Category: Homilies

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.”