens next? On a practical level, do we have a plan for hiring, for paying those who have fled the areas flooded by Katrina as they, themselves, rebuild their towns and lives? How do we provide them with lumber, bricks and other materials as they rebuild their homes, stores and industries? How do we afford them immediate housing in tent cities and bivouacs until their own homes are replaced? As with Peter, practical answers are needed for what are more than rhetorical questions.

There are no quick solutions, no easy solutions to the question: What happens next?
However, I’d like to leave you with a short reflection written by someone else. From time to time some of you, who know her, have wondered whether Karen, my wife, writes my homilies for me. This is especially the case for those of you who may have attended one of the Days of Prayer she gives through her association with the Cenacle Retreat House. Well, the answer to that question is: “No, she has not.” However, I would like to conclude with a reflection she wrote on one recent, sleepless morning, a few days ago.

After the media are gone with their trucks, cameras, and journalists –
After Katrina disappears from banner headlines –
After power is restored, the levees are repaired and the water is pumped out of the streets –
After the bodies are identified and buried –
After the rubble and sodden possessions are removed –
After all of that – the work begins – the hardest work of all – rebuilding lives & dreams.
The Big Easy is gone – nothing Easy remains.

They will return – first a trickle, then a flood of people – strangers in a strange land.
Hollow eyed – grey-faced – grim, they cling to each other for comfort. Where is home?

Echoes of jazz pour out of doorways on Bourbon Street and Preservation Hall.

Fragrant memories of Creole cooking fill the air.

Can you hear the tap-dancers on the sidewalk?
the clip-clop of horse-drawn carriages –
the shout of hawkers and barkers?

Can you see the rows of easels lining the wrought-iron fences of Jackson Square –
with budding artists and old-timers producing masterpieces in chalk and watercolor?

Can you taste the sugar-covered beignets and the strong coffee at Café du Monde?

If you listen closely, you can hear the sad sound of a funeral led by jazz musicians.

And what of Mardi Gras with its costumes, beads and boisterousness — will it return?

Will the Saints go marching in?

I think so, I hope so. I pray so.

The bad times are here. Let the good times roll again!

^{Twenty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary; September 11, 2005
Sir 27:30 – 28:7; Rom 14:7 -9; Mt 18:21 – 35}

Today’s question is based on scripture. It’s this: In the United States, what is the most referenced passage from the New Testament? It may not be quoted outright, but it certainly is the most referenced verse in the New Testament. So, what is this popular verse? Of course it’s John 3:16. (Hold up large sign.) We heard it just moments ago in our Gospel Reading for today: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, so that he who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.”

On the other hand, the two verses which come immediately before this quotation, verses 14 and 15, are much less known or recited. However, they are equally important. They are: “And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.” These verses are probably less quoted because of the strange reference to Moses having “lifted up the serpent in the desert,” a reference strange to us but not to those who heard Jesus speak them two thousand years ago.

Back then, the Israelites were very familiar with the story of Moses and the Exodus and of the problems the Israelites faced in the desert. They remembered how their food ran out during the early days of the journey from Egypt. They recalled how the Lord God had given them manna to eat, as well as quail to keep them from starvation. The Lord God even gave them water from the rock to quench their thirst. But they were not content with this bread which came down from heaven.

In today’s first reading from the Book of Numbers we heard them complain: “We are disgusted with this wretched food.” They grew tired of manna from heaven. They wanted something else. Forgetting the hardships they had once endured, many wanted to return to their bondage in Egypt, where they had other things to eat,

Now days, we seldom speak about how God sometimes reacts negatively to complaints. We tend to forget, in response to their whining, God sent them poisonous snakes, which the Israelites called saraph serpents or fiery serpents. However, the Israelites quickly realized manna and quail were a lot better than poisonous snakes and petitioned Moses to intercede for them, saying: “We have sinned in complaining against the LORD and you. Pray the LORD to take the serpents from us.”

The Lord God did relent. He instructed Moses to make a bronze serpent and lift it up on a pole so those who were bitten by the poisonous snakes could look upon this icon and be saved. At first, we might be puzzled by this divine instruction. It was not long before then that Aaron had molded a golden calf which angered Moses who broke the original copy of the Ten Commandments. So what’s the difference?

The golden calf was an idol which the Israelites began to worship in place of the Lord God. However, the bronze serpent was an icon to remind them of the power of the Lord God and how he would lead them despite their complaints of which they had repented. Nevertheless, problems of idol worship did recur over the years. Much later, after the Hebrews returned from their captivity in Babylon, a new king, by the name of Hezekiah of Judah, destroyed the bronze serpent Moses had made. In Babylon, the Hebrews had begun to worship the Serpent as a god. They had turned the icon representing the Lord God into an idol for worship in competition with Him.

So why was Jesus recalling this ancient story that we heard in today’s Gospel when he said: “And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.” The answer can be found in how we respond to his being “lifted up.”

Scripture scholars tell us Jesus was referring to his own being lifted up on the cross and this icon of the crucifixion would lead to our Salvation, our Redemption, our Eternal Life. He told his followers, ahead of time, he would be lifted up, not only on a cross, but also from a tomb. Together, the crucifixion and the empty tomb become the icon, a visible image, representing our Eternal Life. Unfortunately this icon, this image of the cross of our Salvation, can also become an idol, a meaningless piece of jewelry.

Today, we celebrate a special feast day in the church. Today, we celebrate the “Exaltation of the Holy Cross.” In previous years, it has also been known as the celebration of the “Triumph of the Cross.” This celebration occurs annually on September 14. This year the date of September 14 happens to coincide with a Sunday. This special day allows us to recall we must focus on the icon of the cross and not a mere idol, called a cross. We are to see the cross as a living symbol and not a piece of decoration.

All of us, as Catholic Christians, are deeply aware of the importance of the Sign of the Cross in our daily lives. We recall how this is the first image of our Christian life. This sign is traced on our forehead at the beginning of our baptism. Our candidates and catechumens receive a cross when they begin their preparation to join us in the Catholic Church. This icon is presented to our families at the completion of the funeral liturgy. The cross initiates and completes our lives as Catholic Christians.

And what about the in-between times? The cross leads us in procession as we begin each Eucharistic celebration. The cross leads us to the Table of the Lord and then the cross leads us from this Eucharistic gathering out into the world, to become Eucharist for others, to become the Body of Christ for others.

While carrying out our tasks as followers of Christ, we also perform the sign of the cross over those we love, in times of blessings for happy events, and especially in times of consolation, healing or danger. It is with the sign of the cross that we comfort ourselves in times of duress.

How many of us carry this icon around our necks? How many of us bear this cross as a yoke with Christ? On the other hand, how many are there who have turned this icon into an idol, an empty piece of costume jewelry, another bit of gold or silver used as a decoration, rather than as a daily reminder that, in the words of St Paul, “[Christ Jesus] emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness; and found human in appearance, he humbled himself, becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.”

And Paul went on to say: “Because of this, God greatly exalted him and bestowed on him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, of those in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”

Today, each one of us can rededicate us with the sign first presented to us at our baptism. Today, we can, once again, rededicate ourselves to the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. Today, we can go beyond a casual reference to John 3:16 and lift up our Lord through our own prayers and actions: “… just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.” Today, and every day, is the time to celebrate the Triumph of the Cross, our Santa Cruz, our Holy Cross. † In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

^{Exaltation of the Holy Cross: September 14, 2008
Num 21:4-9; Phil 2:6-11; Jn 3:13-17}

What’s the first thing you think of when I say the word: “cheers?” A few of you, caught up in high school football, might think of pep rallies and cheerleaders. A couple of you may have thought of “happiness.” But I bet most of you had an immediate impression of a bar in Boston or the TV program based upon the characters who go there. The “hero” of that program (and I use that term, “hero,” loosely) is Sam Malone, a bartender played by Ted Danson.

How many of you saw the Emmy Awards several weeks ago when he received an award for his performance? Or, perhaps, you saw a photograph of him in the newspaper. There were a lot of surprised people. It’s not every day you see an actor who portrays a handsome womanizer allowing himself to be seen with thinning hair and wearing glasses. (It’s nice to know there are other men who have some of the same characteristics I have!)

The question now is: How do I get from Ted Danson and Cheers to today’s Gospel Reading? It may be a stretch, even for me. But not really. I think most of you would agree, in real life he doesn’t look at all like what he portrays on TV. Ted Danson is a true actor. Well, the Greek word for “actor” is Hypocrite, and I believe being a “hypocrite” has a great deal to do with today’s Gospel Reading.

Here we have the classic story of the elder son who says one thing to please his father and then goes off and forgets all about what he has promised. Then there is the younger son who feels put-upon, as do most younger kids in the family, and who refuses to do what is asked of him, but then, realizing he does have a responsibility, goes off and does what he knows his father wants him to do. The focus for today’s reflection is a very simple one: Am I the elder child, or the younger one? Just what kind of a hypocrite am I? What sort of roles do I play with others, with myself, and with God?

To begin today’s reflection, perhaps we need to take a closer look at what has happened just before the section of Matthew’s Gospel we heard today. Once again, it’s like coming into the middle of a TV drama and wondering who all of the characters might be. Today’s reading comes from near the end of Matthew’s Gospel. Jesus has just thrown out the money changers from the temple. The priests and elders are understandably upset with him and ask him on what authority he has done not only this but, also, on what authority has he taught what he has been teaching every day in the temple area for the past week.

Jesus, as you might remember, did not answer the priests and elders, but, rather, asked them a question about the authority of John the Baptist. You may also recall the priests and elders refused to answer him, and Jesus, in turn, refused to answer them. Instead, he told them today’s story about the two sons. At the end of his story, he asked them, as you heard, which son really did the father’s will? Reluctantly, they had to agree it was the younger son. It was then Jesus told them that it was the tax collectors, who collaborated with the hated Romans, and the prostitutes, who sold their bodies but who repented and changed their ways, it was these people, not the learned priests and elders, who would enter God’s Kingdom and obtain salvation. Obviously, the priests and elders didn’t like either the story or the interpretation Jesus gave them.

What about you? Most of us would like to think we are like the younger son, we grouse a bit, but we do what God wants us to do. This is exactly what the priests and elders thought was true for them. When they heard the story, they thought they had been acting like the younger son, not the elder one. After all, they followed all of the 613 laws proscribed by Moses. They participated in the temple sacrifices. They performed every jot and tittle of what was expected of them. Don’t you and I do the same thing? Don’t we do what is expected of us, even when we might complain about doing it?

Now, here’s another quiz for you. You’re driving out in the country on one of the state highways. The traffic is relatively light. The speed limit is the usual 55 miles per hour¹. The question: do you set your cruise control at 55 or 65? If you set it at 65, do you tell yourself it’s OK, the road is perfectly safe, no one’s around, why not drive at a comfortable 65 instead of poking along at 55? Who’s going to get hurt? There’s no patrol car ‘way out here. Besides, it’s a silly law anyway. You tell yourself: I’m not being a hypocrite, really. What I’m doing is perfectly justified.

And that is the nature of hypocrisy. A hypocrite does not do what he believes is wrong. A hypocrite justifies what is done as being right, even though an external critic might think otherwise. A hypocrite sees no reason to change. The priests and elders saw no reason to change. They thought the tax collectors and prostitutes, who were conducting prosperous businesses, needed to change.

To change, to repent. Each one of us has a need to change, to repent. But I cannot tell you what you need to change and you cannot tell me what I must change. Because if you do try to tell me, and if I am not ready to admit it, I will argue back and tell you exactly why it is right for me to do what I have been doing.

No, you cannot tell me what I must change, it is only God who can whisper to me what needs to be changed in my life. It is in prayer with him that Jesus is able to speak to my heart and gently guide me to new insights and to new paths. It is with the grace of the Holy Spirit that I can acknowledge what has been harmful to me and to others.

Each one of us is an actor. We play public roles and live private lives. We each say one thing to please those around us and, when alone, we do the exact opposite. In the business world, in school, with our friends in public, we each put on a different performance from the one we may display when we are with our families or when we are alone. We are each a hypocrite, an actor.

In ancient times, plays were given for special religious occasions: like the Olympic games. And the actors were judged and awarded prizes depending upon their performance. The Greek word for judge is related to our word, “critic.” Since the prefix “hypo-” means “under,” someone who is “under judgement” is, indeed, a “hypo-crite,” an actor. However, only you and I as individuals know just how good we are as actors. We each know what needs to be changed; where the mask hides the reality underneath. We each know when we say “yes” to God the Father but then, when we think no one is watching, do something else. Each one of us needs to be self-critical.

Yet, when I say there is a need to be self-critical, I hasten to add being “self-critical” does not mean to be “self-punishing.” The ancient critics who judged the plays in Greece awarded prizes, not punishment. To be a “self-critic” is to look at one’s self honestly, to use criteria or measurements which are based upon reality and not just upon what I, personally, happen to think is right. To be a “self-critic” is to try to learn what God the Father is asking me to do and to be, rather than going off and doing what I, personally, think is best.

In today’s Gospel Reading, we heard you do not enter the kingdom of God because of “who are,” priest or elder, tax collector or prostitute. It is not what you merely say you will do in order to follow the instructions of God. Rather, it is the willingness to look honestly at one’s self and have an openness to change what needs to be changed, that enables each one of us to enter the Kingdom of God.

Each one of us is being told it’s OK to take off the stage make-up, to put aside the hairpiece and to wear glasses to see where we are going. Ted Danson received an Emmy award. Each one of us is going for our own prize in the Kingdom of God. To each one of us in this contest and on our journey: Cheers!

^{Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary; September 30, 1990
Ezek 18:25-38; Phil 2:1-11; Mt 21:28-32}

1. _{^{In 1990 the speed limits had been reduced for “safety” reasons and to “save” on gas. These values would be increased for today’s drivers, since 65 mph is now legal on state highways and drivers on most of the Interstate routes in Texas would never consider going less than 70.}}

How long – how long is a – minute? That’s your question for today. How long is a minute? Some might say: sixty seconds. A few might look at it from the other side and say a minute is one-sixtieth of an hour. After all, we recognize time is relative and is determined by both age and gender. How long is a minute, when either a teenager or a husband answers: “OK, OK, I’ll be there in a minute?” That “minute” is usually long enough for mom to have set the table and cook the entire dinner, besides taking out the trash, before either the kid or the husband shows up.

How often have you said: “I’ll be there in a minute,” but then continued to do your own thing, forgetting you had promised to do something that had been asked of you? Back in the time of Jesus, they didn’t measure time in minutes. But they still had the problem, as seen in today’s Gospel Reading.

The one son replied to his father’s instructions: ”I’m on my way, sir,” but he never went. His I’ll-be-there-in-a-minute never happened. But the other son who said: “No, I will not,” regretted his outburst and did what he knew he should be doing. Neither one kept his promise. Neither one did what he said he would do. But one of them did honor his commitment. He did what he knew was the right thing to do.

Today is the second Sunday during our annual series of homilies on stewardship, on our personal and individual sharing of God’s gifts of time, talent and treasure with both our God and with one another¹. Today the focus is on the second gift: talent. Today is the day for “stewardship,” for helping others by sharing the gifts given to us, the stewards, by the master of the house. Or looking at it in the words of today’s gospel: each one of us is asked to go out and work in the vineyard.

Some of us are likely to say “yes, I’ll do it.” We will visit the tables set up today for each of the ministries open to us here at Christ the Good Shepherd. We will scan the handout in today’s bulletin which identifies some ninety-nine ways we are called to use our gifts for the betterment of all of us. We may even sign up to do something. But there it ends. In effect, we say: “I’ll be there in a minute.” But the minute never comes.

Others may see the tables and the lists and feel put-upon. “After all,” they’ll tell themselves, “I’m already doing more than my share.” They may say, once more, “Why me? Why not let someone else do it for a while?” But like the second son, they will again go out to work in the vineyard.

As we begin a new year of ministries, we are again asked to make New Year’s promises. But more important, we are called to make New Year’s commitments. We are asked to “follow through” rather than complain we are “through following.” In today’s gospel, Jesus reminds us that tax collectors and prostitutes, the outcasts of Jewish society, were able to believe, to change and to follow him into the Kingdom. So, too, we, to whom God has given everything, can make our returns by working in the vineyards he has planted.

A recent issue of the magazine, America, published by the U.S. Jesuits, has a long article entitled “Lagging Stewards.” The authors report on a recent study comparing the contributions of Catholics with Lutherans, Presbyterians, Southern Baptists and members of the Assemblies of God. As you might expect, financial support was three to six times higher for the Protestant groups than for the Catholics.

The study looked at several factors to try to explain the differences, but none of them seemed to correlate with the amount given, except for one variable. The authors state: “We conclude from this exercise that religious commitments of church members are the most important difference for understanding the ‘giving gap’ between Catholic and Protestant churches, more important than theological teachings by the churches, and more important than church size and the number of programs offered. From this point of view, to understand Catholic-Protestant differences we need to look into the different religious commitment emphases associated with community life, leadership, responsibility and personal justification.”

Actually, this conclusion should not surprise us. Not after hearing today’s Gospel Reading and recognizing that the problem of commitment was with us some two-thousand years ago. We are again reminded by Jesus we are sons and daughters called by the Father. We might be the ones who say “yes” in hope of pleasing the Father, when he is present, and then fail to live up to our promise. We might be the ones who feel put-upon and refuse but then, realizing the commitment we have made, actually do what we know is right.

Or we can be like the third child, not mentioned in today’s Gospel, the one who does not say either “yes” or “no,” the one who ignores the instructions completely, who passes through life without listening and without recognizing gifts have been given to be shared with others. Here is the third child who makes no promises and has no commitments. The one who does not even say, “I’ll be there in a minute.” The one who does not realize when the minute ends and eternity begins.

Or we can be like the fourth son, our friend and brother, Jerry Brothers, who has immediately said “yes” when he was asked to share with us his thoughts on ministry to others. Here is one man who does not say: “in a minute.” Jerry Brothers.

^{Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary; September 29, 1996
Ezek 18:25-38; Phil 2:1-11; Mt 21:28-32}

1. . _{^{Each year the diocese asks the parishes to focus on “stewardship” in terms of contributing time, talent, and treasure rather than “just” contributing money. Many parishes respond with a “Stewardship” or “Ministry Sunday” during which they have tables and/or exhibits promoting and urging parishioners to participate in the ministries offered. It is a period of commitment or re-commitment to serving others. Again, as with other “public service” homilies, the preaching responsibility is shared with the clerical “homilist” who is to “break open the word” and a member of the “lay apostolate” who is to share a “reflection.” Today’s “volunteer” is Mr. Jerry Brothers.}}

Today’s gospel ends with perhaps one of the more frequently quoted lines in the Bible: ” … give to Caesar what is Caesar’s but give to God what is God’s.” Some of you may prefer the way the King James Version says it: “… render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s and render unto God what is God’s.” Others, who use the Jerusalem Bible, are more familiar with the statement: ” … give back to Caesar what belongs to Caesar – and to God what belongs to God.”

No matter which translation you use, the usual interpretation of the line involves a separation of church and state. I expect that this weekend, with the national elections only two and one-half weeks away, there are a lot of homilies being preached which focus on the theme of the separation of church and state. For many people, it’s a natural follow-up. But for me, there is a more personal meaning in what Jesus said to those who raised a question about the lawfulness of paying a tax to the Romans. Rather than talking about the relationship of church and state, these reflections on today’s readings will be about a coin and about us.

To begin this reflection, I have a question for you. I don’t want you to answer out loud. In fact, you may not want to tell anyone the answer. My first question is for the men. Right now, do you have anything in your wallet you would be ashamed to show your wife or, if you’re not married, to your best friend? And for the women: Is there anything in your purse you wouldn’t want your husband, or your best friend, to know about? And you younger folks don’t get off either. My question for you is: Is there anything hidden away in your locker at school or in the back of a drawer you would be ashamed about if your parents or your best friend found out about it? Think for a moment, and after this Mass, it’s not fair to ask your husband, your wife, your kids or your friends what they immediately thought about when I asked the question.

How do these questions fit into today’s Gospel Reading? Well, they’re very direct. You see, this is what happened to the Pharisees and the Herodians. Let’s take a look behind the scene of today’s Gospel. It all started when the question was raised by the chief priests and elders about who gave Jesus the authority to preach what he was preaching. He did not answer them. In a good Jewish style, he asked them a return question about John’s authority to baptize. Did that authority come from heaven or from man? In response, they argued among themselves and concluded they had best not answer his question.

If the chief priests and elders had said John’s authority came from heaven, they knew Jesus would respond the same way and they, themselves, would be caught in their own trap. And if they said John’s authority came from man, all those who thought John was a prophet sent by God would attack them. So, they refused to answer. Jesus replied, if they could not say where John received his authority, he would not say where his own came from.

With that background in mind, we can look at today’s Gospel which begins: “The Pharisees went off and began to plot how they might trap Jesus in speech. They sent their disciples to him, accompanied by Herodian sympathizers. [After a very oily introduction, they said to him] ‘give us your opinion, then, in this case. Is it lawful to pay tax to the Emperor or not?’”

They were sure they had laid a neat trap. You see, the Pharisees, themselves, were against paying any tax to the Roman authority which now governed Israel. On the other hand, the Herodians were Jews who were in favor of accommodation with Rome and thought it was acceptable to pay the tax. If Jesus said it was acceptable to pay the tax, the Jewish people would have been angered. If he said they should not pay the tax, the Roman authorities would have a reason to arrest him as a rebel. Jesus, however, understood their thinking and asked to see the coin used for the tax.

Can you see them now? There is the Pharisee reaching into his purse tied to the string at his waist. He pulls out the coin, smiling. And then his face turns bright red. The crowd around him gives a slight gasp. The Pharisee knows he, himself, has been trapped. All he can do is wait until Jesus speaks. Then he and his fellows can sneak away. How was he trapped? Not by what Jesus said, but rather by their own actions.

The Pharisee had in his possession a Roman coin with the head of the Emperor on it. And the legend around the rim of the coin proclaimed the Emperor Tiberius was divine. According to Jewish law, as a Pharisee, he was forbidden to carry such a coin! There, in his hand, was the proof he was a hypocrite, one who says one thing and practices another. By showing the coin, he had demonstrated to all around him that he had already acknowledged the taxing authority of Rome. There was no need to have asked the question. Even the Jewish Herodians, who said it was acceptable to pay the tax, were caught. They too, as supposedly “good” Jews, were not allowed to carry the image of the divine Caesar in their purse.

A few minutes ago, I began by asking whether you had anything in your possession you would be ashamed to show to someone else. And if you did, you might have had a feeling like that of the Pharisees and the Herodians. However, I now have another question for you. It’s really the same one that Jesus asked.

First of all, I would like you to think about a coin in your own pocket. Not a real coin, but an imaginary one. Each of us carries with us a coin we should not have. And that is the point of Jesus’ question: “Whose head is on the coin, whose inscription is on this coin?” You see, it was immediately after their answer that Jesus said: “Give unto Caesar what is Caesar’s but give unto God what is God’s.” By saying this, he reminds us that everything we possess comes from God and must be rendered back to him. At the same time, they have shown that they have bought into a power that could lead them away from the kingdom. What they must now do is give up, render, or give back anything which takes them away from the kingdom. He asked them to identify the image on the coin they carried and to give back this image to the one who made it.

The head on your own imaginary coin might be “excessive pride” – a pride which keeps me from recognizing the power of God in my life. Or the coin might be my “job” which pulls me away from family or from my spiritual life. Or the coin might be “a relationship” – a relationship which I know is wrong for my life, yet I clutch onto it as if it were the most valuable coin in the world. Or the coin may have my own image on it, not a handsome one, but one that is scarred and disfigured – scarred and disfigured in my own mind, for the image I need to give up is my own poor self-image.

Each of us carries in our pocket a coin we need to give up. It’s a coin not of God’s making but of the world’s making, of Caesar’s making. I need to identify whose head is on my coin so I can give it back to the manufacturer. Everything else I need to render unto God. And so, I conclude with the question our Lord raised: “Whose head is on the coin you carry? ” And with his instruction: “Give it up to the one who made it – and give everything else to God.”

^{Twenty-ninth Sunday in Ordinary; October 21, 1984
Is 45:1, 4-6; 1 Thess 1:1-5b; Mt 22:15-21}

This morning, I would invite you to remember back to when you were ten years old and had a best friend you played with every day during the summer. The two of you had so much fun you didn’t want your vacation to end. But it did end, and you had to go back to school. It was then you met this new kid in your class who was pretty neat. Soon you were spending a lot of time with this new kid. Then, one day, the new kid and your best friend from that summer came up to you and demanded to know which one was really your best friend. I don’t know what you said, but this little recollection gives us the focus for today’s homily reflection: Don’t be trapped into rejecting someone when pressure is put on you by others.

How do I get that focus out of today’s classic Gospel quotation: “Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s and render unto God what is God’s?” Well, to begin, we need to take a closer look at the conflict reported in today’s reading. The pharisees and their companions thought they had set a perfect trap for Jesus. The question seemed straight forward: “Is it lawful to pay a tax to the emperor or not?”

If Jesus said “no,” then he would be rejecting the Roman authorities and their Jewish sympathizers like the Herodians, who said it was acceptable to pay tribute to the Romans. If he said “yes, it’s acceptable to pay a tax to the Romans,” he would be rejecting the Zealots and those Jews who found Roman rule to be oppressive and who thought Jesus was the Messiah who would lead them to victory over the foreigners. However, Jesus avoided the trap. He rejected neither Roman authority nor Jewish independence. In fact, in this case, he neatly sprang the trap on the Pharisees, themselves.

As long as they considered themselves to be good Jews and followers of Torah, they were not supposed to be carrying a Roman coin bearing the image of the divine Caesar. When they handed Jesus the coin, they branded themselves as hypocrites. However, it is not the hypocracy of the Pharisees upon which we might focus our attention today, but rather on our own tendency to fall into our own trap of rejecting other people for the wrong reasons.

We’re all familiar with classic cases of rejection. Do you know someone who has an unmarried daughter living with a man, and the parents have rejected her? Or what about the case of a son who has married outside the church? Have his parents or other relatives rejected him?

Twenty-nine years ago, Karen and I were married in the Congregational church. Since then, she has become a Catholic and our marriage was validated in the Catholic church. But at the time, I had an aunt who solemnly informed all of my Catholic relatives they would be excommunicated if they came to the wedding. My parents and one uncle and his wife, a wonderful Methodist woman, were the only relatives from my side of the family who attended.

There are, of course, other forms of rejection. Forty years ago, in the Ohio steel-town in which I was raised, Italians and Poles were not socially acceptable. I have both ancestries and know the sting when someone says: “But you don’t look like an Eye-talian.” Today, there are similar cases with our Hispanic brothers and sisters in Christ.

Rejection comes in all sorts of sizes. We tend to reject the poor by listening to those who say they don’t want to work. We reject the elderly on the grounds some friends say they are no longer productive, cost too much to keep or are hard to get along with. We reject children who don’t live up to expectations conforming to what neighbors say about grades, athletic abilities or lifestyle. And children, too, reject parents whose ideas seem old-fashioned, as judged by their own teenaged peers. Each of us seems caught up in the trap of rejecting anyone who is not exactly like us or who doesn’t live up to society’s expectations.

Each time we feel compelled by others to reject a person because of one specific behavior, we are allowing our self to be put into the same trap the Pharisees tried to set for Jesus. His response was not to reject either the authority of Rome or his Jewish heritage. Instead, he said one must look at the circumstances and then do what is appropriate in order to follow both what society, as represented by Caesar, and our God want us to do.¹

We are now beginning the last, formal part of our Renew Program. The theme for these six weeks is “evangelization.” Sometimes, when we hear the word evangelization we think of wild-eyed people forcing us to convert to something. But that’s not what the word really means. Evangelization comes from a Greek word which means “carry the good news.” And what is that Good News? That Jesus is the Son of God, he has come to offer us salvation through his life, death on a cross, and resurrection from the dead.

Each week we hear part of that Good News. We call it the Gospel. But more important, each week we are called upon not only to hear the Good News but to live it out. To carry it to others by the way in which we live out the Good News. And that is really what evangelization is all about. It is reaching out to others after first accepting the teachings of Jesus, the life of Jesus, into our own lives.

During this period of evangelization and our Renew Process, we will be asked to reach out to others. We are not asked to choose between the old best friend and the new kid in our class. Instead, we are called to accept both. We’re also called to consider those whose actions or life style may not be exactly what we would like them to be. We are called to find ways to reach out to them.

In our first reading for today, we heard how the Lord God made use of Cyrus, the King of Persia, to advance the Jewish nation. It is equally possible God calls upon someone who is not of our own liking to help us to our own salvation. But even if that is not the case, do we not have the responsibility to help others, even those who are different from us, on their own road to God’s kingdom?

We began with a Roman coin. Every coin has two sides. Every person has more than one side. Is it not possible to find the side which would allow us to accept that person? Maybe the best way to render unto both Caesar and God what each one is due, is to follow another ancient principle: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

^{Twenty-ninth Sunday in ordinary; October 18, 1987
Is 45:1, 4-6; 1 Thess 1:1-5b; mt 22:15-21}

1. ^{_{The wonderful thing about parables is that they allow for multiple interpretations! The previous time I preached on this parable, my focus was on our need to return to Caesar those negative items keeping us from God. Today’s focus is on the positive images of the coins and the situation: don’t be overly eager to reject people on surface characteristics. It would seem that the parable can be used either by “absolutists” — rendering strictly to secular and non-secular society what each “merits” or by “relativists” — not rejecting either a secular or non-secular society but seeing the “good” in each! This year I saw a need to emphasize the openness of evangelization and the Renew Program. Previously my focus was on metanoia: change. In a way, they are the two sides of the same coin!}}

I’d like to have you answer today’s question by a show of hands. My question is this: Were you born in Harris County? As I suspected, not many of us are “natives.” Most of us are “aliens,” born in a foreign land. Some might even be from Dallas or Louisiana! There may even be a few New Yorkers among us. I, myself, was born in Ohio, so I’m one of those Yankees and not a native Texan or Southerner.

Occasionally, we all need to be reminded of the fact that, in some way or another, we are all outsiders, ”aliens.” Even the Israelites had to be reminded by the Lord God in our first reading from the book of Exodus: “You shall not molest or oppress an alien, for you were once aliens yourselves in the land of Egypt.” The Lord God also reminded the Israelites, in addition to not harming strangers or aliens, they also needed to take special care of those who had no elder to protect them, those who were without parents, the orphans, and those who had no husbands to protect them, the widows.

Yes, back then, those without protection, such as widows and orphans, were to be given special considerations. There were rules and regulations written down in the Law, in the Torah, to set out the proper conduct for social interactions. For instance, one rule was that at harvest time, when the olive growers went through their groves and beat their trees with long sticks knocking the ripe olives off the trees and gathering the fallen fruit into nets spread beneath the trees, the harvesters should take care to leave some of the olives behind so they could ripen further and be gathered later by the widows and orphans. There were a lot of rules to govern how the Israelites should act toward members of the community and toward strangers who lived among them. Some of the rules concerned providing assistance to those in need, as well as an expectation of what you might get back in exchange for your help.

The scholars of the law kept track of all of the community rules and regulations to make sure justice was available for everyone. Actually, it may have been difficult to be a student of the law back then, since there were some 613 specific laws that had to be followed. There were 365 laws prohibiting you from doing something and 248 laws saying you must do something positive when the situation arose. With so many laws, some were bound to conflict when a specific problem came up. The scholars would then determine which of the conflicting laws was the heavier one, which one weighed more than the other. Even today, as a result of such thinking, we picture justice as a woman holding a balance scale.

Now one day, one bright student of the law, a lawyer if you prefer, asked Jesus a trick question: “Out of all these 613 laws, which one is the heaviest? Which one is correct no matter what the situation might be?” The lawyer evidently thought no matter which law Jesus might cite, he – as a student of the law – could think of one countering the one Jesus would give. As we know, Jesus in response recited the “Shema,” the holy prayer recited each morning by every believing Israelite: “Hear, o Israel! The Lord is our God, the Lord alone! Therefore, you shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, and with all your soul and with all your strength.”

Jesus did not reply with any of the 365 negative laws. Instead, he reminded his listeners they must love the Lord God with all of their physical existence, their heart, and with all their interior, spiritual existence, their soul, to the maximum extent possible.

Just as God loves each of us unconditionally, we are called to love God unconditionally. We are called to love God, not for what we might get back in return for our love, but rather, just because God is the creating parent who has already given us all we have. God gives us gifts not because we deserve them or earn them or merit them for what we do, but because the Lord God gives us everything just because he loves us and wants us to have it. In return, we’re to show our love for God in the only way possible, by being thankful for the gifts he has given us. And how do we show our thankfulness for God’s love, for God’s gifts?

The easy way would be to say to God, “I love you.” But that’s not the complete answer. For if it were, Jesus could have stopped with his recitation of the Schema. But he did not. Jesus said there was a second part to the law, one exactly like the first part, a second instruction saying: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” We show our love for God only by showing our love for “neighbor” and for “self.” Loving my neighbor is part of loving God. Loving who I am because I am a creature of God is part of loving God.

I cannot wait to love my self until after I look better, feel better, or act better, for that kind of love is conditional love, a love which requires something before I can love back. I cannot wait to love my neighbor until after he or she changes to suit what I want or expect, for that, too, is conditional love. No, the only change required of me is that I love better. The only change is that I love myself and others without demanding any other condition. I’m to love God and all human beings with my own, whole being, with body and soul.

And what is the result of such love? The result is a change in my actions, in how I relate to others: Those who are strangers whom I do not yet know. Those who are neighbors whom I know only casually. Those who are friends whom I know directly. Those who are family whom I know intimately. This is what it is to be a Christian: to love first, and to change as a result of that love.

The Second Reading for today from St Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians reminds us all Christians are called to be imitators of Christ and to be models for others. He reminds his listeners how they had turned from idols to serve the living and true God. St Paul encourages them to continue their work in every place where their faith in God has gone forth.

Today, throughout the world, Pope John Paul has proclaimed this to be Mission Sunday, a day when we’re called to help all those who are in need: strangers, neighbors, friends and family. Each of us is sent out. Each of us has the mission to love and to help those who are near and those who are far away. We are to help those we can touch and those too far away to touch directly. Since we cannot help everyone directly, we are being asked to contribute financial support toward the efforts of worldwide missions.

Not all of us can be active missionaries in foreign countries or even in the United States. However, all of us can be “co-missionaries.” We are commissioned through the financial support we give. Yet, John Paul in his address for Mission Sunday also reminds us that our mission includes prayer and sacrifice. He asks for our prayers, our conversations with God. He also asks for our sacrifices. And just what is a sacrifice? What are we asked to do? A sacrifice is an action performed for the sake of God. It’s an action that makes the ordinary sacred, holy, blessed. Often, it’s a difficult action, but one we must do because it’s the right thing to do for love of God, for love of others, for true love of self.

Our prayers, what we speak with God, and our sacrifices, what we do on behalf of God, could be determined by rules and regulations, by formal codes of conduct, or by guidelines for ethical behavior. Yes, we could follow exactly what was spoken by the prophets or written in the laws given to Moses. Or our words and actions, our prayers and sacrifices, can be a result of the love we have for our Creator and the love we have for each and every human being created by God. In addition to our love for God, Jesus gives us a new mission, a mission that sends us forth with the word of God: love one another as I have loved you.

^{Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary; October 24, 1999 (Mission Sunday)
Ex 22:20-26; 1 Thess 1:5c-10; Mt 22:34-40}

There are classical questions and there are the kinds of strange questions I often ask at the beginning of my homilies.¹ Today I’m combining both types. I have a classic question which is also a strange one. It’s this: “Would a rose by any other name smell as sweet?” After all, “a rose is a rose” isn’t it? But what if a rose is not rose-colored, but is yellow like the rose of Texas? How can we have a “yellow” rose?

Yes, questions can be strange, as strange as the words making them up. Today’s Gospel begins with a question, a strange question. It was asked by a “scholar of the law” who wanted to put Jesus on the spot, who hoped to ridicule this wandering rabbi who had been making their religious leaders look like fools. No, this scholar was not a lawyer, not a man who prosecuted or defended criminals, but rather a scholar of Torah, the laws of Moses.

And so this scholar who knew the laws of Moses asked a question. Of the hundreds of laws handed down from the days of Moses, which is the greatest, which is the most important commandment? And Jesus replied there are, in fact, two joined laws, two commandments of the Lord God, that are more important than all of the others put together. And they are: “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind; and second, you shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

Love God, neighbor, self. Three individuals in a deep relationship of love. God – the other whom I cannot see. Neighbor – the other whom I can see. Self – the one who must relate to the community around me and above me. A community of saints, a community of blessed individuals. God. Neighbor. Me. A community which shares a communion, a gathering of individuals who share a oneness.

When we restate the beliefs of the first Christians, those beliefs summarized in the Creed of the Apostles, we say we believe in “the communion of saints,” a communion, a oneness, with those who live with us and those who have gone before us. A communion with those who have died and are with the Lord God, the saints of heaven who pray for us. A communion with those who have died and will be with the Lord God, the departed souls for whom we pray. And we, ourselves. We, who are prayed for and who pray for others.

As you leave Mass, today, each family, and each person here without a family living with them, should receive from the greeters at each door a copy of this booklet: Generations of Faith. This booklet is the first part of an ongoing effort, which is why there are holes punched in it, so you can gather them into a single binder. We hope this series will become a source for helping to transmit our living faith from one generation to the next, from one person to another. At first glance, it might appear we’ve put together just another coloring book or puzzle book for young children. But if you look more closely, you should find information that can make our adult beliefs come alive about our “Community of Saints.”

This is an especially good time of the liturgical year for us to think, and pray, about the transmittal of our faith and our ongoing love for God and for others. On Friday, November 1, we again celebrate the “Feast of All Saints,” the feast for all of our relatives and friends who are with God but have not been recognized in the official list, the official canon, of the saints of the church. At noon on Saturday, November 2, we’ll celebrate a Mass for the “Feast of All Souls,” the feast day for all of our friends and relatives who are on the “waiting list” to enter heaven, a waiting list that includes all of us, too.

We also hope you’ll enjoy participating in the culture of others who honor departed souls with special altars. Over the coming days, you’ll see examples of them in our narthex. We invite you to visit the walls of our saints, those on the official list, the ones who have been canonized, and those who are on the unofficial lists, the rest of us. We would welcome your family photos to be shown on our narthex wall during the month of November. Actually, these photos are pictures of models. No, not the ones who appear in fashion magazines, but more important, the ones St Paul spoke about two millennia ago to the Thessalonians, when he said: “… you became imitators of us and of the Lord, receiving the word in great affliction, with joy from the Holy Spirit, so that you became a model for all the believers …”

Yes, that is who saints are: the men and women who are the patrons, the guides, the models for what we do. All of them possess the joy of the Holy Spirit and are imitators, images, of Christ. They are models for all Christian believers. They are the ones who have passed the faith on from generation to generation, just as we are called to do.

At the same time, we also remember words have more than one meaning: we can, indeed, have a “yellow” rose. And so it is with “generation,” a word for all people who are of the same age. However, “generation” can also mean new growth, a new beginning. Generations of Faith, the title of this booklet, can mean a transmittal of faith from one age to another. It can also mean a new growth in faith, new beginnings for a faith which may still be a tiny mustard seed, but which can grow into a mighty tree. A tree with roots in the past, a sturdy trunk in the present, and branches reaching to the future. A tree that grows and flowers. A tree yielding fruit because of the love it receives. A love that begins with our own self. A love we share with our neighbors. A love we give to our God. A God who, from the time of the Exodus, has reminded us: “If you cry out to me, I will hear you, for I am compassionate.” A God who urges us to share this compassion with our neighbors, with all those who are destined to being saints.

^{Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary; October 27, 2002
Ex 22:20 -26; 1 Thess 1:5c-10; Mt 22:34-40}

1. _{^{The “Generations of Faith” is a national program for family faith formation. The parish staff, spearheading this program, requested that I give a “homily” to kick off the program. It was also to incorporate concepts relating to the coming November Holy Days: All Saints and All Souls. The cultural and parish events relating to these “days of the dead” were to be included in this teaching homily.}}

Today’s question is another “private” one, one you don’t need to answer out loud. My question is this: Are you tired of being “charitable?” Are you tired of being asked, once more, to support a good cause, to help out, once again, with financial support? Do you remember Christmas week last year? It seemed like the right thing, the only thing, to do – to give assistance to the victims of the tsunami in Southeast Asia. We saw its devastation on the nightly news and were moved to contribute as much as we could. Some even gave of their own, direct efforts and went off to Indonesia to provide aid to those who survived the massive wave covering their coast.

And then there was Katrina. New Orleans was so much closer to us. The immediate need for direct assistance through voluntary help and for indirect assistance through financial contributions was even more evident than it had been for those stricken thousands of miles away. And then there was Rita. Even closer to us, here in storm-ravaged East Texas. Now we were the evacuees, for a very long weekend. But once we had returned, we again made ourselves available to help others. Then there was the earthquake in Pakistan and the call for more help from volunteers and those who support them. And the floods in Guatemala in the wake of hurricane Stan. Now, there is Wilma in Mexico and heading toward Florida.

Tsunamis, hurricanes, earthquakes and flooding, with or without names, in Asia, in Europe or in New England. The threat of firestorms in California and the Pacific coast. And don’t forget the ongoing assistance agencies we’re encouraged to support: Diocesan Services Fund, Catholic Charities and next month’s Campaign for Human Development.¹

Is it any wonder I raise the question: Are you tired of being “charitable?” Especially when this 30th Sunday of the liturgical year has, once again, been designated as “Worldwide Mission Sunday,” a day when the so-called “second collection” is being taken up for the support of evangelization around the world. Our only comfort lies in the fact that this is not a new question. It was raised several thousand years ago, back in the days when the Book of Exodus was written.

In today’s first reading from that book we heard how the Israelites were reminded they must, once more, give support to the aliens in their own land as well as to widows and orphans. And don’t forget the poor and oppressed. The instructions given by the Lord God to Moses which he, in turn, imparted to the Israelites, said how they must help the strangers among them. And those who had no one else to protect them. Widows without husbands. Orphans without parents. And when they helped those in need, they must not require inordinate payback. They must not demand from the poor the clothes they wore to keep them warm at night.

And why should they be so charitable to those less fortunate? Was it out of fear that they might end up the same way? That the Lord God would send them the same afflictions, if they did not come to the assistance of those who were now afflicted. Perhaps. After all, isn’t this why some of us do what we are supposed to do, out of fear our own luck will run out if we don’t. We fear God will punish us for not being charitable to others. Or are we to be charitable out of trust, rather than because of fear of retribution?

Today’s gospel records what Jesus had to say on the matter. A scholar of the law, a scholar who knew what the teachings given by the Lord God to Moses, the Torah, had to say, this scholar asked Jesus what was the greatest of all the laws of God. And Jesus responded: “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment. The second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments.”

Love God completely with all of your very being, with all that is you, yourself, with your heart, your very body, with your soul, the internal life bestowed upon you, and with your mind, the thoughts which lead you to God. All of these are to be given to the Lord God in love. And then – love your neighbor in the same way.

Jesus also gave his disciples, and us, a New Law, one not directly found in Torah, but rather, a new covenant, a new law. A law which says: “Love one another as I have loved you.” And how did Jesus love his disciples? How does he love us? Completely. Unconditionally. Without any reservation. With complete forgiveness. Without tying any of our current actions with past actions. He loves us in the present moment, just as we are now.

Yes, he desires that we change, for his first instruction in his public ministry, after all, was: “Repent, change your lives, for the Kingdom of God is at hand. Reform your actions, for the Reign of God begins now.” Saint Paul understood these words when he wrote to the Thessalonians, those who made up one of the first Christian communities he established, what we heard in today’s letter. He told them, as he tells us: “… you became imitators of … the Lord, receiving the word in great affliction, with joy from the Holy Spirit, so that you became a model for all the believers … For from you the word of the Lord has sounded forth, not only [here] but in every place your faith in God has gone forth …”

This is what we are still called to do, and to be. To receive the word. To be a model for others. To send forth the word to others through our ministry to them. This is what Worldwide Mission Sunday is about. To hear the word. To speak the word not only with our lips but also with our hands. To send forth the word through our actions. To be a model for others.

In many of his writings, Pope John Paul spoke of the “new evangelization,” the new spreading of the good news, for this, of course, is what evangelization means. Spreading the good news, the gospel message: “Love one another as I have loved you.”

Loving, being “charitable” without ceasing, not because it is something I do because I expect something in return for my help. But rather, because I have received the complete Love of Christ and must share that love with others: every way I can, any time I can, any place I can. I’m to share it with those in India and in Pakistan. Those in Guatemala and Latin America. Those in Louisiana, Mississippi and East Texas. Those in Houston. Those in my neighborhood. Those in my family. On this Worldwide Mission Sunday, we are once again challenged to go forth with Love, with continued Charity, with the words: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

^{Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary; October 23, 2005 (Worldwide Mission Sunday)
Ex 22:20-26; 1 Thess 1:5c-10; Mt 22:34-40}

1. _{^{Originally, October 23, 2005, was to have had a homily on Campaign for Human Development. However Worldwide Mission Sunday was added and the CHD shifted to the end of November: Feast of Christ the King. This sentence replaced the one originally written: “Add to that: the cost of gasoline and the projection of increased bills for electricity and natural gas … along with building supplies.” I think the original line is “stronger” but since the weekly bulletin had a pre-scheduled insert for the CHD, the substitution sentence made more immediate sense. I did not want the congregation to wonder if I had gotten my “second collections” confused.}}

Over the last twenty-five years of giving homilies, I’ve asked you probably hundreds of questions. And although I have another one for you today, I do not expect you to answer it either out loud or by a show of hands. However, it’s a question I hope you’re able to answer for yourself. The question is this: After some two or three years of a national presidential campaign, are you ready to vote ten days from now?

Here’s an even more important question for you. Again, I do not want an explicit response, no show of hands. And the question is this: Will you be able to live with the results of the millions of fellow citizens who will be voting a week from Tuesday? It appears it’s, again, going to be a very contested race. A close race. Once more, our nation seems to be about equally divided on who should lead us and much of the rest of the world for the next four years.

The stakes are high, but they always have been high. However, given what is happening throughout the world in economics and in military actions these stakes may be higher than ever. Because the results of this election will bear directly on so many people, there is another question which also needs to be addressed. No matter who is elected in November 2008, can we, as a nation, respond with civility? I fully believe the answer to this question influences our destiny as a nation.

Civility. The ability to interact in our society with consideration for other members of our society. The ability to get along with one another, even when we disagree with the beliefs or behaviors of other people. Civility. Civilized. Citizen. Words which go back to the formation of the city-states of Greece and the ancient world, when families of people first gathered together for their mutual welfare.

History speaks of the need for laws, for basic rules to guide our ancestors who came together in these first communities. History speaks of the Laws given by God for the welfare of God’s people. Torah. The Law. The Way of humankind. Some two thousand years ago, a scholar of that Law, attempted to test the Son of God concerning which of the hundreds of laws is the greatest of all of God’s commandments. Jesus responded with the sacred words of the “Shema,” the holy prayer recited each morning by every believing Israelite. The prayer which begins: “Hear, O Israel! The Lord is our God, the Lord alone! Therefore, you shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, and with all your soul and with all your mind.” And to these words, he added others from the Book of Leviticus: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” He then concluded with the words: “The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments.”

A few moments ago, we heard this passage as recorded by Saint Matthew. However, many of us, in our own minds, thought of the additional lines from the Gospel according to Saint Luke, where Jesus elaborated on who is this so-called “neighbor” that I am to love as I do myself. Every one of us is familiar with the story of the “Good Samaritan,” the one least expected by an Israelite to offer help to a wounded Jew. There is certainly no reason for me to retell the story now.

However, I wonder if, should Jesus tell this story to us today, if he might replace the “Good Samaritan” with the character of a “Good Republican” or a “Good Democrat?” Might he use a “Good Right-Wing Conservative” or a “Good Left-Wing Liberal.” For this, of course, is what Jesus meant, the neighbor we are to love is the one we would least want to love, the one least lovable because of the stereotypes we hold in our hearts and minds. The ones we must treat as brothers and sisters even though we do not agree with what they might believe or how they might behave.

Loving such a neighbor means I must eliminate my stereotypes. I must treat each person as an individual who has good intentions for all of us, even if these intentions are not the same as mine. I am not to vilify my neighbor as being evil or as an enemy. I am to accept my neighbor as another child of God.

This has never been easy to do. Jesus knew this. Surely, he recalled the words contained in the Book of Exodus that we heard in our first reading for today. “Thus says the LORD: ‘You shall not molest or oppress an alien, for you were once aliens yourselves in the land of Egypt. You shall not wrong any widow or orphan.’” Did not the prophets say that we are all the same? Did they not say we journey together in an unknown land. We are as unprotected, as alone as anyone without a spouse, without parents. But nevertheless, the LORD is compassionate to all who cry out to Him.

In a short time, we will learn whom we have elected to lead us in a very troubled nation and world. We all hope whoever is chosen by the people will be a leader capable of guiding us through a bewildering period in our history. But whoever is elected by the people, let us hope we can set aside the anger and passions of the past and work together in our common journey. Perhaps, it is then we can put into practice words based upon Saint Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians and become imitators of the Lord … receiving the word in great affliction and … with joy from the Holy Spirit … become a model for all …

^{30th Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 26, 2008
Ex 22:20-26; 1 Thess 1:5c-10; Mt 22:34-40}

Have you ever wanted to be a celebrity? When you walk into Greenspoint¹, would you like to have people whisper, “Hey, isn’t she the movie star who just won an academy award?” Or “Isn’t that the guy who made the wining touchdown for the Oilers last week?” Even if you might want more privacy than most movie stars or athletes get, wouldn’t it be great if everyone recognized your outstanding talents and gave you the respect and adulation you really deserve? I think it was Andy Warhol who said everyone would be a celebrity for fifteen minutes. Have you ever asked yourself when your own “fifteen minutes” would come?

Even if you don’t think you want all of the hoopla and problems that come with being a celebrity, a large part of U.S. industry is geared to the idea you really want to be mistaken for one. Much of our advertising exists on the premise you want to be seen as being among the “rich and famous.” All you need to do is buy a pair of “Air Jordans” to be mistaken for a star basketball player. Or wear “Jordach” jeans and be mistaken for a young movie star. You, too, can become just like a celebrity, if you would only drive the “right car,” wear the “right perfume,” or use the “right mouthwash.” It all boils down to the view all you need to do is “such and such” and you, too, can become perfect, well-known and respected, in short, a celebrity.

The advice is not new. Jesus referred to it some two-thousand years ago. There were those in the Jewish community back then who thought all you had to do was wear the right clothes, attend the right parties, sit in the right seats and have the right title. If you did all of this, you, too, would be known as being perfect. Jesus went on to say, however, there was more to being “perfect” than that. This is what the focus for today’s reflection is: we need to practice what we preach.

To begin today’s reflection, however, we might take a brief look at the Pharisees. Sometimes we seem to think that “Pharisee” is a synonym for “hypocrite,” that all Pharisees said one thing and did another. This is really unfair, not only to the Pharisees but, really, to all of the Jews who came later. So, I’d like to talk for a few minutes about early Christian history.

I think most of you realize the Gospel accounts were written sometime between 70 and 100 A.D., that is, about fifty years or so after the death and resurrection of Christ. It was a difficult time for the early Christians. Many of them had expected Jesus would return in his Second Coming before now. He hadn’t, and so there was a concern that those who had known him during his life on earth might die and succeeding generations would not know anything about him. Obviously, the oral tradition had to be written down so it could be preserved without any change.

But why now? Oral tradition had served the Jewish community very well for more than a thousand years. The Pentateuch, the first five books of the Hebrew scriptures, had been committed to memory and transmitted orally from generation to generation. Couldn’t the teachings of Jesus be retained in the same way? They could until about 70 A.D. It was in this year the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed by the Romans. The Jewish priests, who had led the temple services, who had preserved the oral Pentateuch, were killed by the Romans. Worship in the Temple no longer existed.

A group of Jews, however, was allowed to establish a school, a yeshiva, in a town along the coast. The ones who sought refuge in this town were the Pharisees. The task they undertook was to write down their notes on the interpretation of Torah. The notes were called the “Mishnah.” This written Torah and a later elaboration of the notes, the “Gamarra,” became what is now the “Talmud,” the written interpretation of the law, the Torah. The worship, which was once conducted in the Temple in Jerusalem, was now focused on the synagogue and the home.

And what were the followers of Christ doing? The same thing, formulating and writing down the teachings of Jesus. Without a temple in which to gather and preach, the Apostles and their Jewish followers needed their own alternatives. They met in their own homes and in their own synagogues. Most bible scholars believe that although Jesus probably did not agree with everything the Pharisees did, most of the invective found in the Gospel of Matthew is more a reflection of how Matthew’s community felt about the Pharisees than what Jesus, himself, felt about them.

The Pharisees where much like us. They were well-educated, upper-middle-class Jews who wanted to preserve the word of God. They wanted to be perfect. They thought it was humanly possible to be perfect. The problem is some of them did not practice what they preached. At the beginning of today’s reading from Matthew, we hear these words: “The scribes and the pharisees have succeeded Moses as teachers; therefore, do everything and observe everything they tell you.” It goes on to say: ” … but do not follow their example. Their words are bold but their deeds are few.” It then goes on to describe how some of the Pharisees dressed in public.

Phylacteries were worn by every pious male Jew. They were small, leather boxes which contained parchment with scriptural passages written on them. The boxes were bound on with leather straps, one on the inside of the left arm, the other on the forehead, as a constant reminder of the law, of Torah. At the same time, Jewish men wore prayer shawls with fringes at the four corners. The 613 fringes were to remind them of the 613 laws contained in Torah. Evidently there were some Pharisees who thought that by wearing larger phylacteries or having longer fringes on their prayer shawls, they would appear to be more pious. But before you think this is a strange way to behave, some of you may remember back to the time when Catholic women would prefer to wear a full mantilla instead of a small prayer cap when they entered a church, otherwise some women might think them to be disrespectful.

So much for history. What does all of this have to do with today? Is Jesus not reminding us of three related facts: First of all, it’s not what you wear that makes you perfect. Second, it’s not what fancy titles you have that make you better than anyone else. And third, it’s not what you merely say, but rather what you do that matters more in life.

Most parents would agree kids learn more by what they see than by what they are told. You can’t teach respect for others without being respectful of the rights of others. You can’t speak for the equality of ethnic minorities if you keep on telling racist jokes. You can’t promote peaceful solutions to problems, if your first and last response to every problem is anger. You can’t talk about living a simple life and be a conspicuous consumer. You can’t tell others you respect fidelity in marriage if you support movies and television which suggest extramarital affairs are acceptable ways of life. You can’t convince others to celebrate a Liturgy, if you act as if it’s merely an obligation which is satisfied if you’re present during only the so-called “important parts” of the Mass.

By now most of us have probably seen a public service commercial on television summarizing it as well as anything else might. It’s the one where the father asks his son where he learned about doing drugs, and the son’s response, “From you, Dad.” Each one of us is called to teach through our example, by what we do rather than merely by what we say.

I’m reminded of this when I think back to my ordination to the Diaconate. At the conclusion of the ordination rite, the Bishop presents the “Book of the Gospels” to the newly ordained minister and says: “Receive the Gospel of Christ, whose herald you are. Believe what you read, Teach what you believe, and Practice what you teach.” It seems to me these words are relevant to all of us and not only to those ordained by a Bishop. Believe what you read. Teach what you believe. Practice what you teach.

A few minutes ago, I asked if you would like to be a celebrity. Many of you might not like the disadvantages of being in the public spot light, yet would appreciate having the honor and respect associated with the rich and famous. Well, Jesus, has a more difficult question for you. How would you like to be known as “a humble servant”?

An old children’s nursery rhyme gives us several occupational choices: “richman, poorman, beggerman, thief; doctor, lawyer, Indian chief.” Our Lord, it seems, gives us only one occupation, only one calling, as he reminds us: “whoever exalts himself shall be humbled, but whoever humbles himself shall be exalted.” The choice is up to you: celebrity or servant.

^{Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary; November 4, 1990
Mal 1:14b-2:2b, 8-10; 1 Thess 2:7-9,13; Mt 23:1-12}

1. ^{_{Time does change references! In 1990 the major, local mall was Greenspoint. It is now abandoned. Willowbrook may have taken its place. The Oilers moved to Tennessee and have been replaced in Houston by the Texans. Air Jordans and Jordach still exist.}}

Today’s question is for those of us who can remember back to our childhood and the stories we heard when we were children. I’m not sure you’ll know the answers if you’re not familiar with those old fairytales or those early Disney re-creations of them. Actually, my question has two parts. It’s this: How did all of those old children’s stories begin? And how did they end? What were the first words we heard that told us this was going to be another classic bedtime story? “Once upon a time …”

Yes, these were the words signaling were about to enter a world of fantasy and wonder as we went off to sleep. I’m not sure modern, children’s stories still use them. But back when I was a child (many, many years ago) every bedtime story began with those words. And what were the last words children heard, that is, if they stayed awake for the whole story? “And they lived happily ever after. The End.”

Yes, every story had a “happy ending.” And every movie back then, had a “Hollywood Ending.” No matter what tragedies occurred along the way, there was always a “happy ending,” a “Hollywood Ending.” We grew to expect it. We were disturbed if there were no “happy ending.” Somehow we felt cheated. Or at least a little puzzled.

Which may also be the result of hearing today’s gospel story. It doesn’t have a “happy ending.” There are those five women left standing outside a locked door and hearing the Bridegroom, the Lord, saying: “I do not know you.” Basically, they’re out in the dark with a cold brush-off. And why?

Is it because their friends wouldn’t lend them some extra oil for their lamps? They missed out on a great midnight party, because they weren’t there when the doors were locked to keep out any gate crashers. They believed it really wasn’t their fault. They were the victims of false friendship! But, then, we’re reminded of other words from our childhood. Words which are still current. The words of the Boy Scout motto: “Be prepared.”

Yes, these are the words I associate with the Boy Scouts’ motto: “Be prepared.” But if you goggle the words “Be prepared,” as I did out of curiosity, you’ll find that, out of the fifty-eight-million-two-hundred-thousand hits, only one-hundred-seventy-three-thousand refer to the Boy Scouts! Twice as many, some three-hundred-eighty-three-thousand, associate “Be Prepared” with the song Uncle Scar sings in The Lion King! So much for modern children’s stories! But you must admit, even Lion King has its happy, Hollywood, ending.

And that’s what we want. What we desire. No matter how bad things are, we want them to work out so that everyone can live “happily ever after.” The early Christians wanted the same result: to live “happily ever after.” They inquired about the “end days,” the eschaton, when Christ would come back to unite them with him in heaven so that they could all “live happily ever after.”

The residents of Thessalonica in Greece were especially concerned. They were concerned because many of their friends had already died, and Christ had not yet returned. They were distraught that his return might be further delayed, and others would “fall asleep” and miss the reunion with him in heaven. And so Saint Paul wrote to them the words we heard in today’s second reading: “We do not want you to be unaware … about those who have fallen asleep, so that you may not grieve like the rest, who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose, so too will God, through Jesus, bring with him those who have fallen asleep. Indeed, we tell you this, on the word of the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will surely not precede those who have fallen asleep.” Then Paul goes on to tell the Thessalonians the “dead who believed in Christ” will rise and be reunited with him and the living. Together, all will be united with God.

The early Christians also found encouragement in the words of the Book of Wisdom we heard in today’s first reading. For them, and for us, “Wisdom,” or “Sophia,” was identified as an alternate name, a feminine name, for the Holy Spirit. And so, they heard the words we listened to a few minutes ago as: “[The Holy Spirit] is readily perceived by those who love her and found by those who seek her. … whoever watches for her at dawn shall not be disappointed, for he shall find her sitting by his gate. For taking thought of wisdom is the perfection of prudence, and whoever for her sake keeps vigil shall quickly be free from care”

As the liturgical year draws to a close and we are urged to reflect on both the closing of the year and the closing of our earthly lives, we, too, are to remember the Holy Spirit seeks us, as we seek the Holy Spirit. But in this vigil, in this waiting, we are to take “prudence.” Prudence, foresight, forethought: virtues which are, at times, in short supply in our modern life, yet ones we are called to employ, especially as we wait for the Second Coming of Christ.

Today’s parable story indicates that, although all ten virgins waited for the bridegroom and, because of the delay in his coming, all ten fell asleep, only half of them were well prepared to greet him with sufficient light, with sufficient effort, to be able to see him and be with him for the rejoicing to follow. The other five were less diligent. They had been given the same opportunities as the others, but had not taken advantage of them.
The bridegroom came. Half of the waiting women were absent. They had waited too long to replenish their supply of oil. Their own light was not kept burning for his return.

Perhaps, today’s story is to remind us we need to continue to be prudent, to be prepared. It is insufficient for us to have merely a good beginning. The ending is just as important. How many of us have begun a diet but have not stayed with it? How many of us have begun an exercise regimen, but fallen away when we realized we had to do it every day?

But more important, perhaps: How many of us have begun to pray, but fell away from the practice when we got involved with other events we deemed to be more important. How many of us have began to volunteer our time for charity, but then been sidetracked by other practices, other priorities? How many of us have said we would devote more effort to those actions we knew we should undertake to follow the Lord more closely, but never got around to starting them? After all, there is always tomorrow. I can start then. I really have other, more important things to do right now. And so it goes. “Once upon a time … I still wanted … to live happily ever after. The End.”

^{Thirty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time; November 6, 2005
Wis 6:12-16; 1 Thess 4:13-18; Mt 25:1-13}

Once upon a time there was a king who had a son whose name was Joshua¹. Both the king and the prince loved their people very much. To show how much they loved the people, the king sent the prince to visit them. Every day, Joshua went down from the royal palace on the high mountain where they lived to the village in the valley. He spent all day with the people. The people loved the king and the prince very much.

Now one day the king had a wonderful idea. He said he would have a birthday party for Joshua in the castle and invite all of his friends from the village. Joshua agreed this would be a splendid idea. He liked celebrations. Whenever he went down to the village, he would join the people in singing and dancing. He sometimes wanted to stay all night at parties in the village. But he knew his father, the king, wanted him to be home before dark. When the king told Joshua there would be a birthday party in the castle, the young prince asked his father if his friends could stay overnight. His father said they could. In fact he agreed they could stay in the castle as long as they wanted to, since they had all been such good friends of his son.

The next morning, Joshua went running down the path from the castle to the village. He leaped over the rocks on the road and turned somersaults on the grass. He rushed up to his friends to tell them about the party. When he told them, they were very happy too. They shouted and hugged him.

But then a strange thing happened. Suddenly the merriment stopped. Joshua’s friends got very quiet. Some of them even started to cry. The young prince was very surprised. He didn’t know what had upset his friends so much. Finally, one of his friends told him.

His friend told Joshua how much everyone loved him. But they could not come to his birthday party. Even though the king had been a very good king, the people in the village were still very poor. His friend told the young prince they couldn’t go to a birthday party without a gift. And because they were so poor, they couldn’t bring a gift fit for a prince. In reply, Joshua said they didn’t have to give him any presents. But his friends said it just wouldn’t be right to go to a birthday party without a present.

The prince was very sad. He walked up the long path to the castle. Now he didn’t turn somersaults on the grass. He didn’t jump over the rocks on the road. In fact, with tears in his eyes, he even stumbled over some of them. When he returned to the castle, he told his father what had happened. How his friends, at first, were very happy to be invited to a party. And then how sad they were, because they could not give him any presents. So they would not come.

Now the king, too, became very sad. He also liked celebrations. The king wondered what he should do. He thought and thought. And then he had a wonderful idea. He knew it would work. And this is what he did.

That very night, after all the villagers were sound asleep, the king sent his messengers down to the village. The messengers carried sacks with them. In each sack there were special things. Some bags had pieces of lumber, and nails, and glue, and paint for making toys. Some bags had flour and sugar and butter and fruit for baking pies and cakes. Some bags had cloth and thread and buttons and ribbons for sewing fancy clothes. The messengers left a sack outside the house of each of Joshua’s friends. And inside of every bag was an invitation to his birthday party.

The next morning when the people awoke, they found the sacks. They took the sacks into their houses and opened them. They were very surprised to find the invitations from the king. They were even more surprised when they found the other things inside of the bag. Do you know what the people did next?

They started right away to make toys with the lumber, and nails, and glue, and paint. Others immediately began to bake pies and cakes with the flour and sugar and butter and fruit. And some started to sew fancy clothes with the cloth and thread and buttons and ribbons. Each one tried to make the best present possible. Some didn’t succeed too well. The wheels they made for the wagons weren’t quite round. The pies were a little burned. The sleeves on the shirts were of different lengths. But each one had tried … except …

Except there were some who thought they couldn’t make anything from the lumber or the flour or the cloth they found in the bag. Some of them just tied the string on the bag and put it on a shelf. They were afraid to take any risks. They thought if they failed to make the very best gift possible, the king would be angry and so they did nothing at all.

Finally the day came for the birthday party. Bright and early, Joshua’s friends took their sacks and began the trip to the castle. In each bag there was a present. Some were very beautiful. Some were just so-so. And yes, some of the bags still had the lumber and nails or the flour and sugar or the cloth and ribbons left by the messengers.

For the past few days, Joshua had not been down to the village. He had been very sad, because his friends said they were not going to come to the party. So, when he heard the laughing and shouting of his friends as they climbed up the path to the castle, he was very surprised. And then he was very happy. Now there would be a great celebration and, once it started, he knew it would never end.

Now as the people had been climbing the mountain, they, too, were looking forward to the party. And the ones who had made gifts for the prince showed them to everyone else. There had been oohs and ahhs of delight when they saw the gifts. But the people who had not made any gifts carried their bags tightly closed behind their backs. They knew they had not tried to make any presents, but they hoped the king would take back the lumber and nails, the flour and sugar, and the cloth and ribbons and be pleased they had not misused them.

The king and prince who were watching from the top of the castle were overdosed that the people were sharing the gifts as they climbed upwards. The king had heard how well some of them had been doing. He was eager to see the results.

He was very pleased with the wagons with perfect wheels and the sweet-smelling pies and cakes and the fancy clothes. And when he saw the wagons with wheels not quite round, or the pies and cakes that were a little burned, or the clothes that didn’t look quite right, he smiled at their makers and waved them through the door into the castle. He knew these friends had tried to make the best gift possible from what they had been given.

Finally, there was left only the group of people clutching unopened bags behind their backs. The king looked at them sadly. One after another, they opened their sacks. He saw in each bag, the unused lumber and the flour and the cloth his messengers had left with them. He knew in his heart how these people had been afraid to risk using what he had so freely given them. Slowly, he shook his head and closed the door. From inside the castle came the sounds of singing and laughing. The never-ending celebration had begun.

But outside the only sound was that of shuffling feet. The people who were unwilling to risk using what had been given to them by the king returned to the village in the valley. All the way back, they heard the sounds of the celebration. They hoped that someday the king would send out his messengers again. Perhaps, then, they, too, would be willing to try to use what the king would give them. Perhaps, it was not too late to try.

In the meantime, the friends of Joshua who had turned their gifts from the king into presents for the young prince continued to celebrate his birthday in the castle and lived there happily ever-after.

^{Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary; November 18, 1984; November 17, 1996 (revised)
Prov 31:10-13; 1 Thess 5:1-6; Mt 25:14-30}

1. _{^{A children’s homily about the use of God’s gifts, our talents.}}

My question for you today deals with psychology. In the past, many people were interested in philosophy or theology, but today it would appear there are more pop-psychologists than there are pop-philosophers or pop-theologians. So, here’s my question: What is meant by the “fight or flight” syndrome? How many of you have heard this term before?

Yes, a lot of people have heard of this so-called “fight or flight” syndrome. It usually means that when we encounter something we fear, we respond by either fighting back against the fear or running away from it. We can respond to our stress with a positive response like fighting back and taking an active response, or we can respond with a negative process such as running away. And we need not run away by using our feet. No, we can sometimes escape by merely closing down, by curling up in a ball and hoping the threat ignores us. So, maybe, another way to put it is – under a fearful attack we’re either active, we fight back – or we’re passive, we run away, we hide, we withdraw.

,,,,,,,,By the way, since I’ve asked a question about psychology, I have another one¹. As you might know, every group has a patron saint. My question is: Who is the patron saint for psychologists? In case you didn’t know, the patron saint of psychologists is “St Imulus.” And if you don’t know why St Imulus is their patron saint, you might spell out his name! Yes, it’s S..T..I..M..U..L..U..S. And now you know why I begin my homilies with questions rather than with jokes as some preachers do. But yes, today’s readings do involve a “stimulus” … something that strikes us as being new and different, something that demands a response from us. ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Today’s readings involve something we may fear and, therefore, demands a response. This “something” is a phrase or a concept we hear from time to time but one we might not really understand. This concept occurs in both our first reading and in today’s gospel. Although it’s not explicit in Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians we heard in our second reading, the concept is very much a part of his thinking about the return of Christ, about the second coming of Christ the Lord.

The Latin term for this important concept or phrase is “Timor Domini.” It is one of the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit. You may recall that the first of these Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit is “Wisdom” or “Sapientia.” The list ends with this “Timor Domini.” The usual translation for this Latin philosophical or theological term is “Fear of the Lord.”

Yes, the usual meaning for timor is given as the English word “fear.” So, “Timor Domini” would be “fear of the Lord.” But the word timor also means “awe, veneration, or reverence” as well as “apprehension, anxiety or “fear.” “Timor Domini” may be the feeling you get when you see a huge flash of lightening followed immediately by a very loud clap of thunder. Do you react with fear or with awe?

The final chapter of the Book of Proverbs, from which today’s first reading is taken, uses this phrase. On the surface, we might assume the passage is about an ideal wife or, at least an ideal one from the point of her husband, since we hear all about how she does all of the work around the house. But did we really listen to the conclusion of this passage from the Book of Proverbs: “… the woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Give her a reward for her labors, and let her works praise her at the city gates.” It might also be helpful to recall that the first chapter of the Book of Proverbs has the quotation: “Fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge; fools despise wisdom and discipline.”

So, yes, “fear of the Lord” – this beginning of knowledge – may not designate a negative response. Rather, it’s merely a recognition that we humans stand in awe and reverence before the majesty of our God, that this response is the first step in our wisdom about who God is, who we are, and what should be the relationship between us.

We’ve been hearing about this relationship as we complete this liturgical year and begin to enter into the new one with the start of Advent a mere two weeks from now. As we complete this annual cycle, we may be puzzled by what we have been hearing. We wonder how these scriptures fit into what we, today, believe should be how Christians are expected to act.

Last week, we heard the words of the gospel of Matthew concerning the return of the bridegroom, the one we associate with Christ, and the ten women who waited for him. We heard how five of them were unwilling to share the oil for the lamps they carried as they waited for his return. This certainly does not seem to be a Christian virtue – this lack of sharing. Yet, the bridegroom accepts the actions of the five prudent women and excludes the five foolish ones who had not been appropriately prepared for his return.

And today, we heard the story of the master who, before leaving, gives to three of his servants different amounts of his vast wealth. The amount mentioned in today’s story is often said to be the equivalent of an annual wage. In other words, the first servant received funds that would be worth five years of his salary. Even the third man, was given an amount equivalent to what he would earn for an entire year.

Evidently, the Master gave each one an amount he thought the servant deserved. He left no specific instructions about what to do with the money. Yet, the servants believed he had certain expectations of how they might be “responsible” custodians of the funds he left with them. However, we, ourselves, might be puzzled by his response to their actions.

The returning master praised and rewarded those who had traded wisely and increased the amount of funds they had been given. But the third one – who had not increased his talents but had buried them in the earth and now wanted to give them back at the same level he had received them – this servant was chastised and, in fact, was punished for his lack of effort.

Why had the third servant done what he did? The third servant said that he knew his master was demanding and, out of fear, he buried the treasure so he could return it in the same condition it was when he had received it.

Each of the three servants had his own “timor domini,” his own “fear of the Lord,” his own understanding regarding the awe and reverence owed to the Master and what the Master expected of them. The ones who had a positive awe or fear of their Lord and Master and waited for his return with positive actions, received even more from him. The foolish one, who had a negative fear of the Lord, failed to do anything more with what had been given to him by his Master before leaving on a journey.

We, too, await the return of our Lord and Master who has gone on a journey. We, too, expect he will return at an unknown time. We, too, await the homecoming of the bridegroom who will come in the middle of the night when darkness surrounds us. In these instances, we can await his return either actively or passively. The stress of our waiting can lead us to “fight,” to do what is necessary – not only to be prepared for his return but also, to multiply the gifts, the talents, he gave us before he departed from our sight. The stress of our waiting can also lead us to “flight,” to be foolish in how we wait and be unprepared for his return, to be passive in our waiting and accomplish nothing new with what he has given us. Instead, we will repay him without any increase, without any personal action on our part.

The Thessalonians of the time of Paul also expected the return of the Lord. In fact, their expectation was that he might return at the next moment. During this waiting period, no matter how short or long it might be, Paul encouraged them with the reminder: “…. all of you are children of the light and children of the day. We are not of the night or of darkness. Therefore, let us not sleep as the rest do, but let us stay alert and sober.”

As we approach the end of this liturgical year, or as we might approach the end time, itself, let us have our own positive response to our “fear of the Lord,” our awe and reverence for the one who will return. It is our choice to work on behalf of our Lord and Master, or to sit back and hope for his mercy rather than for his justice.

^{33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time; November 13, 2011
Prov 31:10-13, 19-20, 30-31; 1 Thess 5:1-6; Mt 25:14-30}

1. _{^{The segment re “St Imulus” was included only for the Saturday, 5:30 pm mass. No one realized it was a joke; they took me seriously. It was omitted from the Sunday homilies and transitional lines had to be inserted.}}

Today we celebrate the feast called Christ the King, here on this last Sunday of the liturgical year. Next week is the beginning of Advent. But before we begin to prepare for the celebration of the Incarnation of our God, the Church calls us to wrap up the current year, to take stock of our lives, to see where we’ve been and where we hope to go. For the past several weeks, our Sunday readings have reminded us of the “end times,” the completion of God’s kingdom on earth and the continuation of this kingdom with him in heaven.

Today’s readings continue this theme of a final judgement, when the Son of Man will separate all of us into two groups, depending not upon his own, royal whims but rather upon our own past actions, what we have done and what we have failed to do. And so, here at the close of one liturgical year and the opening of the door to the next, it is, indeed, appropriate for us to reflect on what Christ our King asks of us.

Christ our King. It is a strange king we follow. He comes to us, not in the form of a royal, fairytale king, but rather in the role of a shepherd. In our first reading from the 34th chapter of the book of the prophet Ezekiel, we heard about a particular shepherd, one who said, “I, myself, will pasture my sheep; I, myself, will give them rest, says the Lord God.”

I wonder how often some of us have read this line from Ezekiel. Actually, we’re given the opportunity every time we enter our church, every time we pass the statue of Christ the Good Shepherd in our courtyard. Yes, this quotation appears around the base of that statue. But a lot of people hurry by and don’t stop to look at our Good Shepherd. There may be several who merely glance at him but have not really looked at him and allowed him to look at them. I would encourage you to do that, to really look at this image of our Christ the King who comes to us as a Good Shepherd. Because if you really look, you might become part of a very personal experience.

If you look at this statue from almost any angle, it’s very impressive. If you walk around it and read the quotation from Ezekiel, you see the figure of Christ the Good Shepherd from every side. But if you look closely, there is something strange about him. Where is Christ looking? At first, you suspect it’s probably at the sheep he’s about to pick up. But then from the side views you can see he’s looking off into space. There is sort of a dreamy, otherworld, contemplative look on his face. But what happens when you stand directly in front of him? Not off to one side or the other. Not some distance away from the figure. But right there, at the foot of the Good Shepherd.

When you stand in that exact spot and look up directly into his face, Jesus looks straight back into your eyes. If you move a little to either side, the effect is not the same. Unlike in some pictures or statues, the eyes don’t seem to follow you, as you move. Instead, you need to go one-on-one with our Christ the Good Shepherd. You need to stand directly at his feet and look into his face, as he looks back at you and only you.

Perhaps, Sister Mary Peter Tremonte, who created our statue, perhaps she, in some artistic miracle, has caught the gaze of how Christ our King will look at each one of us when he asks his questions about how we have followed him. Those questions raised in today’s Gospel reading – about: feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, comforting the ill and the imprisoned.

We’ve heard these questions many times before, here in church and in the world outside these doors. We will hear them especially at this time of the year, when we gather this week to celebrate our national day of Thanksgiving, when we count our blessings and are asked to share with those less fortunate.

In one way or another, we will hear these questions during the four following weeks of Advent and in our preparation for Christmas. As we think about buying gifts and preparing holiday food, we will be asked to feed the hungry, cloth the naked, give shelter to the homeless, the young and the old. We will hear the litany of all those who are “marginalized,” all those on the outside of our circle who need our assistance. And many of us will respond in one way or another. Respond with our time and with our labor. Or with our contributions of funds and material support. Or with our prayers. For the next month, we will attend to the needs of others through group-organized and personal actions. Or we will stand aside and feel guilty that we have not done anything, or we’ve done too little.

Many of us will try to become part of the flock of sheep on the right hand of God, rather than be in the bleating group of goats on his left. And that is good. That is what we are called to do. But I wonder: is there not something else? Something that can be done by everyone. Something that can be done by those who lack enough time or money for helping with organized charities.

Here at Christ the Good Shepherd, as in other religious communities, we’ve taken an active interest in caring for the homeless. But at the same time, and without any decrease in these organized efforts, I wonder about those who might be called the “homeless who live in our homes,” those who are our friends in the neighborhood, our colleagues at work, our companions in school.

Are there any of these who are hungry for a kind word instead of a complaint, who need to be filled by praise, rather than criticism? Do we know those who are dry in spirit, who thirst for spiritual drink but who are ignored because we are too busy doing good work rather than being present to another’s tears? Are there those, young or old around us, who are naked in their loneliness and need to be wrapped in the warmth of an embrace or a gentle hug? How many do we pass by, unnoticed, who are imprisoned by addictions, all those habitual actions which cut them off from others and from realizing their full potential?

Sometimes it seems easier to be part of an organized effort that reaches out to the known homeless and the visible outcasts than it is to comfort those next to us. As a giving people we provide relief to those devastated by earthquake, fire and flood. And this is good. But what about those shaken and trembling in their loss of faith? Those burned by the flames of an intolerant boss or teacher? Those flooded with too many daily problems of missed buses and incomplete homework?

Yes, there are the big things in life that demand our attention. But there are the little things as well. Perhaps, we cannot all be missionaries in Africa or peacemakers in central America or the Middle East. It may be difficult to work in a soup kitchen or travel the streets of Houston as part of an outreach program, although many in Good Shepherd are called to these actions.

In the final analysis, it is up to each one of us to decide what we must do to help others: be they the hungry poor or the hungry rich. Each one of us must stand, alone, before Christ the King and answer his questions. Perhaps, in the meantime, each one of us also needs to stand at the feet of Christ the Good Shepherd, look into his face and recall it is his desire for each one of us to join with him when the Lord God says, “The lost I will seek out, the strayed I will bring back, the injured I will bind up, the sick I will heal – shepherding them rightly.”

^{Christ the King; November 21, 1993; November 24, 2002 (revised)
Ezek 34:11-12, 15-17; 1 Cor 15:20-26, 28; Mt 25:31-46}

Today we celebrate the Feast called Christ the King, here on this last Sunday of the liturgical year. Next week is the beginning of Advent. But before we begin to prepare for the celebration of the Incarnation of our God, the Church calls us to wrap up the current year, to take stock of our lives, to see where we’ve been and where we hope to go. For the past several weeks our Sunday readings have reminded us of the “end times,” the completion of God’s kingdom on earth and the continuation of this kingdom with him in heaven.

Today’s readings continue this theme of a final judgement, when the Son of Man will separate all of us into two groups, depending not upon his own, royal whims but rather upon our own past actions: what we have done and what we have failed to do. And so, here at the close of one liturgical year and the opening of the door to the next, it is, indeed, appropriate for us to reflect on what Christ our King asks of us.

He is a strange king that we follow. For he comes to us, not in the form of a royal, fairytale king, but rather in the role of a shepherd. In our first reading from the 34th chapter of the book of the prophet Ezekiel, we heard about a particular shepherd, one who said, “I, myself, will pasture my sheep; I, myself, will give them rest, says the Lord God. “

Some of you may be wondering why I’ve not asked my usual question. Well, for those of you who are patiently waiting, here is my question: Where do we find this quotation from the prophet Ezekiel? Where do many of us see it every week, if not every day? Yes, it’s the inscription engraved around the base of the statue in our plaza. This is the founding motto of our parish of Christ the Good Shepherd: “I, myself, will pasture my sheep; I, myself, will give them rest, says the Lord God.”

But the real question for today, and for every day, is: How does our Lord God do this? How does he, himself, pasture his sheep? How does he care for them, give them rest? The answer of course is: through us, through the living Body of Christ. That’s the general answer. There are specific answers. There are specific ways in which we, ourselves, tend his flocks on his behalf. One particular way is through the Catholic Campaign for Human Development.

Some of you may know about the CCHD. But there is one among us who knows a lot more about the assistance given to others through this agency of our Archdiocese. This is Pat Hancock. Many of you know that Pat is, at present, a candidate for ordination to the Permanent Diaconate. Yes, in about fourteen months or so, Pat will be a Deacon here at Christ the Good Shepherd. When that happens, I’m not sure how you’ll refer to the two of us. One possibility, I suppose, is Old Pat and Young Pat. Or maybe Pat-C and Pat-H, although I can see how those names would degenerate into “Patsy” and “Patch.”

But no matter what you call us, I’m looking forward to the “other Pat” joining us on a regular basis. In the meantime, as part of his training for the Diaconate, Pat has been assigned to work with the Catholic Campaign for Human Development. He now has some reflections to share with us on this important way in which all of us are called to serve Christ the King as we share in his work as fellow shepherds who pasture his sheep, who give them rest. Here, now, is our deacon-candidate: Pat Hancock.

^{Christ the King; November 20, 2005 (Catholic Campaign for Human Development)
Ezek 34:11-12.15-17; 1 Cor 15:20-26. 28; Mt25:31-46}

(The “instructions” for this homily state: “Sit down after reading the Gospel and silently recite three “Our Fathers” before returning to the ambo and beginning today’s homily!)

Ok … the question is: how did you feel while waiting for the homily to begin? Yes, I made you wait before beginning today’s homily. It really wasn’t that long. It was the length of time for me to pray the Our Father three times: about a minute, about the length of time for a single commercial on television. (If there is such a thing as a single commercial on television!)

So, how did you feel? Were you puzzled? You knew, of course, that someone was scheduled to give the homily. But who was it? Or were you anxious? Did you say to yourself: Has someone goofed? Or were you annoyed? Did you mutter to yourself … or the person next to you: Why can’t they get on with it? Time’s going by and I have a lot to do? Or were you accepting of the situation? Did you make use of the relative peace and quiet to let the words of the gospel sink in?

As you realize, today marks the beginning of the Advent season for the new liturgical year. We speak of Advent as being a time of waiting – waiting for Christmas and the celebration of the birth of the Christ-child. We also realize that Advent is the time to remind us that what we should really be waiting for is the Return of the Risen Christ, the Second Coming of our Lord. And so, at the outset of this period of liturgical waiting, I wanted you to experience the condition of waiting, even if it lasted for less than sixty seconds. I wanted you to see how you are personally attuned to either active waiting – or passive waiting.

Few of us enjoy “passive” waiting. It makes many of us “up tight.” It’s probably a result of our American culture and our training. We are trained to be “active” waiters: to do something, anything, while we are waiting. Waiting, after all, is that interval of transition between the present and the future; from the certainty of the present to the uncertainty of the future.

The difficulty we have in waiting might be even harder today – when the present, itself, contains great economic uncertainty and we wait for improvements – or for even greater disasters in the days and months to come. There are even some who see, in our current crises, a view of the end-days of the world, itself. For some, this is a time for fear that great harm will come to us. For others, it is a time for courage that safety and salvation are on the horizon.

The feelings we experience today are no different than those of the Israelites in the time of Isaiah. The Israelites had just returned from the dark days of the Babylonian captivity to a Jerusalem where the Temple had been destroyed. They hoped that the Messiah would come in great power and might to destroy their enemies and restore the glory of Israel. They proclaimed, in the words of Isaiah we heard a few minutes ago: “Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down, with the mountains quaking before you, while you wrought awesome deeds … such as they had not heard of from of old.”

Yet others heard Isaiah’s concluding words: “… O Lord, you are our father; we are the clay, and you are the potter: we are the work of your hands.” They remembered that the loving Father, the creating potter, does not destroy what he has made; but rather shapes his creation into beautiful and useful vessels into which may be poured the gifts of water and wine. They are the ones who realize that the Lord, our father, does not bring about change through destruction but by the loving reworking of the clay. Yes, we realize that change is always present. We also realize that Advent is always present … that our Lord will come again.

In today’s Gospel we heard the words spoken by Jesus the Christ, who reminds us that the Master will, indeed, return, but no one will know the hour of his return. Today, on this first Sunday of Advent, we again hear his instruction: “Be watchful! Be alert! You do not know when the time will come.” He then goes on and gives his disciples further instructions. He tells them that they should be active waiters, and not passive ones. That when the master leaves his home “… he places his servants in charge, each with his own work …”

Jesus, it seems, realizes it is difficult to wait passively. Instead, we need to wait actively. The question then becomes: how should I wait actively? Most of our training for active waiting has been to use distractions to give the appearance of being in control. Each of us, it seems, wants to be in control of the situation of waiting, even though “waiting” is that time when we are not in control. Waiting is precisely the time when I am not able to control the outcome.

Just what are the usual distractions that accompany our waiting? What are the false controls we attempt to use in our lives? A major one for many of us is – noise. We get home from work and turn on the television, not to watch a program but to have background noise. We get home from work and turn on the television … not to watch a program but to have background noise. We get in the car and turn on the radio. We jog with an I-pod plugged into our ears. We wait in line at the grocery store, and we listen to someone else on our cell phone. We use noise as a distraction while we wait for “reality” to catch up with us.

We also use “virtual reality” as a distraction while we wait; although a better name for it might be “violence.” We watch newscasts and are fascinated with the destruction brought on by earthquakes, storms, crashes and crimes. We are amused by the antics of “James Bond” or of “World Wrestling Entertainment.” Our children pass the time with the distraction of video games and computer surfing.

Despite our current economic limits, some try to gain a false control through the distraction of consumerism. We are encouraged to buy the latest electronic gadgets: Blackberries for surfing the web as well as for taking photos. We are urged to replace our old-fashioned TV with an HDTV that will function after February 2009.

We tend to use all of these distractions (and others) to give us the appearance of being in control as our world goes spinning outward with ever increasing centrifugal force. Our secular world wants us to actively wait for the future with the distractions afforded by noise, violence and consumerism.

However, for Christians who recognize that our real future is the Advent of our Lord, the Return of the Master, there are other ways to wait actively for his Coming. In place of the distraction of noise, there is the silence in which we hear the voice of God and the whispered needs of others. In place of the distraction of violence, there is the tranquility found in the presence of God, in the presence of those we love, and who love us. In place of the distraction of consumerism, there is the simplicity of a lifestyle that allows us to share God’s gifts with others. In place of the distraction of doing busywork and being torn apart, there is the focusing and knitting together of our lives through reflection, meditation and contemplation.

Yes, Advent is a time of waiting, a time for active waiting, but an active waiting devoid of secular distractions. Advent is a time for preparation for the return of our Master. Advent is a time to recognize, once more, that as much as each of us wants to be in control, only the Lord, who is the potter of our clay-filled lives, is really in control. Advent allows us the time to be watchful; to be alert for the changes in our lives and the coming of our Lord. And most importantly, as we begin this Advent, we once again have the opportunity to realize that Advent is not just a season, not merely four weeks in the liturgical year – but rather Advent is our Way of Life.

^{First Sunday of Advent: November 29, 1999; revised: November 30,2008
Is 63:16b-17, 19b:64:2b-7; 1 Cor 1:3-9; Mk 13: 33-37}

Today’s question is both philosophical and practical. It’s a question each of us wishes to avoid, yet we know it must be answered. It’s this: How do you prepare for the unexpected? The “unexpected.” If you don’t expect it, how can you prepare for it? Preparation, itself, suggests you know what’s going to happen and you can do something to affect the outcome.

Six decades ago this weekend, something few expected, happened. December 7, 1941. On a quiet Sunday morning, at a place called Pearl Harbor, an unexpected attack occurred; and we found ourselves at war – a terrible war that began with death from the skies and ended with the total destruction of two cities by two bombs.

Some two thousand years ago, a different kind of unexpected event occurred, an event we celebrate on December 8th of each year. We call this event “the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary.” It’s an event brought about by God in preparation for his incarnation, for the birth of his only Son.

Once again, we are concerned with preparing for the unexpected. Once again we have choices between death and life. For some, the choices have national and international consequences. For the rest of us, we have our own daily decisions to be made about the unexpected. For you see … none of us can know what the next moment brings. For each of us, the “unexpected” is the only thing we can expect.

Although we seldom admit it, we really do not have as much control over our lives, and the lives of others, as we may want to think we have. For some of us, this realization comes when we spoke certain vows to the person we love more deeply than any other human being. Some of us have said: “… I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health.” When those words are spoken, each lover expects there will be only “good times.” But those of us who have lived a while realize there are “bad times” as well – and that the “unexpected” can occur. It’s then that the remaining vows take effect: “… I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

Some twenty-seven centuries ago, the prophet Isaiah spoke other words of love to the Israelites who had been held captive in Babylon. “Comfort, give comfort to my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem … here comes with power the Lord God … like a shepherd he feeds his flock, in his arms he gathers the lambs, carrying them in his bosom, and leading the ewes with care.”

Yes, after years of being held captive, the unexpected was about to occur. King Cyrus was about to release the Israelites voluntarily from bondage. They’d be able to return to their homeland – like a flock led by a shepherd who had not deserted them. And for a time, events went well for those who made it safely back to Jerusalem. But once more, unexpected events occurred, and the people found they were again controlled by those who did not acknowledge the power of their Lord God. Once more they sought release from bondage.

However, there was one who realized that the true bondage holding them, was not a foreign power but rather their own sinfulness, their own turning away from the Lord God. A new prophet appeared in the Judean desert. He proclaimed a path of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. He urged those who listened to him … to change their ways … to return to the Lord God … to follow another who would, indeed, lead them back to the Lord God. As a sign of their change of heart, this prophet poured purifying water over them.

But this prophet, clothed in camel’s hair, who fed on locusts and wild honey, knew that the “one who was to come” would be greater than any mere prophet. The one whom John the Baptist expected would offer the forgiveness of God through a baptism by the Holy Spirit and not by mere water.

And the expected Messiah did come. He taught. And he suffered as Isaiah had foretold. But then – the unexpected again happened. This Messiah, this Anointed One of God, God’s own Chosen One, not only suffered. He was crucified, died, was buried and rose again. His friends who had followed him had now expected he would remain with them, the Kingdom about which he spoke would be fulfilled in their presence. Yet once more, the unexpected happened. He left them. He left them, but with a promise he would return. He would come again.

Peter, his closest companion, believed him. Peter agreed he did not know the time nor the place of the return of the Christ, the anointed one. But Peter did know that “new heavens and a new earth” would come. Peter also, knew that time, itself, did not matter. After all, for the Lord, there is no earthly time. For Christ, “… one day is like a thousand years and a thousand years is like one day.” Thus, the Lord can afford to be patient with us: … to wait for us to change … to become true to his teachings … for us to realize that we have been forgiven … that our future is to be with God.

Yes, in human terms, we have a mere two weeks to prepare for the celebration of the Incarnation of our God, the celebration of his Coming to us as a babe in a manger. But, in divine terms, we have as much time as each of us needs to prepare for the expected return of the One who never really left us.

A few minutes ago, I asked how we are to prepare for the unexpected: those events over which we have no real control. However, a more important question also concerns another event over which we have no control, but one that is our greatest expectation. Using the words of Mark that we heard a few minutes ago: How are we to prepare for … “the beginning of the gospel, the good news, of Jesus Christ, the Son of God?”

^{Second Sunday of Advent: December 8, 2002
Is 40:1-5,9-11; 2 Pet 3:8-14; Mt 1:1-8}

My question for you today is about the Bible, specifically, the New Testament. My question is also about “questions.” My question is this: in the New Testament, what are the two major questions that are asked?

Now a lot of questions were asked in the gospels, as well as in the letters of Paul and the other apostles. So how could there be only two major questions? Well, I believe there are only two major questions and that all other questions are related to them. Just as there are the two greatest commandments, and all other commandments are related to them. In the same way, I believe there are two primary questions asked in the New Testament.

The first question was asked by Jesus of his disciples: “Who do you say I am?” And the second was asked in today’s gospel by the priests and Levites and those sent by the pharisees. It’s the question they asked John the Baptist: “who are you?”

I believe the answers to these two questions define all Christians when they are applied to each one of us. Each one of us is asked by Jesus: “Who do you say I am.” And each one of us is asked by others in the world, as well as by Jesus, himself: “Who are you?” It is our responses to these questions that shape our relationship to Jesus and to all others. They also shape our replies to all of the other questions found in the Bible, questions about truth, about sinners, about salvation.

In other homilies, we’ve examined the first question which Jesus asked us. So, today, let’s take a closer look at the response of John the Baptist to the second question: “Who are you?” Evidently, his questioners wondered if he were the messiah who had come to bring them salvation, since John’s first answer was: “I am not the messiah.”

Is this the response you and I give? Or – are there those among us who act as if they are, indeed, the “messiah.” Those who have a so-called, “messiah complex.” Who are out to save the world by their own power. Who speak and behave as if everything depended upon their own actions. Who do not recognize that everything they really accomplish depends, not upon themselves, but upon their cooperation with God – and upon the proper use of the talents and gifts God has bestowed upon them.

And if I agree with John the Baptist that I am not the “messiah,” what about his next responses: “No, I am not Elijah.” I am not the one who is to appear before the Messiah comes. “No, I am not even the prophet,” the one promised by Moses to return before the Messiah appears.

Do we agree with John the Baptist in our response to the question, “who are you?” – that we are neither the messiah nor those who precede him in power? Do we agree we are, instead, only the messenger, the voice who cries out to others to prepare the way of the Lord? Are we among those who do not blow their own trumpet, but rather announce to others that the Lord, himself, is among us?

In response to the question, “who are you?” can I say, “I am a Christian, a follower of Christ.” And if I say I am, then what do I mean by it? Am I one who puts into practice the instructions Saint Paul gave to the Thessalonians in today’s second reading? In his letter, which is said to be the first one Paul wrote to any of the communities he founded, he gave instructions on how to be a Christian. He wrote: “rejoice always, never cease praying, render constant thanks … such is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”

According to Paul, a Christian is one who rejoices, always; one who prays, always; one who gives thanks, always. Christians are those who allow the Holy Spirit to enter their lives, yet at the same time, are not deceived by those who claim to be their guides but, in reality, are false friends.

Paul instructs us: “test everything, retain what is good. Avoid any semblance of evil.” In other words, he says we should not only avoid sin, but avoid what, in the old-time church, were called: “The near occasions of sin.” He urges us to examine everything that impacts upon our lives as Christians and not to get near those events or behaviors which would tend to lead us astray.

And to what end? Why are we joy-filled, always? Why do we pray, always? Why do we give thanks, always? Perhaps it is because we have truly heard the message of Jesus who, at the very beginning of his public ministry, quoted the words proclaimed in today’s first reading from the prophet, Isaiah: “the spirt of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; he has sent me to bring glad tidings to the lowly, to heal the brokenhearted. To proclaim liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners, to announce a year of favor from the Lord…” and when Jesus finished reading these words he added: “and today they have been fulfilled in your hearing.”

Jesus, himself, has given us the answer to the question: “Who are you?” He has told us that: … we are the brokenhearted who have been healed … we are the captives who have been set free … we are the ones who have received a year of favor from the Lord.

We are also told something else in the words from Isaiah: I am the bridegroom; I am the bride. Who is more joy-filled, who is more thankful than a bride and a groom on their wedding day? This is who we are meant to be as we celebrate the first coming of the Christ Child and await the Second Coming of the man called the Anointed One of God, the Messiah.

As we make our responses to the questions: “Who do you say I am?” and “Who are you?” we need to recall the concluding prayer Saint Paul sent to the Thessalonians twenty centuries ago: “May the God of peace make you perfect in holiness. May you be preserved whole and entire … spirit, soul, and body … irreproachable at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. He who calls us … is trust-worthy, therefore he will do it.”

^{Third Sunday in Advent: December 15, 1996
Is 61: 1-2a, 10-11; 1 Thess 5:16-24; Jn 1: 6-8, 19-20}

Well, here we are – in the final count-down. Do I really need to remind you Christmas is only a week away? My question for today could be a very simple one: have you finished all of your Christmas shopping? Or do you still have to rush out today to find that last-minute present for your favorite uncle or, worse yet, for your spouse? Or will you put it all off until next Friday, because you really enjoy the challenge of shopping on Christmas Eve?

Yes, these are questions I could ask you today, the Fourth (and last) Sunday of Advent. But I have a somewhat more important question for you: one you certainly do not need to answer out loud. My question is this: Why do you buy presents in the first place? What is it that prompts you to give a gift to someone else?

Do you give a gift to someone because you owe them something? Do you buy a present for someone merely because they expect it? When you make out your list of those who will receive Christmas presents this year, do you think about the people at work, the teacher at school, the person who delivers your mail, and the one who tosses your morning paper on the driveway, usually on the spot covered by water from the lawn sprinkler. Do you give gifts only to those who merit some reward from you, because of the jobs they do for you? Do you give with an expectation that if you don’t give them a Christmas bonus, maybe they won’t work quite as hard for you next year?

Is this, also, why you give gifts to friends and relatives? Because of what they have done for you, how well they have treated you? Are you a little concerned that if you don’t give them something, they won’t like you quite as much? Or do you give them a gift because you love them, and you want them to know just how much you love them? And if that’s the reason, does a bigger and more expensive gift mean you love them more than a smaller gift might represent? Does the size or cost of the gift stand in for the size of your love for one another?

Well, if you’ve had any of these thoughts, you share them with a lot of other people – including someone we heard about in our first reading for today, a reading taken from the Second Book of Samuel. Some three-thousand years ago, King David had similar thoughts. We heard how he was “… settled in his palace and the Lord God had given him rest from his enemies on every side.” It was then that King David decided he should do something nice for the Lord God. As he said “ … here I am living in a house of cedar, while the ark of God dwells in a tent!”

Now at first glance, you might say: ok, David saw how much he owed to God, and he was just paying him back. If God is generous, should I not be generous back to God? Isn’t this what I’m told God wants? Am I not supposed to give back to God a tenth of all I have? And when David told the local holy man, Nathan the prophet, about his planned gift-giving, Nathan answered: “Go, do whatever you have in mind, for the Lord is with you.”

But it turns out, even a prophet can be wrong from time to time, if he fails to check it out first with the Lord God. For that very night, the Lord God spoke to Nathan and told him to remind David it was he, the Lord God, who had accomplished everything David thought he had done on his own. And everything that would be done in the future by David or his offspring would be the result of God’s love for his people.

Once more, God reminded David that God gives without a requirement he be paid back. A gift from God is given merely because God loves us and not because we merit that gift. When God gives a gift, the only expectation is we rejoice in gratitude for the gift. And how do we rejoice? By sharing that gift with others. By sharing God’s love with others.

We heard this message even more powerfully in our gospel reading for this Fourth Sunday of Advent. Once again, we heard the story of the angel Gabriel’s announcement to Mary that she has been chosen to receive the greatest gift God could ever give: the gift of himself. In his announcement, Gabriel began by saying those words we prayerfully repeat to this day: “Hail, (Mary) full of grace! The Lord is with you.” And what was Mary’s response? Luke says: “… but she was greatly troubled at what was said and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.” However, the angel reassured her and then told her of the gift she was about to receive. And when she heard this, what was her final response? “May it be done to me according to your word.”

Mary, as we are constantly reminded, heard the word of God and said, “yes.” But what we sometimes fail to appreciate is exactly what she said “yes” to. Mary said “yes” to her complete and total acceptance of the gift God offered to her and, through her, to us. She accepted and embraced God’s gift – with the recognition she had not merited it by anything she, herself, had done, but merely because she was full of grace – God’s first gift to her. Without further questions, she accepted and shared God’s gifts. But sometimes God’s gifts are hard to accept and to share.

Although it’s easy to accept God’s gifts of life and health, we question his gifts of pain and suffering. We find it easy to rejoice in our family and friends, in our children and in our spouse when they please us, when they do what we think is good and right. But we find it difficult to accept, let alone rejoice in them, when they fail to live up to our expectations. Perhaps this is a result of how we view our own gift-giving and gift-receiving.

Have you ever given a gift someone does not like? Have you ever received a gift that makes you say to yourself: “why in the world did Uncle Bob ever give me this?! What possible use can be made of this so-called gift? It’s the wrong size and color. Using it would bring me a lot of pain and discomfort.”

Yet even when a gift is received with puzzlement, does that make the gift-giver into a cruel or unthinking person? No, not if we appreciate a true gift is given because of the love the giver has for the one who receives it. What loving person gives a gift in order to be cruel? After all, does a parent give a child a scorpion or a stone to eat?

When a gift is received with puzzlement, it suggests the gift needs to be received with continued faith and trust in the love of the giver. There must be faith and trust that, although I am uncertain right now why I am receiving it, I know, in the long run, this gift will be exactly what I need. I know the gift-giver, indeed, knows me and my circumstances better than I, myself, may know them. We need to remember that even God’s gift to Mary contained a puzzlement. His joyful gift to her was not free from pain and suffering. The rejoicing of Christmas contains within it the pain of Good Friday. Both the crib and the cross are made of the wood of salvation.

In a few days we will once again celebrate the gift of the Christ Child given to Mary and to us. In his name, we will give and receive other gifts because of the love we share for him and for one another. Although this is the season of hope and of joy for many of us, for some, it is a season of despair and of unhappiness. Yet in every season, we need to remember that everything we have is a gift from God and our response should be to rejoice in these gifts, even the ones which bring us the most puzzlement. We need to remember that God gives me a gift for only one reason. God gives me a gift because he loves me. In return for all gifts given, and those about to be received, it is right for me to give him thanks and praise; it is right for me to rejoice.

^{Fourth Sunday of Advent; December 19, 1999
2 Sam 7:1-5, 8-11, 16; Rom 16:25-27; Lk 1:26-38}

I want to offer my own welcome to all of our visitors to Christ the Good Shepherd, to all of you who are spending the holidays here with family and friends. It’s especially good to have you here this Sunday, the Sunday between Christmas and New Year’s, when the church celebrates the Feast of the Holy Family. The readings for today certainly emphasize family relationships, even ones we might not want to hear about.

Each of us probably hears the Second Reading from the letter of Saint Paul to the Colossians in very different ways. The kids may have paid extra attention to the line: “Fathers, do not nag your children lest they lose heart.” As for the wives, I know there are a few women here who do not take kindly to Paul’s urging: “Wives, be submissive to your husbands.” Husbands, on the other hand, may want to hold this as a scriptural stick over their wives. They may tend to ignore Paul’s following instructions: “Husbands, love your wives. Avoid any bitterness toward them.” But rather than focusing on these lines from Saint Paul, I’d prefer to take another look at what it means to be a Holy Family.

For some of us, this feast day in honor of the Holy Family might suggest we should focus entirely on Mary, Joseph and the infant Jesus. But this day, and it’s readings, applies to more than to just a particular holy family of three people who lived some two thousand years ago. We are all part of still another “holy family.” However, it’s a family made up of more than a mother, father and several children. You are also part of this “holy family” when you are a single parent living with growing children. You are still part of this “holy family” when you are a single adult living alone, in either an apartment or in a home for the elderly. We are all part of the Christian holy family, and this is the family Paul is talking about. This is the family I would offer for our reflection today.

But in considering the holy family of which we are all a part, it’s important for us to begin by reflecting upon the opposite of what a “family” is. I believe “loneliness” is the opposite of being a family. Loneliness may be a strange thing to think about at this time of year, a time of year when all of the TV commercials and songs remind us of being with those we love and who love us. But, for some, the Christmas season can be the loneliest time of the year. For the past several weeks, we may have tried to escape this loneliness by pouring ourselves into holiday activities: parties and shopping, writing cards, baking, hanging lights, and decorating trees. But now it’s all over.

Christmas Day has, once more, come and gone. And we ask ourselves: “Was it worth it?” Is there more joy today, the day after Christmas, the day after we have celebrated the birth of the Christ-child, than there was the day before Christmas? Over the past four weeks of Advent, we have been preparing for the birth of Jesus in our hearts. If we were to continue this theme, we have now reached the point of “post-partum blues.” For those of you who have children, do you recall the hectic days just before their birth; how you wanted the birth to come; and yet, there was still more to do. And then the joy of holding your child in your arms for the first time. Or maybe the trepidation of that experience.

Yes, there is a certain amount of parental concern following the birth of a child. And yes, in the days that follow, for some, there can be a deep case of the blues. And yes, today, the day after Christmas, now that the first joy has left, for some of us, depression can set in. Now is the time when the loneliness we have been trying to fight off can return with a vengeance.

But what is the nature of that loneliness? I’m not an expert in psychology, but someone just like you. Nevertheless, I wonder if that loneliness is a manifestation of our need to be loved, a need to feel special. When I feel unloved, unwanted, I feel lonely. I believe each one of us needs to feel special, to feel loved. I also believe the three readings for today ask us to help others to know how special they really are. To see what I mean, let’s take a closer look at these readings.

In the First Reading from Sirach, we hear how we should make our parents feel special. We don’t often, in our roles as children, whether we are 6, 16, or 56, reflect on how we need to make sure our own mother and father feel special. Yet that is what we heard in our first reading: “The Lord sets a father in honor over his children; a mother’s authority he confirms over her sons.” I won’t read the rest to you. It’s much too painful for me. My mother died during Christmas week four years ago. My father died just before Christmas last year. You who have lost loved ones and who have gone through the holidays without them understand all too well what Sirach tells us. But I believe it is more than just our own parents we are called upon to make special.

A few minutes ago, I recalled how Paul ended the reading we heard today: about not nagging our children and about submission. But the more important part is the opening line: “Because you are God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with heartfelt mercy, with kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.” He goes on to say: “Bear with one another; forgive whatever grievances you have against one another. … dedicate yourselves to thankfulness. Whatever you do, whether in speech or in action, do it in the name of the Lord Jesus.”

These, then, are Paul’s words on what it means for an entire community to become a holy family. From him, we hear we are to forgive. We are to accept. Forgiveness and acceptance are the keys to eliminating loneliness. They are the keys to becoming a holy family.

A few minutes ago, when I began this reflection, I said in order to understand something about becoming a holy family, we needed to understand the opposite of being a family is being lonely. In a family in which there is forgiveness and acceptance, there can be no loneliness. In a community in which there is forgiveness and acceptance, there can be no loneliness. When we are made to feel we are special, there is no loneliness.

In our Third Reading, our Gospel Reading, we heard about a man and a woman who might be models for each of us to follow. Although you might think I’m talking about Mary and Joseph, this is not who I mean. Have you ever thought about Simeon and Anna, the prophetess? I doubt if you have. But think for a moment.

Here we see two elderly, very devout people. They had dedicated their lives to the service of God. And what do they do when Mary and Joseph appear in the temple with their firstborn son? Simeon and Anna rush up to this young girl and her husband and begin to praise their child as being the Messiah, the Anointed One. Admittedly Mary and Joseph may have, at this point, begun to suspect this child was someone special. Most parents believe this true about their son, even without shepherds saying angels sang to them, or without having visits, themselves, from angels, either in person, as Mary did, or in dreams as Joseph did.

But what sort of confirmation must it have been not only of the specialness of their newborn son, but of Mary and Joseph, themselves, to have Simeon and Anna tell them that this child is to be “a revealing light to the gentiles, the glory of your people, Israel.” I suggest perhaps Simeon and Anna might be models for us. When was the last time you confirmed to someone, in particular to someone you love, just how special that person is – to you and to others?

Can I be a Simeon or an Anna? Can I allow another to see how special he or she is, not only to me, but to others around us? At Christmas we give material gifts to one another as outward signs of the love we hold for them. Yet it is possible to receive such gifts and still to feel unloved, lonely. Perhaps on this Feast of the Holy Family it might be possible to give another gift, the gift of making someone feel very special; of telling them how they are a “revealing light” to us; how they brighten our lives.

And yes, it is possible there is no one to tell us this; to help us know we are part of a holy family. But there is always one person there, if we are willing to listen. There is always “Immanuel,” God with us. We often forget that the child whose birth we just celebrated “grew in size and strength, filled with wisdom, and the grace of god was upon him.” Sometimes we forget this child became a man who taught us, who suffered for us, who died for us, and who returned to us. And is with us now. We are part of his holy family. And he must be part of ours, whether we live with others, or by our self. He is always present to tell you and me just how special we are to him. All he asks is we help him, by telling one another how special we are to everyone who is part of his Holy Family.

^{Holy Family Sunday; December 27, 1987; December 30, 1990 (repeated)
Sir 3:2-6, 12-14; Col 3:12-21; Lk 2:22-40}

I’d like to welcome our visitors to Christ the Good Shepherd, to all of you who are spending the holidays here with family and friends. It’s especially good to have you with us this weekend between Christmas and New Year’s, when the Church celebrates the Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Those who are “regulars” at CGS know I always begin my homilies with a question … although, I admit, it’s been a while since my last question for you. My question is this: What is a Holy Family?

Is it a holy family when a teenage mother gives birth to a child and her husband is not the father? Is it a holy family when they are hounded by civil authority and … to escape death … have to emigrate to a new country? Is it a holy family when they can finally return to their homeland but must settle in a strange city in order to escape further persecution? Is it a holy family when the child leaves his home to pursue his calling elsewhere but is finally willing to return with his parents and be obedient to them. Is it a holy family when the husband dies and leaves his beloved wife in the care of a son, who shortly, thereafter, leaves her alone – so he can wander the countryside with his friends and teach them that they should live as free as lilies of the field or birds of the air? Is it a holy family when his every-suffering, ever-loving mother sees him thrown into jail, and hung, naked on a cross, accused of being an enemy of the state and a blasphemer of his God? If any of this happened in 2014, we might say this is a dysfunctional family and urge them to seek counseling.

Yet, it is just such a family we honor today with a special feast day, a day of celebration and remembrance. A family who suffered much … yet rejoiced greatly. A family who heard the words of a righteous and devout man called Simeon … who said to the Lord God that he could now die in peace, since he had seen the Salvation of the Chosen People of God and the light for the revelation to the Gentiles. A family who was told that they would suffer much, but one who, nevertheless, had heard the voice of angels and received gifts from magi from a far-off land.

Just what is a family and, in particular: what is a “holy” family? First of all, a family can be composed of the typical mother, father and a single child. A family can also have a single parent … mother or father … with one or more kids. A family can have birth children, adopted children, foster children or no children. A family can have stepparents and half-brothers or sisters. A family can have grandparents raising their grandchildren with their own child seldom in sight. In fact, there can also be families without even parents or grandparents or aunts and uncles around. There are some who work in an occupation where the members call one another “family.” Each of us can be part of the “family of Christ the Good Shepherd.” We can be part of the “family of humanity.” From time to time we even hear about a “family of nations.”

So, what is a family? A family is a set of relationships, not relatives; not merely those linked by blood or marriage, but by a relationship – a union of hearts and souls. The purpose or goal of a family is to seek harmony … harmony with one another, harmony with God. A holy family is to seek mutual salvation … a oneness with God, himself: with God the father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

The question now becomes: how do we accomplish this? How do we become a family who seeks mutual salvation; how do we become a “holy family?” Of course there are many ways to become a “holy family.” But for now, let’s consider the opening line of today’s reading from Paul’s Letter to the Hebrews. We heard Saint Paul’s statement: “By faith, Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; he went out, not knowing where he was to go.”

“By faith” … he listened intently to the Word of God and followed what the Lord God directed him to do. He listened and believed that the Word of God would become true. In our first reading from the Book of Genesis, we heard how Abraham wondered if his childlessness with his wife Sarah would lead to his steward, Eliezer, gaining all of his inheritance. To this concern, the Lord God responded: “Look up at the sky and count the stars, if you can. Just so … shall your descendants be.” And shortly afterwards, his 90-year-old wife Sarah, gave birth to their son Isaac. Abraham became the patriarch for the extended family of Jews, Christians and Muslims.

All of this came about because Abraham and Sarah listened intently to the Word of God. They were “obedient” to the Word of the Lord God. For you see, this is what the word “obedient” really means: to listen intently. To listen intently and undertake what has been heard – not by the ears but by the heart.

In today’s modern world it is very difficult to listen intently … to be obedient. Our modern technology forces us to hear … but not to listen. We hear events reported on television. We hear about violence in the world, but we seldom listen to the deeper meaning and feel compassion for the victims of this violence. We receive “tweets,” but we do not listen to the song of the birds-of-life around us. We hear the voices of our spouse but do not listen to the words they speak. The noise of surrounding chatter muffles our listening to family and friends who plead for help and desire our unconditional love. We ignore the “listening” that is demanded for us to become a holy family. We perceive the noise of living, but we ignore the angels of our dreams, our messengers from God … the messages given in our prayers … in our own conversations with God and within our families.

Recently we’ve been hearing about the Synod of Bishops who met to discuss the topic: “The Pastoral Challenges of the Family in the Context of Evangelization.” Their discussions about family life and spreading the Good News will continue to be held throughout the coming months. The bishops of the world will convene for their final session in September 2015 in Philadelphia. Pope Francis will be in attendance. Part I of their interim report bears the title: “Listening: the Context and Challenges of the Family.”

The importance of listening, of listening intently, of true obedience to family life cannot be ignored. We must go beyond merely “hearing” one another. To become a “holy family” we need to listen to all members of the family. We are taught repeatedly that each family is truly a “little church” … a domestic church. Together we become the gathering, the ecclesia, the universal Church.

In its message accompanying their interim report, the Bishops included several petitions … among which were the following I’d offer for our on-going prayers within our families:
● “Father, grant to all families the presence of strong and wise spouses who may be the source of a free and united family.
● “Father, grant that parents may have a home in which to live in peace with their families.
● “Father, grant that children may be a sign of trust and hope and that young people may have the courage to forge life-long, faithful commitments.
● “Father, grant to all that they may be able to earn bread with their hands, that they may enjoy serenity of spirit and that they may keep aflame the torch of faith even in periods of darkness.
● “Father, grant that we may all see flourish a Church that is ever more faithful and credible, a just and humane city, a world that loves truth, justice and mercy.”

Finally, we need to recall that although a Synod is an ecclesiastical assembly, the word, itself, comes from a Greek word meaning “to journey together.” In the coming months, may all of our domestic churches, the family churches of God – may we journey together with our clergy to seek out and to support the holy families among us. When the world’s bishops meet in their Synod in Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love, may all of us listen intently to the Word of God and remember that, according to John, it was not the voice of God, not the sound of God, which became enfleshed; but rather the Logos, the Word of God, that took on human form for our Salvation. It is this incarnation, we continue to celebrate throughout the Twelve days of Christmas. And so to each of you: a merry, a joy-filled Christmas and the best of wishes on this Feast of the Holy Family.

^{Feast of the Holy Family; December 28, 2014
Gn 15:1-6; 21:1-3; Heb 11:8, 11-12, 17-19; Lk 2:22-40}

Happy New Year! This may be the wrong time for me to ask a question … what with our thoughts being on how we will celebrate this evening. But as the old year passes and a new one begins, it’s really a very appropriate time for this particular question. You don’t need to answer it out loud – or, even after Mass – to tell your spouse what your answer was. My question is this: how many of your New Year’s resolutions have you already broken? And here it is: … 2012 hasn’t started yet, and you’ve already failed in how you had planned to change your behavior.

I hope you noticed I did not ask you what you resolved to do, what you promised to change. Some people would encourage you to tell someone else exactly what your New Year’s resolutions are. They believe, in this way, you’ll feel guilty about breaking them and this will force you to keep them longer than you might otherwise have done. However, I believe keeping New Year’s resolutions – or any other promises for that matter – is not about feeling guilty when you break them. Rather, resolutions and promises are about how you, yourself, want to change. It’s a matter of what is in your heart and not about what guilt feelings you might have in your mind.

Today’s gospel reading makes this quite clear. Surely Mary and Joseph did not feel guilty that she had given birth in a stable in Bethlehem rather than in the comforts of their own home in Nazareth. They did not feel guilty that those who spread the good news about their baby were strangers, mere lowly shepherds, rather than their close friends and family. Instead of feeling guilty and wanting the comforts of their home and the safety of the past, Mary reflected on these events in her own heart.

In her heart. You may recall that the Latin word for Heart is “Cor” … C,O,R. And if you add an E, in English it becomes Core … the center of your being. Mary reflected on these events in the center of her being, her own core. And we are called upon to do the same. It is in the center of each of us that change is to be made. It is in our center, in our heart, that resolutions and promises are to be made.

And what resolutions are called for, what changes should we seek – not only as the New Year begins, but each day of our lives? I would suggest these resolutions, these self-made promises, are the ones associated with the true Christmas season which still remains with us. Ones associated with the gifts the Christchild brought into our world some 2000 years ago. I would suggest our major resolutions, our changes, should involve his gift of love. His gift of reminding us we are to love God and our neighbor and our self. This is the change we need to make. To resolve I will love God more. To resolve I will increase my love for my family, my friends and all whom I meet. To resolve I will love myself more – by treating my body the way a temple of God should be treated.

I leave the specific resolutions up to you. They differ for each one of us. They relate to our prayer life, to our participation at every Eucharistic celebration. Our changes relate to how we interact with others: what attitudes we express about everyone we meet; what behavior we exhibit toward them. Our promises about our addictions which control us – they need to be addressed by each one of us, and not be initiated or delayed because of the nagging of others. Changes must occur within our own core, within our own heart.

What we seek is, indeed, what is called “metanoia,” the deep down, inner change of our being, our core. And what else do we need to change? What other gift of the Christchild are we called to open and use. I would suggest, in addition to love, there is the gift of forgiveness.

Again, forgiveness of what others have done to us. Forgiveness of what we have done against others. And, yes, sometimes the need to forgive God for the events in which we perceive he has harmed us. Perhaps by the death of a loved one. Perhaps by the loss of something else we held dear to us. Jesus brought us the gift of forgiveness and desires we share this gift with everyone we meet. He urges us to resolve not only to love, but also to forgive … for the two are parts of one another.

To love is to forgive. To forgive is to love. Both require our own action. An action demanded each moment of our lives. Resolutions demand on-going actions. They are not made for a start in the future. They are made for the present moment. For you see, the present moment is all we mortals have. We cannot change the past. Our past actions may influence what we do in the present. But the past need not control us. And we cannot control the future. We may influence what might happen in the future, but we cannot guarantee what will specifically be the result of our current action.

The only time we humans have is the ever-present, the ever-holy: Now. It is in each moment that our resolution is kept or broken. It is in each moment that our resolution is continued or re-made. Breaking a New Year’s resolution need not be permanent. Every moment we can promise what we will do. How we are to love. How we are to forgive. Each failure can be merely temporary. A failure endures only when we allow it to endure. For each broken resolution, we can begin anew. We can forgive our temporary – our time-bound – failure and continue on our path with Christ.

We recall how Paul reminded the Galatians: “God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying out, Abba, Father; [Abba, Daddy.] So [we] are no longer [slaves] … but heirs through God.” We are no longer controlled slaves, but rather we are now joined with God in his love and forgiveness as his adopted children. We remain so every moment of our lives; in each moment of the ever-present, ever-holy nowness of our lives with him.

And so, at the beginning of the year of our Lord, 2012 – on the celebration of the solemnity of Mary, the Mother of God – we might conclude with the words from the Book of Numbers she, herself, might have heard as she reflected on the magnificent events of her own life. “The Lord bless you and keep you! The Lord let his face shine upon you and be gracious to you! The Lord look upon you kindly and give you peace!” Now… and in every precious moment of the New Year – and in every day lived with the love and forgiveness of God.

^{Mary, the Mother of God; January 1, 2012
Num 6:22-27; Gal 4:4 – 7; Lk 2:16-21}

Today’s question is a recycled one. It’s one I asked on Epiphany twenty years ago, in January 1989. So, a few of you who are really “old timers” may remember both the question and the correct answer. And some of you may know the answer anyway.

Actually, the question is really an experiment. It requires a physical response from each one of you. So, are you ready? The experiment is this … I want each one of you to point towards the East. Yes, that’s the question: which direction is East?

As I expected, there seems to be a variety of opinions. The reason I asked this question twenty years ago … and for the current generation of parish members … is because, in today’s reading, we heard that the Magi came from the East and I wanted to know if you would look in the right direction to see them coming. I’ll tell you later which direction it really is.

As you know, today is Epiphany, the day we celebrate the manifestation of God, the public or “open” appearance of God on earth. Actually, there are several epiphanies that we can celebrate. There is the birth of Jesus, himself, that we celebrate on Christmas Day. Today, we celebrate the Epiphany of the Lord … his manifestation to the Gentiles, to non-Jews. Next Sunday, we close the Christmas season with the Baptism of the Lord when Jesus was made manifest as the chosen son of God. To a certain extent, the Feast of the Transfiguration is also an Epiphany. Sometimes, Easter and Pentecost are included as celebrations of the manifestation of God among us. So, there are many so-called “Epiphanies” when we recognize God is with us.

But for now, I’d like to reflect on today’s “Epiphany of the Lord.” To begin, let’s take a look at the five Kings we heard about in today’s Gospel. Yes, that’s right … there are five Kings. There are the Three Magi from the East. And there is also King Herod. And, finally, there is the king the Magi were in search of … “the newborn king of the Jews.”

First the Magi. Were you aware that in their journey to Jerusalem, the Magi had made use of the original GPS … the original Global Positioning System? Yes, it was called “the star of Bethlehem.” But, as with a modern GPS, they were confused about the details of the final location and had to ask for local help. So, they went to King Herod and his advisors. These three Magi (who may have been astrologers, wise sages, or even Kings) … these searchers for the newborn king of the Jews wanted to do him homage. And just what is meant by “doing homage?”

Homage is an ancient custom. It was performed between a royal lord and a humble subject. It was a ritual in which the subject would swear eternal faithfulness and trust to the royal lord in return for protection by the superior lord. The subject would say, in effect, “I am completely yours in body and soul,” and the master would reply “I will protect you always.”

And so, here, some two thousand years ago, we find three gentile wisemen, three leaders of a non-Jewish origin, seeking protection from a newborn child they named as “king of the Jews.” Perhaps it’s not difficult to understand Herod’s reaction to such news, since he viewed himself as the “king of the Jews.” And so how does King Herod react? With cunning and lies. He says he, too, wants to do homage to this newborn child. However, Herod seeks information from the Magi so that he can accomplish his real objective: the obliteration of this newborn king.

But just as Joseph, the foster father of Jesus, had been counseled in his own dreams, the Magi, too, were told in a dream not to return to Herod but to depart for their own country directly. Nevertheless, Herod, according to Matthew’s gospel, followed up his personal desires by killing all the boys recently born in Bethlehem.

Five kings. Three of them saw a star and followed it to do homage to a newborn king. One of them, hearing of the same star and what it portended, was frightened he would lose his power and so destroyed innocent children. The Magi, beholding the light of the star of Bethlehem, accepted the Christ child. Herod, beholding the same light, rejected the Christ child. Three kings brought gifts. One king brought death. And the Fifth King brought the light of the star, itself, into the world.

How often do we have an opportunity for similar choices of acceptance or rejection of the message we receive about the king who promises us light and life? When I am offered the light of the star of Bethlehem, do I bring gifts of life, or do I bring forms of death? Do I offer my gifts of time, talent and treasure as freely as the Magi offered their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh? Or do I use them to gain control over others, even if innocent people might suffer because of what I do, or fail to do? Do I offer my resources to help others or to abuse others? Do I offer my time freely to benefit my family, friends and co-workers, or do I waste my time in harmful pursuits on my own behalf or to the detriment of others? Do I react to errors with forgiveness, or with revenge? When problems occur in my home life, do I respond with greater commitment and fidelity, or do I yield to despair and infidelity? When stress enters my life, do I turn to prayer, or to drugs and alcohol?

And when my star shines brightly and good things happen to me, do I rejoice and thank God, or do I become disturbed because I expected even more and curse God and others for my not getting enough? The three kings saw their starlight and followed it to a greater King to do him homage. Another king saw the starlight and pursued a deadly course of action.

A few minutes ago, I asked you to point toward the East. And what is the correct direction for the East? If you pointed towards the direction behind the altar – you would have been correct. Even though our church has a circular form, our sanctuary is built, believe it or not, in a traditional pattern. Ancient churches were aligned so that during the morning service, the people would face East and the rising sun. These early Christians were reminded of the words we heard proclaimed by Isaiah the prophet in our first reading: “Rise up in splendor, Jerusalem! Your light has come, the glory of the Lord shines upon you.” Isaiah goes on to remind his people: “Then you shall be radiant at what you see, your heart shall throb and overflow …”

These early Christians saw themselves as the “new Jerusalem.” They heard these words as being addressed to them directly: “Rise up in splendor, you Christians. Your light has come, the glory of the Lord shines upon you.” Today when we face the East and behold the light of the rising sun, are we reminded of the rising of the Son of God. When we see the light of our star each day, are we reminded of the Epiphany of our Lord … his manifestation, his appearance among us?

We are called to do him homage: to proclaim: “I am completely yours in body and soul.” And to hear him respond: “I will protect you always.” And hearing these words, if we, ourselves, face the light of Christ and if we allow his light to shine upon us as we make our choices and live out our lives in this new year of 2009, it is then that each one of us can be an Epiphany, an appearance of Christ, to others.

^{Epiphany of the Lord, January 4, 2009
Is 60:1-6; Eph 3:2-3a, 5-6; Mt 2:1-12}

Today’s question involves three clues. Can you name the person who fits the following description? First: he was a son who was born to a childless woman in her old age. Well, there are several answers if that’s the only clue. One answer might be “Isaac” who was born to Sarah when she was ninety years old. So, here’s your second clue: his mother dedicated him as a Nazirite to the Lord God. Here your answer might be “Samson,” or perhaps “John the Baptist,” since both their mothers consecrated them to the Lord and they were forbidden to cut their hair or drink wine. But here’s your third clue: when his mother prayed in the temple that she would give birth to a son in her old age, the priest who saw her praying thought she was drunk and tried to chase her away.

Well, if you still haven’t guessed who this is, here’s an extra clue: he was the prophet who anointed Saul, and later David, and ushered in the kingdom of Israel and all that evolved from it. The correct answer, of course, is: Samuel. He’s the young apprentice we heard about in today’s first reading. In today’s first reading from the book of Samuel, we heard how the Lord God called to him when he was sleeping and how he did not recognize the voice of God, but needed the guidance of an older, more experienced prophet, Eli, in order to respond: “Speak Lord, your servant is listening.”

Perhaps you are led by all of this to conclude this will be my focus for today’s homily. The story of Eli and Samuel would be an appropriate one for us to reflect upon in order for us to understand that when God calls us, we sometimes need the help of those whom we believe are more experienced than we are in the ways of the Lord. And how we each need to be able to say: “Speak lord, your servant is listening.”

But then we have the Second Reading, taken from the First Letter of Paul to the Corinthians. Here we should recall that Corinth was a major seaport in ancient Greece, where Paul visited and began a Christian community. And as a seaport town, it was subject to all sorts of vices from visiting sailors. There were many places where visitors, and town residents, might go for physical pleasure. And so it is that Paul felt the need to remind the men in his community that: “your body is not for immorality, it is for the Lord, and the Lord is for the body.” Or in the words found in other translations: “the body is meant not for fornication but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body.”

Paul goes on to remind the Corinthians: “your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is within – the spirit you have received from God. You are not your own. You have been purchased …” by Jesus who suffered, died and rose again. This, too, would make another focus for a homily. How we need to turn away from lust and bodily pleasures, since the Holy Spirit now resides within each one of us, abides within us, lives within each one of us.

But then there is the Gospel reading, in which we hear another reference to abiding, or staying, or in the version we heard today: lodging. In the Gospel of John the Evangelist, we heard how the followers of another John, John the Baptist, were encouraged to leave him and follow Jesus, the Lamb of God. We heard the question of Andrew who asked Jesus: “Teacher, where do you stay?” And the response of Jesus: “Come and see.” This too, is a reading that is worth an entire homily. How each one of us is invited to “come and see” where Jesus lives, for, by experiencing his way of life, we, too, can become his disciples. For that is the very nature of discipleship: to live with the master and learn his ways first-hand. To not only learn what he has to say, but more importantly to experience how he lives out his life.

This Gospel reading might also encourage us to reflect upon Simon who is now called Kephas, or in Greek, Petros, the Rock. The rock foundation who seems at times not to be very steady in his following of Jesus. The rock who, in fact, denied three times that he even knew this Jesus of Nazareth.

But rather than focusing on any one of these stories from today’s readings, perhaps it would be possible to combine all three into a single focus. To combine … “Speak lord, for your servant is listening” and how we are to arise from our sleep and follow the Lord God. … With Paul’s reminder, “your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is within you,” … And Jesus’ invitation: “Come and see,” experience with me, my life so that it may become your own life as well.

Perhaps we can arrive at this combination by recognizing that this Sunday is the day the bishops of the United States have dedicated as “Respect Life Sunday,” a day to reflect on the decision by the Supreme Court on January 22, 1973, to legalize abortion. A day to reflect not only on the killing of unborn children but on the killing of the elderly under the guise of euthanasia, and the killing of the terminally ill by assisted suicide.

It seems to me that all three readings are part of a New Gospel, “The Gospel of Life,” proclaimed by John Paul II on March 25, 1995. In his encyclical, he speaks of the two cultures seen in our modern world: the “culture of death” and “the culture of life.” Once again, he reminds us: “Nothing and no one can in any way permit the killing of an innocent human being, whether a fetus or an embryo, an infant or an adult, an old person, or one suffering from an incurable disease, or a person who is dying. Furthermore, no one is permitted to ask for this act of killing, either for himself or herself or for another person entrusted to his or her care, nor can he or she consent to it, either explicitly or implicitly. Nor can any authority legitimately recommend or permit such an action.”

In the Gospel of Life, John Paul reminds us that some view the body as … “a complex of organs, functions and energies to be used according to the sole criteria of pleasure and efficiency,” which is a far cry from the view that “the body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is within you.”

The worldly view does not recognize we are made in the image and likeness of God which, in the words of John Paul, “is transmitted, thanks to the creation of the immortal soul.” In the Gospel of Life we are reminded that the soul becomes joined to the body at the moment of conception; that it is at this instant in which a new human being comes into existence; and remains in existence until God calls us home at the moment of God’s choosing and not our own.

And in the “in-between time,” in that time from the moment of conception until the moment when human life, in the words of John Paul, “leaves the realm of time to embark upon eternity,” we are expected to care for the poor, the homeless, the imprisoned, those brothers and sisters who are in need. Again, John Paul goes on to say: “society as a whole must respect, defend and promote the dignity of every human person, at every moment and in every condition of that person’s life.”

John Paul closes his encyclical with a prayer to Mary in which he prays:
“O Mary,
Bright dawn of the new world,
Mother of the living,
To you do we entrust the cause of life:
Look down, O Mother,
Upon the vast numbers
Of babies not allowed to be born,
Of the poor whose lives are made difficult,
Of men and women
Who are victims of brutal violence,
Of the elderly and the sick killed
By indifference or out of misguided mercy.
Grant that all who believe in your Son
May proclaim the Gospel of Life
With honesty and love
To the people of our time.”

And so, not only on this Sunday dedicated to “respect life,” but on each day of each week of each year, we are urged … to rise from our sleep, … to state firmly, “speak, lord, your servant is listening”,… to acknowledge that every human body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is within, … and to hear the invitation of Jesus: “Come and see.” Then we, too, might speak the words addressed by Andrew to his brother, Simon: “We have found the Messiah!’‘ it is then that this Messiah, this Anointed One of God, can turn to us and say: “Your name shall be Christian. Come, walk with me.”

^{Second Sunday of ordinary time; January 19, 1997: “Respect Life Sunday”
1 Sam 3:3b-10, 19; 1 Cor 6:13c – 15a, 17-20; Jn 1:35-42}

Today’s question is about a quotation. How many of you know the source of the following line: “To know Thee more clearly, to love Thee more dearly, to follow Thee more nearly?” Yes, it’s from the musical “Godspell” that was popular back in the 60’s and 70’s. It’s still heard sometimes today, although not on MTV. However, for those of you who are of a more spiritual bent, the original thoughts are from the “Exercises” of St. Ignatius of Loyola, who prayed for the grace: “to know Jesus intimately, to love him more intensely, and so to follow him more closely.”

Although I’d never oppose St. Ignatius, who’s one of my own, personal, spiritual guides, I’d suggest that perhaps both his words and the lyrics from “Godspell” might serve as instructions for us today if, instead, we consider them in the reverse order, an order which would encourage us: “To follow him more nearly, to love him more dearly, to know him more clearly.”

I make this suggestion on the basis of the readings we heard for today, here at the beginning of “Ordinary Time,” this time between the Christmas season, which ended last Sunday (the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord) and the season of Lent which begins in March. Here, in this ‘‘in-between” time, perhaps we might consider what it means – to follow Jesus, to love him, and to know him.

It is possible to follow the Lord without first knowing him completely, or even loving him as much as we might. In our opening reading from the First Book of Samuel we heard how this is possible. The story we heard a few minutes ago, began with a teenager by the name of Samuel. Samuel was the attendant for the priest, Eli. However, even though Samuel worked in the Temple, he was not, as we heard, “familiar with the Lord, because the Lord had not revealed anything to him as yet.” So, when the Lord called to young Samuel while he was sleeping, the teenager thought that his boss, Eli the priest, had called him. But Eli said he had not called him, and that Samuel should go back to sleep. The elderly priest probably did not enjoy being awakened a second time by his altar-boy. But then, on the third time, Eli realized what was happening and instructed Samuel to say those magnificent words: “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

It was then that the Lord God gave Samuel his instructions which later led to Samuel anointing Saul as the first king of the Israelites, and still later, to his anointing David as the king who would unite the Hebrew tribes into a single kingdom and prepare the way for the coming of the Messiah.

A similar event occurred in our reading taken from the Gospel of John, the Evangelist. John, the Evangelist, spoke about another John, John, the Baptizer, who had his own followers. We heard how, one day, John the Baptizer, upon seeing Jesus, called him “the Lamb of God.” It was then that two of John’s disciples became curious about this man, whom they had thought was merely another teacher. As a result of their curiosity, they followed after Jesus. Their curiosity was rewarded when Jesus turned to them and asked them a question, a question which changed their lives. A question which can change our lives, as well. “What are you looking for?”

What are you looking for?” What do you want? What do you want out of life? What will make you happy? What will make you complete?

“What are you looking for?” he asked. The two men replied with their own question: “Where are you staying?” In our translation, the question seems like a very strange response. But not for John, the Evangelist, who is telling us his story about Jesus the Christ. For there are other ways to ask the same question. Where are you staying? can also mean: Where are you living? Where are you abiding? Where do you draw your strength, your comfort, your very being?”

It was to these unasked questions that Jesus, in turn, responded: “Come, and you will see.” … Come, follow me. And you will see. … Come and experience what I am about. … Come and live as I live. … Come and see the world and the people of the world as I see them. And so, in the words of John, the Evangelist: “They went and saw where Jesus was staying, and they stayed with him that day.” Then, having stayed with Jesus, having seen where he abided, having experienced the presence of this man, what did Andrew, the first disciple, the first follower of Jesus, do? Again, in the words of John the Evangelist: ”He first found his own brother Simon and told him, ‘we have found the Messiah.’ … then he brought him to Jesus.”

Upon experiencing the life of Jesus, upon following and seeing where Jesus abided, Andrew was compelled to seek out his own brother and bring him to the source of his new life. It was through the call of Andrew that Simon came to Jesus. It was then, upon meeting Jesus that Simon’s own life was changed. It was then that Simon began his own journey with Jesus to become Peter, the rock upon which the new kingdom was to be built.

Those who followed Jesus were the first to experience his presence. They followed him before they knew very much about him. But through their experience of him, they grew to love him. They grew to know more about him. With this love and with their new wisdom, they were compelled to share their lives with others, to urge others to follow this new master, to see, to experience what life was like when they abided with him, lived with him, stayed with him.

In later years, Paul, who did not know the Lord directly but who had experienced his presence in the depth of his own soul, wrote the words we heard in his letter to those in Corinth: “Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ …. whoever is joined to the Lord becomes one spirit with him … do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God, and that you are not your own.”

Yes, we as members of that Body of Christ, are urged to follow him, to see where he abides in others, in other members of his Body, and to call still others towards that same experience.

In the coming weeks we will hear more about our own opportunity to become “Disciples in Mission,” … to experience the Lord in new ways, and to share that experience with others so that they, too, may follow him. We, too, are called: to follow him more closely, to love him more dearly, and to know him more deeply. Like Samuel, we are called to awake from our sleep and to listen. To listen to the question he asks: “What are you looking for?” and to hear his invitation: “Come, and you will see.”

^{Second Sunday of Ordinary Time; January 16, 2000 … “Disciples in Mission” is a parish-wide program to encourage a more complete spirituality of disciples in action and outreach to the community.
1 Sam 3:3b-10,19; 1 Cor 6:13c-15a, 17-20; Jn 1:35-42}

Today’s question is about games for kids. And, no, it’s not about action games you play on an X-box 360. It’s about real games, not virtual ones. It’s a physical game. My question is this: how many of you remember “Hide-and-Seek?” How many of you played “Hide-and-Seek?” In fact, do they still play it?

Back in my day as a kid, it was probably much easier to play. There were a lot more trees and bushes around in my hometown. And you needed a lot of them! There was the “home tree,” of course. The tree where the one who was “it” had to hide his face and count at least to ten (or more, sometimes,) while everyone else ran to hide. Of course, you counted as fast as you could; and you didn’t peak – at least most of the time – before you yelled: “Ready or not, here I come.” Then you had to find all of the kids who were hiding behind those trees and bushes and run back and tag the home tree before they could. Yes, it involved a lot of running.

Running around, trying to make it home. Which brings me to another question, perhaps a more important one. How many of you have stopped playing “Hide-and-seek?” A game of hide-and-seek not only with other adults, but with God – with Father, Son and Holy Spirit?

How many of us feel that God is hiding from us? That the Father has hidden himself behind some huge tree in a vast forest? That Jesus is laughing quietly at us from behind the shrubbery? That the Holy Spirit doesn’t need to be invisible because he, too, is hiding behind a pile of rocks. Yes, God, for some of us – appears to be hiding from us and we are “it.” Our daily task is to run and find him.

Two thousand years ago, Jesus was walking along a road and was being followed by two of the disciples of John the Baptist. They were searching out the Lamb of God. Had they, too, thought that this Lamb of God was hiding from them? But he wasn’t. He was there in plain sight. He turned to them and asked a question. He said: “What are you looking for.” Do you believe he’s asking you the same question. “What are YOU looking for?” What are you searching for? What do you want out of life? What do you want IN life?

Do you desire a new car? A new house? A new job? A new spouse!? Do you need the latest electronic gadget to make you happy? Do you need more excitement in your life? Or perhaps, less excitement – more stability? Yes, he asks us the same question he asked those two followers long ago: “What do you seek?” And how did they respond? They asked their own question: “Where are you staying?”

“Where are you staying?” It’s a question that does not mean – “Where are you hiding?” Instead, it’s a question with a deeper meaning. It means: “Where are you abiding?” Where are you “living?” Where do you draw your strength, your comfort, your very being?

And his response? What did he say? “Come, and you will see.” He invited them to come with him. To experience how he lived. To be in his presence. To see and to be. This is what it means to become a disciple, a true follower. To observe the master in his totality and to become like the master by doing what the master does.

And what did the disciples do that day? They stayed with him. And when did they do this? According to the gospel we heard: “It was about four in the afternoon.” The end of the day was approaching. Yet, it was not too late for them to follow him. They listened and observed. They experienced the Lord, himself, – the life of the Lord, himself. It was not too late in the day for them to “come and see.” It is not too late for us, either, “to come and see” – to listen to the Lord, to experience him.

Our first reading tells us the same thing. It is never too late to hear the word of God, to hear his call – perhaps even for the first time. Samuel, the boy who served his master, Eli, was sleeping in the temple of the Lord and yet he had never experienced the Lord God. Nevertheless, the Lord God called to him. But, the young Samuel needed the help of his master, Eli, to respond: “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

And the Lord God did speak to Samuel. He continued to speak to him throughout his lifetime. He spoke to him when Samuel anointed Saul as the first king of the Israelites and when, later, Samuel anointed David as Saul’s successor. Having answered the Lord God, having experienced the Lord God, Samuel became one who called others towards the Lord God.

And the same was true for Andrew, one of the disciples who stayed with and experienced Jesus the Christ on that long afternoon and evening. One who then rushed home to his brother, Simon, to tell him that they had found the Messiah.

Or had the Messiah found them? Who is “it” in this game of hide-and-seek? Perhaps, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, our God, is not hiding behind trees, bushes and rocks. Perhaps he calls us to become, like Simon, the Rock itself. Perhaps it is we who are hiding from him?

Do you remember how the game of “Hide-and-Seek” ends? It ends in one of two ways. Either the kid who is “it” finds all of the hiders – or one of the hiders reaches the home tree and shouts: “Alli, Alli, in free.” It’s safe; come on in from hiding. Come home. It’s up to you to decide. Are you seeking God or is God seeking you? And who is the one who cries out: “Alli, Alli, in free?”

^{Second Sunday in Ordinary; January 15, 2006
1 Sam 3:3b-10,19; 1 Cor 6:13c-15a, 17-20; Jn 1:35-42}

The story in today’s gospel reading is a familiar one: the call of the first disciples – Simon, Andrew, James and John. Last week we heard a similar reading from John’s gospel. Today we have Mark’s version. In fact, today’s reading actually begins the cycle of readings for this liturgical year. This is the year for Marks’s gospel. Over the next five weeks, between now and Lent, all of our gospel readings will be from the first chapter of Mark.

Actually, much of Mark’s gospel can be summarized in one passage of today’s reading. That doesn’t mean you don’t need to listen to the gospel readings or the homilies for the next month if you happen to listen to today’s. What it does mean is that the focus for Mark is his initial statement of Jesus’ ministry: “This is the time of fulfillment. The reign God is at hand! Reform your lives and believe in the good news.”

This morning, I’d like for us to look at this focus of Mark – but first let’s begin our reflection with the latter part of today’s gospel story – the call of Simon, Andrew, James and John. However, I don’t want to start with the disciples, but rather with a seventh person mentioned in today’s reading. Not the four disciples: not Jesus, himself, nor John the Baptist who is mentioned in the opening line: “After John’s arrest, Jesus appeared in Galilee … “ but rather, I’d call your attention to Zebedee, the father of James and John.

Picture, if you will: Zebedee has been out fishing with his two sons and a few hired men. Zebedee has been making his living this way for years, fishing in the Sea of Galilee. No doubt he fished these waters with his own father. And now with his two strong, young sons. It’s likely James was in his early twenties, John perhaps in his mid- to late teens. They’ve been working all morning at the catch. It’s been a good one. Now at mid-day, they’re returning to shore, dog-tired. They’ve seen the crowd along the shore. As they drew nearer to the beach, they saw their friends, Simon and Andrew.

For some reason, Simon and Andrew had not gone out in their boat this morning. James and John aren’t sure why. They want to leave Zebedee and the hired men in the boat and run along the shore to find Simon and Andrew. But Zebedee wants them to remain with him to put the nets in order before they’ve dried too stiff in the hot sun. The nets have to be examined to make sure there are no loose knots. It wouldn’t do to have the nets break if they have to pull in a large haul. Zebedee knows his eyes aren’t as good anymore. His young sons can see if the nets are failing. All Zebedee can depend upon is the feel of them beneath his coarse fingers. He daydreams of the time he can turn his fishing business over to his two sons.

Now as his sons are tending to the nets, the crowd is moving along the shore towards them. Zebedee knows James and John would rather run off to see what the noise is all about. Especially since Simon and Andrew are in the crowd. The four young men always seem to be wanting to do something – never quite content enough to be fishermen.

Now what’s happening? That preacher-fellow does seem to be carrying on! Zebedee has only been half-listening to what the preacher has to say. His hearing isn’t much better than his eyesight. Something about “repent” … “reform your lives” … “believe in the good news”. Can you put yourself in the shoes of Zebedee, the fisherman? “As he made his way along the Sea of Galilee, he observed Simon and his brother Andrew. Jesus said to them, ‘come after me; I will make you fishers of men.’ They immediately abandoned their nets and became his followers. He caught sight of James, Zebedee’s son, and his brother John. They too were in their boat putting their nets in order. He summoned them on the spot. They abandoned their father Zebedee, who was in the boat with the hired-men and went off in his company.”

And now I have a question for you. How spontaneous are you in your faith commitment? That’s the question which comes from all three readings. How rapidly can you, yourself, re-form your life? In our first reading we have Jonah on a three-day walk through Ninevah, an immense non-Israelite city, telling of God’s wrath to come. But in a single day, the entire city repented, changed its ways.

In our second reading, Paul, too, reminds the Corinthians: ” … the time is short … the world as we know it is passing away.” Finally, we have Jesus, himself, saying: “This is the time of fulfillment. The reign of God is at hand.”

It would appear that as we begin this new year, this year of 1985, the Church, in selecting these readings, is pointing out to us our own need to begin anew. And to do it in the spontaneous way in which a young adult responds. This is what I would like to have you focus on for the remaining few minutes of today’s homily reflection, our need to be spontaneous in our response when we hear God’s call.

For those of you who are about my age, think about your own teenagers or the young adults you know. The people you’re thinking about are probably about the ages of John, of Andrew – or of James and Simon. Young men in their late teens or mid-twenties. I know it’s difficult for me to picture my own sons as being the ages of the disciples when they walked with Jesus. I usually think of the apostles as grey-haired Patriarchs. But I ask you to think of four young men, of how enthusiastic they are. How eager they are to follow another young man of thirty. And, yes, I also ask you to think of Zebedee who was willing to accept the spontaneous response of his two young sons.

When you think of these four young men … and of the young men and women you know, reflect on their enthusiasm. And on Zebedee, his willingness to let go. The question is: How can I be that spontaneous? Where do I begin to re-form, to change, my life? Perhaps you already have.

When was the last time you looked at a night sky and saw the stars there … and being overcome by the wonder of God … whispered “Alleluia?” When was the last time you heard about the tragic death of someone you did not know … yet ached with sadness for the loss? When have you seen the smile of a little child in a restaurant and waved back to express your own pleasure with simply being a child? When have you had a panhandler approach you for a dollar, and you gave it to him without thinking you were a sucker being ripped off? When have you received a mailing from Covenant House here in Houston and sent in a donation even though you knew it would mess up your budget?

Hearing the call of Jesus and answering it “immediately” … as did Simon and Andrew, James and John … does not mean quitting my job to become either a foreign missionary or a full-time volunteer in a soup kitchen. But it does mean that when I behold the wonder of God’s creation in the heavens or in a child’s smile, there is a need for a spontaneous response to His goodness. And when I hear the cry of someone in need, there is the demand that I respond spontaneously to meet that need … to re-form my life, to change my life.

There is the need to start with those attitudes and behaviors which can be changed immediately. You and I are asked to be spontaneous, to act without having to ponder whether this is what should be done. We are asked to be as spontaneous in our response to Jesus as four young men were some nineteen centuries ago. They abandoned their families; we are asked to abandon those things which tie us down to this world. “The reign of God is at hand! Reform your lives and believe in the Good News.”

^{Third Sunday in Ordinary Time; January 27, 1985
Jon 3: 1-5, 10; 1 Cor 7:29 – 31; Mk 1:14 -20}

I think I know the answer most of you will give to today’s question. My question is this: Do you feel overwhelmed? The answer for many of us, probably, is a resounding: “Yes.” There’s just too much coming at us. And no real end in sight.

Every day we’re reminded of our economic problems. In a lot of cases, our concern is not only what’s happening in the US-at-large, but more importantly, what’s happening among my friends and in my own family. How can I be concerned about a million-dollar bonus received by a Wall Street banker, when I’m not sure about the future of my own job or how I’m going to feed my own family in the coming weeks?

All of us can relate to today’s first reading from the book of Job – Job, a man who cries out: “Is not man’s life on earth a drudgery? … I have been assigned months of misery, and troubled nights have been allotted to me. … my life is like the wind; I shall not see happiness again.”

Paul in his letter to the Corinthians reminds them of the obligations which have been imposed on him. He has the obligation to preach the gospel either willingly or unwillingly. He has made himself a slave on behalf of others.

Even Jesus, himself, appears to have similar pressures. In today’s Gospel story, having just finished teaching in the synagogue and driving out unclean spirits from another person, Jesus goes home with Peter and Andrew – hoping, perhaps, to relax for the remainder of the day. But what happens? He must first cure Peter’s mother-in-law! And right after that, others – who heard about what had occurred in the synagogue – come to him to have their own illnesses cured, their own demons driven out.

And how does Jesus respond to such pressures, to the demands placed upon him? He goes off to a deserted place to pray. He goes off for a quiet conversation with God, his Father. And then, he returns with Peter and the other disciples to continue his daily work of preaching and healing throughout the whole of Galilee. He asks us to do the same.

Today, on this 5th Sunday in Ordinary Time, we are reminded of all the ways we are called to journey with Jesus the Christ and to be his disciples in the modern world. This call begins with our youth. For many, this weekend celebrates Boy Scout Sunday and their assistance to others. On the other hand, today also begins our annual participation in DSF – the Diocesan Services Fund. Our archbishop, in fact, has requested that a special video be shown at all masses this weekend. It’s a seven-minute presentation on how our own DSF supports the efforts of the local church as it provides “Hospitality to All, Especially the Stranger.”
Hospitality: our loving care for those in need of help.
Hospitality: the ministry that each one of us who follows Christ is called to provide.
Hospitality: the action which results from prayer and our dialogue with God through his Holy Scriptures.

This weekend we are given two opportunities to participate in this offering of our hospitality. Before Jesus continued to help those seeking his hospitality, he went off to listen to his Father, to be renewed by Abba. Today, we, too, are given an opportunity to listen to God’s word in his scriptures. After mass, today, you will be able to further this opportunity by purchasing a complete Bible for the very small price of five dollars. Each and every one of you is encouraged to participate in this way.

And secondly, each of us is urged to join in the actions supported by our DSF. Having heard the word of God in his scriptures and having consumed the Word made flesh in his Eucharist, we are to go forth to accomplish his word through being active members of the Body of Christ by providing “Hospitality to All, Especially the Stranger.”

^{5th Sunday in Ordinary: February 8, 2009; DSF Weekend (with video)
Job 7:1-4,6-7; 1 Cor 9:16-19, 22-23; Mk 1:29-39}

It’s been a while since I’ve asked you a question. I think I know how you’re going to answer it. My question is this: Do you feel overwhelmed? I would guess for many of us the answer would be a resounding: “Yes!” There’s just too much coming at us. Too much to do. And no real end in sight.

Every day we’re reminded of our economic problems and those of our daily life, our personal needs for relief from anxiety – from all that overwhelms us. In a lot of cases, our anxiety is not only about what’s happening in the U.S.-at-large, but equally important, what’s happening among our friends and in our own families. How can I be concerned about a million-dollar bonus received by a company’s CEO, when I’m not sure about the future of my own job – or how I’m going to feed my own family in the coming weeks? We may enjoy paying less for gasoline at the pump; but, here in Houston, how will this effect employment in our energy-driven economy? In the coming weeks, what will be the outcome of the actions of our representatives in Austin or in Washington D.C.?

Our concerns, however, go beyond our personal employment. Indeed, we face all kinds of large-scale problems: immigration issues, terrorism, epidemics – to name a few. We also must feed, clothe, and house our own families. Do we have enough set aside for health let alone for less demanding events such as entertainment? Do we look forward to a retirement with so-called “peace of mind?”

Perhaps in one way or another, all of us can relate to today’s first reading from the book of Job – Job, a man who cries out: “Is not man’s life on earth a drudgery? … I have been assigned months of misery, and troubled nights have been allotted to me. … my life is like the wind, I shall not see happiness again.”

Each of us has our endless, restless nights, while the days go by too fast, leaving us with uncompleted tasks, with more worries, with more obligations for tomorrow. Saint Paul in his letter to the Corinthians reminds them of the obligations which have been imposed on him. He has the obligation to preach the gospel – either willingly or unwillingly. He continues to offer himself without desiring to be paid for what he must say for the sake of others. He has made himself a slave on behalf of others – and of the Christ he serves.

Even Jesus, himself, appears to have similar pressures. In today’s Gospel story, having just finished teaching in the synagogue and driving out unclean spirits from another person, Jesus goes home with Peter and Andrew – hoping, perhaps, to relax for the remainder of the day. But what happens? He must first cure Peter’s mother-in-law! And right after that, others – those who heard about what had happened in the synagogue – they came to him to have their own illnesses cured, their own demons driven out.

And how does Jesus respond to such pressures, to the demands placed upon him? First of all, he does what is requested of him. He does what needs to be done, what must be done. Done for those who are close to him – such as Peter’s mother-in-law. He cures her. He also “lifts her up.” He raises her up so that she can continue to do what she, herself, needs and wants to do – to serve others. He also heals those he does not know. He heals others both physically and spiritually, those who come to him at the end of a long day.

Perhaps, we, too are called to do the same thing. To heal those who are close to us: our friends and family. To help “raise them up” so that they may accomplish what they must do. Perhaps we, too, are to assist those who seek us out, to heal those who require physical or spiritual wholeness.

And what does Jesus, himself, do in order to go on healing others, despite the long days he, himself, must endure? At the beginning of a new day, before the arrival of dawn and the work he knows is ahead of him, Jesus goes off to a deserted place and prays. He goes off for a quiet conversation with God, his Father. Perhaps this is what we must also do. Perhaps before the new day comes with its continuation of the uncompleted problems of yesterday, we must replenish our own reserves, renew our own being.

We need daily to have a quiet, intimate conversation with God, our Father. Some may find this over a second cup of coffee – before the busy day begins. Others may obliterate Houston’s traffic tie-ups by using those minutes in prayer as we wait for the cars ahead of us to move. Some may close the door at work, or take a short walk, in order to find a personal “deserted place” for renewal. At home, we may escape the kids during their nap time or behind a locked door. This is more than a time to get away from the stress of daily living; it is a time to share our stress with the only one who can help us rid ourselves from it. Time to be with the Father whom Jesus sought out each day.

And why did Jesus do this? Why in a busy, problem-filled day did he make time to be alone with his Father? Perhaps, he knew Peter and the others would find him, would bring him more problems he must solve, more people he needed to help. And to help them, to cure them, he required the power and the tranquility that come from God the Father.

He also knew he must not merely wait for them to come to him. He realized he had to go out to them. To the villages of Galilee where he must not only cure the people but – even more importantly – to tell them of the coming of the Kingdom of God, the Kingdom which is now and is to come. The Kingdom of which they are an essential part.

Although we might hope to wait it out, we know we must go out from our quiet place of prayer and re-enter the work of building his kingdom. Today and tomorrow are not about being overwhelmed by the stresses of our daily, human lives. Each and every day must be about seeking out a time for prayer with our Lord and Savior. Our Lord who provides us with renewed power and tranquility, our Savior who leads us further into the Kingdom of God – into a day when we are not overwhelmed by the cares of human life but, instead, a day when we are overwhelmed by the awesomeness of our God.

^{5th Sunday in Ordinary: February 8, 2015
Job 7:1-4,6-7; 1 Cor 9:16-19, 22-23; Mk 1:29-39}

My question today is for native Texans. But the rest of you can join in, if you want to. What little animal, what critter, do most folks associate with Texas? Well, I’ve seen no real statistics on this, but I’d suggest it would be the armadillo. I mean, in what other state would you see armadillos in beer commercials – or on posters for festivals? Where, but in Texas, do armadillos wear cowboy hats?

The next obvious question is: what do armadillos have to do with today’s readings – and a possible homily focus? Well, the answer is simple. Armadillos are known to carry the bacteria that cause Hansen’s disease, which is the modern name for leprosy. And leprosy plays an important part in our first reading from the book of Leviticus and in today’s gospel story.

There are some 2.4 million people throughout the world who are currently victims of Hansen’s disease. However, there are millions more who suffer the same condemnations as did the lepers in the days of Moses or of Jesus. We have seen their stories recently in “Time magazine” and in “Newsweek” – photos and stories of those in Africa and Asia who are afflicted with AIDS. And there are still millions more who suffer because they are thought to be “Unclean,” who are isolated from their surrounding societies, not as a result of any contagious disease, but merely because they are different.

Historically, for some three thousand years, lepers have been seen as the “unclean ones,” the ones who were forced to live outside the community, cut off from family and former friends, forbidden to enter synagogues or the temple in Jerusalem, alienated from the Lord God as well as from their people.

The thirteenth chapter of the book of Leviticus is devoted to the conditions the priests of Aaron should look for in deciding whether a person had leprosy and was to be declared ritually unclean. We heard a little bit of that chapter in today’s first reading. The entire fourteenth chapter of Leviticus goes on to describe how a person who was cured of leprosy was to be purified before being allowed back into the community. If the leper, whom Jesus cured in today’s gospel reading, followed the law of Moses, he would have been examined by a priest outside of the village. He would offer up two birds, one of which would be sacrificed, the other would be allowed to fly off, supposedly carrying off the disease. The man would then have to wash his garments and shave his head. He would then bathe in water and sit in front of his house for 7 days – in full view of the public at all times. Then he would again shave off all his hair, including his beard, his eyebrows and any other body hair. Then he would offer up to the Lord God, two unblemished male lambs, one unblemished ewe and a measure of flour and oil. The blood from one of the lambs and some of the oil would be used to anoint the tip of his right ear, his right thumb and his right big toe.

Perhaps this whole purification process for those cured of leprosy sounds rather amusing to us today. But it was not amusing to those who had to suffer the isolation which resulted from their affliction. What would be your own reaction if you had a son or a daughter, a father or a mother, a friend who had to ring a bell and shout out at the top of his voice: “Unclean! Unclean!” whenever he approached another human being?

“Unclean!” Of what was the leper “unclean?” The immediate response would be: the sickness, itself. And yes, the slow degeneration of the body was to be avoided. But back then, there was no knowledge the disease was the result of a bacterial infection. It was not because of the fear of germs that a leper was to be avoided, but, rather, because it was thought God was afflicting a punishment on a sinner and his sin might rub off on those who came into his presence.

The leper was isolated because of a fear of catching his sin more than a fear of catching his disease. Is it possible we act the same way today? Do we avoid certain people, or certain events, because of a subconscious belief we might expose ourselves to contamination? Somehow, we will come down with a similar affliction.

Why do healthy people tend to avoid those with a mental or emotional handicap? Is there a fear that, somehow, this person is “unclean;” that I, myself, will become “contaminated” by being in the presence of such a person? What about the poor? The homeless? Do I avoid them when I see them on the streets, because I fear that, somehow, they will contaminate me? Would I prefer they be required to ring a bell and shout “Unclean! Unclean” so I would know they are coming, and I could more readily avoid them?

And what about those who have a different shade of skin? Do I put up walls in my mind around those who are black or yellow or brown or white? Do I distrust someone who speaks a language I don’t understand, whether it is Spanish, Vietnamese, or Arabic? Is it possible today’s lepers come in many forms? Is it possible I still want to isolate anyone who is different from me. Do I believe only certain, select people should be allowed to live in my community.

A few minutes ago, I described the procedures required by the law of Moses that had to be followed before an afflicted person could re-enter the community. We smile at how naive they were. Yet, even today, many of us have our modern requirements for re-admitting separated members back into the community.

We demand the physically and emotionally impaired act as if they are not. We demand the poor and homeless get jobs or complete all of the forms and follow all the rules needed by our bureaucracies before assistance can be given to them. We demand everyone speak our language and follow our customs in order to be accepted into our neighborhood. We demand people be declared “clean” before they can come into our presence.

But what did Jesus do when the leper approached him some two thousand years ago? When he saw the man, Jesus was moved with pity. The original words suggest he was moved to his innermost depths. Jesus did not require the man be certified by the authorities as being clean before he approached him. Rather, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him. He touched a leper.

He touched a man whose very presence rendered Jesus unclean. He did the totally unthinkable. He reached out and touched a leper. And he cured him. He cured him, because the man desired to be cured. The man needed to be healed, to be reunited with the community. Rather than hiding behind the law and the procedures of the law, Jesus undertook a positive action. He reached out. He touched another person. He healed. He reunited the separated one.

And yes, sometimes, “following the process” is needed. Sometimes an indirect response is acceptable. There is certainly nothing wrong in a person writing a check to provide help to those in need, to support agencies that help others. But there is also a time for us to reach out and to touch someone directly. Yes, it is good to bring food to this altar on Sunday. But it is also good to volunteer to help others directly on Monday through Saturday.

February 14th is a special day for many of us. It’s the day when we give our hearts to those we love. It’s the day when I want others to be my valentine. Perhaps, it can also be the day for me to begin to change my heart, to ask the Lord to help me change my heart so I might become more directly involved with the welfare of others. And yes, it will take more than a single Valentine’s Day. But we are fortunate. We have a whole season during which to begin the change.

In a few weeks Lent will be here. Already those in Galveston are rushing towards Mardi Gras with little thought about the next day, Ash Wednesday. But perhaps now is the time for us to plan for the days beyond Mardi Gras. The words of Paul to the Corinthians we heard a few minutes ago may be our guidelines for today, for this Lent, and for all the days to follow. “Avoid giving offense, whether to the Jews or Greeks” – that is, avoid giving offense to anyone who is different from you.

Indeed, now is the time to be, in the words of St Paul, “imitators of Christ” … “images of Christ” As Jesus once reached out to touch and to heal the leper, the one who was isolated from the community of Israel, now is the time for us to reach out and touch others. And with that touch to bring them back into the community of Christ: Christ the Good Shepherd.

^{Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time; February 13, 2000
Lev 13:1-2, 44-46; 1 Cor 10:31 – 11:1; Mk 1:40-45}

Today’s question is a simple one. It’s also a personal one, so you don’t need to answer it except for yourself. It’s this: Do you still play “let’s pretend”? “Let’s pretend.” Well for some of us this is the name of a radio program we listened to every Saturday morning. Yes, at one time, little kids did listen to radio programs. Rather than seeing cartoons and live action, we had to imagine what was going on. The pictures we saw were inside of our head and not on a TV screen.

But that’s what “let’s pretend” is all about, it’s imagining what’s happening. what you want to happen. Little kids play “let’s pretend” in many ways. But as they grow into big kids, another name for adults, they put aside childlike imagination – calling it, instead, childish behavior. They want to view only “reality” – and not look at what you can see with the “mind’s eye.”

However, I’d like to suggest, for the next few minutes, we put aside our so-called grown-up behavior and let our imagination return to its rightful place within us. After all, imagination is a gift of God. It’s the gift given to us so we can approach God as a child, a child of God. A child who listens to stories. who becomes part of the story, and who grows in understanding, because of the story.

The story I have in mind is the one told in our gospel reading for today. When you hear this story, is it possible for you to play the part of one of the characters in it? Is it possible for you to pretend to be with Jesus, himself, to be with him in the scriptures you read and hear? For this, after all, is the purpose of scripture. Scripture gives us stories about God’s interaction with his children, with us.

So, in today’s story, what character do you want to play? There are many to choose from. For the next few minutes, I’d invite you to close your eyes and become one of these many characters. For example: there are the people in the crowd surrounding Jesus. If you want to be part of a group and not stand out too much in your pretending, you might be one of those who merely listened to what Jesus had to say there in that house packed with people. And they were packed tightly together. Our story says that “… many gathered together [in the home where Jesus was staying] so that there was no longer room for them, not even around the door, and he preached the word to them.”

It was a crowd who merely listened to the word of Jesus. They may or may not have understood or accepted what he was saying. Within the crowd was a group of scribes. If you want, you can pretend you are one of them. They were the know-it-alls. The ones who did not agree with what Jesus was saying. They wanted everything to remain as it had always been. They were content with the certainties of their scripture, their writings of the law of God, even if their interpretation of the law was not life-giving.

And then something remarkable happened in our story. If you want, you can see it in your imagination. You can hear the noise on the roof, on the beams covered with straw. You can see the straw falling down on the people around you. You can cough with the dust falling on you. You can smell the debris as it covers those around you. You can see the beam of sunlight in the dust. You can hear the four men shouting as they lower a man on a mat stretched between two poles. If you are standing in the back of the room, pushed against a wall, you cannot see what happens next. You can only hear the mixed shouts of the scribes and others in the crowd.

You can just make out the words of Jesus speaking to them. And his instruction to the man who had been on the descending mat. Someone shouts that the man has been healed. He is no longer paralyzed. You catch a glimpse of him as he walks out the door where the crowds have now pulled back in amazement. Perhaps you, too, now join in the shouts of praise about this Jesus who has the power to allow the once paralyzed to walk out into the sunshine.

Or perhaps you remain silent. Puzzled by what has been going on. Or perhaps, as one of the scribes, you remain angered by the blasphemy you witnessed and believe it is a trick of Satan, himself. After all, it is your imagination. With it you can play any part you want to play. You can pretend to be whoever you want to be.

The same thing can be said about your real life, too. You can be whoever you want to be. You can be someone who merely listens to what Jesus is saying. You can be part of the crowd of observers. You can be impressed with the miracles you see all around you. Give them momentary praise and get on with your life as it was.

You can be one of the doubting scribes, one who demands the authority of the past and is unwilling to accept the signs of change all around you. One who scoffs and is critical of all that does not agree with what you have preconceived as being the truth. You might, also, be like the paralytic. One who has received a release from what once held you bound. One freed from what immobilized you. One who has heard the healing words of God: “Rise, pick up your mat … take what was once your protection … your comfort … what separated you from others … and now walk freely into the sunshine outside … enter into your new life.”

Or you might be like the four forgotten characters in this story. You might be one of the four who went to great lengths to help another person. One of the four who carried the paralytic to the home where Jesus stayed. Who struggled with him as you climbed onto the roof. Who tore apart the bundles of straw beneath your feet. Who felt the weight of the paralytic as you lowered the mat towards Jesus. Yes, you might be the one whose faith is so strong you are able to bring someone you love into the presence of the Christ who heals, who forgives, who offers salvation.

You can act as a member of the crowd who listens, praises and goes on with your existence as it was before. Yes, you can pretend to be one of the scribes and remain bound to the past. You can even be the one who is set free. Or you can be one who, with faith, helps someone in need of Christ’s salvation. You can play “let’s pretend.” Or you can be in the real presence of Jesus the Christ. The choice is yours. It is time to open your eyes and see.

^{Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time: February 19, 2012
Is 43:18-19, 21-22, 24b-25; 2 Cor 1:18-22; Mk 2:1-12}

I have a question for you older folk. Where were you when you heard President Kennedy had been assassinated? That November of 1963, I was working in a biochemistry lab at Oregon State University, when someone came running in with the news. I can well remember our crowding around a radio in the lab and listening in total disbelief. Most of us left the campus right afterwards. And as I wandered home, I could tell by the looks on the faces of the people I passed whether they, too, had heard the news. For the next four days, our lives were filled with the sound of muffled drums and the vision of a riderless horse.

Our times are, indeed, defined by the events which surround us. For those living today, the question from now on will be: where were you when you saw the bombs falling on Baghdad¹? One month ago, I was in Los Angeles for a meeting at the University of Southern California. The first session had ended early so I had a chance to go back to my hotel room before the evening event. It was about 3:45 in the afternoon, Pacific time, when I saw this man on CNN saying there were bombs falling around him. And the screen went black. No longer do we merely hear about these events which define our lives; now we see them: live and personal.

This is the First Sunday in Lent. You may well ask what do these two “marking” events have to do with this penitential season? I believe they have a lot in common. I believe Lent is more than a time of fasting, of giving up the “extras” in life. It’s my belief Lent is a time of hope and of remembrance, a time of expectation of the coming of the risen Christ into the human heart. Lent is more than the forty days before Easter. And Easter is not a mere re-enactment of the Resurrection of Jesus the Lord.

Christ died and rose again some two-thousand years ago. He will not rise again on the last day of March. He is risen now and is with us here, right now. Lent is not a “preparation” for Easter so much as it is a renewed time of hope and expectation that he can be with me in a deeper way than he is right now.

The days following President Kennedy’s assassination were dark days in the life of this country. And yet, there was hope. Hope and expectation that this nation would survive a time of crisis. Today, there must also be hope – hope and expectation that the crisis in the Gulf will be resolved. That peace can come to the Middle East. Perhaps we can kindle that spark of hope in our hearts by reflecting for a few minutes upon the hope which is part of our Lenten journey.

Our gospel reading is the beginning for our inner journey of hope. Today, Jesus presents for us two announcements and a double challenge. His announcements are these: first, “… this is the time of fulfillment”. Second, “… the reign of God is at hand.” And the double challenge, “… reform your lives and believe in the Good News!”

“Reform your lives.” Some would prefer the old-fashioned word: “repent!” And there is nothing wrong with repentance, when it is understood to mean “change”. Change your ways so much that your old self will not be recognized. Become so “new” your friends and relations will wonder who is this magnificent stranger who has taken over your body. “And believe the good news!” Believe the Reign of God has already begun. Believe salvation is yours. Believe total peace and union with all humanity is possible.

Lent is a time to enter into this hope, into this good news which Jesus proclaimed in today’s gospel reading. And how do we do this? Each Friday during Lent, we celebrate the Stations of the Cross. As part of that ritual, we sing a very haunting refrain. The line is: ” … were you there when they crucified my Lord?” For many of us, the immediate answer would, of course, be “no”. But then we recall his words: what you do for the least of your brothers or sisters you do for the Father who created you, for the Son who came to you and for their Spirit who breaths within you. He is there when someone hurts, when someone cries, when someone dies.

Each Friday, at the Stations of the Cross, there is no “re-enactment” of the death of Christ. Rather, there is a remembrance: that, in his love for all of us, he was willing to give up his life. We are called to be part of a “remembrance” at each Eucharist we celebrate. If Lent has a theme, it is this: remembrance. Lent should be the embodiment, the lived experience, the remembrance of what his life, his teaching, his struggle, his suffering, his death – and, most importantly, his resurrection – were all about. Not some two -thousand years ago, but right now in 1991. Right now, in these days of hope and expectation.

The Jews to whom Jesus spoke knew about “remembrance”. Each year they celebrated Passover as a special act of remembrance. For Jews, each Passover partakes, even today, of the first Passover which Moses and the Israelites experienced. And each Eucharist we celebrate today partakes of the experience of the disciples, who were with Jesus when he broke the bread and drank the cup.

We speak of that remembrance in our new covenant with God. Yes, there have been many covenants made with him. In our first reading from the book of Genesis we heard about the original covenant which God made with humanity, in fact, with all of life. In that reading we heard the words of God to Noah: “I am now establishing my covenant with you and every living creature that was with you: all the birds, and the various tame and wild animals that were with you and came out of the ark.” To reinforce that this is more than an agreement between God and Noah, the Lord God continues: “ … this is the sign that I am giving for all ages to come, of the covenant between me and you and every living creature with you; I set my bow in the clouds to serve as a sign of the covenant between me and the earth.”

Jesus reaffirmed this covenant between God and all living creatures. Jesus did not come to bring salvation to the Hebrews alone, but to all gentiles as well. And all gentiles include Moslems, Hindus, Buddhists and Confucians – as well as those Jews who, at Antioch, became known as Christians.

In our second reading from the Letter of Peter, the first of all the disciples reminds us of the covenant with Noah and how the Lord God had the patience to wait for Noah to build the ark. Have you ever thought about that?! About the patience of God to wait until Noah and his family were ready. If God can have such patience, why do we find it so difficult?

Patience is another name for hope. Hope is the patient expectation God will provide us with what we need, or he will wait until we acquire it through our own hard work. Patience and hope are the virtues which Jesus had during those forty days in the wasteland. There in the wasteland, there in the desert, Jesus existed for forty days with, as Mark puts it: “… with the wild beasts”. Yet Mark also adds: “ … and angels waited on him.”

I fear many of us, as we wait in our own wasteland, with our own, personal “wild beasts,” fail to recognize the angels God sends to minister to us. The word, angel, as some of you may recall, means “messenger”. Does God not send messengers, bringers of the Good News, to each of us as we wait and we pray in our own deserts?

The time in the desert is my time for change, time for me to “re-form” my own life; not the life of someone else, but my own life. It is time for my hope and my expectation.

Here in Houston, during the season of Lent, it is difficult to see the change in seasons. When I lived up north during Lent, I had the opportunity to go to daily mass in the university chapel at the beginning of each day. On those first days after Ash Wednesday, I would struggle to get there in the dark and over the snow. But as Lent drew towards Easter, the mornings became sunlit, the birds began to sing and the buds started to open. Here in Houston, it is more difficult to see the change. Yet it is still possible to look at the hard shell surrounding the buds on some of our bare-branched trees and see the blossoms hidden there.

Is it not equally possible to look within the hard shell which may be surrounding your heart and see the hope residing there? A few moments ago, I asked where were you when JFK was assassinated; or where were you when the bombs first fell on Baghdad? My final question is this: where do you hope to be when the Light of Christ enkindles your heart?

^{First Sunday in Lent; February 17, 1991
Gn 9:8-15; 1 Pt 3:18-22; Mk 1:12-15}

1. This was, of course, in 1991 shortly after the start of the Gulf War, Desert Storm. Little did we realize that bombs dropping on Bagdad would re-occur a decade later.

Since this is the First Sunday of Lent, I have a Lenten question for you. It’s this: when was the last time you had a really good temptation? But if this question makes you uncomfortable, I have another one: when was the last time you had a really good test? For those who are still in school, you might think about one of your history tests, or English tests. But if you are over age thirty-five, you might recall a medical test – a test to help diagnose a health problem.

I think you would agree there are many different kinds of tests. Besides academic tests and medical tests, there are physical tests – tests which measure how strong things might be, like a stress test to determine what force is needed to break a piece of metal. You can also have a test of physical skills, like the Olympic tests to determine who skates the fastest, or ski jumps the longest.

Yet, no matter what kind of a test you take, they all have something in common. Testing determines what needs to be improved, what needs to be changed. Testing, itself, leads to a question: where do you go from here?

This is really what today’s gospel reading is all about. Mark’s version, which we heard today, says Jesus went out to the wasteland for forty days, where he was “put to the test.” In the other gospels, the test questions are described in greater detail and are called the “temptations of Jesus.” But whether the word “testing” or “temptation” is used, the results are the same. This was the time for Jesus to discover who he really was; what he was called to do.

Do you remember when this testing occurred? It happened immediately after his baptism by John and his hearing the words: ” … you are my beloved son. On you my favor rests.” The very next line in Mark’s account reads: “… at that point the spirit sent him out toward the desert.” Jesus, in accord with the Spirit which moves with him, had the need to go off and determine what all of this meant. He was given an opportunity to learn who he was and what he had to do.

So, just what had he learned? What must he do?
● First, change, itself, is mandatory in order to usher in the Reign of God, the Kingdom of God.
● Second, action is required by everyone who is to share in the Reign of God.
● And third, he must go and teach this to others.

And so he went off to proclaim the Good News: ” … this is the time of fulfillment. The Reign of God is at hand! Reform your lives and believe in the Good News.” In his proclamation Jesus offered two challenges: first, … reform your lives. Make the changes that are necessary. Reform. Change. Repent. They all mean the same thing.

And the second challenge: “… believe in the good news.” And what is this “good news”? That there is a new covenant with God. Our first reading from the book of Genesis speaks of the first covenant of God with his people, the covenant made with Noah and all of his descendants after him and with all of the creatures of the earth, with “all the birds, and the various tame and wild animals that were in the ark.” All of them are now under God’s protection from destruction by the waters of the flood.

Do you recall why God had sent the flood? It was to wash away all evil and to bring about a new beginning. The first Christians saw in those flood waters, a symbol of the waters of baptism. Peter in the second reading we heard today, reminds the followers of Christ of the relationship of the waters of the flood and the waters of baptism, of how the waters of baptism wash away the sins of the past in order to bring about new life.

New life is what Lent is also all about. Lent is a time to prepare for the “new life” of Easter. Lent is a time to determine what needs to be changed in order to allow for “new life” to burst forth from the tomb of the past. Lent is a time of testing, of discovering what has already been learned and what still needs to be changed.

Sometimes testing is equated with temptations. As I said, the other gospels describe the “temptations” of Jesus. Actually, the Latin word, temptation, means testing. Some of you may even recall that a final line in the “Our Father” prayer, “…lead us not into temptation … “ can be translated as “… let us not be put to the test…” It is our prayer that the test we undertake will not break us; the temptations will not be too great for us to bear.

And we are assured these tests will not be too great for us. God does not give us test questions we cannot answer. God, unlike an engineer, does not test us to the breaking point to see what we are made of. God, our creator, already knows what we are made of. He does not force us to undergo a stress-test, but, rather, he provides each one of us with an opportunity to discover what we have learned about ourselves. He gives us an opportunity for improvement.

During the next forty days of Lent, we have an opportunity to discover what we have learned about who we are and who we are called to be. Each one of us can discover how generous we are in giving of our time and our talents to others. We can discover how thankful we are for what God has given us and how we can share these gifts with others.

Lent is not so much a time for suffering as it is a time for almsgiving, an old-fashioned word for giving assistance to those less fortunate; a word which comes from a Greek word meaning “compassion”. In the past, many people seemed to have focused on the suffering which accompanies giving something up we really desire to keep – like a piece of chocolate cake after dinner or a dish of ice cream before going to bed.

But Lent is not a time of suffering so much as it is a time for growth. And while some would say: “no pain, no gain.” the focus should not be on the pain of Lent but rather the prayer of Lent. For in addition to almsgiving, there is a continuing need for prayer.

In order for Jesus to be put to the test, in order to discover what he had learned about himself, and what he needed to do, Jesus went off, alone, into the wilderness to pray. We too, are called to follow his example. We do not need to find a desert; but we do need to find a deserted place, a place to be alone for a few moments each day so God can ask us his questions, so we can discover who we are in his sight.

Yes, the forty days of Lent do provide temptations – opportunities for testing – to see who we are; to see what needs to be changed; where we need to re-form our lives in order to partake fully in the life of the risen Christ and to be, truly, Easter people.

^{First Sunday in Lent; February 20, 1994
Gn 9:8-15; 1 Pt 3:18-22; Mk 1:12-15}

My question for today is about “women.” In the Hebrew scriptures, Eve is the name of the first woman created by God. However, in Greek mythology, what is the name of the first woman whom the god Hephaestus created at the request of Zeus? Is it: (a) Peter Pan; (b) Pandora; (c) Pancake or (d) Pandemonium? And I’m sorry, but those of you with cell phones cannot call a friend.¹

(B) Pandora? Is that your final answer? Very good, you just won $1000, collectable from Father Bill. (the pastor.) Now for your second question, for $2000. Pandora was given a box and was told not to open it. But she did anyway. And when she did, out flew all of the plagues of the body and the sorrows of the mind. However, she was able to slam the lid shut before everything flew out and so was able to hold back one gift. So, my question is this: what remained in Pandora’s box? Was it: (a) fear; (b) a rainbow; (c) hope; or (d) Regis Philbin?

Ok, those of you who said: (C) “hope” are correct. Hope. Today we begin another season of hope. Yes, you’ll say this is the First Sunday of Lent, but I believe Lent is, in fact, the season of hope. Hope is, after all, the confident expectation of divine blessing. After this time of waiting, everything will turn out well. And this is what the season of Lent should be about. This is our forty-day preparation for Easter. We await the celebration of the Resurrection of our Lord. And we await the return of our lord. We await the completion of the coming of the Kingdom of God.

Our readings for this First Sunday of Lent remind us of these expectations. They remind us of our hope. In the first reading from the book of Genesis, we heard how God made a covenant with every living creature. Never again, would flood waters destroy all mortal beings.

Flood waters. Why did God send down the forty days of rain in the first place? Why did God send the flood? You remember the beginning of the story, don’t you? You recall how over the years, since the time of creation, humankind became more obsessed with doing evil than with doing good. And so, God sent the waters to flush out the evil in the world, to cleanse the world with the waters of the flood. The early Christians saw these cleansing waters as the first version of the cleansing waters of baptism that wash away the sins of humanity. This is what we heard spoken by Peter in our second reading for today.

Only eight people were saved through the waters of the flood. Only Noah, his wife, his three sons and their own wives survived. But through the waters of baptism, all of humanity is washed clean. And although Jesus was free from all sin, he, too, felt the refreshing waters of the baptism by John. It was then Jesus heard the words of God: “You are my beloved son; with you I am well pleased.”

Immediately afterwards, Jesus retreated to the desert for forty days where he was tempted by Satan. And there, as we heard in today’s reading from the gospel of Mark: “He was among wild beasts, and the angels ministered to him.” Jesus was there, beset by the physical dangers of the world. But he was not alone with those dangers, with those threats to his life. He had with him: “angels who ministered to him.” Angels, messengers of God. That’s what the word means. But there is another term for messengers. And that word is: evangelists.

Evangelists. Those messengers who spread the Good News that Jesus proclaimed some two thousand years ago: “This is the time of fulfillment. The Kingdom of God is at hand.”

This week with the beginning of Lent, we begin here at Christ the Good Shepherd, as in many other parishes in our diocese, a program called “Disciples in Mission.” It is an opportunity for people gathered in small groups to reflect on the message proclaimed by Jesus: the message that the Kingdom of God is at hand, the Kingdom of God has begun. “Disciples in Mission” gives us a chance to reflect on the message and to live out the message; to live out the message in such a way that, through lived examples, others will see and hear the message and join with the growing community who awaits the completion of the kingdom and the return of Jesus the Christ.

This is a community who waits with hope, with the belief all will be well. It is a community who accepts the gift of faith, the belief God is with us. We are a community joined with God by a sacred covenant. It is a community who has not only the gifts of hope and faith, but also the gift of charity.

Charity is how we are to bolster the hope of others through our own human actions. While faith, hope and charity are gifts of God, it is with charity that we are to help others in practical ways so that they, in turn, may make use of the gifts of faith and hope which God has given to them. It is in our charity, in our love for others, that we provide food for the hungry. Out of our own hope and faith we stock the shelves of our sister parish, Holy Name, as well as the shelves of the Northwest Assistance Ministry.

It is in our charity, in our love for others, we participate in our Lenten project to buy livestock for families in Third World countries. Just as Noah took into the ark animals of every kind to re-populate the world, we are asked to provide livestock so that others may help themselves in their own revitalization. In today’s bulletin, you will find more information about how you, each and every one of us, can help stock “an ark for today’s world” through the “Heifer Project.”

Two thousand years ago, Jesus offered two proclamations and two challenges. He proclaimed: “this is the time of fulfillment.” And secondly, he proclaimed: “the Kingdom of God is at hand.” But he also offered two challenges: first of all, he said: “repent.” He asked his followers, and us, to repent, to reform our lives, to change our lives, to make those changes needed to help us be a more active part of the Kingdom of God.

And secondly, he challenged his followers, and us, when he said:” … and believe in the gospel.” Believe the good news. Have hope: live your life in the expectation God is with you. God wants only the best for you. God, himself, has saved you. Yes, Lent is the season of hope. Hope that the Lord who taught us, the Lord who suffered, died and was buried for us, the Lord who rose again from the dead and is with us now, that our Lord, Jesus the Christ, will indeed, lead us home to eternal life.

1. “Millionaire” was a popular TV quiz program hosted by Regis Philbin in which contestants could ask for help from the audience or by calling a “hotline” friend.

^{First Sunday in Lent; March 12, 2000
Gn 9:8-15; 1 Pt 3:18-22; Mk 1:12-15}

Today’s question is about the gospel story we just heard. But I might warn you, some of you may think it’s a “trick” question. The question is this: when did Jesus drive the moneychangers out of the Temple? Some of you might say he did it towards the end of his ministry. Sometime at the beginning of what we call “Holy Week.” Shortly after his triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Some say his actions probably contributed to his being crucified soon afterwards.

And you would be correct, if today’s gospel reading came from the writings of Matthew, Mark or Luke. But today’s reading is from the Second Chapter of the Gospel according to John. The Passover about which John speaks, occurs at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, not at the end. This is the first of three Passovers John describes in his writings. It’s from John’s Gospel we deduce Jesus spent three years in ministry rather than a single year – which is the impression we can have from reading the synoptic gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke.

But rather than discussing this difference between the synoptic gospels and John on the length of Jesus’ ministry, I have several other questions:
● What were those “moneychangers” doing in the Temple in the first place?
● Why was Jesus so disturbed by them that he was angry enough to drive them out with a whip?
● And why would John place this event at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry? What might John be focusing on?

To understand what moneychangers did in the Temple, we need to recall the purpose of the Temple in Jerusalem. The Temple was the site where the Israelites made their sacrifices to the Lord God. It was here holocausts or burnt offerings were made. Animal sacrifice was seen as the essential way for humans to communicate with their God. This was true ever since the days of Abraham, who sacrificed a ram instead of his son to the Lord God.

Passover was the most important time of the year to offer up an animal sacrifice:
● to please the Lord God,
● to thank him for the blessings of the past year,
● to take away sins, and
● to continue to receive God’s blessings in the coming year.
Passover was a time to remember the Exodus and what God had done to free them from the Egyptians.

In order to offer animals for holocausts, Jews returned to Jerusalem from not only outlying regions of Israel and Judea, but also, from all parts of the Mediterranean world: from Antioch, Athens, Rome, and Alexandria. The returning Israelites were very practical. They knew they could not bring with them the purebred animals needed to be offered up to the Lord God. Instead, it would be necessary for them to buy these offerings in Jerusalem, at the Temple, itself. But they could not use the unclean money they brought with them from Antioch, Athens, Rome and Alexandria to purchase these sacrificial animals.

This is where the moneychangers entered the picture. They exchanged foreign, unclean, coins for the shekels used in the Temple. And as any banker might want to do, they often made a profit in the exchange. By the time of Jesus, the whole practice of exchanging coins, buying and selling sheep, oxen and doves to be sacrificed by the priests – all this had become “big business.” The Temple seemed more like a marketplace than the house of God. Jesus, rightfully, was angry with the change in the focus of their worship.

And, so, in all four gospels, in Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, we have a story of how Jesus showed his displeasure with the change. However, in the gospel written by John, this evangelist wanted to show that Jesus had come to change not only the practice of the moneychangers, but the whole focus of how humanity should interact with God.

No longer would worship occur through animal sacrifices on the altars of the Temple in Jerusalem. Now this relationship of God and humanity would occur in the Temple of the Body of Christ, within the hearts of those who now called the Lord God by a new name: Abba, Father. This is the focus of John’s gospel: the new commandment of love and the relationships it embodied.

The end of Temple worship and the establishment of this new commandment of love brings us back to today’s First Reading from the Book of Exodus. In this reading, we heard those words which are usually called the Decalogue, the Ten Commandments. If you listened closely to them, you might have recognized that these commandments, these laws which make up the foundation of Torah, the Law, itself, … they all describe the relationships needed for our human existence with God.

The first three laws state the relationship which should exist between God and humanity, itself. There is but one God, the one who freed you from enslavement. The one, who alone, is to be worshiped, whose name is sacred and not to be used for secular purposes. The one to whom your life is to be totally dedicated on the holy, seventh day. The remaining seven laws state the relationships which should exist among all members of society. The relationship of children and parents. The relationship between men and women with respect to life and property.

These ten laws became so important for the survival of society that they have become a foundation for all secular laws as well. Replicas of these Ten Commandments are found in courthouses and parliaments through out the world and, in particular, here in the United States, where certain groups fail to see the intrinsic relationship of these laws with the stability of society, itself, with the secular state, itself. Instead, these groups call for the so-called separation of state and religion.

Yes, these Ten Commandments which provide a basis for our secular laws, focus on the relationships needed for the harmony between God and his Children and for the harmony among his children – these Ten Commandments may be the center for all of our relationships. However, for Christians, there is a new center, a new core, a new cross. Here we come to the words St Paul addressed to the Corinthians some two thousand years ago. “Jews demand signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified.”

Yes, even today, some demand outward signs of an inner reality. Signs not unlike depictions of the Stone Tablets carried by Moses to the Israelites. Yes, some seek answers through signs written on stone; others seek answers written in our hearts. And while the tradition of the past and the advances of the present have their essential places in our life and society, we also need to recognize both life and society will continue into the future only by following the relationship provided by Christ’s commandment: “Love one another as I have loved you.”

During this season of Lent, we are called to set aside mere images of Temples and of Stone Tablets and remember:
● the law of God is written in our hearts,
● our reality depends on our proclamation that Christ suffered, died, was buried and is risen.
● the cross of Christ is not a piece of costume jewelry but rather his cross is the sign of our reality, a sign given in the Name (†) of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

^{Third Sunday of Lent; March 19,2006
Ex 20:1-17; 1 Cor1:22-25; Jn 2:13-15}

Today’s question is a basic one we need to ponder in our hearts. The superficial answer is easy. However, living out this response is more difficult. My question is this: What is a Covenant? The standard response is: a covenant is an agreement between God and God’s people in which God said: “I will be your God and you will be my people.”

During Lent, we hear a lot about this Covenant – especially if we’ve been listening to the Old Testament readings for the first three weeks of Lent. These readings have focused on the Lord God’s Covenant with the Israelites. In the First Reading for the First Sunday of Lent, we heard about the Covenant God made with Noah and with every living creature when the Lord God said: “See, I am now establishing my covenant with you and your descendants after you and with every living creature that was with you: all the birds, and the various tame and wild animals that were with you and came out of the ark.”

Last week, on the Second Sunday of Lent, we heard about the renewal of this Covenant with Abraham, who was willing to sacrifice his son Isaac. We heard about Abraham’s faith that God would fulfill his word and make Abraham’s descendants … “as countless as the stars of the sky and the sands of the seashore; your descendants shall take possession of the gates of their enemies, and in your descendants all the nations of the earth shall find blessing – all this because you obeyed my command.”

Today, on this Third Sunday of Lent, we hear God’s renewal of this Covenant as he gave specific Commandments to Moses. In ten statements, God outlined the laws to govern the relationship of the Israelites with their God – and with one another. The first three commandments focus on the relationship between God and God’s people.
● The Lord God is to be their only God.
● The name of their Lord God is most sacred; it is not to be taken lightly.
● Furthermore, the Israelites are to honor the Lord God on the Seventh Day of the week by avoiding all secular work and worshiping only Him.

The seven remaining commandments tell the Israelites how to relate with one another. To begin with, they are to honor their parents who gave them life. The following six commandments address interactions they should not do:
● They should not kill, commit adultery, steal or bear false witness against a neighbor.
● They should not covet their neighbor’s property or possessions – including wives, slaves and animals.

These Ten Commandments were so important that the Israelites carried the stone tablets on which they were inscribed everywhere they went – even into battle. This Covenant was an important foundation for their Exodus and for the founding of their kingdom on earth.

But throughout the years, the Israelites did – on occasion – try to break their Covenant agreement. At times, they disregarded the teachings found in the Torah, the Law, the Way of the Lord God. However, each time they wandered from the Covenant, God sent one of the prophets to lead them back. This is why the Lord God sent to them men such as Amos, Hosea, Jeremiah, and Isaiah.

At the urging of their priests and prophets, the Jews rebuilt the Temple in Jerusalem that originally held the stone tablets of the Covenant and which, later, became the site of the Holy of Holies – the mercy seat where God was to be found on earth. It is here they offered holocausts to seek the blessings of the Lord God.

In today’s Gospel we hear more about this Temple in Jerusalem. It was here Jews from all around the Mediterranean world returned to offer their animal sacrifices to the Lord God – just as Abraham and Moses had offered them centuries before. They arrived from everywhere with the foreign coins they needed to purchase animals for their holocausts. However, the coins they carried bore the likeness of foreign gods and were deemed to be “unclean.” These pilgrims needed to exchange these “unclean” coins for “clean” shekels in order to purchase the animals to be sacrificed.

Over the years, this simple exchange of coins for the purpose of buying animals for sacrifice became corrupted. It seems the money changers two thousand years ago were subject to the same desires as those found with some modern money changers. These ancient bankers tried to make money by defrauding their clients. (It appears some things never change.) Seeing this, Jesus became angry that his Father’s house – the Temple where the Covenant was to be honored – became a mere marketplace. We heard how he drove out the moneychangers and their corrupt colleagues from the Temple so it would no longer be a mere marketplace, but the house of God.

When other Jews became angry with his actions and questioned whether he was attempting to destroy their Temple, he responded that the destruction of a physical temple – which had taken almost five decades to build – was not important. In its place, a new temple would arise – the temple of his own body. A temple of the Body of Christ.

Their Covenant with the Lord God would no longer be confined to a physical temple in Jerusalem – not to a single place which once housed the Ten Commandments. Now, a New Covenant was being made, not in the blood of sheep and oxen, but rather in the blood he would pour out for them from his own body.

By driving out the moneychangers, Jesus seems to be saying no longer is there to be an economic exchange of money for animal sacrifices in order to obtain God’s blessings. Rather, God’s gifts are freely given through His love and through the once and only sacrifice His son makes on our behalf. Complete atonement comes in the New Covenant made through his own suffering, death and resurrection.

In a few weeks, we will celebrate the beginning of this New Covenant during the Triduum – the three-day remembrance of the Last Supper Jesus ate with his disciples and of the horrific two days which followed – until that morning he returned to them from an empty tomb.

A few minutes ago, I began by asking the question: What is a Covenant? I also said the answer was an easy one to make with our lips. It is a more difficult one to respond with our hearts. In order to live out our response, we must remember that each day – at each Mass – we celebrate this New Covenant made between God and all of God’s people. Every day, and at every Mass, we deepen our understanding of this New Covenant made by our Lord God with all of us. Each time we consume our consecrated bread and wine we take part in this Covenant which was begun with Noah, renewed through Abraham and Moses and finalized through Jesus the Christ. With each Eucharistic celebration, we once again become part of this agreement, this Covenant which promises that God is our only God and we are his people, the sheep of his flock.

^{Third Sunday of Lent; March 15, 2009
Ex 20:1-17; 1 Cor 1:22-25; Jn 2:13-25}

Although today is Saint Patrick’s Day and I have a special interest in him, (and I hope he has one in me!) today’s reflection will not be on either the Irish or on snakes. Instead, I have a question for you: When was the last time you experienced total darkness, total physical darkness? Some never have. It’s hard to do. Around here, there’s usually enough glow from Houston’s lights even the night sky is not completely dark.

If you’re a spelunker, you may have come close to experiencing absolute darkness. If you’ve gone into caves in west-central Texas or in other parts of the country, maybe the guide gave you the chance to really be in the dark by turning out the lights for a few moments. For some, this experience of total darkness can be very shattering. Most of us fear being in the dark. We want to escape into the light.

It seems appropriate, then, to begin our reflection on today’s gospel reading by focusing on a sense of physical darkness, of being surrounded or overtaken by darkness. Today’s reading is John’s record of Jesus’ response to Nicodemus. You’ll recall Nicodemus was a Pharisee who came to Jesus in the dark of night to question him about the signs Jesus was performing and to verify God was with Jesus.

Jesus gives him a response about the need to be begotten of water and spirit. But, like us, Nicodemus was puzzled by the answer. So Jesus goes on. We heard his second answer in today’s gospel, a reading that focuses on the light which comes into the world.

It seems to me each of us is somewhat like Nicodemus. We approach Jesus and ask for an explanation of the signs he gives us in our life. We seem to recognize we are in a spiritual darkness and want to know how we can get ourselves out of it. What can we do to make the darkness go away? We are held captive by that darkness. Our captivity is much like that of the Israelites of the first reading for today. In this reading from Second Chronicles, there’s a summary of all of the actions which led to their captivity in Babylon for seventy years.

We also heard about how they were released. Their freedom came about, not by anything they did, but rather because of God’s gift to them. God inspired King Cyrus, who was a pagan, to release them. The Israelites were freed through God’s mercy and his intervention. Their freedom came through their cooperation with God’s gift of release and not through what they did to deserve his gift of freedom.

In his letter to the Ephesians, Saint Paul, in the second reading, reminds the Ephesians (and us) of the same thing. He says: “God is rich in mercy; because of his great love for us he brought us to life with Christ when we were dead in sin. … It is owing to (God’s) favor that salvation is yours through faith. This is not your doing; it is God’s gift; neither is it a reward for anything you have accomplished.”

And this brings us back to John’s gospel for today. John reminds us: “God did not send the son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him.” At this point, we might well ask: Well, what happened then? If Jesus came to save us and not condemn us, why are things in such a mess? Why am I still trapped in the dark? If I fear the darkness, why can I not escape into the light?

Jesus seems to have a puzzling answer to this question. He seems to suggest that, while I may fear physical darkness, I do not fear spiritual darkness! He says people “ … loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were wicked. Everyone who practices evil hates the light, he does not come near it for fear his deeds will be exposed.” In other words, this darkness seems to be of my own doing, my own creation, if you will. Just as the actions of the Israelites led to their captivity in Babylon, my own actions lead to my captivity by a spirit of darkness.

Yes, it would seem we each, unwittingly perhaps, make our own darkness, our own spiritual darkness. Our darkness does not come from God but rather it comes from our own actions. God has created the light. He wants us to share in that light. This light is his gift to us. But we reject this gift. We continue to hide in the darkness of our own making.

When you were a child, did you ever play hide-and-seek? Did you ever hide in a dark corner, hoping not to be found, yet wanting to be found? Do we still play hide-and seek with God, hiding in a dark corner? Wanting him to find us, and yet scrunching back, afraid for some reason we will be found. Somehow, we seem to believe that, if God really finds us, we will no longer be loved. We have a problem loving ourselves and think God has the same problem.

We want God to find us, but we are reluctant to find either ourselves or God. We all have this confusing push and pull. How many times when I’m feeling blue, down and out, I seem to revel in it. I want to stay there. I want someone to feel sorry for me and to try to pull me out of my moodiness. And yet, deep inside, I recognize it is my own action, my own choice which is imprisoning me in my foul mood. To get out of it, I need to do nothing but let go.

But letting go is often the hardest action of all. We believe we must do something. We want to free ourselves by fighting back rather than by accepting the freedom God gives us freely. Jesus, however, reminds us: flesh begets flesh, the actions of this world result in the things of this world. At the same time, spirit begets spirit. Our attitude of being free results in the actuality of our freedom.

What does this mean, personally? It means I must focus on those attitudes which bind me, which keep me a captive, which lead me to remain in the dark. First of all, there is the action where I try to hide the errors I’ve committed. I hide them away in a dark corner of my mind: my recollections of what sins I’ve committed against others and against myself. I am reluctant to admit they ever existed. Part of it is my fear God won’t forgive me if he finds out about them, if I bring them into the light. Yet I need to recognize God is the light. He not only sees my errors, my sins, but has already forgiven them. I need to forgive myself. I need to examine the attitudes which keep me in the dark, afraid to admit my errors and accept God’s forgiveness.

There are other attitudes we also may need to look at in order to free ourselves from the dark corners of our game of hide-and-seek with God. It can be an attitude of the “poor-me,” an attitude that no one loves me, that I am unlovable. Or it can be an attitude that I need more things of this world in order to make me happy, that others have things I don’t have, either skills or talents I lack, or even material things, like a new car or a winter trip to Bermuda. Or it might be an attitude that I must continue to dislike someone near to me, because that’s the only way I can protect myself from further hurt. I must continue to hide in the dark, hide from others, from myself, and from God.

This season of Lent is my opportunity to let go. To let go of the attitudes that hold me a captive: a captive within the darkness I, myself, have created. Lent is like a long tunnel. Here we are at the Fourth Sunday in Lent. We are half-way through the tunnel which leads from Ash Wednesday to Easter. For some of us, we see the light at the end of the tunnel and want to hurry towards it. For others, we have stopped moving, the corner has not been turned, we have not yet seen the glow at the end of the tunnel. But there is still time. We can move on. We can turn the corner and continue our “journey to joy,” the joy of the Easter sunrise. Today’s word of God reassures us: The light is here; the time is now.

^{Fourth Sunday in Lent; March 17, 1985
2 Chron 36:14-16, 19-23; Eph 2:4-10; Jn 3:14-21}

My question for today is for all of you who have ever gone to a sporting event here in the United States. My question is this: at just about any sporting event you’ve attended, what are the first words you hear before the event, itself, begins? “Oh, say can you see … by the dawn’s early light, what so proudly we hailed … at the twilight’s last gleaming …” Yes, even our National Anthem begins with a question: “Oh say can you see …”

Needless to say, today’s Gospel reading begins with a similar question or request. Today’s Gospel, according to John, starts with some Greeks who had come to worship at the Passover Feast in Jerusalem some two thousand years ago. They had a request they addressed to Philip, one of Jesus’ disciples who was probably a fellow Greek, since his name is a Greek word meaning: “love.” They asked Philip: “Sir, we would like to see Jesus.”

It seems like a simple request, a straightforward question. But in John’s Gospel, nothing is really simple. John uses the word “see” in a very deep way. He doesn’t mean merely “look at” something or someone. Rather John means: “I want to experience something very deeply. I want to understand as completely as possible.”

Do you remember the story at the very beginning of John’s Gospel? John the Baptist sends two of his own disciples to follow Jesus. Jesus turns to them and asks the question: “What are you looking for?” And they replied with their own question: “Rabbi … where are you staying?” And Jesus responded: “Come, and you will see.”

Do you remember one of the last stories found in the Gospel of John, the Evangelist? It’s the story of Thomas who desired to see the wounds in the hands and side of the risen Christ, before he would believe that he had truly risen. And when Thomas saw Jesus and exclaimed: “My Lord and my God!” – what did Jesus say? “Have you come to believe because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.”

And so it was that the visiting Greeks asked Philip, if they could see Jesus. Philip, however, took them literally and went to ask Andrew what he thought should be done, since Andrew is Peter’s brother and might have a better idea of whom Jesus might or might not see. And what did Jesus say when Philip and Andrew did inquire about the Greeks who wanted to see him? “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Amen, amen, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.”

In the ancient world of the Jews, Romans and Greeks, a single grain of wheat is useless in and of itself. If it is placed in the ground, the seed appears to wither and die. But in some mysterious way, they also observed that, as the seed appears to die, a new plant arises. A plant which bears fruit and more seeds. From the death of a single seed, new life begins.

Jesus seems to be saying, if you really want to see him, really want to follow him, really want to understand him, really want to experience him – you need to recognize that he is like a dying seed which mysteriously yields new life, new fruit, and a new hope.

Jesus also went on to instruct Philip and Andrew and those listening to him … both two thousand years ago and here at the outset of the third millennium after he spoke. Jesus said: “Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will preserve it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there also will my servant be. The Father will honor whoever serves me.”

It appears that, individually, we, too, must be seeds whose worth resides in our potential for new life. Our worth becomes evident only when we die to the selfishness of our own desires and allow ourselves to grow, slowly, and bear fruit and a new life. Here, during the season of Lent, is our time to die to self and to grow in the darkness of Lent so that we too can yield new fruit. And how are we to do this?

Two weeks ago, I spoke about the Covenant which the Lord God made with Noah, Abraham and Moses. We continue to hear about this covenant in today’s reading from the prophet Jeremiah. “The days are coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah. … This is the covenant that I will make … I will place my law within them and write it upon their hearts; I will be their God, and they shall be my people.”

And so it is, that we now have our New Covenant made through Jesus the Christ. It is through this New Covenant we know within our hearts what we need to do in order to grow during the remaining days of this Lenten season. We have been told – and we know deep within us – that we are called to practice the disciplines … the actions of Christ. We are to engage in Prayer, Fasting and Almsgiving.
● Prayer which brings us into conversation with God, our Father.
● Fasting which reminds us of those parts of our lives that need to be pruned away in order to follow the Son.
● Almsgiving which unites us with others in the name of the Holy Spirit who guides us in our interactions with our neighbors.

The Greeks visiting Jerusalem during Passover desired to see Jesus. Perhaps they merely wanted to look at this man who some claimed to be a prophet. But Jesus demanded more than being a celebrity who makes a public appearance and then hides from the admiring crowds. He asks his followers to see him, to experience him, in the reality of who he is and of whom he wants us to become.

When we hear the opening words of our National Anthem … “Oh say can you see …” most of us feel a certain thrill within our hearts at being Americans standing in unity with fellow Americans. Perhaps in a few moments when we stand to speak the words of our Creed, we can feel the thrill of being fellow Christians who respond to the words of Jesus the Christ who said: “Come, and you will see.”

^{Fifth Sunday in Lent; March 29, 2009
Jer 31:31-34; Heb 5:7-9; Jn 12:20-23}

The last time I was homilist was six weeks ago, on the first Sunday of Lent. My question then was: when was the last time you had a really good temptation? I spoke of Lent as an opportunity for good temptations, a time for our testing and learning about where we have been and what we needed to change, to improve. Now here we are, at the ending of Lent. We now begin the week called “holy,” a week that, for some of us, is, indeed, the holiest week of the year. A week of sadness and of celebration, a week of loss and of gain, a week of tremendous contrasts.

We begin this week in praise. We began today’s Eucharistic celebration in a unique way: with a gospel reading. A gospel reading proclaiming the triumphal entry of the Messiah, the Son of David, into Jerusalem. But then, in our second gospel reading, we heard how those same people who shouted out their hosannas, now cry out: “Crucify him! Crucify him!” Those who had heard the words of Jesus the Christ changed their own words from “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord” to jeers: “Save yourself now and come down from that cross.” Those who had waved palm branches and placed their cloaks on the ground before him, now spat upon him and pitched clods of dirt at his naked body.

And what about us? How have we changed between the first Sunday of Lent and today, the Sunday of the Lord’s Passion? Have we grown closer to him? Or farther away? Or have we stood still? Do we stand by the road, neither waving palm branches nor pitching dirt? Do we remain silent, neither singing hymns of praise nor shouting curses? Are we among the vast number of those who don’t care one way or the other; who merely go along with the flow; or watch the flow go past us? Do we stand among those who don’t really want to get involved?

Or are we among those who do care; who do want to shout Hosanna to our Lord, but aren’t sure where or how to start? If you are among them, today begins your week – your week to join with those who continue to honor our friend and savior, the one who walks with us on our journey towards God the Father. It is never too late to change. It is never too late to begin. It is never too late to continue.

This week is the week to bring our lenten journey to its completion or to begin it with fresh eyes and ears. To see and hear what is happening around us. To participate, not only in the liturgies of Holy Week, but in the mysteries of the life which surround us.

Thursday evening we begin the three days marking the conclusion of Lent: the Triduum. On that evening at eight o’clock, we celebrate the Lord’s Supper. We recall the evening when Jesus broke bread with his friends and said it was his body to be broken for all of us. The evening when he shared a cup of wine with his friends and declared it was a cup of his blood now shed for the new covenant with God. The evening when he washed the feet of his friends and said we are to do likewise.

The following afternoon, on the Friday called “Good,” we are again invited to walk with him as we recall the final hours of his passion. We will again be invited to participate in the Stations of the Cross here at Christ the Good Shepherd, beginning at 2:30 in the afternoon. That evening, next Friday evening at 8 o’clock, we will once more have the opportunity to wait with those who celebrate his passion and death on the cross. Just as we celebrate on Thursday the gift of his Body and Blood, on Friday we will celebrate the gift of his suffering for each one of us.

On Saturday evening, beginning at 7:30, we will celebrate the meaning of all of this. The meaning of his life, of his teachings, of his suffering, of his death, of his resurrection and continuing life among us. At the Easter Vigil we will welcome those who will be baptized and brought into our Christian family and those who make a profession of faith as full members of our Catholic community. And for those who cannot join in this lengthy celebration, there will be Eucharistic liturgies both here at Christ the Good Shepherd, beginning with a sunrise service at 5:45, and next door at the Jewish synagogue. The times for all of the morning and evening services for Thursday through Sunday are given in today’s bulletin.

During this Triduum, this three-day celebration, we are once more invited to be with Jesus and with his friends, as we recall his last hours in human form, those hours when he shoulders his cross and urges us to carry our own cross. Even now, it is not too late for us to step from our silent places where we now stand and join him; not by merely extolling him with our spoken praises, but by actively helping him carry his cross by what we do for others on the way.

Each year, thousands of Christian pilgrims journey to Jerusalem and walk through the narrow streets where Jesus passed some twenty centuries ago. A few years ago, Karen and I joined several dozen friends from Christ the Good Shepherd and others from different parishes for a visit to the Holy Land. All of us had the gift of walking over those cobbled streets that lead up the hill towards the church of the Holy Sepulcher which marks the site of Golgotha.

As we made the Way of the Cross, we were transported backwards in time. The jeers of the people of twenty centuries ago were now replaced with the calls of shopkeepers urging us to buy their goods. It’s likely the shopkeepers back then also tried to sell their wares to the crowds who watched that man carrying his cross as he stumbled up the hill. The blare of Roman trumpets that cleared his way are now replaced with the blare of rock music coming from portable boom boxes. But the smells remain the same. The air within the narrow, covered arcades still has a mixture of spices and the passage of small donkeys.

But finally, you arrive at the site where Christ was stripped of his garments and nailed to a cross that was dropped with a jarring thud into a hole in the rocky ground, a hole now marked by a silver star into which you can place your hand as you might into an open wound. You can slip, two by two, through a narrow passageway into a closet-size tomb, where you can rest your hand on a smooth slab and remember a man whose body once rested in such a place.

These memories will always be with me, caught in the cobwebs of my mind. But as I think back upon the Way of the Cross, I will remember something even more intimate. For you see, many pilgrim groups carry on their shoulders a large wooden cross as they trudge along those streets of sorrow. However, we did not. On that journey several years ago, we were graced with the presence of a woman in a wheel chair who was accompanied by two of her children on this pilgrimage she had always longed to make. As we ascended those steep streets and climbed the narrow steps along them and, finally, entered the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and mounted the stairs towards Golgotha, there were those among us who carried, not a cross, but a magnificent woman in a wheelchair.

Somehow, I firmly believe this action greatly pleased our cross-bearing redeemer who wants us to join with him in his journey to the kingdom. Our friend who entered Jerusalem with cheers and died on a lonely hill. Our friend who once more urges us to change, to follow him. We are once again invited to spend our time with him; not only during this Holy Week, but for the remaining days of our lives, as Easter people, people of the Resurrection and of the life to come. May your coming week, indeed, be Holy.

^{Palm Sunday of Our Lord’s Passion; March 23, 1997
Mk 11: 1-10; Is 50: 4-7; Phil 2:6-11; Mk 14:1-47}

The calendar tells us spring is here. The beginning of this season prompts me to ask a couple of questions. What does spring mean to you? Is it a time when you see wildflowers and buds on the trees and think of new life? Or is it merely the time for you to start cutting the grass and recognizing it’s a chore you’ll have to do every week for the next six or seven months? Is spring a time for new beginnings or does it mean you need to finish your spring cleaning, if you’re an adult, or to finish all those end-of-the year projects if you’re still in school? Is this the season for new hope or for depression, perhaps even fear?

Last Sunday we celebrated Easter, a time we associate with new hope and new beginnings. But for some of us, has Easter already come and gone? What do our readings for this Sunday after Easter hold for us? They all seem to be focused on hope and belief. Perhaps the real questions for us today are: What gift do believers have? What must believers do because of this gift? Does belief really demand action?

To take a closer look at these questions we need to join the disciples in that locked room almost two thousand years ago. A lot had happened to them during the last few days. Only three nights ago they had been celebrating Passover with Jesus. What a marvelous evening it had been. But then came that terrible, confusing time in the garden. The next day: the torture of the crucifixion, the cruel death of the one they loved so much and who had loved them beyond a love anyone had ever shown before. And the hasty burial before sundown.

Now, this morning: the confusing stories the women had told them. And Peter and John. The tomb was empty. They were certain of that; but what had happened to his body? Had the Romans broken into the tomb and stolen it? Surely, the temple guards or the scribes would not do that? They would not defile themselves by touching a dead body, would they? That was totally unthinkable.

But now with the body gone, what would happen? Would the Sanhedrin start looking for the followers of Jesus and accuse them of stealing his body? Would they, too, be put on trial, found guilty, and turned over to the Romans for torture and crucifixion? All but Thomas were there, huddled in the room where they had celebrated less than seventy-two hours ago. And what of Thomas? Had he gone off to betray them? Just as Judas had done there in the garden. Would Thomas lead the crowds to them? He knew where they were hiding. The doors were locked. Yet, every sound from the street below startled them.

And then, suddenly, He was there! The one they loved, who loved them, was standing there. The words of John tell us what happened next: “Jesus came and stood before them. ‘Peace be with you, he said. When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side. At the sight of the Lord the disciples rejoiced. ‘Peace be with you,’ he said again. ‘As the father has sent me, so I send you.’ Then he breathed on them and said: ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of others, they are forgiven them; if you hold them bound, they are held bound.'”

What happened next? We don’t really know. We don’t know how long Jesus stayed with them that evening. And we don’t know what happened the next day. We can only make some guesses. How would you have reacted when Thomas finally did show up the next day? Would you have scolded him for being absent? Would you have told him with great joy what had happened? Would you have pitied him for not being there to receive the peace which Jesus brought? Not to have felt his breath; the breath of the Holy Spirit warming all of you. Would you have judged Thomas had sinned and should not be forgiven; that his transgressions should still bind him, keep him from experiencing the joy of seeing the risen Lord? If you had been one of the disciples, how would you have reacted, responded to Thomas? How do you now react to your friends whom you judge have not been present to the Lord, who have not yet received his favors? With pity? With isolation? Or with compassion?

And what if you had been Thomas on that Monday morning? Would you have wondered what you had done that Jesus would appear to others but not to you? Would you have felt you had in some way been unworthy to see him and this was a punishment for you? Would you feel resentment against the other disciples, your friends, for having seen Jesus, for having received something you had been denied? In fact, would you believe the others?

Or would you judge their fears had made them see things which weren’t true? Would you have demanded extra proof to assure the others, and yourself, you could not be fooled by a mere apparition, a ghost? How do you now react when Jesus does not seem to appear to you but does to others? When it seems he is far from you but close to others. When it seems God, himself, does not answer your prayers. Do you continue to wait with patience, or do you make extra demands upon him before you can accept the reality of his presence?

Surely, the week after Easter, the week following the Resurrection must have been a difficult one all of the disciples, for Peter, Andrew, James and John – as well as for Thomas. What would happen next? As each day passed and the Lord had not again returned, would they all begin to entertain doubts? Had it really happened? Had Jesus really returned from the dead? Or had it been a dream? Perhaps Thomas was right in demanding additional proof.

Are we much different today, a week after our own celebration of Easter? Has the effect of the Resurrection worn off? Do I demand additional proof Christ has risen? Or can I be like Thomas on that Sunday after Easter, long ago? The gospel of John tells us: “A week later the disciples were once more ln the room, and this time Thomas was with them. Despite the locked doors, Jesus came and stood before them. ‘Peace be with you,’ he said; then, to Thomas: ‘Take your finger and examine my hands. Put your hand into my side. Do not persist in your unbelief but believe!’ Thomas said in response, ‘My Lord and my God!’”

When Jesus came to Thomas, he invited Thomas to do exactly what he had wanted to do. This invitation was offered without Thomas needing to repeat it. Yet Thomas did not demand the proof he thought he wanted. Without hesitation, Thomas made his absolute declaration of faith. He saw Jesus, and without any further proof, Thomas proclaimed him: “My Lord and my God!”

For the other disciples, the risen Jesus had been seen as a return of their friend who had once been dead, but who had come back to them. They rejoiced in his return. But Thomas saw him and proclaimed him, “My Lord and my God!” What does it mean to join Thomas in proclaiming this risen One as “my Lord and my God!”?

The answer to that lies in the first two readings we heard for this Sunday after Easter. When I began this reflection I said the focus would be on the gift believers have and what believers must do because of this gift. Just what is this gift? It is the gift which Jesus gave the evening he appeared to his disciples. He gave them the gift of his Peace.

Each Sunday when we celebrate our “little Easter” – and that is what each and every mass is: a celebration of Easter – at every mass we say to one another: “May the Peace of Christ be with you.” This is the gift we desire: the Peace of Christ. It is an interior Peace. It is the calm which is our center. It is not peace in the world, not peace in Central America or in the Middle East. It is not the peace of an absence of conflict in our nations, or in our cities, or even in our homes. Rather it is the peace which resides deep within our hearts.

It is from this special gift of peace that all else comes. It is this interior Peace of Christ, this breath of the Holy Spirit, which God, himself, breathes into us that makes us Children of God. It is this peace that allows us to “keep his commandments and find they are not burdensome.” And what do we do with this gift of the Peace of Christ? In fact, are we called to do anything with it? I believe we are.

It is a gift. In order for a gift to be appreciated, it must be used. A gift which is put away on a shelf, hidden out of sight, that is never used, is an insult to the one who gives the gift. When given the gift of the Peace of Christ, we are called upon to share this gift with others.

How do we do that? The Acts of the Apostles give us a hint in today’s first reading. We heard how, “being of one heart and of one mind,” the early Christian community gave of their possessions and distributed them to those in need. Sometimes we hear these words and dismiss them as some sort of communism or socialism that is repugnant to democracy. We look at them in a political context. But perhaps we need to put aside politics and see them in a different light.

What those early Christians did was this: they gave up control. They allowed God to be in control of their lives. Those early Christians gave their possessions, their material property to the apostles and allowed the apostles to give these possessions to those in need. Perhaps we are called upon to do the same thing.

Each of us searches for material things to fill our lives, to give us some kind of happiness, some interior peace. Yet there appears to be a continuing emptiness. We do not have that interior peace. Instead, we demand physical proof of our worth, just as Thomas demanded physical proof of Jesus’ presence. Jesus was willing to give Thomas the proof Thomas demanded, yet in the final moment, Thomas did not need that proof. Jesus gave him the same gift he had given to the other apostles, the same gift he gives to us: his Peace. For Thomas, that was enough. For the early Christians it, too, was enough. They shared not only their possessions with one another, they shared with one another this Peace of Christ. And with this interior peace, they were able to conquer the world.

Spring is a time of new life, of new beginnings. For some it consists of the drudgery of grass cutting, toting kids off to baseball practice and income taxes. For others, it is once more a time to escape from the locked room of our fears and to share with one another the Peace of Christ. Indeed, may the Peace of Christ be with you. Amen.

^{Second Sunday of Easter; April 10, 1988
Acts: 4:32-35; 1 Jn 5:1-6; Jn 20:19-31}

My question for today is for kids and, perhaps, for a few adults. It’s this: Have you finished eating all of the chocolate candy in your Easter basket? You’ve had a whole week to do it. It’s been a week since Easter Sunday. For many of us of a certain age, today is the “First Sunday AFTER Easter.” For those who are post-Vatican II Catholics, this is the “Second Sunday OF Easter.” It depends upon how you look at it. Is Easter done with, completed for another year? Or is it still Easter? Today and for the weeks to come.

In the Gospel reading for today, it’s still the day of the Resurrection. It’s “the evening of that first day of the week.” The disciples are gathered in the room where, three long nights ago, they ate a final supper with their Lord and Master, their friend who suffered and died on a cross before a jeering mob. And this morning, news came to them from several of the woman in their company, and from Peter and another disciple, that the tomb where they had laid his body was found to be empty.

Another one of his followers, Thomas, is not with them. Has he been captured by the Romans? Or worse yet, has he joined the enemies of Jesus? Would he betray them as Judas Iscariot had betrayed Jesus, himself? It’s no wonder the doors to the room are bolted shut.

And then Jesus stands among them! He says: “Shalom. Peace be with you.” At this they rejoice. They know he has kept his promise to them. He has returned. He has returned with a gift and with a command. He offers first his gift. He gives them his Peace. And then he gives them his command. He gives them their mission: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” But he does not send them forth without another gift. He gives them a gift to assist them in their mission. He gives them the gift of his breath, of his new life. He breathes on them and says: “Receive the Holy Spirit.” Empowering them with the gift of the breath of the Holy Spirit, he gives them yet another command: “Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them …”

On that Easter evening two thousand years ago, he brought them his Peace and his forgiveness. He asked them to share that Peace, that forgiveness, with others. The mission he had been given by the Father, to bring forgiveness to humankind, to bring redemption and salvation to all men and women, he now gives to his followers. They had seen him; they had experienced him. They were now to bring the fulness of his forgiveness to others who had not yet seen him or experienced his presence.

The fruits of that mission are reported in the first reading we heard today from the Acts of the Apostles: “The community of believers was of one heart and mind … With great power the apostles bore witness to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great favor was accorded them all. There was no needy person among them …” It was through their acts, their actions, that these once fearful followers of Jesus gave to others the power to experience the risen Christ directly.

Our gospel reading goes on to report that when Jesus appears a week later to his followers, and this time to Thomas, he reminds them, and he reminds us: “Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.” Yes, there are those who did not see the risen Christ directly. They, too, are blessed because they have believed the testimony of those who saw him after his Resurrection.

And of equal importance, they are blessed because they have seen and experienced the risen Christ through the actions of others.
● Blessed are they who have not seen Jesus, himself, but see and experience the Christ who lives and resides within those who are living members of his mystical body, the Body of Christ.
● Blessed are those who have not seen the vulnerability of Jesus himself but see the vulnerability of those who give of themselves in the name of Christ.
● Blessed are those who have not witnessed the courage of Jesus directly, but who see how Christians courageously stand up for the principles he taught.
● Blessed are those who have not seen the suffering Jesus endured but see the suffering with dignity exhibited by fellow Christians who are ill or dying.

And even more blessed are they who, themselves, are vulnerable with others, who are courageous in following his principles, and who suffer with dignity in the name of Christ. They are the followers who are sent by Christ to be examples of what it means to accept and share the Peace of Christ; and to carry out the mission on which he sends them.

The beloved disciple in his letter in our second reading for today reminds us: “In this way we know that we love the children of God when we love God and obey his commandments. For the love of God is this, that we keep his commandments. And his commandments are not burdensome …”

We have received the breath of the Holy Spirit in the Sacraments conferred upon us. It is through our cooperation with the Holy Spirit – our own willingness to use these sacramental gifts on behalf of others – that we participate directly in the mission upon which he sends us. There is no need for us to huddle behind locked doors, hiding from the world. We are challenged to step forth into the world and bring with us the Peace and Forgiveness of Christ, himself.

The troubling times in which we live remind us we are all in need of the Peace of Christ and in need of forgiveness. We realize we have either given offense to others or we harbor resentment for the offenses of others towards us. Now is the time to forgive and to be forgiven. Now is the time for Easter to be celebrated not just on one Sunday of the year, but every moment of our lives. This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad.

^{Second Sunday of Easter; April 19. 2009 (Revision of April 23, 2006)
Acts: 4:32-35; 1 Jn 5:1-6; Jn 20:19-31}

My question for today is for kids and, perhaps, for a few adults as well. It’s this: Have you finished eating all of the chocolate candy in your Easter basket? You’ve had a whole week to do it. Yes, it’s been a week since Easter Sunday. For many of us of a certain age, today is the “First Sunday AFTER Easter.” For those who are post-Vatican II Catholics, this is the “Second Sunday OF Easter.” It depends upon how you look at it. Is Easter done with, completed for another year. If so, then today is, indeed, the First Sunday AFTER Easter.

Or is it still Easter? Today and for the weeks to come. If it is, then today would be the Second Sunday OF Easter … of Eastertide, the fifty days between the Resurrection and Pentecost. Or perhaps for some, Easter goes beyond Pentecost, beyond Trinity Sunday, beyond the feast day of Corpus Christi, of the “Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ.” For some, each Sunday Mass, each daily Mass, is celebrated as a “little Easter.”

For many Catholics throughout the world, this Sunday is known not as a numbered feast day, but rather as “Divine Mercy Sunday.” This is especially true for those living in Poland. Last year Karen and I had the privilege of visiting Krakow and the site of the Basilica of Divine Mercy, the location where John Paul II had spent much of his youth and has left a mark of his great love of the celebration of Divine Mercy. No matter where we traveled last year in Poland, there were prayers of the Chaplet of Divine Mercy being recited by groups of the faithful in every church we entered, no matter what time of day it was.

It is fitting that, today, the Church throughout the world celebrates the appearance of Christ to his disciples – and how he brought them his mercy which goes beyond any sense of justice. In seeking justice, one gets exactly what one deserves; what we have earned by our actions … or inactions. In seeking mercy, one is given what has not been earned, but rather receives the gift of forgiveness despite what we have done … or not done.

When Jesus appeared to his disciples behind the locked door of the room where they had last dined with him, he did not bring a condemnation for what had happened to him, a condemnation of how they had deserted him in his time of suffering and during his crucifixion under the Romans. Rather, his first word to them was “Shalom” … “Peace be with you.” He then showed them the wounds in his hands and side. They realized he was not condemning them, he was not there to bring them fear but rather comfort, the comfort of his Peace. They did not respond with dread or fear. Instead, according to the Gospel of John, the disciples “… rejoiced when they saw the Lord.”

The Gospel goes on to tell them – and us: “Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.’ And when he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained.’”

Yes, Jesus gave them his forgiveness and with it he gave them a mission: to forgive others as he had forgiven them. He gave them the gift of his divine mercy and sent them forth to bring his divine mercy to others. They saw that his wounds had not disappeared; they were still visible on his hands and side. But these scars of past wounds did not matter as much as the forgiveness he now brought them and his command to share it with others.

Yes, this is what forgiveness and mercy demand. Not that the wounds become invisible. Indeed, the scars may last a lifetime. But rather, despite these previous hurts, we are to continue onwards.

We are reminded that “peace” does not mean the absence of conflict but rather the forgiveness of what has happened. Mercy does not remove the damage which has been done, but rather it bestows comfort on those who have been harmed or who have harmed others … once an internal change has occurred. We are reminded that love has been restored.

In the words of John the Evangelist: “We know that we love the children of God when we love God and obey his commandments. For the love of God is this, that we keep his commandments. And his commandments are not burdensome, …… for whoever is begotten by God conquers the world. And the victory that conquers the world is our faith.” And what does this faith bring about?

We see the results of this faith in the events of the daily lives of those early Christians described in our first reading from the Acts of the Apostles. “The community of believers was of one heart and mind, and no one claimed that any of his possessions was his own, but they had everything in common. …. There was no needy person among them, for those who owned property or houses would sell them, bring the proceeds of the sale, and put them at the feet of the apostles, and they were distributed to each according to need.”

On the surface, these actions are strange to many of us here in the 22nd Century. We associate them with so-called “socialism” where those who don’t deserve assistance get it anyway … that those who do not work, live off the efforts of those who do labor and take care of themselves. And yes, for some, this is how the lives of the early Christians are viewed. But beneath the surface, the words are, indeed, much deeper than a description of mere economics.

Beneath the surface, we hear how we are to give up control of the material elements of our lives. We are to give up the view that what we possess is the result of our own actions rather than being gifts of God given to us for our stewardship, our management for the sake of others, rather than for ourselves.

We are asked to believe in the Divine Mercy of God, a mercy that comes with the water of our baptism and the blood of the passion of our Christ whose Resurrection we celebrate today and every day … both here in this place and in the world, itself.
● A world in which he is not visible except through our actions as part of the Body of Christ.
● A world in which we continue to see the wounds and scars of our actions and inactions.
● A world in which we are called to forgive and to be forgiven.
● A world into which we are to bring the Peace of Christ.
Indeed, may the Peace of Christ be with you. May each of us experience his Divine Mercy.

^{Divine Mercy Sunday; April 15, 2012
Acts 4:32-35; 1 Jn 5:1-6; Jn 20:19-31}

A lot of you may not be able to give me a positive answer to my question for today, but I’m going to ask it anyway. The question is this: How many of you carry an American Express card? You may think this is a strange question. I’m not pushing you to have an American Express card or a MasterCard or Visa or Discovery – or any other particular form of plastic. But in reflecting upon today’s readings, I was reminded of a story about something that happened several weeks ago.

Do you remember when George Bush visited a first grade classroom and a little boy doubted this man was really the President and asked for some identification? The story goes that President Bush looked through his wallet and pulled out his American Express card as proof of who he really was. This got me to wondering whether the risen Jesus might have had an easier time of it if he had carried an American Express card.

The real question for each one of us today might be: How do you recognize the presence of the Lord? What sort of proof of identify do you require? The focus for today’s reflection is this: how do I recognize the presence of the risen Lord? Do I, myself, know him by his touch and by his word?

Our first reading from the acts of the apostles tells us of the words Peter addrssed to the Jewish leaders who had acted out of ignorance and had allowed the Messiah to be crucified. They had heard the words of the prophets and had not believed. They had even heard the words of Jesus, himself, and had not recognized his presence. It seems we can grow up with the scriptures which tell us about God and about Christ and still not be able to recognize him when he is in our midst. We can see and not understand. Today’s gospel reading addresses this issue: of seeing but not understanding.

Perhaps, in order to appreciate what we heard in today’s gospel, we need to recall last Sunday’s reading. We may ask why, in today’s reading, did the disciples not immediately recognize the risen Christ, when last Sunday we heard they had seen him, and even doubting Thomas could call him, “My Lord and my God”. The problem is that we have heard two different accounts of the appearance of the risen Lord.

Last week, we heard John’s version of this event. Today, we are dropped into the middle of Luke’s story. There is a missing part in today’s account of the appearance. The part we’re missing is the story of the road to Emmaus. You may recall how, according to Luke, Jesus met two of his followers on their way to a village seven miles from Jerusalem on that fateful first day of the week following his crucifixion. Jesus walked with them and interpreted for them all of the Old Testament writings which referred to the Messiah. But they did not recognize him until he broke bread with them at that inn, there, in the village of Emmaus. Immediately, they rushed back those seven miles to Jerusalem and sought out the other followers of Jesus to tell them that they had seen him. This is where today’s gospel reading begins: “The disciples recounted what had happened on the road to Emmaus and how they had come to know Jesus in the breaking of the bread.”

As the two followers were telling the others about this marvelous occurrence, Jesus appeared to all of them. And what was their reaction? It was not joy and happiness. It was panic and fright, out-right terror. Why did they act that way? Had Jesus not told them he must suffer and die? Had he not said he would rise from the dead and return to them? Did they not listen to him? It appears they may have listened, but did not really hear; or they heard but did not really understand.

There’s a real difference between hearing and understanding. Those disciples may have heard with their ears, but not understood with their hearts. They had “reason” but not “faith”. Faith is not reason. Faith relies upon intimacy and experience. Faith goes beyond knowing something in our mind. Faith becomes understanding with our heart. Logic and reason would say a dead companion could not be standing with them there in that upper room, any more than logic and reason can say our risen Lord is with us now. But how did Jesus overcome the power of reason and logic with them? How did he lead them, and perhaps us, to the reality of his presence?

The first request he made of them was to look at his hands and his feet. To touch him. He did not remind them of theological arguments for his presence; but rather he demanded they experience his presence. He asked for the intimacy of a touch so that they might know him.

Once he had done that, what did he next ask of them? He asked for food, to share with them a bite to eat. What can be of greater comfort to his disciples then to remind them of the joy-filled meals they had shared together? All of those fellowship gatherings when he told them his stories. His request reminded them of the last meal they had shared before the agonies which followed on the way to the cross. But all that suffering was now completed. Once more, it is time to share a meal. And with the sharing of the meal, came true knowledge. In the words we heard today: “Then he opened their minds to the understanding of the scriptures.”

The question might be asked: What meaning does all of this have for us today? How are we to experience the risen Christ? How are we to know him through the intimacy of his touch, through a fellowship meal with him, and through his opening of our minds so that we may truly understand?

The answer has, I’m sure, occurred to you, especially during this Easter season, for truly, the Easter season is the season for our renewal of the Eucharist. During these past weeks, we remember the Lord’s Supper. We have experienced being part of the first communion of our new Catholic Christians.

Each time we are part of the Eucharistic celebration we share in the liturgy of the word and the liturgy of the table. We are called to walk with Jesus. He does not ask for the time it would take to walk seven miles. But he does ask us to listen to him along the way. And to talk with him in prayer and in silent reflection during this time we spend with him. We are given the opportunity to open our minds and hearts through the scriptures. We are reminded that the liturgy of the word is not a bible study course. The words of scripture, and the words of a homily, are not to educate our brains, but rather to nourish our hearts.

In the liturgy of the table which follows, we are given the opportunity, once more, to nourish our spirits as well. Here we are called to partake of a fellowship meal in which we can touch the Lord, himself; in which he can touch us through the mystery which appears to us as bread and wine. Yet our true understanding, our true knowledge of Jesus, the risen Lord, does not stop here. Rather, this is where it begins.

At the completion of today’s gospel reading, Jesus sends his friends forth out of that chamber in order for them to be witnesses to all nations. They are to preach, as it was said in the translation we heard a few minutes ago, to preach “Penance for the remission of sins”. That is an awkward translation. The Greek word which has been translated as “penance,” is our old stand-by, “Metanoia.” At the beginning of Lent, we heard that same call, the call of John the Baptist. But the word we used then was “repent,” “re-form” our life and believe in the Good News.

What is this “Good News?” Our Good News consists of many events.
● Of the many ways we are to change our lives.
● Of the many actions we are called to perform as we change our lives.
● Of the commandments we are to put into practice so we can truly know the Lord, so we can touch him; and feel his touch.

In our reading from the First Letter of John we heard: “the one who claims, ‘I have known the Lord,’ without keeping his commandments, is a liar; in such a one there is no truth.” And what are his commandments? We have repeatedly heard the greatest commandment is to love one another. And how are we to do this? Again, the entire writings of the New Testament give us stories and descriptions of what we must do. The gospel of Luke, which gives us the story of the meeting on the road to Emmaus, tells us stories of other roads to be traveled. It is Luke who gives us the story of the good Samaritan who traveled on the road to Jericho. It is, also, in Luke we hear of the father who rushes out to meet his son on the road when the son returns from his prodigal ways. Each of us is called upon to touch others on the roads of our lives, and to be touched by others. Each of us is called to rush out to meet the returning one who was lost.

We would like to say, if I had been present in that upper room, I would have believed. If I had been on the road to Jericho, I would have stopped to heal. I, too, would rush out on the road to forgive someone who had deserted me and all I represented. We were, of course, not there. Instead, we are here – here with a wife or husband, or a child, who needs our touch. Here with a boss or colleague, or a friend, who needs our healing. Here with the living; and with the dying.

There is no plastic card which identifies me as being a Christian. Unlike American Express, there is no “Christian Express”. Instead, there is only the ancient way of recognizing a Christian: the one which says: “See how much they love one another.” How then, do you recognize Jesus, the Christ, – in yourself and in others?

^{Third Sunday of Easter; April 14, 1991
Acts 3:13-15, 17-19; 1 Jh 2:1-5; Lk 24: 35-48}

Today¹ is a day for memories, a day to recall the past, and to celebrate those recollections. And so my question for you today is about memories, personal memories. Memories going back to your own childhood. For some of us, that’s a longer period than it is for others. My question is this: Do you remember the time when, as a child, you were lost in a crowd? It may have been in a department store, like Foley’s or Dillard’s or even Joske’s²! It may have been here in this church when mass was letting out and your folks were busy talking with their friends and you wandered off. Or perhaps you were lost at a carnival, or the livestock show if you grew up here in Houston. Or maybe it was on a large playground in the park.

Do you remember the butterflies that flew in your stomach? The tears forming in your eyes that you did not really want to come out? But then you heard your mother’s voice calling you, and you saw your parents not too far away after all. You may have felt lost, but they knew where you were all the time.

Well, if you know that feeling of being lost and of hearing the voice of those who love you, calling your name, then you really know all about Christ the Good Shepherd who knows his sheep as they know him; who loves his sheep; who would die for the welfare of his sheep.

Yes, there were “bad shepherds” as well as “good” ones. There were those who were interested in getting out more than they put in, who would shear the sheep, take their wool, and let them fend for themselves. Shepherds who would run away at the slightest sign of trouble. But the shepherd who calls us is the Good Shepherd, perhaps even, the “Best” Shepherd. Maybe, today. we should celebrate Christ the “Best” Shepherd, rather than merely the “Good” Shepherd!

Yet, we are members of “Christ the Good Shepherd Catholic Community.” And every year, on the Fourth Sunday of Easter when the readings are about the “good shepherd,” we celebrate who we are – and “whose” we are. We’ve been doing this for twenty-five years, from the time when many of us attended mass at “St. Benfer’s” or “Our Lady of Strock³” and held meetings in a store-front building on FM 1960.

And now, this weekend, we have made our silver anniversary into a “triduum,” a three-day celebration of our past, of our memories. However, this should also be a celebration for our future. A person who celebrates a twenty-fifth birthday is one who is just beginning the best part of one’s life. Believe me, there is life beyond age twenty-five!

And what is this celebration of our future to be about? What are we being called to celebrate in the days and years ahead of us? What is to be our calling, our vocation? Pope John Paul II has directed our attention to this question. In addition to this being “Good Shepherd Sunday” in the liturgical calendar, he has also designated it as “World Day of Prayer for Vocations.” This name would suggest we are to pray for an increase in vocations, callings, to the ordained life as a priest or deacon – or to dedicated religious service as a brother or sister. But we, also, need to remember there are three vocations and not just one.

Each of us is called to the religious life, the single life, or the married life. Some of us have actually been called to two of them. Despite what many believe, there are married clergy in the Roman Catholic faith. We are called “permanent deacons.” Thus far, eleven of us from this parish have been called in this way. And, of course, over the last quarter century, we’ve been gifted with many celibate clergy as well, those who have pastured us, guided us, and their vicars, our associate pastors, who have shared their vocations with us.

However, everyone has a vocation, a calling to the single life, the married life or the religious life. Prayers are needed for each of them. Prayers that, in each of these lives, we will be able to hear the voice of the good shepherd and respond to his call. We also need prayers so that we, ourselves, can be the voice of the Good Shepherd. This is what is demanded of us by today’s readings.

In the first reading from the Acts of the Apostles, Peter was asked how he had been able to cure a cripple. In response Peter said he, himself, had not cured the cripple. It was in the name of Jesus the Christ the man had been healed. Peter said it is Jesus the Christ, a stone rejected by many in their own community, it is Jesus who has become the cornerstone, the foundation block upon which a new community would be built in alignment with the will of God, the father.

Peter proclaimed the healing power of Christ continues to exist in those who follow him … in those who became known as Christians, in us. It is our calling, our vocation, yours and mine, ordained and non-ordained, to continue to bring the saving power of Christ to those we meet.

We, ourselves, are powerless, we ourselves do not heal anyone. It is Christ using us, working through us. He is the Savior of the World, the Best Shepherd of the World. We, ourselves, can only attempt to be his “good shepherds.” And how do we do this? The answer is given in the reading we heard from the First Letter of Saint John: “See what love the father has bestowed on us that we may be called the children of God.”

Yes, we are not the “sheep;” we are not the flock who passively follows the Good Shepherd. We are the Children of God. We are loved by God who commands that we love others as he has loved us. And how did God love us? Unconditionally. And what is unconditional love? We celebrate a human form of that love today on a national level. Yes, today is not only Good Shepherd Sunday, not only the celebration of our twenty-fifth anniversary as a community, not only a day of prayer for vocations. It is also Mothers’ Day, a day set aside to honor the women who have shepherded us in our life. We sometimes fail to remember that, in the time of Jesus, there were “shepherdesses” as well as shepherds.

Remember in the Old Testament how Jacob met his future wife, Rachel, when she was tending the flock of her father, Laban. A good shepherd could just as easily have been a good shepherdess. A woman, as well as a man, could lay down her life for those she guided – and guarded. And so it is with mothers, those women who gave birth to us, those women who nurtured us, those women who loved us unconditionally. Those who did not say – or really mean it, if the words were spoken in haste – “I will love you only if you clean up your room.” “I will love you only after you’ve eaten your lima beans.” “I will love you only when you do exactly what I say.”

Unconditional love is a love given freely – without any “ifs, ands or buts.” Unconditional love does not depend on events either “before” or “after” the love which is given to the beloved. And what mothers do throughout their lives when they think of their children, all of us are called to do. Each one of us knows the sound of our mother’s voice calling to us when we are lost, when we are hurting.

The Good Shepherd calls each one of us by name. Each one of us is to call others in his name. Each one of us is to be a shepherd, or shepherdess, for others. Today we celebrate mothers, vocations, and Christ the Good Shepherd. Today we rejoice in our memories. We also celebrate and rejoice in the days ahead, recalling the words written by Saint John: “What we shall be has not yet been revealed. We do know that when it is revealed we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.” Amen.

^{Fourth Sunday of Easter; May 11, 2003
Acts 4:8-12; 1 John 3:1-2; John 10:11-18}

1. ^{Although Christ the Good Shepherd Catholic Community was founded on April 1, 1978, the official anniversary is always celebrated on the Fourth Sunday of Easter, Good Shepherd Sunday, on which a gospel account of the good shepherd is proclaimed. In 2003, Mothers’ Day fell on this Sunday. In addition, Pope John Paul II declared this as “World Day of Prayer for Vocations.” The homily was to make reference to all of these celebrations!}
2. ^{Of the three Houston department stores, Joskie’s was the first to “close” by becoming Dillard’s in the late 90s. Then, in 2006, Foley’s became Macy’s}
3. ^{For the first few months, Sunday mass was held in the cafeteria of “Benfer Elementary School.” When the attendance became too large for the elementary school, services were transferred to the larger “Strock Middle School.” The two schools later became known among the “old timers” as “St. Benfer’s” and “Our Lady of Strock.” Texas roads were identified as FM, Farm to Market, numbered roads. FM 1960 is the major road in the northwest section of Houston.}

Well, it’s that time of the year, again! Yes, it’s the time of the year for graduations and commencements. The signs are all around us, especially at the nine o’clock liturgy when those graduating from area high schools attend mass, robed in their academic gowns. But it’s also the season for those of us who are not getting out of high school or college. It’s the time of the year for all of us to be thinking about our own graduations and commencements. Not the celebrations we had years ago, but rather, the graduations and commencements all of us are about to undertake in the coming weeks. After all, graduation means to step forth into the world. Commencement means we are ending one cycle of life and about to begin a new cycle, a new adventure.

This is true for every one of us here, today, as the end of the Easter Season is rapidly approaching and we look forward to the celebration of the Ascension next Sunday and to Pentecost, the Sunday afterwards. Once again, we are being asked to step forward in our lives as Christians, to begin, to commence, our lives in the world as post-resurrection Christians.

So, the real question for today is this: Are you ready for your own graduation, your own commencement? Not as graduates of the Klein or Spring ISDs. Not as Aggies or Longhorns or Cougars, but as disciples, followers of Christ? Are you ready to carry out what you have learned from listening to the gospel message we’ve heard during this Easter Season?

Today, we heard our final instruction, our final commandment: “Love one another as I love you.” Are you prepared to do this? Do what? Love everyone just as the Father loves the Son and the Son loves each one of us. That’s what we hear in today’s gospel. That’s what we’ve been hearing throughout our lives. It is what we find so difficult to do.

As graduating students, we are to take out into the world all that stuff we learned in school, those boring lessons in history, in languages, in science and in mathematics. All that information others thought we would need in our future lives. Information we thought was entirely irrelevant to our own future, but which we began to appreciate as being useful when that so-called “future” became our present and then, our past. What we learned, willingly or un-willingly, we found to be necessary for survival.

Among all of these lessons we learn, do we really take to heart the instruction our primary teacher, our major teacher, gave us? “Love one another, as I love you.” After all, he said so many other things, so many other commandments. He even said: “If you keep my commandments, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and remain in his love.”

“Remain in my love – ” What does that mean? Again, so many things. The word in Greek means more than “remain.” It means “abide.” It means live with me. It means to share completely with me. To become one with me. Jesus was saying: if you follow the way I have gone, if you do everything I’ve spoken about, then you and I will become as one person. We will become closer than any friendship you thought to be humanly possible. We will not have the relationship of slave and master, not one of in-equality, but one of being full partners. The death of one will be the death of the other. Together we will share life completely.

Yes, it’s no wonder so many young couples choose this passage to be read at the celebration of their wedding, for this, too, is the meaning of the love between husband and wife. It is what they desire when they say: we abide in love.

What else did Jesus say to his disciples, his friends … and to us? “It was not you who chose me, but I chose you … “ In ancient times, disciples chose the master they wanted to follow. But Jesus said he had broken this pattern. He chose them as his companions. He chose them to walk with him.

Saint John, the beloved disciple of Christ, wrote similar words. In today’s second reading, he reminds us that love means: “ – not that we have loved God, but that he loved us – ” God loves us, each one of us. He loves us first. Before we can love him, he loves us. We can merely respond to his love by returning our love to him. We exist because of God’s love for us, each of us.

Yet, Jesus goes on to tell us how we can give our own love to God. He begins by saying: “It was not you who chose me, but I chose you – ” He immediately continues: “– and appointed you to go and bear fruit that will remain – ” He chooses us, and appoints us, to bear fruit that will remain. We are to bear fruit that “remains,” that “abides, ” that lives on. Fruit to be shared with others. And who are these others?

Peter, in today’s reading from the Acts of the Apostles, answers this question. When others criticized Peter for entering the house of Cornelius, a gentile and a Roman centurion, the home of a despised military leader, Peter replied, “In truth, I see that God shows no partiality. Rather, in every nation whoever fears him and acts uprightly is acceptable to him.”

The reading goes on to explain how the household of Cornelius was overshadowed by the Holy Spirit. Upon seeing this, Peter urged that the entire household should be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ. Unfortunately, today, there are some Christians who believe the fruits of God’s love should be restricted to only those who have view which are identical to those they, themselves, hold. Some tend to act as if they should love only those with whom they are comfortable. Not the stranger, not the widow, not the alien, not the orphaned, not the homeless, not the sick, not those in prison.

There are those who forget what Jesus said to his friends, to those whom he chose to abide with him, to find life with him. “Love one another as I love you.” Yes, “ – as I love you …” Completely, unconditionally, without any reservation. I do not restrict my love only to those who are of one race, one nation, one political group, one belief structure. I chose you as friends, not as slaves. Follow me.

Oh yes, the real question for today and every day is this: are you ready to graduate, to step forth, to follow in the footsteps of Jesus Christ, as we begin our own post-resurrection commencement? How do you respond to his commandment: “Love one another as I love you.”

^{Sixth Sunday of Easter; May 21, 2006
Acts 10:25-26, 34-35, 44-48; 1 Jn 4:7-10; Jn 15:9-17}

How many of you have seen the movie The Wizard of Oz? How many have seen it more than once? Good! I have a couple of “trivial pursuit” questions for all you Wizard fans. Who played the part of the Tin Woodsman? Jack Haley. Now for the next one. Who, originally, was cast in the role of the Tin Woodsman, but had to quit because he was allergic to the silver paint he had to wear? It was Buddy Ebsen.

Now for your biblical question: for those who aren’t Wizard fans, but who listened closely to the readings for today. A few minutes ago, you heard the first reading from the Acts of the Apostles. You heard how two men were proposed for the position of the twelfth apostle, the one who was to replace Judas. The man who was selected was Matthias. My question is: who was the man who didn’t make it? If you were listening real closely, the answer is easy. It was Joseph Barsabbas, also known as Justus.

Here’s another question for you. But it’s not quite as trivial, nor as easy. How do you think Joseph Barsabbas felt when Matthias was selected? Image for a moment. Joseph had been one of the disciples. He, too, had been present at the baptism of Jesus. He, too, listened to him preach. He heard the same stories, saw the same cures. Just like Matthais, Joseph was there when they nailed Jesus to the cross. Joseph saw the risen Lord. He was just as qualified as Matthias, but he wasn’t chosen as an apostle. How did he feel?

Here’s another question for you, an even more important one. How do you feel when you’re not selected? Do you remember the last time you were passed over for a promotion? Or for a merit increase in your salary? Is there a group in your neighborhood you’ve been dying to get into – but they haven’t let you in? Is there a team at school where you didn’t make the cut?

Our American culture has done a very terrible job on us. Our society seems to say I have to be number one. I always need to be a winner. There is no place for second-best. History books record the name of Christopher Columbus and Neil Armstrong. But who was the second navigator to reach the new world? Who was the second man, or the last one, to touch foot on the moon?

Matthias is called Saint Matthias. When you drive through Magnolia on the way north, you pass St Matthias the Apostle Church. I’ve never heard of St Joseph Barsabbas church. Yet I’d bet Joseph Barsabbas, also known as Justus, was every bit the saint that Matthias was. And why do I believe this? The answer is not an easy one. But the key is in today’s gospel reading.

In today’s passage, we have part of a prayer by Jesus. Oh, it’s not as famous as the “Our Father” we recite all the time. But it is a prayer. It too, begins: “0h Father most holy, protect them with your name which you have given me, that they may be one, even as we are one.” It’s called Jesus’ unity prayer. His desire for us to be one. And in it, he tells his Father, and us, a very amazing thing about his followers, and about us. He says: “They are not of the world, any more than I am of the world.”

Jesus well recognizes the difficulties present in this world. Yet, he does not ask his Father to take his followers out of this world. Instead, he prays to his Father to guard them, to protect them, to give them strength and courage in this world. Jesus never assured his followers life would be easy. He never said they would be selected ahead of anyone else for places of honor in this world. Yet, we tend to believe if we live right, then we should get what we want. This is an attitude that I, myself, need to guard against.

There have been times in my professional career when I’ve not been happy in the job I’m in. And so when this gets to be a major stress point, I start sending resumes to seek employment elsewhere. Much of the time, there’s no response. And when there is, it’s been negative. Over the past twenty-five years, I’ve received some excellent turn-down letters. And these have been the times when I’ve fallen into the trap our society, our culture, has set for us. I judge myself to be second-best. It’s then, that I fear God doesn’t love me, because I’m not chosen, when I think I’m just as qualified as the next guy, and maybe even more qualified!

It’s times like this when I need to reflect on the message in today’s readings. God does not take me from the world, from the trials and tribulations I seem to think surround me. Instead, he gives me the strength to carry on where I am. I need to focus on the fact he continues to love me even when I judge I, myself, am not number one. God is not a football coach making draft selections, he is my loving parent who continues to believe in me, even when I fail to believe in myself.

In his prayer, Jesus said that as his father sent him into the world, so he sends me into the world. We are not only called by God, we are also sent by him. We are sent with a special gift, the gift of his consecration. Jesus has consecrated not only himself, but us too. He has made us holy. That’s what his prayer to his father says: “Consecrate them by means of truth … as you have sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world; I consecrate myself for their sakes now, that they may be consecrated in truth.” In a few minutes, Father Ed will celebrate the consecration of the Eucharistic bread. But in this celebration, each of us is again consecrated. Together, we all become one in Christ. And being one in Christ means we are all winners.

Perhaps, Buddy Ebsen couldn’t be the Tin Woodsman. Perhaps, Joseph Barsabbas will never have a church named after him. Perhaps, I’ll never get that perfect job in the perfect place I’ve been seeking. But no matter what happens in this world, no matter how many times we are not chosen to perform a special role in this world, we can be absolutely certain God has chosen us. Yes, we are each chosen by God. Each of us is Matthias, the one selected, even when we may believe we are Joseph Barsabbas, the one not chosen. For even when we are not chosen in this world for honors, each of us is selected for a place in the kingdom.

We tend to dwell on our failures in this world, to remember the times we have not been chosen. But consider now those times when you know the Father, Son and Holy Spirit have been with you, when you felt their presence and knew they had gifted you. Rather than dwell on our failures, we must live in our success, our sure knowledge God has chosen each one of us. In the words of the second reading from the Letter of John: “God dwells in us … and we live in him.”

I really do believe Joseph Barsabbas accepted the selection of Matthias as the Twelfth Apostle and was content to remain as one of the many followers of Christ. For this reason, the true, final question is: knowing that we are not always number one in this world, can we be content knowing we have been chosen for the kingdom?

^{Seventh Sunday of Easter; May 19, 1985
Acts 1:15-17, 20a, 20c-26; 1 Jn 4:11-16; Jn 17:11b-19}

Today’s question has two parts. To answer the first part, you might need to be of a certain minimal age, but what that age should be, I won’t say. Anyway, the question is this: how many of you have ever made a “Novena?” The second part should be a lot easier for many of you. How many of you know what a “novena” is? Well, that tells me how many of you have been reading the Christ the Good Shepherd Bulletin for the last three weeks. Each issue has had an insert about the novena now being held here every night at 7 o’clock.

A novena is a nine-day period for a devotional practice. It can be nine days taken together for prayer and meditation, or it can be nine days over an extended period of time. Going to church on the first Friday of nine consecutive months was once a very popular devotional practice.

Now, if you’ve been reading our Sunday Bulletin, you should know what the source of this nine-day period is. You should recall that the original novena is the nine-day interval between the Ascension, which we celebrated last Thursday, and Pentecost, which we’ll celebrate next Sunday. It’s the nine days when the disciples waited for the coming of the Holy Spirit.

In today’s first reading from the Acts of the Apostles, we learn of one major event that occurred during this original novena: the selection of Matthias to replace Judas Iscariot and return the number of disciples to Twelve. We heard how the 120 followers of Christ selected two of them, Joseph Barsabbas, also called, the Just, and Matthias, and after praying over them, allowed God to choose which one would be counted among the Twelve Apostles.

The followers of Jesus recognized they were in a time of transition. Their Lord had physically left them. He had promised to send them another Paraclete, a counselor, a companion, who would be sent by the Father. They hoped, also, for the return of Jesus, himself, for his Second Coming. They wanted to be prepared for his return. We, too, now exist in a similar transition. We are between the celebration of the Ascension and of Pentecost. We, too, are between the First Coming of Jesus the Christ and his Second Coming. At the same time, we are between many other transitions in our own lives, for after all, a transition is that period between any two events.

With the approach of spring, many look forward to graduation from high school or college, and the beginning of a new life. Others look forward to a spring or summer wedding and the transition from a single life to one united with a beloved spouse. Some await moves to new locations, new homes, new jobs. Still others expect new births, while some anticipate deaths of loved ones. All of us experience, in one way or another, the process of merely getting older, and a few, the hope of getting wiser. Each one of us is in a transition: somewhere between the known past and the unknown future.

And so the real question is: what should we be doing here and now in our “novena,” our nine days of waiting? How do we cope with our transitions? Perhaps, one way would be to recognize that this weekend we celebrate Mothers’ Day, and to take a closer look at two aspects of being a mother.

Of course there are many ways to look at motherhood. I’m going to limit myself to two characteristics I came across in a recent issue of the Jesuit magazine, America. The April 26th issue of America has an article written by Carole Garibaldi Rogers. She’s a freelance journalist who has also written a recent book entitled: Poverty, Chastity and Change: Lives of Contemporary American Nuns.

In her article in America, she reports on interviews with several nuns who are also mothers. Just like Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton, who was a mother before she founded the Sisters of Charity, these women had raised their own families before joining a religious community. In her article, Carole Rogers stresses two characteristics of these women who are biological mothers and religious sisters. She quotes one of the women, Patricia Galli, as saying: “What I’ve learned about parenting, especially about being a mother, is that your role from the time they’re born is to let them go.” The author also wrote about another woman, Marion Farrell, who “…spoke often about persevering.”

When I read this article, it reminded me that these two characteristics of motherhood, “letting go” and “persevering,” are also characteristics of the disciples of Jesus some two thousand years ago. They are, also, two of the major graces each one of us needs during our own times of transition.

The disciples were called upon to let go of the risen Christ, physically, and, yet, to persevere in their belief in his presence with them. We, too, are asked with each transition, to let go of things, of events, and of people, who bind us to the past and prevent our going on to the future. And we, too, are encouraged to persevere, which does not mean holding on to the past with both hands, but rather, to tough it out in the present and move towards new hope for the future. We are called towards “letting go” and towards “persevering,”

And what gives us the ability to let go and to persevere? An answer may be found in the other readings we heard today. In our gospel reading, we heard Jesus speak about how he, himself, had guarded and kept watch over his friends. And now, when he must let go of them, and they must let go of him, he asks his Father to guard them from evil. He does not ask his Father to remove them from this world in order to protect them, but rather, to make them holy and send them out into the world. Jesus prays for the consecration of his friends and for our consecration, our being made holy, so we, too, can let go and be sent forth into the world.

In our second reading from John’s letter to his friends, we, also, hear how this consecration, this letting go and this sending forth, is accomplished. We hear, once more, how: “God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God and God in them.” To abide is to live in, to reside in, to rest in, to take comfort in. Just as we “abide: in our home, our place of refuge and of nurturing, we are to “abide” in God and God is to “abide” in us. We are to rest in the arms of God, just as in the arms of our mother. And just as we embrace our own mother in our arms, we are to hold God tightly in our own arms. It is in this act of abiding in one another, us in God and God in us, that we gain the courage to let go and to persevere, not only in the nine days of our novena but in each and every day of the life we share with God and with one another.

^{Seventh Sunday of Easter; May 12, 1997 (Mother’s Day)
Acts: 1:15 -17, 20a, 209c-26; 1 Jn 4:11-16; Jn 17:11b-19}

Today’s questions are about holidays and holiday greetings. I’d like you to fill-in the blank. If I say “‘Blank’ Christmas,” what would be your greeting? “Merry Christmas” wins. How about “Easter?” “Happy Easter” is the usual winner for that one. And what about “Pentecost?” OK, I expected a lot of silence on that one. With maybe a few “Joyous Pentecost!”

Now some of you may say my question is unfair. Pentecost is not really a holiday. For Christmas, you buy presents and decorate pine trees. For Easter, you buy new clothes and decorate eggs. But there’s nothing to buy for Pentecost, let alone anything to decorate. Pentecost can’t really be a holiday. It hasn’t gone commercial enough. Why even Halloween and Valentine’s Day sell as much candy as either Christmas or Easter. Halloween has costumes and decorations as well, almost as many as Christmas. And people buy Valentine’s cards, too. But when did you ever see a “Hallmark moment” for Pentecost? Yes, Pentecost is our forgotten holiday. Our forgotten Holy Day, which is – after all – what was originally meant by Holiday: a “Holy” Day for remembering God. Christmas, Easter, Pentecost. Our Trinitarian Holy Days.

Christmas: the celebration of God’s gift to mankind. The celebration of God-the-Father giving God-the-Son to us, giving us the means of our salvation. The celebration of the wood of the crib and the baby it held.

Easter: the celebration of God’s second gift to mankind. The celebration of God-the-Son giving his life to God-the-Father, giving us the forgiveness for our salvation. The celebration of the wood of the cross and the man it held.

Pentecost: the celebration of God’s third gift to mankind. The celebration of God-the-Father and God-the-Son giving their love to one another and to us. Giving us our reunion with them, our salvation. The celebration of the wood of the now unlocked door and the spirit of the one who comes to us through it.

The celebration of Pentecost is, in fact, one of the most ancient of our Holy Days. It was celebrated by the Jews, themselves, as a major feast day. It was the 50th day after Passover. It commemorated the giving of the Law of Moses to the people. The Law of Moses, the Torah, the most sacred gift of Yahweh to his people. It was for this reason Jerusalem was crowded with Jews from all parts of the Mediterranean world. They had returned for the early summer harvest festival to celebrate Torah, the Word of God among them.

On our first Pentecost, the disciples gathered in the Upper Room where they had consumed the bread of the Last Supper with their Lord and Master. When suddenly they, themselves, were consumed by the rush of the wind and the fire of the Holy Spirit. Consumed by the passionate love sent forth by God-the-Father and God-the-Son. They received the gifts of the Holy Spirit, the Advocate, who would speak with them and through them. They rushed forth as if drunk on new wine to proclaim the truths bursting within them.

The crowds of gathered Jews were confused when they heard the disciples, men who had been fishermen, common men. Women, too, who had followed quietly in the footsteps of a man who had died a terrible death, women who said he had risen from the tomb. Those crowds heard the triple proclamation of the disciples:
● he is not dead.
● he has physically risen:
● he has returned to Heaven to sit at the right hand of his Father.
Yet, his presence was still part of them. The Holy Spirit is now with them.

So why is it that we, some twenty-one centuries later, fail to celebrate this fact? We actively celebrate his birth: God’s incarnation among us. We actively celebrate his suffering, death and resurrection: God’s Paschal Mystery for us. Why, then, do we not celebrate with equal joy, his on-going presence among us, the presence of the Holy Spirit of God?

We vaguely acknowledge his presence when we attend a Baptism. We may even recognize his active participation at Confirmations. A few may realize we call for his presence during the consecration of the bread and wine at each and every Eucharist.
Yes, we are told the Holy Spirit is present and active in each and every Sacrament we receive. But then what? Do we really act as if the Holy Spirit is here among us right now? Do we not know:
● In a few moments the Holy Spirit as well as the real body and blood of Christ will be within us in a very special way.
● The Holy Spirit will remain with us when we leave this sanctuary, this holy place.
● The Holy Spirit makes each one of us a sanctuary, a holy place, a holy person.
Did we not hear, a moment ago, Paul’s words to the Corinthians: “There are different kinds of spiritual gifts but the same Spirit; there are different forms of service but the same Lord; there are different workings but the same God who produces all of them in everyone.”

Yes, the Holy Spirit remains with each one of us: to comfort us, to counsel us, to protect us, to guide us, to empower us with the very life and love of God. Let us go forth as did his followers two thousand years ago. Let us go among those who have not yet heard the proclamation, or having heard it, fail to live up to its words.

Let us not depend upon commercialization in order to celebrate the Feast of Pentecost. We do not need to buy mere things and display external decorations in order to define our Holy Days, the days of being holy for our own sake and for the sake of others. We, who have been gifted with the sacraments of the Holy Spirit, have the daily opportunity to share these gifts with others.

One month from now we will be celebrating our national Holiday, Independence Day, with parades and fireworks. But today, let us light up the night sky with explosions of the fireworks of our own passionate love of God and of all his children. Let us, indeed, be a light in the darkness. Let us celebrate the work of the Holy Spirit among us. Let us be not only the body and blood of Christ but let us be animated by the love of the Holy Spirit. Yes, let us continue to wish one another a “Merry Christmas” and a “Happy Easter.” But today, let us wish one another a “Joyous Pentecost.” Alleluia! Praise God with shouts of Joy. Alleluia! Alleluia!

^{Pentecost; June 4, 2005
Acts 2:1-11; 1 Cor 12:3-7, 12-13; Jn 20:19-23}

You’ve just heard the three readings usually proclaimed each year on the Feast of Pentecost. So the question for today, Pentecost Sunday, should be a very easy one for you. It’s this: what does Pentecost mean to you? But there’s a twist to what I would like to have you do. I’d like you to turn to someone near you and exchange answers. I’d prefer if you speak to someone who did not come with you to church today, but to someone else. And I’d like everyone to do it; kids too. Again, the question is: what does Pentecost mean to you? (Go down into the congregation and participate.)

So what about your answers? A lot of you might have said something about Pentecost being the time when the Holy Spirit came down on the disciples as tongues of fire and how, filled with the Holy Spirit, the disciples went out to preach about Jesus to the Jews. And some might have mentioned how his disciples spoke in different languages so that everyone could understand what they were saying. You might also have said Pentecost is called the “Birthday of the Church”. A few might have recalled Pentecost is fifty days after Easter and marks the end of the Easter season.

They’re all good answers. And the reason I wanted you to share them, out-loud, with one another, was to give us a sense of the noise and excitement of that morning some 2000 years ago. However, the only problem is – all of these answers focus on what happened back then, some 2000 years ago. But the real question should be: what does Pentecost mean to us today? How should we experience Pentecost, today?

Of course it’s OK to look at the historical Pentecost: the one we heard about in our first reading from Luke’s Acts of the Apostles. After-all, Pentecost is an historical event. The Jews called it “Pentecost” too, but they meant something different. “Pentecost” means fifty.

For the Jews gathered in Jerusalem that morning, it was fifty days after Passover. They had gathered in Jerusalem to celebrate two events.
● First of all, they celebrated the giving of Torah, the giving of the Law of the Lord God to Moses and to the Hebrew people; and thus, they celebrated the “Birthday of Israel.”
● And secondly, they celebrated the Spring Harvest.
This is why so many Jews, Jews from all over the known Mediterranean world, were gathered in Jerusalem that morning. It was a combination of the Fourth of July and Thanksgiving Day. That Pentecost morning, the followers of Jesus had gathered together to celebrate these two sacred events. They, also, might have gathered together for mutual protection against the crowds. Jesus was no longer with them. They had seen him ascend to his Father and the chances are they were feeling deserted and isolated.

But then, something happened that changed the course of the entire world. “And suddenly there came from the sky a noise like a strong driving wind, and it filled the entire house in which they were. Then there appeared to them tongues as of fire, which parted and came to rest on each of them.” Wind and fire signify holy things. They also signify great change. After a driving windstorm or tornado, nothing is the same as it was before. After a sweeping fire, everything touched by the flames has been changed.

This is what Luke, the writer of the book of the Acts of Apostles, is trying to tell us. Something strange and wonderful happened to those men and women gathered together. Something which changed them from simple people to those who were suddenly impelled to go out into the crowded, hostile streets of Jerusalem and, with great joy, to proclaim the Good News to everyone.

Have you ever wondered what would have happened if that Pentecost for the first followers of Christ had been a one-shot event? What if, after being filled by the Spirit, Peter and his brother Andrew had gone back to being fishermen, along with James and John? What if Mary and Martha returned to take care of their brother, and the other Mary had returned to her home town of Magdala? Where would we be today?

For one thing, it’s unlikely any of us would be Christians. Instead of being here in a community called Christ the Good Shepherd, many of us would probably be worshiping Zeus or Apollo! But instead, Peter and Andrew, and Mary Magdalene and all of the other men and women who had followed and loved Jesus, all of them cooperated with the Holy Spirit and began to change the world. They did not return to the quiet, village life they once had. Although they could have taken the peace of Christ with them and returned home, they, instead, cooperated with the Holy Spirit to proclaim with their voices and their lives the Good News.

Why do I say that these people, filled by the Spirit, “cooperated” with the Holy Spirit in order to begin to change the world? Wasn’t it enough only to have the Spirit inside of them? What’s this deal about “cooperating” with the Holy Spirit? Well, I think this “cooperation” might explain what happened to those first followers on that Pentecost morning; and what has, or has not, happened to us, his followers, on this Feast of Pentecost in 2009.

Is it not true each one of us who, having been baptized into the Christian faith, has received the Holy Spirit? Isn’t it, also, true for all of us who have received the sacrament of Confirmation? Or is there more than one Holy Spirit? Is there a special “Holy Spirit” who came on Pentecost morning two-thousand years ago and a different one who comes to us at Baptism and Confirmation?

As far as I know, there is only one Holy Spirit. The one who strengthened those men and women two-thousand years ago is the same Holy Spirit found inside of you and me. St Paul said it in our Second Reading for today: “There are different kinds of spiritual gifts but the same Spirit; there are different forms of service but the same Lord; there are different workings but the same God who produces all of them in everyone. To each individual the manifestation of the Spirit is given for some benefit.”

So what happened? Why don’t we seem to have the joy and excitement which prompted those first followers of Christ to go out and witness the good news? Because you see, this too, is what the feast of Pentecost is all about. If Pentecost is the annual celebration of the birthday of those who gather in the name of Christ, those who are the body of Christ, where is the joy and excitement of this celebration today?

Why is it OK to be excited at an Astros or Rockets game, but not when we come to church? Why can we be enthusiastic about jogging for personal fitness but not about praying for spiritual fitness? Who says we must be quiet and reserved when we worship God or when we pray to God?

Do I fear that others might think I’m a little weird if I sing or respond in a loud voice during Mass? Will someone think I’m not being religious enough if I smile? Do I need to be reminded that, when the followers of Christ went out to preach on that Pentecost morning, some of the Jews visiting Jerusalem thought the disciples were drunk from too much new wine? Peter, himself, had to say they weren’t drunk; after-all, it was only 9 o’clock in the morning!

Perhaps, we need to be reminded Christians are an “Alleluia” people. And the translation for that Hebrew word is: “Praise God with shouts of joy”. I don’t know how many of you are aware of American Sign Language for “Alleluia” but it’s this … (do it!) … and what do you think it comes from?

Waving sparklers! What is more exciting and joy-filled than waving sparklers on the Fourth of July?! I think it’s a magnificent sign for the excitement of being filled by the Holy Spirit and showing we mean it. And, yes – being filled by the Holy Spirit is more than just how we celebrate at Mass. It really means how we celebrate all of Life.

Some of us seem to go through life as sleepwalkers; our arms stuck out in front of us so we don’t come in contact with anything unexpected. Some who are called Christians, go around with a constant frown or a sad look. They speak with groans, gripes and grouchiness. Yet there are others who follow what was proclaimed in today’s Gospel: “Jesus came and stood before them. ‘Peace be with you’, he said. … at the sight of the Lord, the disciples rejoiced.” These Christians realize the peace of Christ means rejoicing, being filled with joy, not filled with a numbing anesthetic.

These Catholics know what it means when the Gospel, the Good News, continues with the message: “Jesus said to them again, ‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.’ And when he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.’”

Jesus the Christ has given us both his peace and the Holy Spirit. He has sent us out to announce the Good News. And to live the good news: the Kingdom of God is now. This is a message that deserves fire works and celebration.

As the season of Easter draws to an end, we are once more reminded we are called to be a Resurrection People, an Alleluia People. And so, the final question for each of us to consider is not, “What does Pentecost mean historically?” – but rather – how can each of us cooperate with the power and joy of the Holy Spirit within us so we can truly be among those whose lives “praise God with shouts of joy” “Alleluia”

^{Pentecost; May 31, 2009 (Also: 5/5/91, Cycle B); 5/30/04, Cycle C)
Acts 2:1-11; 1 Cor 12:3-7, 12-13; Jn 20:19-23}

Moses, in our first reading for this evening, asked a question that is relevant for us, too. He asked the Israelites whether there were any wonders of the past which were greater than what they were witnessing that day. If we stop to reflect on such a question, we’re likely to think about our modern technology and say the wonders of 1987 are greater than at any time before now. Yet, there is another wonder, an event we all will witness in a few moments that is greater than any of the technological wonders of our lifetime.

In a few minutes we will be present when the Holy Spirit comes in a very special way to three youngsters of our community. An event like this has occurred many times before and will continue to be celebrated until the Second Coming of Christ. But sometimes, we fail to recognize just what a wonder, what a miracle, Baptism really is.

Four times a year¹, here at Christ the Good Shepherd, we celebrate the sacrament of Baptism within the context of the sacrament of Eucharist. This provides us with an opportunity to recall, as vividly as possible, just how important this sacrament is to each of us who has been baptized into the Christian faith.

When Moses presented Yahweh’s commandments to the Israelites, he reminded them that these statutes and commandments must be kept forever. And in our gospel reading, we hear Jesus say something very similar: “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all the nations. Baptize them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Teach them to carry out everything I have commanded you. And know that I am with you always, until the end of the world.”

Most of us were baptized at a very young age. Certain promises were made on our behalf by our parents and godparents. Throughout the year, we are asked to renew these promises on our own behalf, now that we are adults and know the importance of these promises. We are asked to reject sin and to accept Jesus, the Christ, as our Lord.

For the last three years, I’ve had the privilege of working with adults preparing for baptism and of being there in the pool with them at the moment of baptism². These moments when the Holy Spirit comes to them in a very special way, have been among the greatest moments of my life. I receive a great gift each time I baptise either an infant or an adult, but adult baptisms are truly magnificent gifts.

There are some who belive we should baptise only adults and not children. They say we should wait until a person can make his or her own promises. While there is much to be said for such a view, it is equally true to recognize the love these parents show here today by desiring to have their own young ones baptised now. Each of them wants their child to be strengthened by the Holy Spirit as soon as possible and, in a few years, be able to come with them to receive the Lord in a special way at Eucharist. Many times we forget, or take for granted, the power that comes from our Baptism. The power whereby we become children of God. The power whereby each of us is anointed as priest, prophet and king.

The sacrament of Baptism uses many symbols to remind us of what occurs at our baptism. We use water to remind us we have been washed free of sin, we are cleansed and reborn in Christ. We are anointed with oil just like ancient kings and prophets were anointed with oil, just as the hands of a priest are still anointed with oil at his ordination. Baptism, itself, makes each one of us sharers of a common priesthood in the kingdom of God. Light too, is a powerful symbol. And later on in the service of Baptism, the godparents for these three children will receive a candle which has been lite from the Easter candle. They will be reminded they are to receive the Light of Christ on behalf of these children. We urge that this candle be used on special days, like birthdays or the anniversary of this Baptism. And many years from now, after they have lived a rich and full life, this candle will be burned for the last time on the day of their death, when they return home to the father.

In the church year, this Sunday after Pentecost is celebrated as Trinity Sunday, the day when we acknowledge our God as one God in three divine Persons. It is, indeed, a fitting day for this celebration of Baptism, when each child is made part of the kingdom in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Yet, each day, when we make the sign of the cross, we are called to remember the baptismal promises made for us and which we are called to renew each time we repeat those sacred words: “In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.”

As we continue this Eucharist celebration and when, within this mass, we participate in the sacrament of Baptism, let us really call to mind the gifts of our Trinitarian God. Let us remember that each of us, by our Baptism of flowing water, has been called to be Christ-like. We have been called to be Christians in a special moment that brings into our life the Holy Spirit and all of the many gifts given to us, the children of God.

^{Trinity Sunday; June 13, 1987 {Although June 1987 normally uses the cycle C readings, those for cycle B were used because of these baptisms during mass}.
Deut 4:32-34, 39-40; Rom 8:14-17; Mt 28:16-20}

1. T^{he quarterly celebration of Baptism within a mass occurred during the eighties when this event was a novelty. Later, baptisms were celebrated every month during the Saturday evening liturgy, except during Lent and Advent, as well as on Sunday afternoons.}
2. ^{The baptism of adults by deacons was later changed. The pastor, who later in the rites confirmed the catechumens, also baptized them. Deacons are now limited to the baptism of children.}

This is the time of year for graduations. How many of you have suffered through a commencement address during the past couple of weeks or look forward to sitting through one in the next few days? Most commencement speakers talk about new beginnings for, after all, that’s what graduation is all about: new beginnings, leaving the protection of an institution and stepping out into what is called the “cruel world”. Many of these graduation speakers remind us of the fears and doubts we all have as we begin this new life.

Today is Trinity Sunday, the feast day when we recall that our God is one God in three Persons. The readings today, however, seem to fit into this time of celebrating new beginnings, a time that has its fears and doubts about the future. Our gospel reading today begins by setting the scene for us. We recall the last moments the disciples were to be with Jesus. He had summoned them to a mountain side in Galilee, a place where he had spent many happy hours with them. Where he had told them how much they were loved by Abba. Perhaps, they were, nevertheless, filled with fear and doubts about what would happen next. What would become of them, once their Lord and Master, their Teacher and Friend had left them? They were about to hear a commencement address. Would it be like the commencement address which Moses gave to the Israelites long ago?

Moses had gathered the people together, the ones who had been with him on the journey to the land promised to them by God. There on that mountain, he reminded them of everything Yahweh had done for them. How the Lord God had spoken to them and had led them with a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. And now, as they were about to enter the promised land, how the Lord God wanted them to follow the commandments he had given them. And if they followed his statutes, they would be his children forever. Surely those Israelites were filled with fear and doubts about taking their first steps into the new land. Perhaps, some also recognized Moses would no longer be with them. What would become of them? Would God really continue to be with them?

Now, let’s return to those eleven disciples there on the mountain side with Jesus. Perhaps, they recalled those days of Moses and of God’s promise to be with his people always. But now, here on the mountain in Galilee, what would happen? How would he remain with them forever? They had their doubts. And some of those with doubts fell down in homage before Jesus. Perhaps, this action, this humbling, would change Jesus’ mind. Maybe, he would stay with them a while longer.

But this Lord and Master did not want homage. Had he not told them that they were no longer his servants. Now he called them “friends.” In your mind’s eye, can you see him gently lifting up Peter and John, Andrew and James, and the others? Can you see him put his arms around them and hear him deliver his commencement address to them: “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all the nations. Baptize them in the name ‘of the Father and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.’ Teach them to carry out everything I have commanded you. And know that I am with you always, until the end of the world.”

Jesus in his graduation address did not spend time on nostalgia. He did not talk about all they had already accomplished. Instead, he spoke of the future. He told them what he wanted them to do. And through them, perhaps he also tells us what he wants us to do. Just what did he say to his friends? What does he say to us?

To his disciples, he said: “Go.” do not stand here on this mountain. Do not remain wedded to the past, go forth from here. And to us, he says the same thing: “Go.” Do not remain where you are in your life, in your doubts and fears. Go forth to the new things to which I call you. And what are these new things to which you are called?

To his disciples, he said: “Make disciples of all the nations.” He told his friends to go forth and make new friends, new followers. And who were to be these new disciples? People from all nations. Not just other Jews but everyone they met. And what does he say to us: Go out to everyone you meet. Not just those who have been your friends in the past. Not just those with whom you feel comfortable. Not just those whom you’ve trusted in the past. Rather, go out to those who are difficult to know. To the poor and to the rich. To those who speak a different tongue; those who have a different skin.

And what are you to do when you meet these new disciples, these new friends? To his disciples, he said: “baptize them.” To some that may seem very limited. Was he asking his followers merely to pour water on the heads of those they met and automatically make them his followers? I don’t think so.

For a moment we need to recall just what it means to be baptized. Here on this Trinity Sunday, when we recall how we have been baptized in the “name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” we need to remember what baptism demands of us. Our baptism, we are told, makes us “priest, prophet, and king.” Just what does this mean? What is it to be a “priest”, a “prophet”, a “king”?

A priest is a person who is truly aware of the presence of God. Who feels the presence of the divine. Someone who is truly holy, not in some super-pious way, but one who knows God is present in everything and everyone. This is what our baptism calls us to be: a person who treats everyone with the understanding that God is present in everyone they meet.

And who is a prophet? A prophet is one who speaks out for God, who speaks out for truth and justice no matter what the consequences might be. A prophet is one who takes risks on behalf of God. So yes, through our baptism, each one of us is called to be a risk-taker on behalf of God.

And what about a king? How am I called to be a king? The problem is that, in today’s world, we see very few kings as role models. But recall, for a moment, just what a storybook king was suppose to be. A king is not merely a person who leads others. A king, or a queen, is not a ruler so much as being a protector. Royalty was called upon to protect the weak, to help the poor, to come to the defense of those in harm’s way. Over the years, real-life kings and queens seem to have forgotten this. Nevertheless, this is what our own baptism calls us to do: to protect the weak, to help the poor.

This then, is what Jesus asked of his followers, his friends: to go forth, to make new disciples, new friends of all they met, and to be a priest, prophet and king to them. And he said two other things in his commencement address: he said to them: “teach others to carry out everything I have commanded you.” He did not say: “teach only what the people want to hear.” He, also, did not say: “teach what you think I said; it’s ok to interpret my words the way you want.” No, he told his disciples, and he reminds us, we must know everything he taught, how it all fits together, not picking and choosing what sounds comfortable, but teaching everything.

And finally he told his disciples: “and know that I am with you always, until the end of the world.” What does that really mean? His disciples saw him leave, never to return to their sight. How could he still be with them? Maybe St Paul’s words from his letter to the Romans can give us a clue. Paul reminds us how each one of us is now entitled to cry out “Abba,” how each one of us is a child of God.

What is it to be a child of God? A child, a true child, is one who does not fear. A true child knows no matter what goes wrong, mommy or daddy will fix it. Reflect for a moment on the child who hurts a knee and goes running to mommy or daddy. The child who is held tightly on a lap and told: “it’s OK, mommy will kiss it and make it better.” We all know the bruise is still there. It still may need a bandage to stop the bleeding. Yet, in some way, in some mysterious way, the kiss does make it better. The child goes running off, cured of the hurt.

Parents sometimes wonder: when will the magic end? When will I no longer be able to cure my child with a kiss. The answer is: it will never end. It is still possible to cure a hurt with a kiss, with a hug, because the real cure is not the kiss or the hug; rather, it is the love that is there. Sometimes as adults, as big children, we have our own hurts, our own fears, our own doubts. And that too, is the time when we can run to Abba, to daddy. The bruise may still remain, the event that led us to go to Abba can still be there, unchanged. Yet, in some way, the hurt is gone.

And that is what Jesus tells us today. I may seem to be gone from you. The doubts may remain with you. The pain may be there with you. Yet, somehow, in some way, the deeper hurt will not be there. In some way, I will still be with you, my Father and your Father will still be here with you, our love will remain with you. No matter what happens, no matter that I seem to leave you alone on your mountain: “know that I am with you always, until the end of the world.”

^{Trinity Sunday; May 29, 1988 (Memorial Day Weekend)
Deut 4:32-34, 39-40; Rom 8:14-17; Mt 28:16-20}

Today, we celebrate two occasions, two holidays. On the one hand, there is what some cynics might call a “commercial holiday,” the one known as “Fathers’ Day,” a day to buy dad another tie he won’t wear more than once, or another bottle of after-shave lotion he won’t use, even once.

Today, we also celebrate a liturgical holiday, a “feast day,” the feast day known as “Trinity Sunday.” Cynics, also, have a negative view of this theologically oriented feast day. They say no one can really understand, or even appreciate, what we mean by the Trinity, other than saying it’s a “mystery” and letting it go at that. So why even bother to celebrate “Trinity Sunday?”

This leads me, of course, to my question for today. You were wondering, weren’t you, when will I get around to my question? OK. Here it is. But actually, it’s several questions. And you need not answer out loud. First of all, how do you celebrate “Fathers’ Day?” And secondly, why celebrate Fathers’ Day at all? And finally, how does Fathers’ Day relate to the Trinity and our celebration of Trinity Sunday?

There are many ways to celebrate Fathers’ Day. A lot depends on how you view your own father, and how your father views you. If you don’t get along with him, the chances are, you’re not going to celebrate the day. And if your father is not around, the celebration may have to be confined to a telephone call or a short prayer to God on your dad’s behalf. If you’re a young kid, you might make a special card for him. Or you might go play catch in the yard or do something for him you think he will really like.

As for me, for the last few years, my grown sons have taken me out for buffalo wings and beer. Now, I have to admit: buffalo wings and beer are not really my all-time favorites. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy them, but they would not necessarily be on my life-time, top-ten list. So why do I do it? Why, indeed, do a lot of other dads smile with great appreciation when they receive a yellow tie with purple Barneys¹ dancing across it; or another bottle of Old Spice?

We do it because of something called “male bonding.” Male bonding – that’s the name of the relationship fathers and sons desire. For dads and daughters, it’s OK to call it “love” or “affection.” But for men, it’s known as “male bonding,” even though it really is love. Love, after all, is another name for “bonding.” Love is joining people together in a special, permanent, un-breakable union. We sometimes speak of the special “bond” between a parent and a child, yet, we also call it “parental love.” We are, also, aware, especially in this month of June, of the “bond of matrimony,” the special union between husband and wife that makes “two into one flesh.” In all of these unions – between husband and wife, between parent and child – in these new unions, the two human beings continue to exist, but now there is something greater than what was there when they existed alone. This new “something” is now called “love,” thid new something is now a “bond.”

In this bonded-union, each person still exists. There is still an “I” and a “Thou.” There is still a “Me” and a “You.” But in this bonded-union, there is no longer a “mine” and a “yours.” In their marriage vows, the husband and wife pledge themselves to one another: “for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.” In a good marriage, the “mine” and the “yours” become “ours” – a spiritual “oneness.” And in a family, as a result of the bond between parent and child, what the parent possesses, the child is heir to. What the parent has, the child will receive. And be assured, whatever the child has, the parent will also get, including every germ found in kindergarten.

This relationship, this bonding, this love is what we mean when we speak of family “ties,” of family bonds. A family exists whenever two people join together in a special way, in a bond where they continue as “me” and as “you,” but no longer as “mine” and as “yours.”

And that is what some theologians say about the Trinity, about our one God who exists as three Persons: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. These scholars point out the Father remains the “father;” the Son remains the “son;” and the Holy Spirit remains the holy spirit. At the same time, there is a bonding – a particular love that unites them in a special way.

To quote one of those theologians, Father Walter J. Burghardt of Georgetown University: “What makes God God – we call it the divine nature – [what makes God God] … the Father has it completely, the Son has it completely, the Spirit has it completely. No one has anything the other does not have. The Father gives to the Son literally all that he himself has, all that makes him God, all that makes him love. And the Son is the perfect son, because he is the perfect image of his father.” Burghardt goes on to say: “The incredible thing is that the love with which the Son loves the Father is the selfsame infinite love with which the Father loves the Son. And this love of Father and Son, this love is the Holy Spirit.”

And so, the bonding of the Father and the Son is the Holy Spirit. The love of the Father and of the Son is the Holy Spirit – the Holy Spirit who is sent to us, shared with us. Saint Paul speaks of this sharing in his Letter to the Romans we heard a few minutes ago, when he wrote: “…you received a spirit of adoption through whom we cry, ‘Abba, father!’ The spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ …”

“Heirs with Christ.” We have been told, once again, we are brothers and sisters of Christ, we are, indeed, the children of God, we are bonded members of the family of God. But we are not to be an exclusive family, not a limited family, not if we heard and follow the instructions given to us in our gospel reading, when Jesus, in the words of the community of Matthew, said: “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.”

Go: Make disciples. Go: Gather more friends, more heirs of the kingdom, other brothers and sisters. Join them together in the perfect union of Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Do this, not only by baptism, not only by the pouring on of water, but by teaching them to do what I have commanded – by loving one another, by feeding the poor, by helping those in need, by knowing that in all you do for them, you do for me; and realizing: “I am with you always, until the end of the age.”

And, so, now is the time to celebrate the day when we call God, Abba, to celebrate that we are the one family of God bonded together with love. Today, is the day to celebrate not merely a commercialized Fathers’ Day, but rather, to celebrate the day of Abba, the day of Trinity when there is no longer “mine” and “yours,” but instead the day when there is only “our Father” and our enduring love for one another, for all of “us” joined together through (†) Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

^{Trinity Sunday, June 18, 2000
Deut 4:32-34, 39-40; Rom 8:14-17; Mt 28:16-20}

1. Barney was, and for some, still is a purple, dancing and singing children’s creature roughly looking like a dinosaur.

I have several short questions for you today. They all involve sports. My first question is …
● how many players are there on a football team? (11)
● How many players on a baseball team? (9)
● How many players on a basketball team? (5)
Eleven, nine, five: all odd numbers. So, this one should be easy.
● How many players in a Trinity?

No, three is not right. The correct answer is, of course: one. Our Trinitarian God does not consist of three “players.” There is only one God, not three. God is God: God is not a team. However, if you want to use the concept of “team” as an analogy for God, then you’d need to think of a perfect team with three perfect players. Three players who could play every position perfectly, who play so well you can’t tell the difference among them.

This is what our theology says about the Trinity: about the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. There is no difference among them. There is an ancient Christian creed, it’s called the Athanasian creed, that makes a big point of this fact. This creed contains such statements as: “ … the divine nature of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit is one, their glory is equal, their majesty is coeternal.” And it goes on to state: “… both Trinity in Unity and Unity in Trinity must be venerated.”

This is, indeed, a difficult concept for us humans to grasp, let alone, understand. It’s been a major point of difficulty between Christians and Jews (and Muslims) for centuries. It has led to accusations by Jews and Muslims that we Christians worship three gods, whereas they worship only one God.

This basic teaching that there is only one God comes from scriptural passages such as the one we heard in the first reading for today, from the book of Deuteronomy. “… [because of the signs and wonders … because of the deliverance of the Israelites from Egypt] …. this is why you must now know, and fix in your heart, that the Lord is God in the heavens above and on earth below, and that there is no other.”

So, how do we reconcile this one God with our Triune God, our one God with three divine Persons? One approach might be through a consideration of the secular holidays we’re celebrating this weekend. This weekend we honor fathers, those men to whom we owe our life and our protection during the years of our childhood. Today, we might, also, recall such statements as:
● “like father, like son”
● “he’s a chip off the old block”

Jesus acknowledged these relationships as well. He told his friends they had seen the father because they have seen him. They knew the father through their observations of Jesus, his son. It is this kind of relationship we are called to consider in our modern world – as fathers serve as models for their children, and children represent the best aspects of their parents.

Paul, in his Letter to the Hebrews we heard a few minutes ago, speaks of a similar relationship when he says: “… you received a spirit of adoption, through whom we cry, ‘Abba, father!’ The spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ …”

The fact that our God is a Triune God is not a conclusion we could reach by our own thought process. This knowledge comes to us through the revealed word of God, speaking through his Son, Jesus the Christ. It is on the promise of Christ that our belief is based. Jesus made a fundamental promise to his disciples, and to us. He said: “… I am with you always, until the end of the age.” He promised his friends, and us, he would remain with us until the end of the world as we know it. Either he lied to them, and to us, or he has kept his promise.

We believe he did not lie, he, indeed, kept his promise. We believe that upon his bodily return to the Father, they sent to us the Holy Spirit who remains with us today, at this very moment, who guides us and sustains us with every breath we take. We speak of our one God in terms of three Persons, three “perfect players,” if you will.
● We speak of the God who is the creator. The one who created everything in the universe and who continues to create all that exists.
● We speak of the God who became incarnated, who took on human flesh in order to redeem us, in order for us to be reunited with our Creator-God.
● We speak of the God who remains with us, the Holy Spirit who sustains us, guides us, the spirit of God living within us.

We speak of our triune God who is creator, redeemer and sustainer. All of this can become mere words, and, perhaps, words which really do not strike us, change us, as they might. It’s because of such difficulties that we Christians, especially Catholic Christians, make use of symbols and symbolic actions to help us understand deeper realities.

Symbols and symbolic actions are not restricted to our attempts to understand God. I’m especially reminded of this as we celebrate another secular holiday this weekend, as we celebrate “Flag Day.” Our flag is, indeed, a symbol of our nation, our flag is a “trinity” of red, white, and blue. Take away any one of these colors and we would no longer have the flag of the United States of America. Its thirteen stripes and fifty stars are a symbol of our foundation from thirteen independent colonies into one nation, a nation in which most citizens do not react kindly when someone attempts to mock or burn a flag which is more than a mere piece of cloth.

As Christians, especially as Catholic Christians, we also make use of other symbols and symbolic actions, ones that should lead to a deeper and continuing appreciation for our Triune God. A major sign, of course, is the Sign of the Cross, a symbol which goes back to the foundations of our belief in a Trinitarian God. We use the visible cross as a reminder of the Paschal mystery of our God who suffered, died, and rose again for our salvation.

Yet we also make the “sign of the cross” to remind us of our Triune God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. No matter how it is made.
● For some with all five extended fingers.
● For others, with the three lower fingers outstretched to represent the Trinity, and the thumb and forefinger touching to represent the unity of our God.
● Or it may be a hurried gesture as we touch our thumb or forefinger to our head, our heart and our shoulders.

It is a sign we make when we begin an effort and want to be reminded we do it in the name of God. It is a sign we make when there is a time of crisis (or a hope the free throw will, indeed, go through the basket) and we seek the help of God to see us through the crisis – or bring success to our efforts. It is a sign others make over us when we are taking leave and need to be reminded that God blesses our journey.

Yes, today, on Trinity Sunday, we might use all sorts of words, inadequate words, to explain what we mean when we speak of one God with three divine Persons. However, for most of us, it is more important merely to make the Sign of the Cross (†) and know that our Lord, our God – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – will be with us always, until the end of the age.

^{Trinity Sunday; June 15, 2003: (Fathers’ Day and Flag Day)
Deut 4:32-34, 39-40; Rom 8:14-17; Mt 28:16-20}

Today’s question is for women. It’s a question about nostalgia, Christian nostalgia. And the question is this: How many of you once owned a mustard seed necklace or bracelet? Do you recall those small, hard seeds encased in those glass marbles? If you remember this bit of jewelry, only then can you appreciate the small size of a mustard seed. I mean: if I talk about mustard, most of the kids would think of that yellow stuff you put on hot-dogs and hamburgers. I assure you, if you try to plant a squirt of mustard in the ground when you get home, you will not grow a mustard tree!

No, there really are mustard seeds and they really are very tiny. I could say they are no bigger than a pin-head, but what with the scarcity of home-made clothes, perhaps, straight pins are as uncommon as mustard seeds. Anyway, believe me when I say a mustard seed is really, really small.

Believe me. Actually, this is what today’s homily is all about. Not about believing me, necessarily, but rather about your belief in God, in God’s incarnated son, in their love for one another and for us. Today’s reflection is about belief and about faith.

However, if you want a more commercial view of belief and faith, I have a special sign¹ for you today. It’s this! “Believe it” Although I might have given a homily today on the parable of how the kingdom of God is like a Rocket’s game, I’ll leave that one up to Father Brendan. Instead, I want to talk about today’s scripture readings – and especially about mustard seeds.

Mustard seeds are mentioned in the gospels of Matthew and of Luke as well as in the reading we heard, today, from Marks’s gospel. Matthew and Luke very clearly relate faith with mustard seeds, and how, even if our faith is no larger than a mustard seed, we could move mountains. (On second thought, maybe I am talking about the Rockets. After all, I am talking about “faith.”)

So what is faith? What is this power we have to move mountains? First of all, faith is not a thing. “Things” can be measured and weighed. They can be seen, felt, and sometimes heard. Recently, physical scientists have rejoiced because, with the restored Hubbel telescope, they have been able to see a so-called “black hole”. At the other end of the physical scale, other scientists have seen evidence of the final “quark,” one of the so called building blocks of matter. Now, they no longer merely believe black holes and quarks exist, now they “know” they exist. For many people, seeing is believing. For others, even this is not enough. In order to believe, they must understand every step of the process. They must answer every question about how something works in order to believe it exists.

Yet, we do not understand how the greatest power in the universe works. It cannot be weighed nor measured by any instrument we can construct. How do we know love exists between a husband and wife, love between parents and children, love between two friends, love between God and us? There is no way to measure love, not even a way to confine it. Yet, we know love exists – or when it does not exist. We, each, have faith that it exists – or a lack of faith believing it does not exist.

Faith about human love and about divine love can start out to be very small, as small as a mustard seed. However, it is a faith which can grow to an unexpected size. And in the process, it can yield shelter and safety for others, just as the mature mustard tree provides shade and shelter for the birds of the air.

Faith is knowing something completely without seeing it, without hearing it, without touching it. Faith grows even without our knowing how it grows. The ancients knew nothing about photosynthesis or plant metabolism, about how roots grow, and cells divide. However, these are topics which most school kids know more about than did the greatest sages of the time of Christ. But those ancient people did know that from the seed, comes new life. They knew good soil is essential for this new life. They knew that, with patience and tender care, the blade and the stalk produced leaves and flowers. With the warmth of the sun, the flowers produced seeds. They knew the seeds could be harvested and used for the good of humanity. Exactly how this happened, they did not know. Except to have faith that God would provide the harvest.

And so it was that Jesus described faith in the coming Kingdom of God. A seed which grows in a mysterious, unknown way and becomes a source of nourishment for all who seek to harvest it. The Kingdom of God begins in a small way, yet when mature, provides comfort to all those who seek it out.

A writer by the name of Dick Westley has made a comparison of religion and faith. He says “religion” can be described with these words: “Fear not, trust in God and He will see to it that none of the things you are afraid of will happen to you.” He then goes on to say how “faith” may be described by these words: “Fear not, the things you are afraid of are most likely going to happen to you, but they are not really the sorts of things that believers ought to be afraid of, and [they] have very little significance compared to transforming the world into the Kingdom.” So, “religion” says: fear not. God won’t let bad things happen. While “faith” says: fear not. Bad things may happen, but they’re not important in the Reign of God.

If Dick Westley’s definition of religion and faith are accepted, several consequences follow. First of all, it’s possible to have a pagan “religion.” On the other hand, there can never be a pagan “faith.” And second, it’s, also, possible to have a Christian “religion” but be devoid of Christian “faith.”

With “religion,” we attempt to force God to do our will. With “faith,” we try to do what God wills for us, knowing God, our Father, loves us and wills only the good for us no matter how the events of our life may be perceived by our human, external sight.

Some two thousand years ago, Saint Paul wrote a letter to those Christians living in Corinth. In this letter he reminded them: “We walk by faith, not by sight.” We may not, at times, recognize what surrounds us, but we know where we are heading. We may stumble and momentarily be turned aside, but we know with confidence we are heading home towards God, the Father, who will welcome us with open arms. Along the way, we are guided by the words of Jesus the Christ.

In today’s gospel reading, we were reminded how he spoke publicly to the crowds in parables, in puzzling stories filled with paradoxes. But to his friends, to his disciples, he explained these things privately. So, it is with us, who are his present-day disciples. With our ears we hear the words proclaimed about him. But in our times of prayer with him, we learn in our hearts what his love means for each one of us. It is then, in prayer with him that we, indeed, “walk by faith and not by sight.” Let us now continue our journey with Jesus the Christ as, together, we transform the world into his Kingdom.

^{Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time; June 12, 1994
Ezl 17:22-24; 2 Cor 5:6-10; Mk 4:26-34}

1 ^{The accompanying red on yellow sign I held up had these words: “Believe It” and the subtitle “Chronicle Sports.” The sign was in the Sunday newspaper in support of the (then) champions Houston Rockets.}

Over the years I’ve asked you many questions. Today’s question is about questions. It’s this: what is the shortest, yet most fundamental question, everyone asks? I think you’d agree the answer is: “Why me?” Usually, we ask it when something goes wrong. “Why me? What did I do to deserve this happening to me?” We seldom, if ever, ask the question when something good happens. I mean: do you know anyone who would ask, “Why me, Lord? Why did I win this week’s Lotto drawing?”

On the other hand, the “why me?” question was raised in our first reading from the Book of Job. Job certainly had reason to ask it. You remember the story. Job had everything a man could want in his ancient world. He had seven sons and three daughters. He thousands of sheep and camels, hundreds of oxen and donkeys. But then, for no apparent reason, it was all taken away from him. He could, with all justification, ask, “Why me, Lord?”

His friends claimed to know the answer. It was: in some secret way he had offended God. It was some secret sin of his that brought on this punishment from God. If only Job would confess his transgression, God would forgive him and all would be made right again. But Job denied he had offended God, or man, in any way. He maintained he was totally innocent of any charges which could be made against him. And his friends kept saying (sarcastically), “Oh, sure, you are.” Finally, Job said he wanted God, Himself, to tell him what he had done wrong so he could defend himself.

And in today’s first reading, God does show up to respond. I’d love to see a movie with the scene from today’s reading. The computer graphics would be spectacular. Those dark, ominous clouds gathering together in what had been a perfectly clear, blue sky. And then from those swirling clouds comes the voice of God asking, “Who shut within doors the sea …” and so on.

But here’s where I have a problem. Did God thunder his response with a mighty voice that shook the trees and trembled the rocks around Job? Or did God merely whisper his question – like the passage of the gentle breeze when He showed himself to the prophet Elijah?

I have the same problem with today’s gospel reading with its scene in which dark, swirling storm clouds and tossing waves play important parts. My problem comes because of the scene immediately before the storm. In the preceding passages, Jesus had been sitting by the sea and telling parables to the people who followed him – and explaining them to his disciples. The parables were about a sower scattering seeds, about a lamp with a visible light, about a mustard seed. Jesus had just finished his stories about the Kingdom of God and about faith, about trusting in God.

Mark’s gospel then goes on to say: “When evening had come, Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Let us go across to the other side.’ And leaving the crowd behind, they took Jesus with them in the boat.” And so, there they were, sailing once more on the Sea of Galilee, at night. You’ll recall the Sea of Galilee is surrounded by hills, on the east side there are the Golen heights, on the west are hills that look like sleeping lions. Although the Sea of Galilee is wider, it reminds me of the Finger Lake region of Upstate New York where Karen and I lived four decades ago. I remember how there could be a clear sky one moment and then, over the crest of the hills, came a sudden wind and a heavy rainstorm.

The Sea of Galilee has the geography to produce such sudden changes like the one we heard about in our gospel reading. A calm night, lite by a half-moon and peaceful stars, suddenly blacked out by howling winds and surging seas. Many in the boat were fishermen who, no doubt, had seen their share of rough water late at night when they had gone out to cast their nets for the fish which schooled under the moon’s glow. But this night, the storm had such fury they became frightened. So frightened they dared to rouse their friend who, having spent a long day teaching them and the other followers, was now sound asleep in the boat, despite it’s pitching up and down on the ever-increasing waves.

It was then, Jesus spoke his words to the raging waters: “Peace! Shalom! Be still.” And it’s here I have my own puzzlement. Just as God spoke from the clouds in his response to Job, did Jesus thunder his command to the storm or did he merely need to whisper his words, “Peace! Be still,” in order to calm the raging waters.

These alternatives did not seem to bother the early Christians who saw, in this scene, a picture of the early Church tossed about by the waves of the surrounding world, a world subject to storms threatening what they called the “Bark of Salvation,” a “bark” or small sailing vessel containing Christians who would drown unless they were protected by Jesus, the Christ. It’s a scene that’s portrayed in many stained glass windows in churches. It is a popular image for the Church and its relationship to the world and to God. But it’s also an image that can be brought closer to home, for it may, indeed, be an image of our individual homes, today.

Perhaps, this image comes to me in particular this weekend when Karen and I celebrate our thirty-ninth wedding anniversary. It’s been almost four decades, ago, when we first saw those hills surrounding the Finger Lakes where we lived when we were newlyweds. We’ve seen our share of the ups and downs of life. The times when it seemed as if we were lost at sea and the times of being in a safe harbor, watching a magnificent sunset on a perfect day. So, today, the image of a sailing vessel on the Sea of Galilee seems to be an appropriate one, not only for all of Christendom, but also for each of our families.

For are there not times when it seems our home-life is sailing calmly along, when everything appears to be going well. Mom and Dad have satisfying careers either in the home or elsewhere. The kids are doing well in school. There are no problems with drugs or crime. But, then, there is a sudden shift in the wind and both our nights and our days are consumed with new dangers surrounding us.

And what do we do? Are we like the disciples who awaken the Christ with them? Do we, ourselves, arouse the Christ within us and ask for his help, or are we afraid to wake him, afraid he will be angry with us, or afraid he will not help us. I raise the question because of the other part of today’s gospel reading. Yes, Jesus spoke words that calmed the sea, but what else did he say?

Mark, according to one translation, writes, “Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. Jesus said to them, ‘Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?’” In the back of our mind do we hear these words when the boat in which we sail is about to be overcome by a surrounding storm? Are we afraid that by asking for help, we somehow show a lack of faith that everything will turn out as God wants it to. After all, perhaps God has sent us the storm to test us, to try our faith.

Or does our faith, in fact, include the belief that we actually show our faith by seeking his help? It is then that we put our faith into action. Do we remember when his friends asked for his assistance, the first question Jesus asked them was “Why are you afraid.”

Why are you afraid when you know I am here? Right here, in the tossing boat. Right here, with you in your troubles and dangers. All you need to do is turn to me and ask for help. Help that I will immediately give you. Help to calm the waters about to engulf you. Or better yet, help to still the storms within you. Help to lift the clouds within you so that you can see in the moonlight the shore towards which you can now sail.

We no longer need to fear a God who questions us from a swirling cloud, but rather, recognize we have a Lord who rests within us. A Lord who may appear to be asleep but who instantly awakes, who whispers the words, “Peace! Be still.” A friend who gently inquires, “Why are you afraid?” A friend who already knows the answer to the question he asks: “Have you still no faith?” No faith to know I am here to help you? With this friend, Jesus, we know the answer to the question, “Why me? Why do you help me?” We know he always responds, “Because I love you.”

^{Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time; June 22, 1997 Job 38:1-8-11:2; 2 Cor 5:14-17; Mk 4:35-41}

I need to warn you today’s question is more serious and more fundamental than many of the questions I’ve raised at the beginning of a homily. But it’s a question each one of us needs to consider during our life as Christians. It’s this: are you moved more by the power of God or by the love of God? Are you influenced more in your actions and reactions by the fact God is the creator and controller of everything in the universe, or by the fact God loves you and wants only the best for you?

Ancient people, the early Israelites, for example, asked the question in a slightly different way. They asked: Why do bad things happen to good people? One answer they gave is in the story they told about Job. You all know the general outline of the story.
● How Job was blessed by God with every good thing – with land, livestock and a happy family.
● How in a strange conversation with Satan, God allowed all that mattered to Job to be taken away by Satan, the adversary.
● How the friends of Job maintained he, himself, must have sinned against God and how Job must admit his sinfulness, since God sends hardship on only the sinful.
● How Job maintained his innocence in all matters and demanded God, himself, tell him why all of these calamities befell him.
● And God’s response which amounted to his saying something to the effect: why do you question God who is all-powerful?

In our first reading for today, we heard part of God’s reply to Job. We heard how God is the one who created the seas and oceans. God is the one who controls their boundaries. Only God can proclaim that the proud waves be stilled. In our gospel reading, we heard the same reference. When Jesus calmed the storm on the Sea of Galilee, his disciples responded with the words: “Who then is this whom even the wind and sea obey?” They were moved by the power of their Master, his power to control the forces of nature, itself.

However, their own question had been preceded by two questions from Jesus, himself. Upon calming the wind and sea, he asked his friends these two questions: “Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?” Perhaps, his two questions have even more relevance than the one raised by his disciples.

“Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?” Yes, faith has many forms. Faith is belief without physical proof. Faith is certainty in the face of uncertainty. Faith is required when the unexpected occurs. When bad things happen to good people. We seldom call upon faith when good things happen. Who needs “faith” when you’ve just won a million dollars?

On the other hand, what is our response when there is a sudden storm in our lives? When the unexpected happens? When a relationship suddenly goes sour? When I suffer a loss – a loss of property, a loss of a position, a loss of health, a loss of a loved one. What alternatives do I have? What alternatives did the disciples have that night, in their boat, on the Sea of Galilee?

Yes, several of them were fishermen. They knew sudden storms could appear above the hills surrounding the lake where they sailed. Storms in our lives can be unexpected, unseen, even if they are not unforseen. They can come up suddenly even when we know they are potentially possible. We assume accidents can happen to others, but not to us.

So, yes, one alternative for the fisherman who followed Jesus might have been to have been better prepared. To have refused to go out at night when Jesus requested they sail across the lake as evening drew on. But how did they know this particular storm would swamp their boat that particular night?

Maybe, we, too, could be better prepared so that the “bad things” do not occur. Yet, there are times when we, too, need to sail at night. To take a risk. To go where accidents might happen. What other alternatives existed for those men caught in a sinking boat? Maybe they could have bailed faster! And perhaps, in our own storms of life, we can also bail faster. There are times when we try to work our own way out of the crisis. When we try to go it alone. When we try to bail faster. And, as with those fisherman, our boat still continues to sink.

Or perhaps, like the disciples, we can blame others. After all, they saw Jesus sound asleep while they were doing the bailing; while they were in peril. They said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” When the unexpected happens in our lives, we, too, can say: “God, don’t you care that I am perishing?”

As we know, Jesus did care, he did come to their rescue. He calmed the wind and the sea. And then he asked those penetrating questions: “Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?”

Did the disciples error in waking Jesus? Should they have left him sleeping and have had faith God would save them; that God would not allow them to perish? Is this what faith really is – trusting completely in God, without having to ask him for help?

For many people, the answer is a simple one: “yes.” For them, faith is the conviction God will protect them. God will provide for them. Always. And what is the basis for such a faith? Could it be these people have a still more basic belief? A belief God loves them: completely, absolutely, unconditionally. Just as a Father loves his child. After all, this is what Jesus has been telling them. God is Abba, our Father.

All of his stories, all of his teaching, reiterate this basic view. Everything he says about the reign of God, the kingdom of God, focuses on this truth: God loves us. God loves you. It is on this conviction our faith in the goodness of God is founded. However, for some of us, this statement seems too good to be true. Intellectually we know God loves us and cares for us, but in the dark corners of our minds, we wonder if he may, on occasion, be unaware of us – that he is sleeping.

For some of us, we believe we need to wake God up. We need to ask for his help in a time of crisis. It is only in the asking that we feel comfortable he will respond. Only if we ask him to calm the storms in our lives, will they actually be stilled. As some would say: Pray to God and Expect Miracles!

And yes, it’s, also, ok to wake up God! The disciples, close friends and followers of Jesus, felt the need to seek his help, directly. And he did not fail them. He calmed the winds and seas. He did not chastize them for waking him, for calling for his help. He gave it willingly.

And yet, perhaps, it was with a bit of sadness, too, that he calmed the sea. Perhaps, he had hoped their faith, their trust in him and in Abba, would have given them the courage to ride out the storm, knowing the journey may be a rough one, but they would not perish. After all, he is with them. But, in the meantime, he would calm the sea so they could continue their journey to the other side in greater peace and comfort.

Perhaps this is what he hopes for us as well. When the unexpected happens to us, when bad things happen to good people, we have the faith that God does love us and wants only the best for us. We, too, can ride out the storm and reach a safe harbor, knowing this, believing this, trusting in this.

At the same time, we also know we can call upon God, even as we wonder if he is asleep in our tossing boat, in our moment of crisis, and trust he will calm both our inner turmoil and the troubles around us. In the final analysis, let us be moved both by the power of God, our Creator, and by the love of God, our Father, in whom we place our faith.

^{Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time; June 25, 2006
Job 38:1,8-11; 2 Cor 5;14-17; Mk 4:35-41}

Today’s question is not for you to answer just for today’s homily. Rather, it’s a question you can keep asking yourselves over the years to come. Actually, it’s not my question. It’s a question Jesus addressed to his followers two thousand years ago. It’s a question he directs to us, each and every day of our lives. There in a boat, on a storm-tossed sea, he inquired: “Do you not yet have faith?” During the tempests occurring in our own lives, he continues to ask: “Do you not yet have faith?”

Faith. What is faith? In the next few weeks, the Gospel readings will continue to ask this question. We will be hearing, once more, a series of stories found in Mark’s Gospel about faith – or a lack of faith. Mark’s Gospel, itself, addresses many issues centered on the faith of the people. In the passages immediately before the account we heard in today’s reading, Jesus tried to teach his followers about faith – as he spoke in parables about the sower and the seeds sown and about a mustard seed, the smallest of all seeds. However, it seems merely talking to them about faith, was not the best way for his followers to really know the meaning of faith.

Just what is faith? Probably many things. Each meaning depends upon so many related words and thoughts.
● Words such as: fidelity … commitment, dedication, loyalty.
● Words such as: trust … confidence, reliability, truthfulness.
● Even words such as: mercy, justice and forgiveness.
● And perhaps, of greatest importance, the words: love, compassion, and charity

Yes, there are many words to express the meaning of faith. So many that we can become lost in a morass of words and lose all sense of what faith is really all about. Jesus had that problem. He spoke in parables about faith and still needed to ask those who had listened to him: “Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?”

Perhaps today’s reading is to show us that, although we can hear about faith, about trust, the only way to truly understand faith and trust is to experience them firsthand. It is said we are born with a sense of faith, a sense of trust, a sense that we can rely on others – especially upon our parents – rely upon them to provide, to protect, and to nourish us. However, these attitudes – these “beatitudes,” if you will – must be reinforced throughout our lives. Without such reinforcement, without a daily experience of fidelity, truthfulness, mercy and forgiveness, without a lived experience of trust and of faith, we can lose these gifts of God, these virtues instilled in us at birth.

Today, in our secular world, it is not difficult to lose them. Today, there are many among us who lack faith and trust in one another and in our economic and governance systems. Many would even attribute our decline as a nation to such losses of faith and trust. Others maintain we will remain in this position until we, once more, re-establish our civic trust in one another and in our leadership systems.

On the other hand, our secular world, also, gives us a day to recall those virtues, those qualities which make a man truly a “man”– for this is the original meaning of the word: “virtue.” The word “virtue,” itself, is derived from the Latin word for “man,” the word “vir.” But this word did not mean just any man. The word “vir” was restricted to those who exhibited the qualities of being a true gentleman, the qualities exhibited by the head of the household, the pater familis, the father of the household.

And so it is, that this weekend has been set aside by our secular culture in this country to honor fathers. But it is more than a day to celebrate merely being a male capable of producing offspring. Rather, it is a day to celebrate and acknowledge those virtues which are shown forth by all of us in our attempts to model for our children what it is to be a true person.

Today is the day to remind us that for a child to retain the God-given gifts of faith, fidelity and trust, our children need to experience faith, fidelity and trust
… in the parents who exhibit these qualities,
… in the families where these qualities are the center of family life,
… and, especially, in the fathers among us.

When a husband and wife enter into matrimony, as so many do during this month of June, they pledge one another their faith, fidelity and trust. They exchange these vows and are expected to live by them for the rest of their lives. They agree to share their love with one another through their children.

And when events conspire against them, they agree to forgive one another and to reconcile with those who have been hurt in the processes of daily living. This, indeed, is what is meant by faith. It is the trust one has that no matter what happens, each person will continue to be there for one another. To offer to one another
● their commitment, dedication, loyalty and confidence,
● their reliability and truthfulness in what they say and do.
● their mercy when errors occur and a just punishment when the error is significant
● and, finally, to offer one another their forgiveness, compassion and love.

Yes, the storms of life suddenly, without expectation, will arise. The winds and waves of disaster may attempt to sink us. It is then we realize there is, indeed, another person present in our boat with us. Although he may appear to be sleeping and to be unconcerned about our shared welfare, he is, indeed, fully awake and intimately aware of our needs.

He is the one we can continue to trust to be present with us. He does not need to ask: “Do you not yet have faith?” He already knows the answer.
● Yes, we have faith. We have trust. We recognize your commitment and dedication to our welfare, as we acknowledge and experience that same faith and trust in your Father, in our Father.
● And through our mutual faith and trust, we will help those who love us, and those whom we love, to experience those virtues which He has given us.
In this way, each one of us: male or female, husband, wife or child, can celebrate each and every day as Father’s Day – as we say: “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. Amen“

^{12th Sunday in Ordinary; June 21, 2009 (Fathers’ Day)
Job 38:1, 8-11; 2 Cor 5:14-17; Mk 4:35-41}

Recently, I asked a homily question directed to the women. Well, today’s question is addressed to all of you who are at least twenty-eight years old. It’s also a two-part question? The question is this: have you ever been to a high school reunion? And secondly, did you enjoy it? Now you might be wondering why I limited my question to those over the age of twenty-eight. Sure, younger people might go back to a high school gathering, but it’s not the same as it is when you’ve been out for at least ten years. The five-year reunion is nothing. Things haven’t really changed all that much for you or for your high school friends. However, after ten years, the changes are a little more obvious. The men may still claim they wear the same size jeans, but their belt line is beginning to shift southward. The women look in the mirror and wonder: perhaps, if they hadn’t laughed so much, maybe those strange lines wouldn’t be there.

Since summer, and especially this Fourth of July weekend, is the time for picnics and reunions, I thought I might caution you: gathering with friends and relatives you haven’t seen for many years can be hazardous to your ego. As for me, I never did go to my tenth high school reunion. Nevertheless, I must admit I had a great time at the twenty-fifth and fortieth ones! By then, everyone else looked so much older than the image I saw when I look in my own mirror. I was now able to relax and remember only the good things that happened to us during those high school days.

Perhaps, it would have been different if Jesus had been able to wait longer before he went back to Nazareth, back to his hometown and the people he once knew and who thought they knew him. However, today’s gospel reading really isn’t about reunions and going home for visits. Rather, it’s about faith, about faith and miracles, about faith and change.

For the last several weeks, our readings taken from the Gospel of Mark have been about faith. There was the story about faith and the mustard seed. Then there was the one about faith and Jesus calming the storm at sea. Last week, we heard stories about how her faith cured the woman with a hemorrhage and how faith and trust were part of the return of the daughter of Jairus.

In today’s gospel, Mark tells how the residents of Nazareth treated its hometown boy when he returned to them. At first, they were amazed at what he said there in the synagogue. There is an impression, however, that they were not as amazed by what he said so much as they were amazed that he was saying it. After all, they remembered the gang of kids he ran around with when he had lived there in Nazareth. It seems his kinsmen, James, Joses, Judas and Simon, might have been into as much mischief as any other group of teenage boys. His family certainly didn’t live in the biggest house in town. Like his old man and everyone else, he had to work for a living. Where did he have the time to study the scriptures and lead you to believe he spoke with the authority of the Lord God, himself?

Surely, those tales of what he did in other towns, could not be true. If they were, why had he not done anything like that when he was growing up here in Nazareth? They thought, with what we Nazarenes know about this Jesus bar Joseph and his younger days, how can we believe anything said about him now?

And here we have the real question for today. With what we remember about our own past, how can we believe anything good about today? In the gospel reading, Jesus spoke about how a Prophet could do little among his own kindred and in his own house, among those who remember the past and its shortcomings.

For a moment, maybe we might return not to Nazareth, but to our own high school reunion or other homecomings. There at the high school reunion, folks are amazed at the physical changes. But they soon accept the outer differences. What they find more difficult to accept are the inner changes. And most difficult of all, the apparent successes of the one who has gone off and now returns.
● How can the high school dweeb now be the C.E.O. of a large company?
● How can the high school fatso now be an accomplished performer?
● How can the kid at the bottom of the class now have a successful career?
● How can the guy who was the major girl-chaser now have a wonderful marriage and such a happy family?
What has happened to us, the ones who stayed behind, the ones who remained in place, the ones who did not change?

In case you’re wondering if I’m saying you have to leave home in order to be a success in life, let me be very clear. No. You don’t have to leave your hometown to become successful. And no, success is not measured by becoming a C.E.O. or an accomplished performer. Success is not measured in terms of a accomplished career. It is not even measured in terms of a wonderful marriage and a happy family. Single people and those who have less than successful occupations can certainly possess the one element lacking in those citizens of Nazareth, and have a successful life.

And what was this lack? According to Jesus, it was a lack of faith. Without their faith, he could do little to overcome their difficulties and be successful in life, itself. Faith, it seems, is necessary for miracles to occur. And where do we need this faith? We need it within ourselves. Within me as an individual. I need faith based upon the present, not upon the past.

The past binds each one of us. Not only with respect to others, as was the case with the Nazarenes and Jesus, but also with respect to ourselves. The past can imprison me, can confine me so I believe change is not possible, miracles cannot happen within me. But with faith, small healings and cures can begin within me. I can have a successful life.

You see, faith is not limited by a geographic home town called Nazareth, or Houston, or Spring, Texas. Faith is not limited by coming from a small town in Ohio or Michigan or from any other place in the world. But faith can be limited by the small town within each one of us. It can be limited by walls we refuse to break, by gates we don’t want to pass through. Faith can be limited by what each one of us holds about past hurts and shortcomings.

Once again, we need to recall that faith is to see with more than our eyes, to hear with more than our ears, to touch with more than our fingertips. When we see, hear and touch with our hearts, it is then we have reached our reunion with the Father, Son and Spirit. It is then we have successfully returned to our true hometown, the City of God.

^{Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time; July 3, 1994
Ezek 2:2-5; 2 Cor 12:7-10; Mk 6:1-6}

Today’s question is a summertime question. And since it is summertime, it’s a very easy one. The question is this: how many of you enjoy going barefoot in the summertime? Do you like to wander around the house and the yard without your shoes on? Wandering around like that can be very relaxing for some people. They don’t even wait for summer. Here in Houston, they do it all year ‘round. They come home from work and change into comfortable clothes. They take off their hot, tight shoes, wiggle their toes and spend the rest of the evening shoeless.

But there are other people who believe it’s dangerous to walk around without shoes. Outside, you might encounter fire ants. Inside, you might step on a needle. I’ve done that. I once had a dropped sewing needle break off in my heel when I stepped on it. It was years before I was, once again, comfortable going barefoot around the house.

Today’s readings talk a lot about feet. The feet of disciples. It’s important for disciples to have good feet. They need to do a lot of walking. They need to follow in the footsteps of the master, the teacher. That’s what being a disciple is all about. If you are merely a student, someone who studies what the master teaches, you can sit at his feet and just listen to what he has to say. You can memorize his words. But if you are going to be a disciple, you need to stand up and follow him. You need to walk with him and see, on an hour-by-hour basis, just exactly what he does. How he does it. You need take part in the discipline of the master.

Yes, “disciple” and “discipline” are directly related. A disciple follows a discipline, a way of life, a way of living. You must walk with the teacher no matter where he goes or where he might send you. To put into practice what you have seen him do. To be an extension of the master. To act in his place. In modern terms, a disciple must “walk the talk.”

The prophets were such disciples. They walked with the Lord and tried to put into practice what he asked of them, even if it was in a foreign land. The prophet Amos was like that. We heard about him in our first reading. Amos didn’t start out as a prophet. He trimmed trees for a living and was a part-time shepherd. He lived in the southern kingdom of Judea. But one day, the Lord God sent him up north to the kingdom of Israel to preach in Bethel, a religious center of the northern kingdom. If you wonder about the kind of reception he got, imagine a farmer from Spring, Texas going up to Austin to tell them how to be politicians. The priests up in Bethel told Amos to go back home. He didn’t. But that’s another story.

Instead, let’s go back to our gospel story from Mark, where Jesus sends out his disciples to new lands. It’s a story about discipleship. And about hospitality. About giving. And about receiving. There had been many who had listened to what Jesus had to say, what he had to teach. But from all those who were his students, he chose Twelve to be his disciples. Twelve who would live the kind of life he, himself, lived. It was these Twelve he sent out, two by two on their journeys.

And while on their journeys, they were to trust entirely in God. All that they accomplished would be through the power given to them by the Author of all life, the Author who gave them their “authority” over the evils they would encounter. These disciples had to rely on the hospitality of the people to whom they were being sent. Those whom Jesus sent out carried neither food nor money to buy food. They had no extra clothing to ward off the cold of night nor to change into when they were soaked by rain. They had the clothes on their back and a single pair of sandals to protect their feet as they traveled the back roads of Galilee. They carried only a walking stick, a staff, the universal sign of the traveler, the wanderer.

They were to depend upon the kindness of strangers whose homes they entered. They had to rely upon the hospitality, the openness of those they did not know to receive them. They were not to look for the best place in town to stay, but rather, to remain with the first ones who opened their homes to them and to their mission.

And what was their mission? Why were they being sent forth among strangers? First of all, to preach the need of repentance. This had been the basic message of their Master. The need for each person to change what he or she had been doing that was not in accord with God’s desires. Like the prophets before them, the disciples were to re-call the people back to the Kingdom of God.

And secondly, they were to expel demons, to anoint the sick, and to heal. They were not only to speak the Word of God, but they were also to accomplish the Word of God. By expelling demons, they named the evil they saw so that, once named, it could be driven out of the lives of those they met. By anointing the sick, they brought comfort and hope to those whose lives were being destroyed by the world around them.

And what if they were not received? What if no one listened to them? Jesus told them not to quit. Instead, they were to shake off the past, like shaking off the dust from their feet, and move on to the next village. What Jesus told his disciples, those who not merely listened to him but who put into practice what he taught, he tells to us. Don’t be concerned with your own welfare. Trust in the goodness and openness of others. Trust that God will be with you in what you do and say. Trust that others want to hear the Good News and will welcome it. And if the results are not what you had hoped or expected, don’t give up and quit. Shake off past failures and try anew.

Each one of us is to speak the Word of God, not only in what we say, but in what we do. We are to name the evils confronting the world today. We are to comfort and bring hope to the poor and homeless. We are to counsel those in need and to plant and to harvest for those who hunger. We are sent forth to undertake tasks for which we feel we are unqualified, but know we must do.

In the next few weeks, we will be hearing appeals for help in our R.E. program. A need for catechists, teaching aides, team leaders and team members. Later on, there will be calls for the contribution of our time and our talent as we are called to stewardship. In the coming weeks, there will be special ways in which we will be asked, as were the disciples, to go out to those we do not know, to speak God’s word, and to do God’s work.

But in the meantime, each day presents opportunities to be a disciple. To put into practice what we know needs to be done. Each day is a day in which we can give of our hospitality as we receive others into our lives. Each day is a day in which we can give of ourselves to those whom we meet as strangers but leave as friends. Moreover, we are to be present to our own family and friends who need our love and understanding when it might seem easier to give our help to total strangers than to those with whom we are estranged.

Perhaps, each day, in summer or in other seasons of the year, is a day to walk barefoot in our homes or to put on our sandals and walk as disciples who journey with Jesus the Christ. But no matter where we journey with him, each day is a day to recall the first words spoken by God to the prophet Moses: “Take off your sandals, for you walk on holy ground.”

^{Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time; July 13, 1997
Amos 7:12-15; Eph 1:3-14; Mk 6:7-13}

Well, here it is: the middle of the summer. Once again, it’s vacation time. So, today’s questions are about vacations. How many of you are making vacation plans to get away in the next few weeks? How many have already taken a vacation? And how many of you, who’ve already gone, need another vacation to recover from the first one? Every year we plan to have a real “vacation.” We hope to really get away from it all, to find some peace and quiet, to get some “vacant” time, some “blank” or “empty” time when we can really relax. But we don’t seem to succeed.

Today’s gospel reading tells us Jesus and his disciples didn’t have much luck either. They tried to get away for some well-earned R&R, but what did they find? More lost sheep! For the next few minutes, I’d like to consider some other lost, or at least, confused sheep. Not real sheep, but imaginary ones. Ones like the sheep we count late at night, in our heads. I would, also, like to consider some imaginary shepherds who drive our imaginary sheep.

What made me think about shepherds and sheep for today’s homily? It was, of course, today’s first reading from Jeremiah, which begins: “Woe to the shepherds who mislead and scatter the flock of my pastures.” Now, actually Jeremiah was talking about false prophets and false leaders who were trying to stir up a revolt in Judea and Israel against foreign domination. These were the so-called shepherds Jeremiah was criticizing. But, the ones I want to talk about are the false shepherds inside of me, inside of you.

To begin, let’s pretend my emotions, my feelings, are little, bleating sheep. I look down, into myself and see a fuzzy, little critter called “sense of humor.” And over there, in the middle of the pasture is a white, wooly fellow called “courage.” The one in between, chewing grass, is “patience.” And that big, black sheep over in the corner of the meadow is “anger.” Do you get the picture? Can you see your own sheep? What names do your sheep have?

Now what about the false shepherds? The ones who drive the sheep, who try to control my emotions, my feelings. They’re standing around too. I can see the shepherd whose name is “job problems.” Nearby is “financial trouble.” Then there is “family strife.” Close by, is the shepherd called “keeping busy.” My interior false shepherds have many names. There are many things which drive the sheep of my emotions. Only you can name the ones in your pasture.

I would invite you to close your eyes and name your own sheep and your own shepherds as I read, again, lines from Jeremiah. “Woe to the shepherds who mislead and scatter the flock of my pasture … You have not cared for [my sheep] … I myself will gather the remnant of my flock … and bring them back to their meadow.”

The question now becomes: how will the Lord God do this? To answer this, perhaps we need to take another look at the gospel reading for today. But first, it might be good to begin by recalling last Sunday’s gospel. Last Sunday, we heard how Jesus had sent out his disciples to teach in his name. And now, in today’s reading, his disciples have returned. They’re all excited about what they’ve been doing and are eager to tell him of their adventures. But what about Jesus? It seems he’s not nearly as excited with their results as they are. Instead of congratulating them on a job well-done, he says: “Come away by yourselves to a deserted place, [an out-of-the-way place,] and rest a while.”

And they do try to escape the people who have crowded around so tightly that the disciples can’t even eat. They try to escape from the problems of the world, but those problems follow them. It seems that when the disciples tried to take their vacation, their problems, the people they had been ministering to, not only followed them, they even got there ahead of them!

We, who are today’s followers of Jesus, try to escape from our problems, but somehow we can’t seem to. Our problems not only follow us, they sometimes precede us. It would seem that there’s little hope for us. But yet there is hope for us. For two reasons: first of all, there is Jesus’ gentle urging: “Come away [with me.]” He didn’t say: “Go off alone” but rather “Come.” You will be with me, and I will be with you. And secondly, he took pity on the scattered flock of confused sheep he found waiting for him. And what did he do when he found them?

He taught them. And what did he teach them? I believe today’s reading from Saint Paul reminds us of what he taught. On one level, Paul reminds us how we are all united together by Christ. He spoke of both pagan-born Christians who were once far off and of Jewish Christians who have been near. But on another level, there is both a pagan Christian and a Jewish Christian inside of each one of us. There are parts of me waiting to be united into one body, one whole person. There is part of me that is far off from the Lord. There is another part of me that is near to him.

Now, let’s return for a moment to that imaginary pasture inside of us. Some of our sheepish emotions and feelings are running off. “Patience” gets butted by “anger,” the shepherd called “financial trouble” chases the lamb called “prudence” away to hide behind a bush. The false shepherd “job problems” shears the wool off of “courage” and leaves him cold and shivering. The shepherd of “family strife” tweaks the tail of “harmony.”

Yet in all this chaos, this mad scramble, there is still one true Shepherd, one Good Shepherd who is mightier than all of the false shepherds inside of me. He leads forth all of the sheep of my internal pasture. He quiets and gentles them. All I need to do is come away with him. Even if our problems seem to follow us or precede us, he is there. When our sheep, our emotions, are scattered and confused, he, alone, can gather them back into one-fold, one warm, peaceful meadow. In him, our sheep can find their rest. With him, we do not take a so-called vacation. We do not need to become “vacant” or “empty.” With him, we find recreation or, if you will, a “re-creation.”

And so, as we enter the middle of our summer, a time to ponder our desire for recreation, our need for “re-creation,” our need to go off to greener pastures for a while, I’d leave you with three questions to ponder:
● What are the names of your own inner sheep?
● Who are the false shepherds who scatter them?
● And finally, are you ready to hear the voice of your one, true shepherd saying to you, “Come with me to an out-of-the-way place and rest a while”?

^{Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time; July 21, 1985, July 23, 2006 (revised)
Jer 23:1-6; Eph 2:13-18; Mk 6:30-34}

Today’s questions are for those of you who watch television. You may not want to admit it, but if you do, you can raise your hand to answer the first one. The question is: how many of you watch so-called “reality” shows on tv? Well, if you have, maybe you can think about my next question for today, which is: just what do we mean by “reality?” Does Survivor or any of the other programs that deal with “real” people – do they show us what “reality” is?

We once said “reality” could be summed up in that old phrase: “seeing is believing”. But now days, many aren’t as sure, not when we deal with “reality” shows and “virtual reality.” Well, ancient peoples, whether they were Hebrews or Romans or Greeks, also had questions about reality. But their answer was slightly different from ours. For them, reality was what actually existed even if they couldn’t see it. In our modern skepticism we ask: well, if you can’t see it, how do you know it exists? If you can’t weigh it, or touch it, or measure it in some way, how do you know it really exists?

The Greeks asked the same question, too. Their conclusion was there are signs which point toward what is real. The signs exist. They are able to be seen. These signs point towards a higher reality that cannot be seen. At least this was the conclusion philosophers reached.

But what about ordinary people like you and me? They saw things, just like we do. And sometimes in their seeing, their looking, they missed the reality. They mistook the signs as being what is real. That’s, of course, what today’s gospel is all about: mis-reading the “signs.” Which leads me to another question: what is the sign and what is the reality of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes? Is it a sign of the reality of God’s power? Or is it, perhaps, a sign of our trust in God and God’s trust in us?

Our reading for today actually began last Sunday when the people followed Jesus and his disciples to a deserted place. The people had pursued Jesus because of the signs he was performing. They saw him cure the sick. They saw this as the power of God. They, too, wanted to be cured of their physical ailments, healed in their twisted legs and blind eyes.

Jesus thought he and his companions might escape the demands of the crowds for a little while and crossed the Sea of Galilee in a fishing boat. But the crowds followed them along the seashore. They wanted more. More cures. More healings. At least, that’s what they thought they wanted. For them, the reality was what Jesus could do to heal their physical bodies.

But what about Jesus? What did he perceive their reality to be? He looked at them and knew they hungered. At first, we might think he saw their physical hunger. But what he really saw was their spiritual starvation. Have you ever thought about how this story begins? It’s such a familiar story, this multiplication of the five barley loaves and two dried fish, we sometimes fail to read between the lines. Just like the Hebrews, we see the bread and fish and fail to see the “signs” of the story.

First of all, was it the people who demanded to be fed? Did someone come running up to Jesus to tell him the crowds are turning ugly, if we don’t give them a free hand-out, they’re going to turn on us? I don’t see anything like that in the gospel John has given us. No – it was Jesus who saw the crowds and asked Philip, his disciple: “Where can we buy enough food for them to eat?” Jesus, himself, recognized the need of the people for nourishment even before they realized they were hungry. And although he proposed a worldly solution in his question – going out and buying food from the villages – John tells us Jesus knew this is not what he needed to do.

What about Philip? This disciple seemed to take Jesus at his word about buying food and pointed out something that Jesus, no doubt, already knew: they did not have enough money to do it. How many times have I been like Philip when Jesus asks me to do something? When my answer is: I don’t have enough time, enough talent, enough money to do what you want. And, so, with a variety of excuses, I never begin.

And then there is Andrew. What was his response? Well, Lord, it isn’t much, but there’s this kid with some bread and fish. And what did Jesus do? He took what was offered, as little as it might seem, and he blessed it and gave it to them. Have there been times when Jesus has asked me to do something and my response has been: Lord, it’s not much, but it’s a start. My fear is that most of the time I’m more like Philip than I am like Andrew.

We know how the story ends. Or at least we think we do. The disciples gather up the leftovers so that nothing would be wasted and found that they filled twelve baskets. It’s no wonder that, when the people saw what had happened, they were amazed. They had seen a new sign and thought they had seen a new reality. Immediately, they wanted to carry Jesus off and make him their king. What better person to have as a king than someone who could perform a miracle like that. You’d never have to work again, there would always be a free hand-out of food. But, Jesus seeing they had mis-read the sign, fled away from them to go to the mountain alone. No doubt to pray.

If the crowds had mis-read the sign they saw, is there a chance we, too, might mis-read it as well. Are we much better at reading signs than the Jewish crowds were? Some hear this story and take it at face value. Jesus overcame natural law and every time a piece of bread was torn off, or a piece of fish was taken, a new piece miraculously grew back to replace it. Many say it, indeed, happened that way. There was a physical miracle. However, for a moment, I’d like for us to reflect on another aspect of what Eucharist might be.

What I want to reflect about during the next few minutes does have to do with Eucharist. However, I won’t be talking about the reality of the Body and Blood of Christ under the appearance of bread and wine. During the next four weeks, there will be other opportunities to address this topic, as we listen to the continuation of John’s Gospel about the Bread of Life. Instead, let’s look more closely at another reality of this sign of the multiplication of the loaves, at another reality of what Eucharist is.

Some bible scholars point out that the Jews who came to hear Jesus were no fools. These scholars say no one in his right mind would go out for a day to hear this new prophet without taking along some food. Each person, or each family, had brought along a loaf of bread, some dried figs, or a piece of dried fish. And Jesus, also not being a fool, knew this. So, what did he have them do?

First of all, he did not tell them to line up for a hand-out. Instead, he asked them to recline. To lie down just as they would at home for a meal. After all it was an ancient custom among the Mediterranean people of that time to recline for a meal. It showed they were safe and among friends. No one would lie down among strangers, among enemies. To recline was a sign of fellowship. And so, they did.

And what happened next? According to some bible scholars, the people began to share their food with one another. These interpreters say the miracle Jesus performed was this: having heard him talk about God, about his Father, about how they should love one another, these people were now willing to share with one another the food they had. For these scholars, the miracle of the loaves and fishes is not a story about how Jesus miraculously made bread and fish reproduce itself, but rather how his love caused these people, these strangers, to see one another as friends and companions and share their own sustenance with one another. For some, then, the sign which is shown by this miracle is not the power of Jesus overcoming the natural laws of physical bread and fish but, perhaps, the greater miracle of how strangers, hearing of God’s love, can share with one another.

Yet, there is another related sign I’d like for us to reflect upon for a moment. And that is the sign of trust. If you believe the bread and fish were miraculously reproduced, consider the level of trust Jesus had in his Father to begin the task of feeding over five-thousand people. And if you believe the love shown by Jesus caused the people to share their meager food, consider the amount of trust Jesus had in God and in the people to bring about this sharing.

Trust in God is an ancient miracle. The Israelites trusted in God when Yahweh told them: I will be your God, and you will be my people. Jesus taught them a new trust: trust in Abba, our Father. He loves you as a parent. You are his children. Children are born to trust. Think for a moment just how trusting a child is: an infant trusts that a mother or father will provide food and warmth and a toddler trusts that a parent will not let go of a hand held for support.

But somewhere along the way, we learn not to trust. Teenagers don’t trust that parents really know what might be best for them. And parents don’t trust that their children, when left to their own devices, will continue to follow what their parents have taught. A spouse no longer trusts that the partner will remain faithful. A boss does not trust that an employee will perform the tasks which are assigned. One race or group of people does not trust the intentions of another. One nation does not trust the good will of another.

And so, it goes. We start as innocent, trusting individuals. We end up as divided political countries. What happened to us? Perhaps we need to go back to Philip and to Andrew. Philip who said: there is not enough, it is pointless to begin. And Andrew who said: it’s not much, but it’s a start. Maybe this is what trust is: the ability to make a start, even if you’re not sure how it will end. Trust recognizes the uncertainty of the future but does not stay frozen in either the past or the present. Each one of us is given the chance to be a sign of trust. A sign to the world that God does exist, that Abba loves each one of us.

I began by asking questions about reality, about what is real, about what is a sign of reality. I would conclude by asking whether each one of us is real. Am I a sign of God’s love? Do I trust God enough to begin to change my life? Do I trust God enough to share what I have with others? Am I Philip or am I Andrew?

^{Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time; July 24, 1988; revised July 27, 2003
2 Kg 4:42-44; Eph 4:1-6; Jn 6:1-15}

Today’s question is a biblical one – one based on the scriptures of the New Testament. My question is this: what major story is missing from the Gospel according to John? Yes, to answer today’s question you need to know something about all four gospels. But I think most of you can do it – can answer my question about which very familiar story you can find in the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke, but you won’t find in the writings of John the Evangelist.

Actually, there are probably several answers you could give. But the one I’m looking for, the very greatest story not found in John’s Gospel, is: the scene at the Last Supper where Jesus blesses the bread and wine, saying – “This is my body – This is my blood – Take and eat, take and drink.”

John’s report of that final fellowship meal of Jesus and his followers omits what we consider to be the foundation for our Eucharist, our Thanksgiving, our commemoration of the presence of Christ in the consecrated bread we eat and the consecrated wine we drink at each celebration of our Mass. Instead of reporting this part of the Last Supper, John, in his gospel, has told us about other thanksgivings, other Eucharistic events. We heard about one of them in today’s gospel reading. We’ll hear more of them during the next four Sundays.

Every third year, when we normally read from the Gospel according to Mark, there’s a five-week period during the summer when we hear passages from the Gospel of John. Some might say that, because Mark’s gospel is so short, there’s a need to compensate by inserting readings from John. But this is probably not the real reason. For these five Sundays during the middle of summer, the Church encourages us to reflect on the Bread of Life, itself. John’s writings have such a focus. His gospel tells us about the Bread of Life, about Eucharist, in a way that deepens what we hear in the Last Supper readings of Matthew, Mark and Luke.

We heard the first of these passages in the story we listened to a few minutes ago, the story of the “Multiplication of the Loaves and Fishes”. This reading is about one of the major “signs” of Christ’s divinity John includes in his gospel. It’s a story we’ve heard many times before. How Jesus miraculously turned five loaves and two fish into enough to feed a large crowd of at least 5,000 men, and still have leftover fragments of bread sufficient to fill twelve wicker baskets. This story is said to remind us of the superabundance given to us by God, himself, whether it’s bread distributed in a deserted place or wine from the six water-jars at the wedding feast in Cana. But perhaps there’s more for us to reflect upon than a description of the superabundance of God. Perhaps we need to look more closely at the people we see in today’s story.

Have you ever thought about the young boy who brought with him the five barley loaves and two fish? In the first place, he could be considered to be a very bright boy, one prepared for emergencies. He probably recognized this event of listening to Jesus would be a day-long affair. At the opening of today’s reading we heard how the crowds followed Jesus because they had seen “the signs he was performing on the sick.” And so, the crowds followed him up on the mountain to listen to him and to hope Jesus might cure more of them. Perhaps the boy, sensing it was going to be a long day, brought along food for his supper. It’s probably equally true others had done the same. They brought along something to eat. But this boy was different from the others. This boy trusted completely in Jesus, and having heard him speak, was willing to share his meager supply with the others who were present. When Andrew, one of the disciples, went looking for a way to help out, it’s doubtful he forcibly took the boy’s food. I’d rather imagine the young man voluntarily gave it up, hoping Jesus would make use of it in some small way to feed the crowds.

And what did Jesus do? He asked the crowd to recline for a meal. He asked them to follow the custom of openness to the stranger, to break bread with a stranger. And then what did he do? Jesus took the loaves and gave thanks.

Gave thanks. The Greek verb for what he did is “eucharistein.” Eucharist. Thanksgiving. He took the modest gift offered by a young boy, blessed it and multiplied it so that this small offering fed over 5,000 people and still have a remaining surplus.

The boy had not said, “I have nothing to offer; what I have, I must keep for myself”. He had not said. “I have too little to make a difference.” Instead, he proclaimed: “I have a little gift, do with it whatever you want.” And Jesus blessed the gift, and it was more than enough.

So, my real question to you, this day, is: “What small gift do you have to offer to Christ for his use?” Do you have as much trust as that young boy – to believe Christ can bless your offering and make it more than sufficient for the use of others in need? Or do you believe that what you have, must be hidden away for your own use? Do you believe your gift would be too small to make a difference in the world?

And remember: your gifts are not found only in the money in your pocket or bank accounts.
● Your gifts include your ability to teach young and old about Christ, both by what you say and how you act.
● Your gifts include your time to minister to the cares of others: in your family, among your friends, with people you meet at work or in school.
● Your gifts include your efforts to assist others in soup kitchens, nursing homes, hospices and places where migrant workers or displaced teens gather.
● Your gifts include your talents to work for social justice and the cause of peace.

In the words of Saint Paul to the Ephesians, we are encouraged to use these gifts, “to preserve the unity of the spirit through the bond of peace [as being]: one body … one Spirit, … one hope, … one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and though all and in all.”

Yes, our gifts may appear to be small and insignificant when we look at them and hold them tightly to ourselves. But these gifts, when blessed by Christ, can feed the hungry and clothe the naked. These gifts can be given and received as a Thanksgiving – as Eucharist – as the Body and Blood of Christ.

^{17th Sunday in Ordinary Time: July 26, 2009
2 Kg 4:42-44; Eph 4:1-6; Jn 6:1-15}

My question for today concerns food. You don’t need to respond out-loud, but only think about your answer for a moment. My question is this: what is your favorite “comfort food?” Yes, comfort food – the food you long for when you’re under stress, when you’ve had a really bad day. Food you crave when you’re lonely and from which you seek comfort. For some of you, the answer might be “ice cream.” That seemed to be the response of the “Golden Girls,” who can be seen in old re-runs. But for me, my comfort food is more substantial. Even though I do like ice cream from time to time, my comfort food is “meatloaf.” But not just any meatloaf. Mine is the meatloaf my wife makes from a recipe she’s developed some 50 years ago.

“Comfort food” has an important role in our lives. Of course, food, itself, has a very important role in our lives. We’ve all heard the old statement: “you are what you eat.” However, that doesn’t mean some of you are bowls of ice-cream – and I’m not a meatloaf, even if there may be a few of you who think I am.

I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you I’m beginning this reflection by reminding us about the importance of food in our lives – as both a source of comfort and a need for our nutrition and ultimate well-being. For the next several weeks our gospel readings from John the Evangelist will be about a particular food, the bread of life, the food of life which brings us comfort and provides for our own consolation and our well-being.

Over three thousand years ago, the Israelites, on their Exodus from Egypt to a new Holy Land, craved their own comfort food. For them, it apparently was leeks and onions, which would be far down on my list of comfort foods. Of course, back then the wandering Israelites would have settled for any food – claiming Moses had led them into a wilderness, where they were starving, a place far from the meat and bread they left behind in Egypt.

In today’s reading found in the Book of Exodus, we heard the response the Lord God made through Moses. He gave them quail for their meat and manna for their bread. Manna, a word that means: “what is this?” They soon learned what this manna was. Manna was a means of keeping them alive for a generation, for the forty years they were lost in their long journey from a land of bondage to a land of freedom. This manna, this bread from heaven, became their new “comfort food.”

A thousand years later, the one who they thought might be their new Moses, perhaps even their long-awaited Messiah, this preacher appeared before them and brought about a new miracle. He had just fed thousands of Hebrews, using only five donated barley loaves and two fish. It’s no wonder they wanted to make him their king, for surely, here was a man who could feed them daily. No longer would they need to work for their daily bread. All they needed to do was to follow him as he traveled from place to place.

But this Jesus, this new wonderworker, recognized this was not what the Lord God had called him to do. Rather, the Lord God had called him – to be. To be the bread of life, the new bread given daily as the food to sustain his people, to nourish his people beyond a mere forty years, but rather, every day of their lives, until the end of the world.

He spoke these words to those immediately present – those who were looking for the miracle of a free hand-out of food for which they did not need to labor. He instructed them they must turn away from the past, from a time when the Lord God gave them food in the desert. They must turn to the present when the Father gives them the bread which in turn – “gives life to the world.” He went on to say, “I am the bread of life, whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst.”

Over the next several weeks we will be asked to ponder his response to those who follow him. We will learn how those who heard these words reacted, how some rejected them, and others accepted them. We, too, will be asked about our own rejection or our own acceptance of his body and blood under the appearance of bread and wine. We will be asked about our own acceptance of his being the food of life, itself.

For now, we are being asked if this can be our own comfort food – the food to consol us when we are stressed, when we are feeling deserted and lonely. We are to recall that we are, indeed, what we eat – that by partaking of this holy meal, we, ourselves, become holy. Is it possible we can consume his body and drink his blood and in doing so truly become the Body and Blood of Christ?

^{18th Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 5, 2012
Ex 16:2-4, 12-15; Eph 4:17, 10-24; Jn 6:24-35}

Today’s question is another personal one – one for you to think about for a moment. One which calls upon your memory. My question is this: What event in your life is one you wanted to last? It could be an event that was a major turning point in your life. It could have been brief, or it could have gone on for days. But it’s one you wanted to preserve.

For some, it might be very romantic moments. The time you were dating a very special person. The time of your wedding and honeymoon. It could be the birth of your child, a time of joy. It might be a special trip or vacation. Four days in Disney World. An island cruise or a trip to Europe. Or, perhaps, a few days in Colorado, or even in Galveston or San Antonio. It could be your first really good job, a time when you were respected and appreciated for what you were doing. A time capturing all you really wanted out of life.

Each one of us, if we think about it, can recall a moment when everything seemed to be perfect, when our life was completely “all-together.” Each one of us has beheld, for a brief instant, our own Camelot. If only we could have preserved it. Put it under glass. Protected it, so it would still be with us, every moment of our lives.

Saint Peter experienced such a glorious event. We heard his personal recounting of it in one of his own letters. A passage was read from this letter in our Second Reading for today. In our gospel reading, we, also, heard more about this experience and how he was probably reminded of a similar vision the Prophet Daniel once had about the appearance of the Son of man.

The events we recall in our own lives are not as dramatic as the one Peter, James and John witnessed there on the mountain. After all, we seldom hear, directly, the spoken word of God. They did. For Peter wrote: “… we had been eyewitnesses of [Jesus’] majesty. For he received honor and glory from God the Father when that unique declaration came to him from the majestic glory, ‘This is my Son, my beloved, with whom I am well pleased.’ We ourselves heard this voice come from heaven while we were with him on the holy mountain.”

It was there, where Jesus and his friends had retreated to pray, that Moses, the lawgiver, the founder of Israel, and Elijah, the prophet, the restorer of Israel, met with him. On Mount Sinai, Moses had received the Law, the Ten Commandments from the Lord God. On Mount Horeb, Elijah had seen the Lord God, himself, not in a storm, earthquake or fire, but in a gentle, whispering breeze. And now on this holy Mount Tabor, they spoke with Jesus about his own “Exodus,” his own journey to Jerusalem.

And what was Peter’s immediate reaction? He said: “Rabbi, it is good that we are here! Let us make three tents: one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” In effect, what he was suggesting was: let us preserve the memory of this great event. Let us erect a tent, a tabernacle, a monument so that it will be visible to us and others for the rest of our lives.

There are many of us who are like Peter. We want to preserve in some physical way the major event in our life. We wish we could freeze-frame it with a push of a button on our Tivo. There are, also, some who do not merely remember the past, but rather, try to take the past with them into the present. There are classic stories of the high school football player who still lives out the faded glory of that winning touchdown. There are not-so-classic stories of others who try to say the past is not really over. Today is still the same as yesterday. There are those who have erected tents upon their mountaintops to preserve a magnificent event.

And over the years, the simple tent, the tabernacle, became a temple and then a fortress to keep out all new changes, all new thoughts and ideas. But Jesus did not want to have tents erected for his particular encounter with the past. The event reported in today’s Gospel according to Mark ends with the words: “As they were coming down from the mountain, [Jesus] charged them not to relate what they had seen to anyone, except when the Son of Man had risen from the dead.”

Yes, they had just heard the voice of God say: “This is my beloved Son. Listen to him.” And yet, they were to tell no one of this event. As I said, Jesus did not want them to perpetuate his encounter with the past, his meeting with Moses and Elijah. Rather he spoke to them of his future: his suffering, his death and his resurrection. It was these events he wanted them to remember and to celebrate. And so they did. And so do we.

Each Sunday we gather together here at Eucharist to remember and to celebrate. And to enter into tomorrow. For this is the instruction spoken to us by Jesus the Christ. As great as the events of the past might be, as necessary as they are in making each one of us the person who exists right now, it is even more necessary we move onwards. We must come down from our mountaintop and re-enter the world of suffering, of death, but death coupled with resurrection and joy.

Mountaintop experiences give us strength and conviction for our journey, but they are not the journey, itself. There is more to life than living in the past. Having heard the voice of the Lord God spoken from the mists and clouds surrounding our mountaintops, we now must listen to the word of God made flesh, the word of God who is transformed into the body and blood we eat and drink at this celebration. The word of God who tells us to go forth and be Eucharist for others.

We are asked not to preserve the past in physical structures. We are not to live on the glory of our past accomplishments. Rather we are to join in the new Exodus, the new journey. We must come down from the mountaintop and continue our journey into the kingdom of God.

^{Transfiguration of the Lord, August 6, 2006
Dan 7:9-10, 13-14; 2 Pt 1:15-19; Mk 9:2-10}

Today’s first question is more for teenagers than it may be for many of the adults gathered here today. That doesn’t mean grownups won’t know the answer, but somehow, they may be less attuned to the answer than younger people might be. My question is this: what is meant by “virtual reality?” No, I won’t ask if you can explain “virtual reality.” But do you have a feeling for what it is? Can you describe what it is?
One answer might be: virtual reality is a condition or experience where it seems real but really isn’t. You put on a special computerized-helmet and maybe some special computerized-gloves and it feels like you can really see things and touch things, but they aren’t really there.

Now for grownups, I’d ask a slightly different, second question. One you might be able to answer if you can remember some of your high school physics. What’s a “virtual image?” Do you re-call, it’s the image you see reflected through a lens when it makes an image on a screen which you hold up behind the lens. Remember when you had to figure out whether the image was going to be right-side-up or up-side-down and all that stuff about concave and convex lenses?

Ok, so now you have a feeling for a “virtual image.” So, what’s an “image?” What’s a “non-virtual image,” if you will? Well, it’s something that’s made to look like the real thing. It’s not the real thing, but you can touch it and feel it, like with a statue or picture.

Now with “virtual reality,” things become a little more complicated. You can see both virtual reality and what shall we call the other? “Real” reality? But, with those special computerized gloves, you can not only see virtual reality, but you can also touch virtual reality. So, what’s the difference between “virtual” reality and “real” reality?

In fact, what is “real reality,” anyway? Originally, it was something you could see and touch. If you could knock on wood and feel and touch it, why it must be real. It’s solid to the touch. But then modern science came along with new concepts for energy and matter. Now we know wood isn’t really very solid after all.

Wood and everything else are made up of molecules. And what about the molecules? Why they’re made up of atoms, of course. Any kid now a-days knows that. And what about the atoms? When I was in high school, we all learned atoms were made up of a solid nucleus and those electrons whizzing around them. But then by college, the nucleus wasn’t quite as solid. It had protons and neutrons and a lot of space in between them. And the electrons were no longer like little planets revolving around a miniature sun. Now they were electron “shells” completely surrounding the nucleus at different levels.

But soon, if you weren’t careful, those electrons became merely mathematical expressions of the probability of where an electron might be – if you didn’t look at it. Because the equations said if you look at one, it no longer exists where you look. And those nice, somewhat solid protons and neutrons now broke down into “quarks” and things called “charm” and “beauty” – mainly because those physicists didn’t know what they really were, but they had to call them something.

So now we know “reality” isn’t very solid after all. Matter is made up of energy that just seems to be solid to us. And maybe “real” reality isn’t much more “real” than virtual reality is. Are you confused? Well, you’re not alone. The ancient Israelites asked the same question: what is reality? And their answer seems strange to us. Just as two-thousand years from now, our descendants may find our 21st century physics to be rather quaint.

For the Israelites, reality was what they made of it. Last week, Father Frank spoke about the Jewish view of “remembering.” Of how in the act of remembering, the reality of the past became the reality of the present. The Hebrews remembered the words and actions of Moses from that first Passover and the beginning of their Exodus from Egypt to the promised land and each year brought all of those remembrances into the present moment.

Father Frank spoke of how the early Christians remembered the words and actions of Jesus at the last meal he had shared with his followers. How these early Christians linked these words and actions with those words we heard proclaimed a few moments ago: “I myself am the living bread come down from heaven. If anyone eats this bread he shall live forever; the bread I will give is my flesh, for the life of the world.”

We, also, recall how those companions of Jesus who journeyed with him to Emmaus recognized him in the breaking of the bread. The breaking of the bread was a reality for those early Christians in the first twelve centuries following the death and resurrection of Jesus. In this action of the breaking of the bread – and the sharing of the bread – Jesus was again present to them in a very real way. They “re-membered,” they put together, again, his instructions, as recorded in the Gospel of Matthew: “‘take this and eat it … this is my body’ then he took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them. ‘All of you must drink from it’ he said, ‘for this is my blood, the blood of the covenant, to be poured out in behalf of many for the forgiveness of sins.’”

This was the reality of Christians until the time of Thomas Aquinas in the 13th century when intellectuals began to ask new questions about nature and reality. The answer given by Aquinas and the scholastics, the scholars, was that reality could be explained by so-called “things” that were made up of an “inner reality,” called substance and an “outer reality” called appearance. They, also, became more interested in the concept of change as it relates to substance and appearance. “How do you change lead into gold?” was a popular question, for obvious reasons. Or how are bread and wine changed into the body and blood of Christ?

The simple folk had an easy answer: they heard the Latin words: “hoc est corpus meus” said by the priest over the bread. And if you say it fast enough the words that mean “this is my body” … Hoc est corpus meus … become “hocus pocus.” Just say the magic words and you can change anything you want to change.

But the scholars, the scholastics, like Aquinas, had a different answer. They said the inner reality, the substance of the bread and wine changed into the body and blood of Christ, whereas the outer reality, the appearances, remained those of bread and wine. And so was born the concept called “transubstantiation” – the changing of the substance of bread and wine into the substance of Christ while retaining the appearance of bread and wine. It was an attempt to explain, in human terms, the unexplainable, divine mystery first encountered in the remembering of those early Christians.

And what about today? How do we attempt to explain the real presence, the reality of Jesus with us today? Today in our liturgy, our public act of Eucharist, of Thanksgiving, how do we experience Jesus, once more, in the “breaking of the bread?”

The documents of the Second Vatican Council held in the sixties speak of several ways in which Jesus is present to us in this gathering. First of all, he is present in a special, real way in the nature of the gathering, itself – for we are the Body of Christ.

Secondly, the documents of Vatican II remind us Jesus is present in the proclaimed words of scripture. Hearing the words spoken by the reader is as important as receiving Christ in the form of bread and wine. This is why here at Christ the Good Shepherd we don’t use missalettes for you to read along with those who proclaim the Holy Scriptures. We could afford buying them, but we take seriously the Vatican II teaching that Christ is present in the spoken, proclaimed words of scripture.

Thirdly, the documents of Vatican II remind us Jesus is present in a special way in the presider of this assembly. He is present in Father Frank who acts in persona Christi – in the person of Christ – when he prays over the bread and wine with the words: “Let your Spirit come upon these gifts to make them holy, so that they may become for us the Body and Blood of our Lord, Jesus Christ.” And so it is, by the power of the Holy Spirt, that in some way, a way we cannot be explain with mere human words, that the real presence of Jesus the Christ comes among us under the appearance of bread and wine.

And while we realize this presence is especially found under the form of consecrated bread and wine, we must also remember his real presence can also be found in the presider, in the proclaimed word of God, and in the gathered assembly. It is, also, for this reason, we encourage our ministers here at Christ the Good Shepherd to do certain things. We ask our readers not to elevate the lectionary at the end of the readings – which would suggest the book, itself, is the Word of God. And rather than saying: “This is the Word of God,” which again focuses on the thing, this book, but rather to say: “The Word of God” to focus on the spoken proclamation as the presence of Jesus the Christ.

And finally, we also encourage ministers of the bread and of the cup to look directly at each of you when distributing the body and blood of Jesus which, by the way, are found in both the consecrated host and in the consecrated wine and not the body in only the bread, and the blood only in the wine. We encourage our ministers to look directly into your eyes as they speak the words “Body of Christ” or “Blood of Christ” to remind you: it is not only the bread or the wine which contain the Body and Blood of Christ, but you, yourself, contain the real presence of Jesus the Christ. We are members of the Body of Christ. The real presence of Jesus exists in us as we go forth into the world. Each of us has a soul that bears the image and likeness of God. We are the image, the virtual image, of God … who is the reality of our virtual world.

^{Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 10, 1997
1 Kings 19:4-8; Ephesians 4:30-5.2; John 6:41-51}

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}

Have you ever stopped to think how ridiculous mathematics is? Perhaps with the beginning of a new school year and with all of the kids struggling with math, I shouldn’t ask such a question, but I bet some of you have wondered from time to time about it. Let me give you an example. How much is one plus one? Two, right? And how much is one times one? Of course, the answer is “one.” But why? Are there different kinds of “one?” Are there different “ones” when you add them together than when you multiply them? And for the rest of you, who aren’t bothered by such questions, you’re probably asking yourself: what’s he up to now? What does the number “one” have to do with today’s readings?

Well, the focus for today’s reflection is on “oneness.” We all seem to have an interest in “oneness.” Maybe, it’s part of being human. After all, we began our lives in absolute “oneness.” The study of biology teaches us we each began as one fertilized cell which divided to become two. The two divided to become four, the four, eight, and so on. We know, in the beginning of our life, we were “one” with our mother, our life in the womb was totally dependent upon her.

Developmentalists speak about how at birth, and in the days and weeks afterwards, we believe we are still one with our mother and with the universe we know. As we grow, we learn, much to our sorrow, we are separate. The mother who nourishes me, comforts me, protects me, is someone other than me, myself. Psychologists tell us our task throughout life is to seek what is called “individuation,” becoming my own person, establishing my own uniqueness, my own oneness separate from everyone else. And therein lies part of our problem.

Many of us like to be left “alone,” alone, so I can do my own thing, not be bothered by anyone else, free from the demands of others. Is there a teenager who has not said: “Leave me alone, I can handle it on my own?”

There are times when each of us likes being alone. However, none of us enjoys being “lonely”. And therein, lies the difference. It’s a very confusing difference. I want to be alone, but I don’t want to be lonely. I want to do my own thing, but I want help, too. I want to be in charge, but I want to feel protected.

I want my “oneness”, but I don’t want the kind of “oneness” I have. “And the Lord God said: ‘It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a suitable partner for him.'” So, what did the Lord God do? He took the same ground from which he had formed Adam and made the wild animals of the earth and the birds of the air. And the Lord God transferred his own power over these creatures from himself to this first man.

How did he do this? By allowing Adam, the first man, to name these creatures. For the ancients, naming a thing gave the one who did the naming power over that which was named. Do you remember the opening lines of the Book of Genesis? “Then God said: ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light. God saw how good the light was. God then separated the light from the darkness. God called the light ‘day,’ and the darkness he called ‘night.’” The Book of Genesis then goes on to tell how God called the dome, “the sky”, and the dry land, “the earth”, and the basin of waters, “the sea”. But, in today’s first reading, God allowed Adam to name the wild animals and the birds of the air. By naming them, Adam gained control over these creatures. Adam was no longer alone, yet he was still “lonely”.

What happened next? With the help of God, Adam fell asleep. Adam gave up his control. He was totally at the mercy of the Lord God. And what gift did God bring to him? He brought a part of Adam to new life. He took what was vital to Adam, a rib. A rib that protected his lungs, his very breath, a rib that protected his heart, life itself. And from this “bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh” the Lord God created a true partner for Adam.

And so it was that Jesus, in our gospel reading for today, reminded his listeners, the pharisees who tried to trap him, and his disciples who tried to learn from him, that “in the beginning of creation God made them male and female … and the two shall become as one. They are no longer two but one flesh.” But the Gospel according to Mark doesn’t stop there. For we hear in the next passage, which follows immediately, the story of how: “people were bringing their little children to him to have him touch them, but the disciples were scolding them for his. Jesus became indignant when he noticed it and said to them: ‘Let the children come to me and do not hinder them. It is to just such as these that the Kingdom of God belongs. I assure you that whoever does not accept the Kingdom of God like a little child shall not enter into it.’”

You might think this is a sudden jump in the story line and Mark did a terrible job at editing. But perhaps not. Two weeks ago, we heard a challenging homily from Father Paul about the place of children in the time of Jesus. I certainly cannot improve on what he had to say about children representing the outcasts, the powerless ones. It’s essential to appreciate this about children, in the time of Jesus, in order to understand how the two stories we heard a few minutes ago can be related.

When I hear these stories, I must realize three things. First, I must be willing to give up my own control. Second: I need others for my own survival. And third: I, too, am needed for the survival of others. Let’s look more closely at these three needs.

First of all: to give up my control is difficult. Each of us has what might be called, the “white knight syndrome.” I need to be in charge so I can save the world. I know best what should be done. Everyone has to do it my way. The only way I can establish my “oneness” is for me to control everything and everyone around me. However, I then learn this doesn’t work. I can’t control everything and everyone. The result of my trying does not lead to happiness, to a sense of oneness with others or with the world in which I live. My attempts at individuation have led, instead, to alienation. I am lonely in my aloneness.

But what happens when I slowly recognize I, too, must be child-like? Consider for a moment the good things about truly being a child. Before the world re-trains the child, is there anyone more innocent? A child seems to have an innate sense of trust. A child lives for today and does not worry about tomorrow. A child loves openly and holds no grudges. A child truly is able to forget and forgive. Is it any wonder Jesus said: “Whoever does not accept the Kingdom of God like a little child shall not enter into it.”

When I give up my control, when God helps me to fall asleep in his arms, like a little child, I can be awakened to his gifts. However, a child needs others for survival. Children cannot do everything for themselves. A child needs protection, the protection offered by a family: parents, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles and cousins, the extended family of relatives and friends.

When I, too, am a child, I recognize my need for others, for my community. It is than that my “oneness” joins with the “oneness” of others and community is born. In this process, I must, also, recognize I am part of the community for others. Just as you make up my community, I am part of yours.

Isn’t it strange how each of us comes from a “oneness” with the mother who carried us within her? How we strive to form our own individual “oneness” to separate us from each other? Yet, how we yearn for the “oneness” found in a community of friends and relations? And along the way we suffer. We suffer and ache in our loneliness.

In this suffering, in this lonely journey in which we move from our original “oneness” to a new “oneness,” what are we really seeking? Could it be the touch of God? The Lord God touched Adam and from him took the rib with which he made another part of Adam, himself. Jesus embraced and blessed the children, placing his hands on them. Do you and I seek the touch of Jesus? And if so, how do we feel it?

For some of us, we can feel it within our being, in prayer and reflection. Yet, each of us also wants a God with skin. We need to feel the touch of another human being. To be joined together with someone else.

In our reading from the Letter of Paul we are once more reminded the Christ who consecrates us, who makes us holy, and we, who are consecrated, we who are made holy, have the same Father. We learn Jesus the Christ is not ashamed to call us his brothers and sisters. So, it is that we reach out and touch one another with his sign of peace and together we call him “our Father.”

In our human mathematics, when one and one are different things, “one plus one makes two”. But when one and one are identical, they can be multiplied and still remain as one. Perhaps, we need a touch of the divine mathematics to truly understand what Jesus meant when he prayed: “that all may be one – as you, Father, are in me, and I in you – I pray that they may be one in us.”

^{Twenty-seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 6, 1991
Gen 2:1-24; Heb 2:9-11; Mk 10:2-16}

(The first part of this homily of 2012 is identical to the one given in 1991 as “Oneness.” The ending changes to reflect this is beginning special seasons, “Respect Life Month” and the beginning of the 2012-13 “Year of Faith.” It might be interesting to note how the same scriptures may reflect differing conclusions!)

Today, I have a mathematical question for you. My question is this: How much is one plus one? Two, right? And how much is one times one? Of course, the answer is “one”. But why? Are there different kinds of “one”? Are there different “ones” when you add them together than when you multiply them? This leads me to the focus for today’s reflection: “oneness”.

We all seem to have a desire for “oneness.” Maybe it’s part of being human. After all, we begin our lives in absolute “oneness.” Biology teaches us we each begin as one, fertilized cell which divides to become two. The two cells divide to become four; the four, eight; and so on. We also know, in the beginning of our life, we were “one” with our mother. Our life in the womb was totally dependent upon her.

Developmentalists speak about how at birth, and in the days and weeks afterwards, we believe we are still one with our mother and with the universe around us. As we grow, we learn, much to our sorrow, we are separate. The mother who nourishes me, comforts me, protects me, is someone other than me, myself. Psychologists tell us our task throughout life is to seek what is called “individuation,” becoming my own person, establishing my own uniqueness, my own oneness separate from everyone else. And that’s when our problems begin.

Many of us like to be left “alone,” alone, so I can do my own thing, not be bothered by anyone else, free from the demands of others. Is there a teenager who has not said: “Leave me alone, I can handle it on my own? As adults, there are times when each of us likes being alone. However, none of us enjoys being “lonely.” In this difference, our problems become even more complicated. I want to be alone, but I don’t want to be lonely. I want to do my own thing, but I want help, too. I want to be in charge, but I want to feel protected.

I want my “oneness,” but I don’t want the kind of “oneness” I have. “[And] the Lord God said: ‘It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a suitable partner for him.'” So, what did the Lord God do? “[He] formed out of the ground various wild animals and various birds of the air, and he brought them to the man …. but none proved to be the suitable partner for the man.”

Yes, Adam was now surrounded by other living creatures and was no longer alone, but he was still lonely. He had not found a “suitable partner.” What happened next? With the help of God, Adam fell asleep. Adam gave up his control. He was totally at the mercy of the Lord God. And what gift did God bring to him? He brought a part of Adam to new life. He took what was vital to Adam, a rib. And from this rib, God created a suitable partner.

Adam immediately recognized he was no longer lonely. He saw this partner was “bone of my bone,” was as strong as he, himself was. He saw this partner was “flesh of my flesh” and was as weak as he, himself, was. For indeed, bone represents strength, and flesh represents weakness. Yes, here was his new partner who was identical to him in both strength and weakness. “[And] that is why a man leaves his father and mother and clings to his wife, and the two of them become one ….”

Many years later, the Pharisees tried to trap Jesus by their questions and show he did not support the commandments of God. They asked him if, according to the Law of Moses, [if] it was lawful for this oneness of husband and wife to be broken. Jesus’ response to them was to quote their scriptures: “… from the beginning of creation, God made them male and female. For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, no human being must separate.”

However, this passage in the Gospel of Mark concludes with what might seem to be a sudden leap to another topic. This passage about the oneness of husband and wife and their permanent union is immediately followed by a story about children – about how Jesus responded when he observed how his disciples were trying to keep children away from him. He reminded them: “Amen, I say to you, whoever does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it.”

Consider for a moment the good things about being a child. A child seems to have an innate sense of trust. A child lives for today, and does not worry about tomorrow. A child loves openly and holds no grudges. A child is able to forget and forgive. A child is not alone in the universe. A beloved child need not feel lonely. Is it any wonder Jesus said: “Whoever does not accept the Kingdom of God like a little child shall not enter into it.”

Each of us desires the oneness we once felt as a child. The oneness with the parents who loved and protected us. But what happens as we grow older? It’s then each of us seeks to be in control of what is going on around us. And having gained independence, we find it’s difficult to give up our control.

Today, many people say that as an individual, I need to be in charge of my life. I, alone, know what is best for me. Everyone has to do it my way, or it’s the highway. The only way I can establish my “oneness” is for me to control everything and everyone around me. But then, I learn this doesn’t work. I can’t control everything and everyone.

The result of my trying to control my life and the lives of others does not lead to happiness, to a sense of oneness with others or with the world in which I live. But what happens when I slowly recognize I, too, must be child-like? When I begin to trust. When I no longer worry about tomorrow. When I love openly and hold no grudges. When I forget and forgive. When I no longer feel alone in the Universe but exist with the protection and providence of God.

This weekend, with the first Sunday in October, the Church initiates “Respect Life Month” – a time to recall “God is Life” and human life begins in concert with the sacrament of matrimony in which a man and a woman unite in a covenant relationship with one another and with their God. It has been said the sacrament of Matrimony provides a husband and wife an opportunity for their mutual salvation, for their oneness with God. With this sacrament, a husband’s redemption becomes more readily possible because of his partnership with his wife. With this sacrament, a wife’s redemption becomes more readily possible because of her partnership with her husband. To obtain this salvation, to overcome our sense of loneliness, we need the faith to seek a mutual oneness with God and with others.

This Thursday, October 11th, the Catholic Church throughout the world will initiate a “Year of Faith,” a year marking the 50th anniversary of the opening of the Second Vatican Council, and the 20th anniversary of the publication of the Catechism of the Catholic Church. Perhaps, for many of us, this special Year of Faith can rekindle our faith and our oneness in God, in his gathered people, the Church, and in our spouse – not only for this single year, but also, for the rest of our lives.

In our human mathematics, when one and one are different things, “one plus one makes two”. But when one and one are identical, they can be multiplied and still remain as one. Perhaps we need a touch of a divine mathematics to truly understand what Jesus meant when he prayed: “that all may be one – as you, Father, are in me, and I in you – I pray that they may be one in us.”

^{Twenty-seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 7, 2012
Gen 2:1-24; Heb 2:9-11; Mk 10:2-16}

An immediate response might pop into your head for today’s question. On the other hand, you may need to ponder your final answer during the coming days, or weeks. My question is this: what is your most valuable possession? What do you possess that you would be most reluctant to give up? Probably, some material object you own comes directly to mind. Many of you may have already considered my question in terms of the classic one: what would you try to save, if your house caught fire or a category 5 hurricane was approaching Houston?

Some of you might have already faced the problem, if you’ve had to down-size your living arrangements. I admit: it’s not an easy task to undertake. Karen and I had to do it last fall, when we moved from our twenty-three-hundred square-foot house to a twelve-hundred square-foot apartment in a retirement community some thirty miles from Christ the Good Shepherd.

Giving up furniture wasn’t too hard, giving up hundreds of books was very difficult for me. Then there were the wedding dishes I wanted to keep, and Karen saw no need to keep, since one meal a day was now included in our monthly fee, and she did not plan on cooking any more dinners. In case you’re interested, we “compromised” by getting rid of the daily dishes and using the good ones for breakfast and lunch.

Yes, we all have a variety of “things” we want to keep. Things that are valuable in and of themselves, or because they have special meaning in our lives. There are other “possessions,” as well, we might need to give up. Non-material possessions like: power, health, or even (for some) their good looks.

We may need to give them up, to be replaced by an even more important possession. The Hebrews knew about such substitutions: the giving away of certain possessions in order to gain one of higher value. We heard about this exchange in our first reading from the “Book of Wisdom” found in the Old Testament. Since the word for “Wisdom” was feminine, the Hebrews often referred to Wisdom as being a woman. And so, we heard: “I pleaded, and the spirit of wisdom came to me. I preferred her to scepter and throne, and deemed riches nothing in comparison with her … All gold, in view of her, is a little sand, and before her, silver is to be accounted as mire. Beyond health and comeliness I loved her …”

In the minds of early Christians, “Wisdom” was also another name for the Holy Spirit. So, in other words, seeking and obtaining the Holy Spirit of God is worth more than any earthly power. Seeking the Holy Spirit is of more value than seeking gold or silver which become mere sand and mud. Obtaining the Holy Spirit of God is beyond the possession of physical health or earthly appearance.

In today’s gospel reading, a very wealthy man raised a similar question when he asked Jesus: “… what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Perhaps, as with many questions, the wealthy man thought he already knew the answer. He was no doubt pleased with the first response Jesus gave him. “Follow the Ten Commandments,” is basically what Jesus told the man. Follow what Moses taught you. Don’t kill, don’t commit adultery, don’t steal, don’t lie, don’t defraud, honor your parents.

The wealthy man was very pleased with Jesus’ answer. After all, he had been doing just that ever since he was a young boy. He had it made. He had been a good, observant Jew and had followed the Laws of Moses and of Torah. He was assured of “eternal life.” He would be part of the kingdom of God which Jesus had been preaching about. He could go away content and justified.

And since the wealthy man had followed the Laws of Moses, Jesus was pleased with him. In fact, Mark tells us Jesus “loved” the young man. And perhaps, because Jesus loved him and was pleased with the man’s prior way of life, the Teacher added another lesson. He said: “You are lacking in one thing. Go, sell what you have, and give to the poor and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”

The wealthy man was obviously devastated. He was told he was “lacking” something. With all his wealth, he no doubt wondered how he, of all people, could be lacking anything. And when he heard Jesus’ additional instruction: “Go, sell what you have, and give to the poor,” the wealthy man was unable to undertake Jesus’ second instruction: “… then come, follow me.” Instead, the wealthy man, recognizing he had many possessions, possessions he was unwilling to give up, [he] went away sad. He was not able to come and follow Jesus on his journey.

And Jesus, turning to his companions on his journey, announced: “How hard it is for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” These words startled his followers. Jesus’ observation ran completely counter to accepted Jewish tradition. A tradition which held that those who manifested wealth were blessed and favored by the Lord God. The greater one’s wealth, the more one was seen to be favored by the Lord God. The one with wealth would surely be well on the way to the Kingdom of God.

Jesus, seeing their puzzlement, responded with a vivid image of a camel loaded with goods, as most camels were. This loaded camel would have an easier time squeezing through a very tiny opening, than would a person, loaded with possessions of this world, have trying to enter the kingdom of God.

Now, Jesus’ followers were even more troubled. If someone who had such earthly possessions, which supposedly showed the Lord God’s favor, [if such a person] would have difficulty entering the kingdom of God, how could anybody, at all, be saved? Jesus, the one who the wealthy man had addressed as “good teacher,” then reminded them of a basic lesson: “For human beings it is impossible, but not for God.”

His words reminded his followers, and us, that we, ourselves, do not merit salvation by what we possess. By what we have accomplished. By what we do. We do not gain the kingdom of God through our own efforts. Rather, salvation is a gift of God. It is impossible for human beings to save themselves. We are granted salvation by God.

Our salvation does not depend on how many material possessions we have gathered. Our salvation does not depend on the power we have accumulated, nor how we appear to others. Entering the kingdom of God, in which we now exist and towards which we continue to journey, depends upon giving up our self-valued possessions in order to come to the aid of fellow-travelers, the poor among us, the ones who lack material needs and the power to live out their lives with human dignity.

In our modern Christian age, some tend to preach a so-called “Gospel of Abundance.” A gospel focused on gathering all that rightfully belongs to them as Christians. They ask: “Did Jesus really mean it?” Are we really to help the widow, the orphan, and the alien among us in order to be saved? And they answer “No.” In order to be saved, Jesus brought each and every believer an abundant life.

Yet, there are others who live out a “Gospel of Simplicity.” A gospel focused on relinquishing power over others and over one’s own self. They answer “Yes” to the question: “Did Jesus really mean it?” They live a life, not of giving up, but rather a life of giving all. They respond with a whole-hearted commitment to the journey begun by Jesus. They fully understand the words written by Saint Paul to the Hebrews: “Indeed the word of God is living and effective, sharper than any two-edged sword, penetrating even between soul and spirit, joints and marrow, and able to discern reflections and thoughts of the heart. No creature is concealed from him, but everything is naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must render an account.”

Again, the question is raised: what possessions will you give up before you are called to render your account?

^{Twenty-eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 15, 2006
Wis 7:1-11; Heb 4:12-13; Mk 10:17-27 (short form)}

Have you ever been part of a crowd? Yes, today’s question comes without a warning, so in case you missed it, I’ll ask you again: Have you ever been part of a crowd? The answer for each one of us must be “yes.” We are, right now, here in this place, a crowd of people. For one definition of crowd is: an audience or those in attendance. But there are other kinds of crowds. There are crowds when we go to a football game, except maybe an Oilers game, and there are crowds of shoppers, especially in another few days when the stores take down their Halloween decorations and put up the ones for Christmas.

Karen and I were recently on vacation in London, Paris and Rome. We had our share of crowds of tourists there, even if September is not supposed to be the tourist season. And, yes, we spent a great afternoon with Fr. Brendan who is enjoying Rome very much and is trying to separate his new Italian words from his old, Spanish vocabulary. He’s, also, lost a few pounds, but that’s probably because he has no more farewell parties to go to. Anyway, he’s doing fine.

But back to crowds. We found them in the big cities and in the usual tourist places like Pisa, Florence and Venice. And whether we were in Saint Peter’s Square in Vatican City or in Saint Mark’s Square in Venice, we were constantly warned to be aware of pickpockets. Crowds are like that. They include all sorts of people.

The crowd which followed Jesus as he left Jericho were like that. Some people in that crowd thought of him as a great teacher, a rabbi or, in Aramaic, a rabboni, a title which means “my master.” Others believed he was a wonderworker, who could cure lepers and make the lame walk, the deaf hear and the blind see. Still others saw him as a son of King David and a new leader of Israel. The crowd following Jesus included the wealthy and the poor as well as young men who were zealots and strong of limb. Others were crippled by disease. There were tax-collectors, prostitutes, and beggars.

And there was one who did not follow Jesus, but, rather, sat by the roadside: a blind beggar, who was known merely as the son of Timaeus. A man who had no name or identity of his own, but was known only as Bar-Timaeus, son of Timaeus. A blind man who called out another name, “Son of David.” An unknown man who called out his own desire: “have pity on me.”

If you had been part of the crowd there outside of Jericho that day when blind Bartimaeus called out, what would you have done? Would you have been one of those who scolded him, who told him to shut up, don’t make a scene? Would you have shoved him aside so Jesus would not be disturbed by one more dirty, blind man, so Jesus could walk on, unhindered by the problems of the world, oblivious to those around him?

But Jesus was not oblivious. Above the shouts of the crowd, he heard the call of Bartimaeus, just as so long ago his father had heard the cries of his people in Egypt and sent Moses to lead them. Just as God had heard the cries of the Israelites in Babylon and sent the prophet Jeremiah who proclaimed in our first reading: “Shout with joy … exult … and proclaim your praise … the Lord has delivered his people … I will gather them from the ends of the world … with the blind and the lame in their midst. … They departed in tears, but I will console them and guide them.”

Jesus heard and called to the blind man who had cried out. It was then the fickle crowd changed its tune. Now, they encouraged Bartimaeus to go to Jesus. As they said to the blind man, “You have nothing whatever to fear from him.” However, it appears to me Bartimaeus never feared Jesus in the first place. He had asked for pity from the Son of David. And when he stood in front of Jesus, he called him “my master”, “my esteemed teacher,” “rabboni.” It was then he was healed. Healed because of his faith. Faith in a man he had never seen but who was merely passing by.

As in all of the stories about Jesus, each one of us is encouraged to take an active role, to become part of the story which is not only about what Jesus said and did some two thousand years ago, but is also the story of how Jesus comes to us in our present lives.

Today, we have a choice. We can be part of the crowd which blows with the wind and discourages or encourages others depending upon the general climate or what is proclaimed by an authority figure. Or we can be like Bartimaeus, a person who has grown up without an identity of our own, merely the offspring of past events, but one who now recognizes the presence of the Lord and is able to call out “have pity on me.” Help me to change. Help me to see. Help me to get on with my life in new and different ways. Although crowds of nay-sayers may surround us, each one of us, today, is given the opportunity to call out and to hear the promised response: “Be on your way! Your faith has healed you.”

^{Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 23, 1994
Jer 31: 7-9; Heb 5: 1-6; Mk 10: 46-52}

Every time we watch television we are bombarded by commercial slogans. During this next week as we approach the November 4th election day, we will be swamped by political slogans. So, my question for today is about slogans. But not commercial slogans, nor political ones. Rather, it is about religious slogans. My question is this: What religious slogan do you carry with you right now in your pocket or wallet or purse? That’s right – “In God We Trust.” Those words, “In God We Trust,” are found on every US coin or bill in your possession right now, from a penny up through a hundred-dollar bill. If you don’t believe me, go ahead and look.

“In God We Trust” is what today’s readings are about. Actually, the more common word we heard is “faith” rather than “trust.” But they mean the same thing, really. In English, the word “faith” is only a noun, never a verb. We cannot say we are “to faith” in God. Instead we say we are “to trust” in God. But having faith in God, is to have trust in God. When you trust someone, you stand by the person. You are loyal to that friend. You believe your friend has your best interests at heart. You believe your friend will do you no harm. You believe your friend will be there to help you when you need help. You believe your friend will save you when you need saving.

In today’s readings, we heard stories of faith, of trust. In our first reading from the prophet Jeremiah, we heard him encourage the captive Israelites to have faith. They were being held as hostages in Babylon. But Jeremiah was telling them they were “to shout with joy.” They were to “exult” and “proclaim (their) praise.” He goes on to say, “The lord has delivered his people, the remnant of Israel. Behold, I will bring them back from the land of the north; I will gather them from the ends of the world, with the blind and the lame in their midst, the mothers and those with child; they shall return as an immense throng. They departed in tears, but I will console them and guide them; I will lead them to brooks of water, on a level road, so that none shall stumble.” Yes, Jeremiah was telling his people to trust in the Lord God, who is about to deliver them from captivity. A second Exodus is about to begin. Have faith in the Lord God.

In our gospel reading we heard the story of Jesus meeting with the blind beggar, Bartimaeus, outside of Jericho. Of how Jesus said to him, “Your faith has healed you.” How did Jesus know this blind beggar had faith in him and in the Lord God? How did Bartimaeus show he trusted that Jesus would, indeed, cure his blindness? Well, think for a moment about what Bartimaeus probably had to endure every day of his life. He probably sat there at the gateway leading into the walled city of Jericho. He was a beggar. He held out his hand to all those who entered or left the city. Since the gates were closed at night for protection, most people would enter or leave very early in the morning. So, poor Bartimaeus slept there at the city gate every night, waiting for the gates to be opened and for compassionate people to walk by. And as he slept there, all he had to protect himself was the worn cloak he wrapped tightly around him as the night chill came upon him.

But that morning, when Jesus was leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus heard the hubbub around him. He asked the crowd what was happening and was told the miracle worker from Nazareth was leaving the city to go to Jerusalem. So Bartimaeus called out, “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me!” And when the crowds told him to stop, he called out even louder: “Son of David, have pity on me.” Then Jesus stopped and called Bartimaeus to come to him. And what did this blind beggar do? Mark writes: “He threw aside his cloak, jumped up and came to Jesus.”

“He threw aside his cloak.” He threw aside the garment that had protected him, had given him security and held in some of the warmth during the cold night. The man who was blind, who, once he threw away his protecting garment, would never be able to recover it, since he could not see where it had fallen. That blind man gave up his security and went to Jesus, trusting Jesus would cure his blindness and he would have no need for his beggar’s cloak ever again.

Jesus recognized Bartimaeus’ courage and faith as the blind beggar stood before him. And so, Jesus said: “Be on your way! Your faith has healed you.” Bartimaeus was willing to give up the security of his past life in order to gain sight for his future life. Mark writes: “immediately he received his sight and started to follow him up the road.” Up the road from Jericho to Jerusalem, where Jesus would suffer, die, be buried and rise again. Bartimaeus was to follow him from his old life into a new life.

Life. This weekend our bishop has asked us to celebrate “Respect Life Sunday.” Life which begins with conception and continues beyond our known death, a life everlasting. We celebrate not merely a life of our body, but also, a life of our soul, our soul that is a bit of God within us, within each and every human being.

At conception we have a joining of the DNA given by our human parents with the divinity given by our heavenly Father. At conception, we celebrate the joining of the body and the soul that makes up every human being created in the image and likeness of God. It is for this reason abortion is wrong, because it brings to an abrupt end this joining of parental DNA with parental divinity.

It is for this reason that murder is wrong, because it brings about a premature separation of body and soul. Natural death occurs when God chooses the time for this separation, for this return of the soul to the Father who gave it to each person created in his image and likeness.

Abortion, suicide – whether alone or assisted – any violent death – whether by war or by humanly determined capital punishment – are attempts by human creatures to assume the power of the creator in determining when the earthly DNA of the body should be separated from the divinity of the soul.

Next Sunday is November 2nd, a day of celebration for All Souls, for all of the manifestations of divinity imparted to human bodies over thousands of years of life. Next Sunday, we celebrate God’s gift of divine life in us. This Sunday, in preparation, we celebrate the joining of body and soul in the gift of human life in “Respect Life Sunday.” We celebrate our faith, our trust, in the God who gives us life, today, and life everlasting.

However, it is up to each one of us to demonstrate our faith and our trust by putting aside past securities, those garments we have judged we needed to protect us, to warm us, to give us comfort, so that we, too, can see with new eyes and follow Jesus down the road to a resurrected life. It is up to each one of us to determine exactly what garments, what things, what actions, what bits of security we now wear that must be thrown aside in order to see the Christ who stands before us and whom we must follow up the road.

It is not enough for us to carry in our pocket a slogan that says, “In God We Trust.” Rather, we are called to carry these words as a way of life, written on our hearts. Not only today, but every day, is a day to respect life, to trust in God, and to hear his words: “Be on your way! Your faith has healed you.”

^{Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 26, 1997 (Respect Life Sunday)
Jer 31: 7-9; Heb 5: 1-6; Mk 10: 46-52}

Today’s question is to be answered within your own heart, within your own, personal being. It’s a simple question, but with a complex answer. My question is this: When you look into a mirror, whom do you see? Is that person older than you’d expect – with a new wrinkle on the forehead or around the eyes? Does that image smile? Or is there a frown? Is the person staring back at you happy or sad? Perhaps, like Ziggy, that improbable, blob-like cartoon character, the image in the mirror may seem to have a life of its own. It’s not really you but someone else. Whom, or what, do you see when you look into a mirror?

Today’s gospel reading is about seeing. It’s about a man who had no need for a mirror. He’s blind. He is the blind beggar who sits outside the walls of Jericho. He has no name other than that of his father. He is called merely “the son of Timaeus,” Bar-Timaeus. He sits there each day. His cloak is spread out in front of him on the hard ground. He hopes a kindly passer-by will toss a coin or two onto the cloak so he can gather them up and live another day. In the evening, he wraps this threadbare garment around himself and hopes it will keep him warm during the night, so he’ll reach another day, a day just like each of the ones which have gone before.

But today, this day, there’s a difference in the air. The crowds outside the gates of Jericho are talking about the man from Nazareth, the one who has been preaching throughout the land during the last year or so. Today, he’s leaving Jericho for Jerusalem. The blind son of Timaeus has heard about this man, the one who is said to be a healer. He calls out to him. But he does not call the name of Jesus. Instead, he shouts out an ancient phrase: “Son of David.” The blind son of Timaeus calls for help from the son of the ancient hero-leader, David. David who brought salvation to the Israelites. The blind man calls upon the one who might now save him from his own afflictions. Jesus hears the name by which he is being called, Son of David. He wants this man brought to him.

The blind son of Timaeus tosses aside his cloak, the cloak holding the meager coins which would have bought him another day of existence, the cloak he needed for protection against the night. He tossed aside his past life and went towards the voice calling him. The voice spoke a question: “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind son of Timaeus replied, “Master, I want to see.”

And Jesus said, “Go your way; your faith has saved you.” But the now-seeing son of Timaeus did not go his own way. Instead, he followed Jesus on the way, on the way to Jerusalem where this Son of David would be greeted by others shouting this name, others who later shouted for his death. The now-seeing son of Timaeus followed “the Way” and saw the Son of David nailed to a tree. The blind man whose sight was restored by the last healing miracle reported in Mark’s Gospel, he saw the end of the life of Jesus. But, perhaps, he also witnessed the beginning of the life of Christ.

Each of us has the same opportunity. Each of us, at every Eucharist, is given the chance to see. And what do we see? What do you see when Father John elevates the host? What do you see when the Eucharistic minister shows you the body and blood of Christ? Do you see the immense power of the universe, itself, contained within this small object in front of your own eyes? Do you see the new Covenant offered by God to you? Are you able to look and then turn away to pursue your own worldly goals or do you see with new eyes and follow the way. His Way.

When you look into the mirror of your life, whom do you see? Do you see only your own image staring back at you? Or do you see someone called by God? Someone who is to follow Him … “on the Way?”

^{Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 26, 2003
Jer 31: 7-9; Heb 5: 1-6; Mk 10: 46-52}

Today’s question might be considered under the topic of science fiction. My question is: If you could see your future, would you want to? Would you want to know, for sure, what the economy is going to look like in six months, or a year from now? Would you want to know, for sure, what is going to happen in Iraq, Pakistan and Afghanistan? Do you really want to know exactly when and how you are going to die? Yes, if you could see your own future, would you really want to?

I said my question comes under the topic of science fiction. A lot of sci-fi we see on television this season deals with knowing about the future, and, perhaps, about how and when the characters are going to die. Many of you realize I’m a fan of “Lost” and I am looking forward to the final season, when everything will be made clear. (I hope!)

This desire of wanting to see the future usually goes beyond merely knowing with certainty what stocks to invest in, although there are many who would settle for such knowledge. For many people, the question really involves the basic, human concern: when am I going to die? How am I going to die? Can I do anything to prevent it from happening?

Death and dying might be the central question concerning our individual lives, even if it is not a question we’re prone to discuss in our modern society. However, there are several inter-relatable issues prompting me to consider the subject of death and dying for today’s homily.

First of all, there is the final topic which the Archdiocese has asked we try to incorporate within our October homilies regarding the “Dignity of Humanity.” This diocesan handout will be found as an insert in the bulletin for this weekend. The title of this insert is: Assisted Suicide: Death by Choice? This handout presents some thoughts about so-called “assisted suicide,” which is legal in several states, and the Catholic Church’s view that assisted suicide is never a choice. It is an absolute wrong. You can read the brochure on this topic for yourself.

However, when you read this article, I hope you’ll keep in mind the vast difference between assisted suicide and other end-of-life issues, such as family discussions with loved ones about medical treatment and prolonging physical life, or discussions about hospice care during our last days on earth. These are events each one of us must face. It’s appropriate we do not face them alone, but share them with those we love.

In addition, I want to address the general issue of death for a second reason. As Catholics, we may have a unique view on death and dying. That view is demonstrated by the fact we devote an entire month to a liturgical celebration of death. Next Sunday is November 1st. It’s the feast of “All Saints.” And the following day, November 2nd, we celebrate “All Souls Day.” During the entire month of November, we will have the “Book of Life” placed next to our Baptismal font, and we’ll invite all those who have experienced the death of a family member or friend during the past year to inscribe the name of the deceased person in this “Book of Life.” These friends and relatives can be remembered in the prayers of this community in a special way throughout the entire month of November.

It’s our view, as given in the teachings of the Church, that we form a single Community of Saints. In classic theological terms, there is the union of the Church Militant, the Church Suffering, and the Church Triumphant. We, all of us gathered here today, are the living saints on earth, the “Church Militant,” fighting it out (if you will) against evil and for the kingdom of God, here and now. This kingdom consists of the rich and the poor, the well-fed and the hungry, those who live in comfortable homes and those who exist huddled in cardboard boxes under the overpasses of Houston.

We also remember those who have died and are not yet experiencing a complete union with God, but are undergoing a momentary period in eternity for purification in order to unite completely with the Oneness of Father, Son and Holy Spirit. These people compose the “Church Suffering,” for whom we offer our prayers at all times, but especially during the month of November.

And then, there are the recognized and un-recognized saints in heaven – those who are now completely united with the Oneness of the Trinity for all of eternity. Those men, women and children whose intercessions we seek in our own prayers with them are, indeed, the “Church Triumphant.”

As Christians, we believe there is eternal life after physical death. At least once a week, at every mass, we proclaim we believe in the Resurrection of the Dead. As Catholic Christians we believe physical human-life begins with conception and ends with our natural death. We believe the dignity of the human person exists at every moment of this period of living out the gifts of God. Life, itself, is a gift, not a choice. The only choices we have are how we live out the gift of life given by God and returned to God.

There is another reason why today is an opportune time to look at concerns involving death and dying. These concerns, in part, reside in today’s Gospel reading. Here we have a blind man, Bartimaeus, one who is not the same as the man who had been born blind. This blind man is a beggar who tosses aside all his possessions, which really is only a single possession, the cloak which protects him from the elements, the cloak which keeps him warm throughout the night so that he can live another day, another sightless day, begging for his daily bread.

It is Bartimaeus who cannot see Jesus passing by Jericho’s gate, but who can hear the crowds speaking about this Jesus of Nazareth. It is Bartimaeus who calls out to Jesus: “Son of David, have pity on me.” It is Bartimaeus who, in reply to Jesus’ question, “What do you want me to do for you?” says, “Master, I want to see.” It is Bartimaeus who hears the words, “… your faith has saved you.” and then, with restored sight, follows the Master.

The question Jesus asked the blind beggar, Bartimaeus, is the same one he asks each and every one of us: “What do you want me to do for you?” Each one of us has an individual response. We may think we, unlike Bartimaeus, have all we want, as well as all we need. Nevertheless, we may still desire a new, red Lamborghini. Some may want a complete restoration of their retirement funds. And others may want to know what life holds in store for them. A few may want to know when and how they will die.

Yes, there are those of us who want to see material things. There are others who want to see the future. We do not differ from the Israelites held in captivity in Babylon, the ones we heard about in our first reading for today from the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah. They, too, wanted to know what the future held for them, what they could look forward to.

The prophet Jeremiah, who is not the most upbeat of the prophets of Israel, encouraged them to “… shout for joy … [to] exult … [to] proclaim your praise …” Jeremiah told them of the promises of the Lord God who spoke about their ultimate future with the words: “I will bring them back [to Jerusalem.] I will gather them from the ends of the world, with the blind and the lame in their midst, the mothers and those with child, they shall return as an immense throng. They departed in tears, but I will console them and guide them; I will lead them to brooks of water, on a level road, so that none shall stumble.”

Yes, the Lord God promised his people he would lead them to salvation. He promised them that their future is not bleak. And our Lord has promised us the same future with his words: “Go your way, your faith has saved you.” Yes, our Lord has given us hope, even when we approach him in our blindness, in our not being able to see clearly either the present or the future. It is while we are blind that we, too, may call out: “Master, I want to see.” The question is: do you see life and physical death as the end of everything? Or do you see life and death as God’s gifts to us. The gifts of the Kingdom of God, which is now – and forever. [Amen.]

^{30th Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 25, 2009
Jer 31: 7-9; Heb 5:1-6; Mk 10:46-52}

Today I have the easiest question I’ve ever asked during some sixteen years of asking questions to begin a homily. This one you can answer by raising your hand. My question is this: How many of you have heard of the “Ten Commandments,” the ones in the Bible, not the movie!? Any of you who did not raise your hand might consider joining a bible study group as soon as possible. My second question is a little harder: What is the first commandment? “I am the Lord your God: you shall not have strange gods before me.” Very good.

Now then, the Bible has more commandments than just the Ten Commandments. So, my third question is: How many commandments can be found among all of the commandments of the Old Testament? Six-hundred-thirteen is the usual answer. According to Jewish tradition and teaching, there are three-hundred-sixty-five negative commandments prohibiting certain actions and two-hundred-forty-eight positive commandments stating what you should do, rather than what you should not do, for a total of six-hundred-thirteen commandments.

The scribe, or scripture scholar, we heard about in our gospel reading for today no doubt knew all six-hundred-thirteen commandments. But like a lot of students, he was also a “wise guy,” as well as being a “wise man,” and so he asked Jesus a trick question. This scribe, this student of the Hebrew scriptures, wanted to know: of all of the six-hundred-thirteen commandments, which one of them is the most important, which one is the first commandment? Was it, indeed, “I am the Lord your God: you shall not have strange gods before me?”

In response, Jesus went back to Moses, the law-giver, the one who had received the Law, the Torah, itself, directly from God and had transmitted it to the Israelites. Jesus quoted the passage we heard in our first reading from the book of Deuteronomy, the Book of Laws given to the second generation of Israelites, which is what “Deuteronomy” means: the Second Law, the Law given to the Israelites who weren’t alive at the time the laws where first given to Moses at Mount Sinai, but who were now part of the second generation, the one about to enter into the land flowing with milk and honey.

In response to the scribe’s question, Jesus quoted the Shema, the prayer each law-abiding Jew recited at the beginning of each day: “Hear, O Israel! The Lord our God is Lord alone! You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.” But Jesus then went on to say that there is a second “greatest commandment” that must be joined with the first one in order for there to be a complete answer to the scribe’s question. Jesus quoted another commandment taken from the Book of Leviticus, the liturgical book of Torah. Jesus went on to say: “The second is this: ‘you shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.”

However, later on, Jesus gave a summary of these two commandments when he said, according to the Gospel of John (13: 34), “… I give you a new commandment: love one another. As I have loved you, so you also should love one another.”

The words are so easy to say:
… love God with all your heart, your soul, your mind, your strength,
… love your neighbor,
… love your self,
… love one another as Jesus, himself, loves all of us,
… with all of his heart, all of his passion and tenderness,
… with all of his soul, all of his life and being,
… with all of his mind, all of his words of how we are to live and love,
… with all of his strength, with his courage to die for us.

Yes, the words of love are easy to say, but doing them, making them real, putting flesh on these words, incarnating these words, just as God became enfleshed in his Word, became incarnated in his Word – this is the difficult part. Yes, becoming an embodiment of the commandment, living out the commandment, is much more difficult than merely reciting the words of the commandment, the commandment of love. The question really becomes: just how do you show that you, indeed, really love someone?

One way to show our love for another is to spend time with that person. So, if I am to love myself and others in the same manner, and if I am to love God, should I not spend time with myself and with God, as well as with others? Should I not find time for just “being” and not for merely “doing?” Time for being with God. Time for prayer and quietness with him.

I show my love for another by speaking and listening to the one I love. Perhaps, I need to speak and listen more to my own self. Do I try to counsel myself and listen to my own counsel? Or do I under-value myself? Do I tell myself I am beyond my own help? Do I tell myself I am beyond the help of the God who speaks to me, whom I hear when I take the time to listen?

We show our love for others by affirming the goodness we see in them. However, do we affirm ourselves? Do we take the time to tell ourselves we are worthwhile, we are lovable? Do we think God does not need our affirmation? Do we take time to praise God, to tell God how good he is to us and for us.

You show your love for another person by helping that person and allowing that person to help you. However, do you try to help yourself or do you wallow in your misery? Do you allow others to help you or do you try to do everything by yourself? If you show your love for others by helping them, can you, also, show your love to God by helping him? And how do we help God? Perhaps, by helping others, by helping do the work of God. And, perhaps, by allowing God to help us, by not rejecting his aid, by not believing everything depends entirely upon us, alone.

We show our love for others by celebrating with them, playing and having fun with them, enjoying life together. And, so. the question is: do we allow ourselves to celebrate, to have fun, or is everything in life to be taken seriously? Do we love God by allowing God to be humorous? Do we see the fun in the unexpected and amusing happenings God brings into our life. Do we celebrate our pleasure with God? Do we celebrate God?

I show my love for others by giving them my care, by helping them to heal, by protecting them from harm, by forgiving them when they have caused me pain. These are ways I show my love for others. But what about myself and my God? Do I give myself the care I should? Do I take care of my own health with a proper diet, with medical examinations, with moderate drinking, with giving up harmful habits? Do I forgive myself when I bring about my own pain? Do I forgive God when I feel my pain is brought about by him?

Yes, there are many ways to show we love someone. We do it with our time, our communication, our affirmation. We do it with our helping and healing, with our celebrating. We do it with our forgiveness.

Once more, we are reminded: love begins with the need for each of us to love my own self. Unless I truly love myself and am compassionate with my own self, I cannot love others as myself. Unless you truly love yourself and others, you cannot love God as completely as God demands:
… with all your heart, your feelings and passion;
… with all your mind, your intelligence and intellect;
… with all your soul, your life and entire existence;
… with all your strength, with nothing held back, with no reservations.

Yes, each one of us is called to love one another as God loves each and every one of us: unconditionally.

^{Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time; October 30, 1988; November 5, 2000 (revised)
Deut 6: 2-6; Heb 7:23-28; Mk 12:28b-34}

I have several questions for you today. The first ones are very easy. My first question is: What is the opposite of “hot?” Cold. And what is the opposite of “white?” Black. And finally, what is the opposite of “love?” Yes, the first word you probably thought of might be: “hate.” But consider for a moment, what is the relationship of “hot” and “cold?” If we think about it, logically, or if you will, scientifically, “cold” is the absence of heat, the absence of being “hot.” And, again, we know from high school science, or maybe now-a-days, elementary science, the color “white” actually consists of all the colors of the rainbow and “black” is the absence of all colors. So, what is the absence of “love?” And why is this question the most important of all the ones I’ve raised so far?

Of course, the answers go back some two thousand years ago, when a scribe, a scholar of the Jewish Law, an expert on Torah, the compilation of all the Laws given by God to Moses, asked a similar question. He asked Jesus: Of all the laws given by God to Moses, which is the most important? Which is the first of all the commandments?

And Jesus replied with the words spoken each morning by every believing Jew. The words we first heard in today’s reading from the Book of Deuteronomy. The words Moses, himself, spoke to the Israelites. “Hear, O Israel! The Lord is our God, the Lord alone! Therefore, you shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength.” And to these words from the Book of Deuteronomy, Jesus added words from the Book of Leviticus, the liturgical book of Torah. He said, “The second is this: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. There is no other commandment greater than these.”

And. so, I again ask: What is the absence of “love?” What must we understand about “love,” which Jesus said was the most important commandment of God. Part of our problem may be in our mis-use of the word “love.” There are times when we all have said some variation of the statement: “I just love ice cream! It’s my favorite dessert!” Or, speaking entirely for myself: “I love chocolate cookies.” And how many of you can relate to the statement: “I love the color red.” And what teenager has not said to someone else: “I love you.”

What is usually meant by these declarations of love? In each instance, it seems to me, the real meaning is: this food, this color, this person makes me feel good. These things give me pleasure. And if this is the meaning of love, if love is what brings me pleasure, how can I understand the instruction: “you must love your enemy.”

So, again, the question: what is the absence of love? For perhaps, if we can understand the absence of love, we might be able to understand what love really is. I would suggest the absence of love is: “rejection.” The absence of love is “alienation.” The absence of love is being cut off from another person. It is being alone. Entirely by yourself. Because with this definition, we can then conclude “true love” is “acceptance.” It is a desire for union, for oneness with another person. It is understanding the differences between us and, despite these differences, having a desire to go beyond these mis-understandings so that some positive relationship can occur, some degree of unity be achieved.

With this understanding and appreciation of “love,” it can become possible for me to love my enemy. To accept our differences and wish him well. To forgive the hurt he has caused me, even if I do not approve of the actions which led to the hurt. When I meet a stranger, I can either fear the encounter or accept the appearance of the stranger. When I encounter those who are not known to me, I can fear them, I can reject them, I might even hate them. Or I can accept them. I can, perhaps, even desire a unity with them so that they are no longer outside of me, but a part of my world.

I can acknowledge that hate is the total and complete absence of love, the complete rejection and alienation from another. I can acknowledge that love is the unconditional acceptance and desire for unity with another.

Again, in today’s gospel, the scribe, who is usually portrayed as the antagonist in every encounter with Jesus, upon hearing Jesus’ response proclaims: “Well said, teacher. You are right in saying ‘He is the One and there is no other than he.’ And ‘to love him with all your heart, with all your understanding, and with all your strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself ‘ is worth more than all burnt offerings and sacrifices.”

But the dialogue between the scribe of the Law and his newly recognized teacher does not end here. Mark’s account goes on to state: “And when Jesus saw that [the scribe] answered with understanding, he said to him, ‘You are not far from the kingdom of God.’” Can Jesus say the same to each one of us when we understand that love means acceptance and a desire for unity with God, with our neighbor and within our own selves? Can Jesus say to each of us: “You are not far from the kingdom of God.”

^{Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time; November 5, 2006
Deut 6:2-6; Heb 7:23-28; Mk 12:28b-34}

Once upon a time, there was a young man who grew up in a small mid-western town. In high school, he had been relatively popular with the other kids. He was co-captain of the basketball team and class vice-president during his senior year. He made more A’s than B’s in his pre-college classes. When he graduated, he went away to the state university on an athletic scholarship and earned a degree in business administration.

In his class in high school, there was a young woman who liked him very much, but from afar. She wasn’t part of his crowd. She wanted to be a cheerleader, but couldn’t afford either the uniform nor the time. She worked in the evenings at the neighborhood McDonald’s to help make ends meet at home. When she graduated from high school, she entered the local community college but left at the end of the first year, when her father died, and she had to help her mother support two younger sisters.

The young man, Charlie was his name, did much better. After college he went for his C.P.A. and got it on his second try. He joined a newly organized company, and a few years later, became its vice-president for finance. In the meantime, Sarah, the young woman I’ve been talking about, started to work at a local department store. She met a young assistant manager there. They got married, had two children, a boy and a girl. But Sarah’s husband drank a lot and met a woman he said he loved more than he did Sarah. They divorced and Sarah was left with the two kids. She lost her job at the department store and began to wait tables during the day, so she could be at home in the evenings when the kids were out of school.

For Charlie, life went well. He, too, had gotten married. His only regret was he didn’t have enough time to spend with the family, with his wife and two sons. With the new company, Charlie had to work late every evening. On weekends, he had to play a few rounds of golf with his business partners and their clients. But he made it up to his wife and the boys with the new house out in the suburbs where the schools were good.

Sarah didn’t live in the suburbs. She had a small apartment in town. On weekends, she took the kids to the zoo and to the park. Sometimes, she would take them to a movie at the mall, but she preferred renting videos because she didn’t feel safe being out after dark. Besides, most evenings she was busy helping them with their homework.

In matters of religion, Charlie was more or less indifferent when it came to doing anything about it. He went to church at Christmas and Easter and on those Sundays when it rained, and his golf match had to be called off. But he made up for it by the checks he sent along with his wife when she attended every week. He was very proud his wife and the kids went as often as they did, but he never told them that.

Sarah, on the other hand, had to wait on tables every Saturday, and on Sunday mornings. She didn’t get to church on Sunday very much, but there was a church between where she worked and her apartment. Every day or so, she would run in for a few minutes to pray. It made her feel warm inside, although she was sad that she seldom got to see the church all lit up for services and filled with people.

Meanwhile, Charlie’s wife began to take her religion seriously. The suburban church she attended had a mission downtown. Every Sunday afternoon, she and the boys went there to work in the soup kitchen. One cold Sunday in November, she convinced Charlie to join her and the boys at the mission. Charlie grumbled, but since his golf match had been called off at the last minute, he went with her. Now as it turned out, Sarah also helped at that same mission every Sunday afternoon. She joked about it being a busman’s holiday, since she waited on paying customers the other six days of the week.

Charlie was obviously annoyed with being there, but he was trying to put on a good show for the boys. He knew he had to teach his sons about charity and helping others less fortunate than they were. He figured, so long as he didn’t have to get too close to smell any of the dirty folk who held out their empty plates, it might not be too bad an experience. He was a little surprised when he saw Sarah cleaning up the plates. He thought he had recognized her from high school but wasn’t sure.

It, also, happened that on this very Sunday in November, a sociology class from the university had decided to help out at this particular soup kitchen, as part of a class project. After the homeless men, women and children had been fed and had left the soup kitchen, the sociology students, along with the other volunteers, washed up the pots and pans and put away the tables and chairs. It was then time for the sociology students to interview the workers. In addition to actually helping out, the class assignment was to find out: “why do people volunteer to do charity work.” The class divided itself into three groups.

The first group approached Charlie. The second group went to talk with Sarah.
And the third group wants to talk with you. About why you, personally, volunteer to do charity work. Their questions are more important than any I might have for you. For the next minute or so, I’d like each one of you to reflect on what questions you might imagine these young adults are asking Charlie, Sarah and you, and what answers you have for them. For, perhaps, these students come with a teacher who reminds us how vital it is to give from what we have, no matter how insignificant we might judge it to be.

^{Thirty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time; November 10, 1991
1 Kg 17:10-16; Heb 9:24-28; Mk 12:38-44}

To answer today’s question, you’ll need to go back to your childhood. For some of us, this may require a very good memory. On the other hand, I can recall a lot of things that happened when I was a little kid, even if I forget what I was doing five minutes ago, or why I made a special trip upstairs to get something important. But my question is this: When you were a child, what did you collect? What were your childhood collections?

For some, it was baseball cards you got with bubble gum. Remember, back then, you didn’t go to a special card-shop to buy them! Others collected marbles, special shooters and aggies, which, for you non-Yankees, are not students from College Station. Many little girls collected paper dolls. Later on, they became more expensive “Barbies” and all of their clothes. As for me, I had a great collection of comic books, especially “Batman” and “Captain Marvel.” Some of that kind of collecting is still around. But now, there are collections of games for Nintendo, Play Station or X-Box 360.

However, no matter what you collected, the real problem was what you traded. What you were willing to give away. For most kids, you gave away only your “extras,” the duplicates, the ones that no longer had any real value for you. A true collector always kept the best. You traded off your “left-overs,” the stuff you didn’t need, or no longer liked. And when we grew up, the habit persisted.

We still tend to give away the stuff we don’t need, we no longer have use for. Many charity organizations know that’s what we do. They even make a special effort to encourage us to do it. How many times have you received a call, especially around dinner time, saying such-and-such agency will just happen to have a truck in your neighborhood next week, and what can you leave in a bag by the door?

Well, I have the same question for you in this homily. My real question for today is: What do you have to give away? Today’s Gospel Reading has a lot to say about give-a-ways. We heard how there were crowds of people who put a lot of money in the collection box for the poor. Some, who were very wealthy, gave considerable sums of money. They, no doubt, felt very good about it. They wanted to help those less fortunate. Perhaps, they even expected to be complemented about it, told how good they were to follow the Laws of Moses, the instructions of the Lord God, to help the poor, the widows and orphans, to perform a mitzvah, a good deed which would hasten the day of the coming of the Messiah.

Who cares if they, themselves, did not need the money and wouldn’t really miss it? After all, had they not been told they must leave only the harvest “leftovers” for widows and orphans? At the end of the harvest of olives, they were not to beat the trees to make all of the olives fall. They were warned to leave the ones which hung on, so that the gleaners would have something left when they came. The gleaners, who were the poor, the widowed, the orphaned, the foreigner. And not only were the olives to be left, the same was true for grapes and grain. The gleaners had a God-given right to leftovers. It had always been that way.

And Jesus did not criticize this ancient custom. There, as he stood outside the treasury building, where donations were being made, he did not say the wealthy were in error in what they did. But as in so many other things, he urged his followers to go one step beyond. Those who were truly his disciples should give, not what is left over, but rather they should give the “essentials” of their own lives. This is his new teaching, an instruction which goes beyond the dictates of the Mosaic law of giving remainders to the poor.

His new commandment was to give from one’s own being, from one’s own essence, to give not leftovers, but the essentials of life. And, so, the question now becomes: What are the “essentials” of our own lives, the lives of the followers of Jesus the Christ? The first response might be “money.” Isn’t that the point of the gospel story? Aren’t we asked to increase our financial contributions so that we feel the loss. The loss of the essentials for our own lives? Essentials like food, clothing and housing.

But what about the first part of the gospel reading we heard? The lines coming immediately before the story of the wealthy crowd and the widow’s penny. In this opening passage, we heard about the community leaders, the scribes, who are interested in the trappings of the good life, in fancy clothes and the best seats in restaurants and public gatherings, where they would be noticed. Their ostentatious display of wealth suggests they have resources which could be used to help others, instead. Were all of these trappings of the “lifestyle of the rich and famous” essential to this group of Jewish society?

What trappings are essential to those of us who make up the Community of Christ the Good Shepherd? Are luxury cars and big homes overlooking a golf course the “essentials” of life? And what happens when they are lost in a flood or in a fire? What happens when we must give them up because the economy crashes? Do the essentials of life consist of prestige and the respect others have for what we own? Or do the essentials of life really consist of conditions like: health, integrity, trust, honor, and confidence? Are relationships more important than things that can be purchased?

Perhaps, we need to remember that the real meaning of “essential” is the same as “essence,” the same as “being,” the same as our “inner self.” Perhaps, we need to be reminded we are asked to give our “inner self” to others. This giving of “self” is what Jesus the Christ required in all of his teachings, including the one we heard, today, in which the widow gave all she had to live on. She gave from her very self.

What is it to give of our self, to give our time and talent to others? Are we the blessed widow and a disciple of Christ, when we teach an R.E. class? When we help in a social ministry? When we work in a soup kitchen? When we help staff the interfaith project for the homeless? Perhaps, we, also, give from our “self,” from our essence, from what is essential in our life, when we listen and respond to a friend’s cry for help. When we speak kindly to a stranger. When we speak without sarcasm to a spouse.
When we praise and encourage a child. When a child helps a parent without being asked.

It is said that actions speak louder than words. It’s also possible actions yield a greater return than what money can purchase. Perhaps, it is now time to go beyond our early habit of collecting things, of keeping the best for our own use and trading or giving away only the leftovers. Now, may be our time to give away what is truly essential, not only from our livelihood but from our inner lives as well.

^{Thirty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time; November 6, 1994 (rev: November 8, 2009)
1 Kg 17:10-16; Heb 9:24-28; Mk 12:38-44}

I was wondering if any of you have the same problem I do about time? It seems the older I get the faster time goes by. Can you believe next Thursday is Thanksgiving? For some of us, the question is: Have you started your Christmas shopping yet?

When time goes that fast, I have a problem telling how long it’s been since something has happened. For instance, can you remember the big news event of several weeks ago? Back then, half the country was following the adventures of Prince Charles and Princess Di. How many of you really cared whether or not they saw the maternity clothes at Penney’s? A lot of folks seemed to. I’m always surprised at how many Americans are interested in royalty.

Of course, the reason I bring this up is because today we’re celebrating a royal holiday. Today is the Feast of Christ the King. It’s amazing to me, just how much attention we pay to a visit by British royalty and how little involved we are with a celebration like Christ the King. I guess part of it is the fact we’re fascinated by someone else’s royalty, but we really don’t know, first-hand, about Kings. After all, how many of you have ever met a real king? Not knowing a king, makes it hard for us in this country to celebrate a feast day like Christ the King. It’s hard for us to think about Kings at all, let alone think about Jesus Christ as being the King of kings.

When I mention the word “King,” itself, what comes to mind? For a lot of people, if you ask them to name a king, many of them might respond with “Burger King.”

We really don’t have much respect for kings in this country, ever since the days of George III. So, it’s no wonder we have a problem with a feast day like Christ the King, and to really feel what’s meant by such a title. Even when we try to substitute our image of a king with that of other leaders, we still have problems. Somehow “Christ the President” or “Christ the Chief Executive Officer” doesn’t quite make it.
Other ways of approaching the problem of a title like “Christ the King” aren’t very helpful either. We might try to think of the leadership qualities a king is suppose to have and come out with titles like: “Christ the Football Captain” or “Christ the Coach.” I don’t think the Vatican would accept either one as a substitute.

In order to get a better handle on today’s celebration, it seems we’ll need to ask another question: what kind of a king is Jesus? First of all, he certainly wasn’t a king who wore royal robes dripping with furs. He never wore a golden tiara. His only crown was made of thorns. He was not a king who had subjects. Instead, he had disciples or followers. He never compelled obedience, rather, he invited people to come to see what he did, what he had to say. Jesus was a companion, someone with whom you “break bread.”

He acted like a leader, but he didn’t look like a king. A lot of people had a problem with that. Pilate was one of them. He was puzzled in today’s Gospel Reading with the insignificant looking man in front of him. So, Pilate asked Jesus a question: what have you done? At times, I, too, am much like Pilate. The difference is I ask the question: Jesus, what have you done – for me? Why should I accept you as my king?

When Pilate asked his question, Jesus did not respond by telling Pilate about what he did or what he could do. Instead, Jesus told him the reason he was born was to testify to the truth. Jesus told Pilate not what he did, but rather who he was: the truth. Just as Jesus once told his friends he was “… the Way, the Truth, and the Life.”

What did Jesus mean by “truth?” He didn’t mean some intellectual fact. In Hebrew, the word for truth is emeth. It doesn’t mean what we often think of as truth in the sense of what we can see and measure. The word, emeth, means reality, reliable. It means un-changeable, permanent. It means “to stand firm.”

Another Hebrew word related to emeth, or truth, is one we hear a lot. It is the word, amen. It means “I believe, I agree, I accept completely.” Colloquially, it could be translated as “Right On!” Every time we say Amen, we are testifying to the truth of our prayer, the reality of what we believe. At every mass, in response to the consecration of the host, we sing out a joyous “Amen.” And when we receive the bread from a minister who says “The body of Christ,” we whisper “amen … In this I stand firm, I witness to the truth.”

When Pilate asked Jesus what kind of a king are you? What have you done? Jesus did not tell him what he did, but rather, who he was: the truth, the reality which lasts forever. And when Pilate asked that question of Jesus: are you the King of Jews? Jesus, in turn, asked Pilate a question – a question which each of us needs to answer. Jesus asked Pilate: “Are you saying this on your own, or have others been telling you about me?”

I believe Jesus asks me the same question: “Do you say I am king on your own or do you say it because others tell you to say it?” The real question is: Do I really experience Jesus as the King, the Lord of my life? Am I committed to his truth? Do I hear his voice? When everything in life seems to be going wrong, when I feel under attack, do I stop and look for the King who stands by my side? A King who does not stand on a far distant hill overlooking my battle, but one, nearby, who takes my hand and leads me away from my troubles.

When others are being hurt within his kingdom, do I ignore them or do I understand that his kingdom is our kingdom? Do I understand I have a shared responsibility to help him in his maintaining, protecting the kingdom. And when I look around and see everything is not perfect, war and famine are still present, the earth still quakes and volcanoes still erupt, do I become disheartened with his kingdom, our kingdom, or do I truly understand this kingdom is not a place but a condition. This kingdom exists within all of us right now, yet It is still to come.

In the Second Reading for today, we are reminded we are a “Royal nation … in the service of God, the Father.” In the First Reading, we heard the dominion of Christ is an everlasting dominion, it shall not be taken away. His kingship shall not be destroyed. Each day, do I live as if I am part of a royal nation? Do I live as if I’m a part of an everlasting Kingdom? In all honesty, I don’t, but each day I try.

At the beginning of this reflection, I said time goes by more quickly each year. We have, once more, reached the end of the liturgical year. Next Sunday begins the first week of the new year, the first week in Advent, the time of waiting, of expecting. We begin to look forward to the celebration of Christmas, the celebration of the birth of the King of kings.

Today, the Feast of Christ the King marks the end of the church year. With the end of the year, there is a natural time for resolutions for a new year. There is no need to wait until January 1st of 1986. Today, right now, is a good time for me to make a set of resolutions, resolutions that will help me to acknowledge Jesus Christ is my King, my Lord. He invites me, today, to be part of his kingdom. Is today the day for you to make your own resolutions for the new year? Perhaps, if we start now, on the Feast of Christ the King, we will be more ready when it’s time to greet our King, the King of kings, when he comes. And when he comes, we can sing out a joyous “Amen.”

^{Christ the King; November 24, 1985
Dan 7:13-14; Rev 1:5-8; Jn 18:33b-37}

(Today’s homily was a dialogue with children gathered at the steps to the altar. They would, in a few minutes, receive their “First Communion.”)

Why are you all dressed up today?
First communion

When do you usually get dressed up?
Parties … birthday parties … sometimes for church … (Christmas/Easter)

Do you like birthday parties?
Yea

Whose birthday are we getting ready to celebrate in a few weeks?
Jesus

Why do we celebrate his birthday?
God became man … to save us

What other kinds of birthdays do we celebrate in the church?
Easter … when Jesus rose from the dead … celebrate his resurrection … his birth into new life … we celebrate every week at mass … or even every day if you go on weekdays

Is there another special kind of birthday we celebrate in the church?
Pentecost … the “birthday of the church” … when God sent us the Holy Spirit in a very special way

When did the Holy Spirit first come to you in a special way?
At baptism … dressed in special clothes then, but probably don’t remember it … may have pictures of it

At Easter we celebrate Jesus’ coming to us in a special way …
When does he come to each one of you in a special way?
At first communion … at every communion … comes in the appearance of bread and wine … but what does that mean?

Does the communion host usually look like bread?
No

What kind of bread do you like to eat?
White bread, dark bread, Italian/French bread, tortillas ! Bagels ! cinnamon toast
… all of it is bread but it all looks different, but it is all still bread.

When Fr. Ed prays over the bread and wine, he asks that the Holy Spirit comes and turns the bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ. And just as Jesus promised at the Last Supper with his friends, the stuff that makes bread – bread – is changed into the body and blood of Jesus. It may look the same, but what really makes bread – bread – is no longer there. Instead, it is Jesus who is really there. And that is going to happen in a few minutes from now.

Besides today being the day for your first communion, what feast day or special day is it in the church?
Christ the king … our readings were all about Jesus being called a king.

What do you know about kings?
probably not much … main King now a-days is Burger King ! … Kings weren’t evil … they were good … Kings protected their people from harm … Kings in hard times, gave food to eat … Jesus is Christ the King … a special person who is to protect us, help us, feed us

You’re lucky to receive your First Communion on today, because you’ll be able to remember every year when you received your First Communion, every year we celebrate the feast of Christ the King and you can remember that this is when you first received Jesus in a very special way.

I HAVE ONLY A COUPLE MORE QUESTIONS FOR YOU. HOW MANY OF YOU HAVE SEEN THE MOVIE … “FINDING NEMO”? DID YOU LIKE IT? WHAT WAS IT ABOUT?
… a father who went searching for his son who had been taken away from him … father kept searching for his lost son, no matter what

WHAT DO WE CALL GOD?
Father, Son and Holy Spirit

God first comes to us at Baptism as the Holy Spirit and stays with us. God comes to us in Communion as the Son and stays with us. But sometimes, we run away from God, when we do things we know God doesn’t want us to do. Sometimes, it’s like we were lost, stolen away from God, our Father, by the things we do that are wrong. But God is just like Nemo’s father. He keeps searching for us until he finds us. And just like Nemo’s father, he has help. And his help is even better than having Dory. Our Father has the help of Jesus and of the Holy Spirit.

In a few minutes he is going to be with you in a very special way. He’s going to be with you when you receive Communion with your family and friends. And it’s important you have that family and those friends around you here today. Remember, when Nemo was waiting for his father in that fish tank, he had his friends around him to help him out. We have friends and relatives around us here today, who have been with us while God, our Father, is looking for us. Now it’s time to allow him to find us. Now is the time to prepare for Communion, your First Communion.

^{Christ the King; November 22, 2003
Children’s Lectionary (readings not used directly)}