Category: Homilies

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}