Category: Homilies

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

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

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

It possible, however, these editors did a disservice to all future generations. They turned Jesus’ living parable into a dry academic allegory, a story in which everything represents something else. In the explanation of the story, we heard how: He who sows good seed is the Son of Man, the field is the world, the good seed the children of the kingdom. The weeds are the children of the evil one. The enemy who sows them is the devil. The harvest is the end of the age, and the harvesters are angels. Just as weeds are collected and burned up with fire, so will it be at the end of the age.

While an allegory can use an explanation such as this, a parable does not need one. So, what’s the difference between an allegory and a parable? In an allegory, everything has an assigned meaning, but a parable is a story in which the listener suddenly becomes part of the story. A parable causes us to ask, who am I? What role do I play?

It’s said that at the same time a person interprets a parable, the parable interprets the person. There is no one, correct and absolute interpretation of a parable. Each listener hears the words of Jesus come alive within one’s own mind and heart to move the person to new perceptions, to new changes, to new actions.

When we listen to the interpretation given by those early Bible editors about the “good seed and the weeds” we are forced into a single interpretation. We are urged to focus on God’s judgement when: “The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all who cause others to sin and all evildoers. They will throw them into the fiery furnace where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.”

However, for me and for many others, this parable speaks of God’s patience, of God waiting for the wheat to grow strong before it is harvested. This parable also speaks of God’s mercy, of allowing the weeds to grow as well as the wheat. It would appear those who selected the first reading for today might also have this same point of view. For in our first reading from the Book of Wisdom we heard: “… though you are master of might, you judge with clemency, and with much lenience you govern us … You taught your people, by these deeds, that those who are just must be kind … You gave [us] good grounds for hope that you would permit repentance for [our] sins.”

The allegorical interpretation we heard for today’s parable has another problem. In an allegory you’re stuck in one position. You are either the wheat or the weeds. But in a parable, you have more choices. Sometimes, I can be the sower who exhibits the patience. Perhaps, this parable suggests I’m being called to wait for the growth of both wheat and weeds, until the wheat is ripe for the harvest, so that I will not destroy the tender wheat as it is growing. Perhaps, I must be patient in my own life and not get rid of something too quickly and hurt someone else in the process.

Or maybe I’m the weeds. I’m reminded a weed is a plant which grows where it is not wanted, where it is inappropriate for it to be. A rose bush in a wheat field is a weed. In real life, a weed must remain where it is growing or be destroyed, but in a parable, there is more openness. Perhaps, a rose bush growing as a weed in the wrong place can be moved to a rose garden. Or perhaps, it could be of value right where it stands, by reducing its thorns and increasing its number of magnificent blooms. Rather than remaining a so-called “weed,” maybe I need to change.

In this parable, growth and change are possible. The other two parables we heard today also speak of growth and change. How the tiny mustard seed becomes a large bush which becomes a home for God’s other creatures. How a woman kneads a small bit of yeast into flour and water that rise up into a much larger mound of dough baked into life-giving bread.

Each of the three parables speaks about the Kingdom of Heaven, about the Reign of God. And here is where we come back to my question about whether a circus is a place or an event, for in each parable we do not see a particular “place” but rather an action, an “event.” We see something happening.

In the first story we heard from Jesus, our attention might not be directed either to the seeds of wheat or to the weeds, but rather, to the farmer planting the wheat which grows and to the harvesters gathering the wheat and storing it. In the second parable, it might not be the mustard seed, itself, but rather the growing seed becoming a bush which serves the needs of others. In the third parable, it might not be the yeast, but the woman working the yeast into the lifeless flour and water and the action of the rising of the dough because of the hidden yeast which now exists throughout the bread.

So again I ask: Is it better to speak of the “Kingdom of Heaven” or the “Reign of God?” A “kingdom” suggests a place, a static location. On the other hand, a “reign” suggests a dynamic action, a living event. And so it is that the concept of the “Reign of God” seems more in keeping with the parables found in today’s gospel readings. Each one of them speaks of actions, of change.

For some, the change may be too slow, too silent, too hidden from sight. In our modern culture, we yearn for action. Others may not fully appreciate the size of mustard seeds and of the mature plants. Now-a-days, fewer people than in the time of Jesus have seen the effect of yeast on a mass of dough. Today, we desire to make use of all of our five senses. And so, I offer you a modern parable. No doubt each of is could offer our own parable about the “Reign of God.” And you’re welcome to do so in your prayer time today. But here’s my modern parable.

The “Reign of God” is like someone making popcorn. You take a small measure of dry kernels and place them in a large, metal pot over a gas flame. Soon, you hear a tiny explosion. Something strikes the lid. Very shortly other rapid sounds, like a downpour on a tin roof, can be heard, even though nothing can be seen. Finally, the noises cease. It would appear nothing else will happen, even though an occasional, metallic ping can be heard on the lid of the pot.

Then you remove the lid and a wonderful aroma fills the house. Everyone who was looking at the TV in the family room comes running into the kitchen to watch in anticipation, as bowls are filled to overflowing with popcorn. But there in the bottom of the kettle, several hard, dark kernels still remain. They had the same opportunity as all of the others which popped into fluffy, white pieces ten-times their size. Yet, there they sit, waiting to be tossed into the wastebasket.

Let those who have ears hear. Let those who have a nose smell. Let those with a tongue taste. Let those with eyes see how the “Reign of God” becomes present among us. Amen.

^{Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary; July 21, 1996, July 17, 2005 (revised)
Wis 12:13, 16-19; Rom 8:26-27; Mt 13:24-43}

Here we are in the middle of summer. So, I have a summertime question for you. It’s this: Have you had a chance yet to relax, to really relax? Like in the nostalgic days of long-past years. Back then, summertime was when the “living was easy.” We’re told people were able to kick off their shoes and go fishing. There was time for daydreaming, for picnics, for lemonade on the front porch, for really living out all of those scenes found in Norman Rockwell paintings. So, when was the last time you really had a chance to kick back and relax, to take life easy?

For most of us, that time hasn’t arrived yet. Sure, it’s the middle of summer, but it’s also the time for many of us to get ready for school to start, to buy those new clothes at the “no tax” sales¹, to finish off those projects around the house before Labor Day, which is only five weeks away. Maybe we can schedule some relaxation time between now and the end of summer, but events will probably intervene and, once again, we’ll be subject to demands on our time, demands made by others around us, our family, our friends, our co-workers.

However, we’re in good company. Jesus had the same problems. Maybe even worse ones. He found it difficult to get away from the demands of the crowds who followed him. Today’s gospel reading tells us something about that. But to really appreciate his problems, maybe we need to recall two events which happened immediately before the story we heard about in today’s account written by Matthew.

The first event occurred in Jesus’ hometown of Nazareth. Matthew tells us how Jesus was rejected by the people who had known him while he was growing up there. And because of their lack of faith in him, he did not perform the mighty deeds they had heard about. The next verses speak about the death of John the Baptist. And then today’s reading begins with the line: “when Jesus heard of the death of John the Baptist, he withdrew in a boat to a deserted place by himself.”

Actually, he wasn’t completely by himself. His friends were in the boat with him as he was taken by them to the eastern shore of the Sea of Galilee. The crowds who had heard about the cures he was making went along the northern shore and were there when he landed. Matthew then says when Jesus “saw the vast crowd, his heart was moved with pity for them and he cured the sick.” Jesus had no time to mourn the loss of his friend, of his cousin, John the Baptist. He had no time to ponder what this death meant in his own life, to his own ministry. Instead, in his compassion he continued to give of himself.

There are times when each of us would rather say, “Hey, wait a minute. I need some time for myself. I need to get away by myself. “ But then our sense of responsibility takes over and we continue to do what we know we are called to do. Today’s gospel reading reminds us of that Christian duty.

However, this reading doesn’t end there. It goes on to tell us how we are able to continue. The story doesn’t end with Jesus curing the physical ills of those who came to him. Matthew tells us something even more important for us to hear. “When it was evening, the disciples approached him and said, ‘this is a deserted place and it is already late; dismiss the crowds so that they can go to the villages and buy food for themselves.” These friends and companions of Jesus were only being logical. They knew the people were hungry and needed to fend for themselves.

Jesus knew the same thing. He, too, knew the crowds were hungry. But he proposed a different solution. He did not suggest the crowds go off to the villages. Rather, he proposed the twelve disciples feed the people. Although his friends did not refuse, they were once again logical. They told him they had only five loaves of bread and two fish to offer the vast crowd, a number we later learn was probably at least twenty-thousand people, which is more than attend all of the masses at Christ the Good Shepherd or the service at First Baptist in Houston.

We know the rest of the story. Or we think we do. Jesus had all twenty-thousand people sit down. Then “ … taking the five loaves and two fish and looking up to heaven, he said the blessing, broke the loaves and gave them to the disciples, who in turn gave them to the crowds.” Sometimes, we hear these words so often we fail to listen to what is being said. We fail to appreciate the usual Jewish blessing Jesus prayed: “Blessed art thou, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who bringest forth bread from the earth.”

We fail to recognize Jesus gave the blessed food, not directly to the crowds, but rather to his disciples, his followers, his friends, and they, in turn, fed the people. We fail to understand an even deeper miracle than the one-time multiplication of the loaves and fish by Jesus. We fail to remember the miracle of sharing.

Sometimes, we are less logical than the disciples. For if we were logical, we might wonder about twenty-thousand people who go off to a deserted place without taking along some food. Yet, we might understand how a large group of men and women, each with only a modest supply of food, might be reluctant to bring out the hidden supply they carried. Until they were moved by the words of Jesus so that, as the disciples passed among them with their own limited morsels, the twenty-thousand began to turn to one another and to share the bread and fish they, themselves, carried with them.

Yes, some biblical scholars point out there is no mention made that the bread and fish were “multiplied” but rather that “ … all ate and were satisfied, and they picked up the fragments left over” and filled twelve wicker baskets with them, even though those who ate were about five thousand men, not counting women and children.”

And so it is that Jesus may have performed two miracles that day². He not only miraculous multiplied five loaves of bread and two fish, but he also brought about the miracle which allowed potentially selfish people to share what they had with one another. He allowed this to be accomplished through two events: through prayer to his father who created all things and through the assistance of those who love him and follow his words.

Yes, there were demands being made on Jesus. Demands for him to heal those who sought after him. Demands to feed the hungry and give drink to the thirsty. However, he did not view them as “demands” so much as they were “opportunities.” An opportunity to show faith in God and trust in the abundance of God. And secondly, an opportunity to help others understand how all of us must share with one another what limited resources we might have. An opportunity to recognize that, together, these resources constitute an abundance of God’s love for us.

Yes, we may be here in the middle of summer. A time when we would like to relax and not listen to the continuing demands made of us by others. But it is also a time to remember we continue to share in the abundance of God. A time to remember our Lord urges us to share with one another all that we have received from him. Once more, we hear the words of the prophet Isaiah: “All you who are thirsty, come to the water! … Why spend your money for what is not bread; your wages for what fails to satisfy? … Come to me heedfully, listen, that you may have life.”

^{Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary; August 1, 1999
Is 55:1-3; Rom 8:35, 37-39; Mt 14:13-21}

1. _{^{This was the first year of Texas’ elimination of state sales tax for most clothing items for one weekend as part of a back-to-school “tax break” for families.}}
2. _{^{At least one “fundamentalist” in the congregation took exception to this statement. He maintained, with scriptural references in his e-mail, that I was doubting the physical miracle of the multiplication of the loaves and fish. He was unwilling to buy into the sharing of their resources of those who came to this deserted place. I’m not doubting that Jesus in some unknown manner enabled a large crowd to be filled; I do believe in miracles but refuse to allow only one mode for their manifestation.}}

I have a simple question for you today. Yes, on the surface, it’s a simple question. But I warn you, the response can be very complex. The question is this: What do we require in order to live, to have life, itself? Yes, what are our basic needs for life?

The first obvious requirement is “air” – air to breathe. Oxygen is an absolute necessity. Some may even want to specify we need “clean” air, or breathable air in order to live. The second answer would probably be: “water” – water to quench our thirst. During these past rain-free months, and in particular during the more recent high temperatures we’ve been experiencing, we are very aware of the need for water, for what we speak of in modern terms as “hydration.” And quickly we would add “food” to ward off hunger. Yes, air, water and food are surely the major resources we need in order to exist. And immediately after them come things like “clothing and shelter” to protect us from the weather we experience.

Of course these are not new ideas. Our recognition of the physical needs of the body in order to have life, itself, are found in the Book of Isaiah, the prophet who wrote some five centuries before Christ walked among us. A few minutes ago we heard Isaiah’s call to the Israelites: “Thus says the LORD: All you who are thirsty, come to the water! You who have no money come, receive grain and eat; come, without paying and without cost, drink wine and milk! Why spend your money for what is not bread; your wages for what fails to satisfy? Heed me and you shall eat well, you shall delight in rich fair. Come to me heedfully, listen, that you may have life.”

In hearing these words, do we also hear that, in addition to what we identified as the resources needed for life, there is still one more important requirement. We have a need for the LORD GOD as well. On behalf of the LORD, Isaiah said: “Come to me heedfully, listen, that you may have life. I will renew with you the everlasting covenant, the benefits assured to David.”

Our gospel reading from Matthew continues to address this requirement. Once again, we heard how Christ, the new Covenant, made visible the words of Isaiah. The people believed Jesus could heal them. He could provide them with cures for their suffering bodies. Even when he tried to be alone, to attend to his own sorrow after the death of his kinsman, John the Baptist, even then, the crowds pursued him. And he responded.

As Matthew reports: “When he … saw the vast crowd [following him], his heart was moved with pity for them, and he cured their sick.” And later that day, as evening fell upon the crowds, an event occurred which changed the course of the life of those who listened to him. His disciples, his closest followers, urged him to dismiss the crowds so they could go, independently, into the villages to buy food to sustain themselves. But instead of listening to their advice, Jesus chose a different path.

Jesus took the five loaves of bread and the two fish offered to him by his disciples and blessed them. We are well aware how these meager resources were distributed to the crowd. How they ate of them. How their hunger was satisfied. And how the leftover fragments, when gathered together, filled twelve wicker baskets. But are we also aware of what this account of a miraculous event might add to our understanding of what is also required for life to exist? What is essential for life, itself? To the resources of water and food, to the need for air to breathe and for clothing and shelter from the elements, Jesus demonstrated there is also a requirement for “community,” for the coming together of the people, for the sharing of life, itself, with one another.

The disciples had urged him to disperse the crowds, to send them off so they could attend to their needs individually, privately. But Jesus did not do this. Instead, he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass. Jesus chose to keep them together as a community of followers rather than as individuals who would provide only for themselves among the “five thousand men … not counting women and children” who had been listening to him.

From this community, he obtained a meager resource: five loaves of bread and two fish. He blessed this offering, this sharing, and then he had another request. He did not have the crowd line up and receive individual handouts. Rather, he gave the blessed food to his disciples, his closest friends, and had them distribute the food to the rest of the community. And with their hunger satisfied, this community provided more than twelve times the amount of their original donation.

Sometimes, we tend to forget the importance of the community in the life we live. We are so focused on our own individual need for specific resources we fail to offer up what we have so that it can be blessed by the LORD GOD and returned twelve-fold.

For the past several weeks, we have heard the parables of Christ about the growth of seeds and the soil needed for this growth. We heard how the reign of God cannot be choked out by the evil of the world around us. We have been told the reign of God is like a mustard seed, like leaven in rising dough. We heard how it is like a buried treasure or a pearl of great price and must be eagerly pursued. And, finally, how the reign of God is like a fishnet which brings in a diverse collection to satisfy everyone.

And yet, the crowds who heard these parables did not really understand. Perhaps, this is why Jesus attempted to teach them through the specific actions he accomplished in today’s gospel reading. As important as the air we breathe, the water we drink, the food we consume, the clothing and shelter needed for our protection, there is also a need for community, for the gathering together of his followers, for the sharing of meager resources which he blesses and multiplies.

Jesus asked his disciples, his closest friends, to be a significant part of this sharing as they, themselves, distributed these resources. And once the people had been satisfied, he also had his disciples gather together what the crowd had to offer in return.

After all, unless the gathered leftovers of the twelve baskets were to be given out, again, what is the purpose of their being gathered in the first place? Is it not to show the abundance of our God and how we are to continue to share his abundance with one another. His abundance is not to be hoarded for personal use later on. Rather, it is to be returned to him for further distribution among those in need.

St Paul knew the importance of all of this to life, itself, when he asked his questions to the Romans: “What will separate us from the love of Christ? Will anguish, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril of the sword? No, in all these things we conquer overwhelmingly through him who loved us.”

We may believe we, as individuals, require the resources of nature and of our own actions, to possess life. And while vast numbers in the secular world might agree, the followers of Christ, on the other hand, also recognize we are called to share the abundant gifts he has given us. We also realize that, together, we are the body of Christ, and as members of his body, this community of believers, we must act as one, on behalf of the head of this body, Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen!

^{18th Sunday in Ordinary Time; July 31, 2011
Is 55:1-3; Rom 8:35, 37-39; Mt 14:13-21}

It’s that time of year again. And what time is it? Well, for some, it’s time to get ready to start school. Last week, we heard Fr. Fred1 talk about education, especially at our neighboring parish of St Anne’s in Tomball. Fr Fred also reminded us that this week we would be hearing about stewardship, since in the Diocese of Galveston-Houston it’s the time of year when we are reminded we are stewards of the gifts God has given us. Stewards: those who look after what the master has left in their charge. Which leads me to today’s question: What are the three gifts for which we are called to be stewards?

Yes, “time, talent and treasure.” Today, we are asked to focus on “time” – the time given to us by God and for which we are held responsible as his stewards. I don’t know about you, but I often feel the gift he has given me isn’t quite big enough, or long enough. My time seems to vanish without my realizing where it has gone or how it has gone. I’m sure there are now less than twenty-four hours in a day. And does a “year” really still have three-hundred-sixty-five days? How am I to spend more time with God when he seems to be giving me less and less free time to spend with him or with anybody else? I seem to be filling up my hours very easily, even if I have, supposedly, been “retired” for the last three years.

There are times when I want to be like the prophet Elijah we heard about in our First Reading for today and simply hide out in some cave, get away from it all, retreat to a place of quiet where I can rest for a while. Of course I would really not want to be Elijah who, in fact, was hiding out from the wrath of Queen Jezebel. Yes, Elijah was hiding out in that cave and not merely trying to get away from an active life.

So, what happened to him? Was Elijah able to hide out comfortably in that cave? No. Because what happened is: God called. Yes, it seems when we try to escape, try to be alone for a few minutes, either to rest or to escape from our pursuers, God calls. God calls us to spend some time with him, to be present to the Lord God. And we respond. We answer his call. We enter into prayer.

Yes, believe it or not, prayer is not something I do, it’s not something I, myself, want. Oh, I may say I want to pray, but it is God who calls me to prayer. Prayer is my response to God’s call, his call to be in his presence.

Elijah, himself, left the safety of his cave when he heard the call of God. Elijah looked for Yahweh in the power of nature, in the whirlwind, in the earthquake, and in the consuming fire. But the Lord God was not in any of these great events. Rather, the Lord God met Elijah in the tiny whisperings of a gentle breeze.

Although each of us might seek God in the wonders and great events of our life, he comes in fact, in gentle prayer, in the inner calling of our faith in him. Peter learned the same lesson. In our gospel reading, Peter and the other disciples saw their Lord and Master walking on the waves of the Sea of Galilee during a predawn storm. The terrified Peter wanted to be in the immediate presence of his Lord and Master, to be safely with Jesus, who from a distance, said to his frightened friends, “Take courage. It is I. Do not be afraid.”

However, Peter demanded a greater sign. He wanted Jesus to command him to come, to order him to walk across the waves. And Jesus responded, “Come.” But Peter took his eyes away from the one who called. He saw the dangers beneath him as he approached Jesus and began to sink. Yet it was then that Jesus reached out to Peter, took him from the raging waters, and spoke words which calmed both the fisherman and the waters, themselves. Yes, there are times when God calls me in prayer and I respond with my own demands, my own desire for proof God loves me and, therefore, will respond dramatically to my demands. And God does respond to our demands and allows us to do what we believe is the right thing. But then, when we behold not the face of Jesus, but rather the elements of our own world, we falter. Yet, as we begin to sink beneath the stormy waves of our life, our companion, who has never left us, reaches out and brings us forth from the dangers into which we have put ourselves.

Just how does he do this? How does he reach out to us? Perhaps, the answer can be found in what happened before Jesus walked across the storm-tossed waters. Jesus, on the evening before he walked across the stormy waves of the Sea of Galilee, went to the top of a mountain to spend the night in prayer, to be in the presence of Abba, his Father. Jesus gave his attention both to his Father and to his friends. Jesus was a steward who walked not only with his companions, but also with Abba. He gave of his time both to his Father and to his friends.

This Sunday we are again reminded we are stewards of the time given to us by God. We are to use this time for others and in prayer. Prayer is not a time for the demands of the steward. Rather, prayer is the time for us, who are his stewards, merely to be in the presence of the Master who loves us, the one who freely gives us all of the world for our use and for our protection – our protection for use by others, by all those whom he loves.

For this is what stewardship means. As stewards, we are caregivers for all of the gifts given to us, gifts to be shared with others. God calls us to be stewards of the time he gives, the time we share with others. But we are also asked to share our time with God as well.

God calls us to devote exclusive time for us to be with him, to be in the presence of God, to be in prayer with God. God calls us to a prayer life – a life lived in the presence of God. God also he calls us to a prayerful life – a life influenced by prayer, a life formed in prayer and lived for others.

While it is true that each of us is called to serve our brothers and sisters, to be stewards of his creation, God also calls each of us to be with him, to be present to him, alone. We need not climb to the top of a mountain. We need not walk across raging waters. But we do need to hear his call to each of us, hiding in our caves or in a storm-tossed boat. We need to listen for his whisper and respond. This may be the time of year for some of us to continue our education. It is always the time of year for me to continue my walk with the God who whispers to me in my heart and in my prayer.

^{Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary; August 11, 2002
1Kg 19:9a, 11-13a; Rom 9:1-5; Mt 14:22-33}

1. Fr. Fred Valone had recently been Parochial Vicar at Christ the Good Shepherd. In 2002 he was the Pastor at the neighboring parish of St Anne in Tomball, TX. St Anne had a struggling elementary school needing additional support. Since we did not have a school, but many of our families sent their children to St Anne’s, it seemed appropriate to allow him the use of our pulpit.

A few weeks ago, my question was “for children of all ages.” Today, I have another question for “children of all ages.” But today’s question is not about circuses. However, you’ll need to remember back to when you were a little kid. My question is this: When you were a little kid, were there monsters under your bed? If you were like many little kids, you knew they didn’t live there all the time. Not during the daylight hours. But only at night, when you were about ready to go to sleep. They began stirring just after mommy or daddy turned off the light. Some of you may not know what I’m talking about, but Calvin and Hobbes did!

How many of you remember Calvin and Hobbes? They were my favorite comic-strip characters. Calvin was the little boy who knew the world most of us live in is less important than the world of our imagination. He and his tiger friend, Hobbes, knew all about the monsters under the bed, about the things that frighten us. But Calvin had Hobbes to protect him. If I need to get out of my bed and look under it to make sure the monsters aren’t really there, I’d like to have a friendly tiger at my side.

Believe it or not, our readings for today have that same message: there is a friendly, gentle tiger with me. To begin, let’s take another look at our first reading from the First Book of Kings about the prophet Elijah hiding out in a cave. Do you remember why he was there? It’s because he had killed the seventy prophets of Queen Jezebel who was now chasing him. He was hiding out from her in that cave on Mount Horeb when the Lord God said He would allow Elijah to see Him, personally.

Elijah wanted to see the Lord God, but he also knew those who did, usually died in the process. Yet he was willing to leave the safety of his cave, to risk death to see the Lord God passing by. And what does Elijah see? First of all, there’s a strong wind, a tornado, ripping the mountain apart and pulverizing the rocks around Elijah. Next, there’s an earthquake. And then there is an all-consuming fire. Still there is no Lord God to comfort Elijah, His prophet. But then, after the fire, there is a tiny, whispering sound. It is then that Elijah knows Yahweh is present.

Would you have had the courage, after a tornado, after an earthquake, after a raging fire, to stand at the entrance of a cave to be present to hear the whisper of God? In the midst of your own tribulations, when you hide in your own cave to be safe from all that rages around you, do you dare to go out to listen for the gentle whisper of God?

And what about Peter, whose story we heard in today’s gospel reading? Am I like Peter? It’s been a hard day for Peter. But it had been a harder day for Jesus. It started before dawn, when word had reached Jesus and his friends that John, the one who had baptized them in the Jordan, was dead. Beheaded by King Herod. Upon hearing this terrible news, Jesus wanted to be alone, alone with his Abba, alone with his prayers. Jesus had set off in a small boat to a deserted place by himself.

However, the crowds had heard he was going. Perhaps, some had even heard the news about John and wondered how Jesus would react. Would Jesus now start preaching against Herod? What would Jesus do next? So, they went ahead of him, along the shore, and met him when he got out of the boat.

He didn’t preach to them about overthrowing Herod. He did not talk about revenge. The crowd listened intently to what he said. They did not leave. Even when dusk began to settle. There in the twilight the disciples urged Jesus to send away the crowds. You know what happened next. We heard in last week’s gospel how Jesus fed the five-thousand, not counting women and children, with five loaves of bread and a couple of fish. When it was dark, Jesus finally dismissed the crowds and sent his friends out in a boat so he could, at last, be alone to mourn for his friend and cousin, John the Baptist.

Jesus had spent much of the night in prayer. Yet, his disciples were still in his mind. Even in his own human sadness about John, Jesus could look out across the Sea of Galilee and notice in the cloudy moonlight their boat was being tossed about. So, sometime between three and six A.M., Jesus went to them across the water.

There was Peter, the able fisherman, who could not make any headway, out there in the boat with the others. When they saw Jesus walking on the water, perhaps they thought Herod’s men had killed Jesus, too, and it was, indeed, his ghost approaching them. Jesus knew what they must be thinking and so he called out to them, “Take courage. It is I. Do not be afraid.”

Peter heard those words of his friend and Master. Peter, the fisherman who knew the dangers of the waters of the Sea of Galilee, took his courage and began to walk across the waters toward Jesus, until Peter, remembering what those dangers might be, began to sink. Yet, in his very act of sinking, Peter was able to cry out, “Lord, save me!”

Yes, Jesus had the right to say to Peter, “How little faith you have.” And to ask him: “Why did you doubt, why did you falter?” But this question, which can also be asked of you and me, is less important than what happened next. Jesus did reach out to Peter and led him back to the safety of the boat. Only then did the storm die down.

But what about me? How many times have I been less than Peter and not had the courage to get out of the boat? How often have I had the initial onrush of courage to get out of my boat, but seeing the storm did not end and fearing for my own safety, began to sink beneath the waves? How many times have I asked for Jesus to help me, and then lost confidence, wondering if he really heard me? Did he really call to me and say, “Be not afraid. Come.”

“Be not afraid.” Of what am I afraid? “Come.” From what fear must I come? Do I fear the conditions of the world around me? A world which seems to be filled with monsters of terrorism and disaster. Or, perhaps, I need to look even closer to home. To my own bed, my own cave, my own boat. Perhaps, each one of us needs to begin to identify the boat in which we are tossed and turned. For some, the tossing boat may be a relationship which needs to be improved – with our spouse or with a parent, with a friend. For others, it may be a relationship which must be ended, rather than pursued. We know what must be changed. We try, but, seeing no immediate improvement, we give up instead of calling for help from the Jesus who walks toward us with outstretched hand.

Or perhaps we must begin to identify the cave of our isolation, a cave that may be an addiction which has hold of us, an addiction to drugs, to excessive alcohol, to computer porn or to other harmful behaviors. Perhaps, my cave is a general weariness – a weariness of not knowing what I should do, of wanting to seek God more closely, but not knowing how to begin.

So here I sit, locked in my cave of isolation. Here I am, being tossed by waves which threaten to drown me. Here I huddle, in my bed while monsters lurk beneath me. And all the time I lack courage – courage to begin. Courage to be like Peter. Peter had the courage to step out. He lost his courage to continue on his own, knowing the real dangers and difficulties on all sides. Yet, he regained his courage, to call out once more. And all the time, Jesus was there. There, not to stop the storm immediately, but there to help Peter to safety once again.

A few minutes ago, I began this reflection with comments about two comic-strip characters: Calvin and Hobbes, the friendly tiger. Perhaps, Jesus is not unlike my own friendly tiger. When I believe monsters lurk under my bed, he is there to encourage me to get out from beneath the protective covers and look under the bed, to see that the monsters are not there. And yet, if there be monsters there, he will still be with me to see me to final safety. But the first move is up to me. Only I can pull the covers off and put my feet on the floor. Only I can hear the high winds, the earthquake, and the fire, and still move toward the entrance of my isolating, protecting cave in order to hear, finally, the gentle whisper of my God. Only I can step out of my tossing boat and begin my walk toward Jesus. And when I do, I can hear him say, “Take courage. It is I. Do not be afraid. Come.”

^{Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary; August 8, 1987; August 11, 1996 (revised); August 7, 2005 (revised)
1 Kg 19:9,11-13; Rom 9:1-5; Mt 14:22-23}

Happy birthday! Do you know whose birthday we’re celebrating today? You don’t? Well, it’s your birthday – and mine. Today is the celebration of our birthday into the Kingdom of Heaven. You don’t believe me? Well, listen again to what St Paul wrote to the Corinthians: “Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep. Death came through a man; hence the resurrection of the dead comes through a man also. Just as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will come to life again, but each one in proper order: Christ the first fruits and then, at his coming, all those who belong to him.”

The resurrection of the dead, our birth into an everlasting life is not something we think about very often, even though at each Mass we recite as part of our Creed: “… we look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come . . . “ Somehow, many of us seem to gloss over the fact it is our own resurrection we’re talking about, our own rebirth into the Kingdom of Heaven in a very special way. The feast day we celebrate today is a reminder of our own forthcoming resurrection. On this Feast of the Assumption, we celebrate our Catholic belief that Mary, the mother of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, was assumed, or taken up, into heaven. We believe, as Christ is the first fruits, his mother is the example of what each of us is called to be.

Last March 25, on the Feast of the Annunciation, Pope John Paul made this very clear in the sixth encyclical he has published. This encyclical, called Redemptoris Mater, speaks about the pilgrimage of faith we are all on and how Mary is a guiding light, the Star of the Sea, on this journey. John Paul wrote this document as a prelude to the Marian year which began on June 7, Pentecost Sunday, and will end one year from now, on August 15, 1988, the Feast of the Assumption.

You might wonder why he has designated this particular year to be a Marian year, a special year dedicated to the honor of Mary. In his formal announcements he has pointed out two reasons why 1987-1988 should be dedicated to Mary. One reason will be clear this fall when the Synod of Bishops meets in Rome to discuss issues related to the pastoral concerns of the church, especially the role of the laity in the church. John Paul has asked for Mary’s assistance in these important deliberations which will be part of this Marian year.

But there is another reason as well. It relates, perhaps, to the first reading we heard a few minutes ago. Many people read these words, or others like them from the Book of Revelation, and see today as a time of trial and tribulation, the end of the world as we know it. However, we’re not the first to have such views. It happened in about 1000 A.D. It happened again around 1300 A.D. The people saw the end of the first millennium as ushering in the final days of the world. When the end didn’t occur in 1000 A.D., the people of 1300 A.D. were sure that year would be the time when Christ would return. The next major ”magic number” year arrives thirteen years from now: the year 2000 A.D. I dare say, as we approach 2000 A.D., there will be many dire predictions of the end of the world1.

Well, John Paul is not predicting the end of the world in 2000 A.D., but he is focusing on the celebration of the beginning of the Third Millennium of the Christian era. In his announcement for this Marian year, he emphasized that Mary “shines on the horizon of the advent of our times,” and, just as Mary precedes Jesus physically by approximately thirteen years, we should celebrate a year for her approximately thirteen years before we celebrate the beginning of the Third Millennium in his honor.

So, where does all of this leave us? Today, on the feast of the Assumption, we recognize Mary, in some way which is beyond our human understanding, is with God in a very special way. We believe we, also, will be with God in that very same way. In the meantime, we continue to follow the example of Mary, who freely said “yes” to God’s invitation. We look forward with joy to whatever the next thirteen years may bring and await with great expectation the Third Millennium of Christ. It is in this continuing joy that we are able to say, once more, happy birthday to one and all.

^{Feast of the Assumption; August 15, 1987
Rev 11:19, 12:1-6, 10; 1 Cor 15:20-26; Lk 1:39-56}

The answer to today’s question can be found in the readings we just heard. It’s a question about history and about the Church. My question is this: What is the usual symbol used for the papacy? What symbol is found throughout history on every papal flag or coat of arms? Yes, it’s the symbol of two crossed keys, usually, one is gold, the other silver. You can check it out on the flag in the narthex that you pass every-time you enter or leave Christ the Good Shepherd.

Today’s readings speak a lot about keys. In the First Reading from the prophet Isaiah, we heard about the “key of the House of David” and about two servants, Shebna and Eliakim. It seems Shebna had done something the Lord God did not approve of. From earlier lines written by Isaiah, it appears Shebna had become too proud of himself and of his place in King David’s royal household. So, the Lord God said he would transfer the authority of Shebna to another servant named Eliakim. And what was this authority? It was the power of carrying the key to the king’s chamber.

Back then, keys were a lot bigger than they are now. You couldn’t put a key to a palace door in your pocket. It was so large that the one who had the privilege of carrying it had to carry it over his shoulder. It must have been like the now-symbolic “key to the city” a mayor gives to a distinguished visitor. And so, Isaiah writes: “[The Lord God] will place the key of the House of David on Eliakim’s shoulder; when he opens, no one shall shut; when he shuts, no one shall open.” With these words, the Lord God gave Eliakim the authority to control access to the king’s meeting hall, King David’s chambers. Eliakim became the royal chamberlain.

Chamberlain: the one who controls the royal chambers, the royal rooms. I like the words “chamberlain” and chamber. They come from the Latin word for room, camera, which leads me to the Italian word for “a small room.” In Italian, the diminutive ending is “ino” like – “bambino” is a “small child.” So, in Italian, a small room or a small “camera” is: “camerino.” Yes, my last name literally means “a small room.” It’s also the name of a town in central Italy, near Assisi. That’s probably where my family name originated, even if my grandfather did come from a town near Naples.

I don’t know about you, but I’m fascinated by names, by the words we call places and things – and people. Some two-thousand years ago, back in the days of Jesus, names were very important. They were especially important to the Hebrew people who thought knowing the name of something, or someone, gave you power over that thing or person. This is why it was so important for Adam to give a name to all of the animals and things which God created. Naming them, showed Adam had power over things God created. And why it was so important for Moses to know the name of the Lord God, the Lord God who told Moses his name was “I AM WHO AM?”

Centuries later, long after the time of Moses, it was equally important for Jesus to ask his friends, “Who do the people say that the Son of Man is?” According to Matthew’s gospel: “They replied: ‘some say John the Baptist, others Elijah, still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.’ ” In other words, the disciples responded by saying the crowds thought Jesus was like one of the many who had spoken, before, about the coming of God. But then, Jesus, speaking almost in the words addressed to Moses, asks the question: “But who do you say that I am?” And Simon replies, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.” Messiah, the Hebrew word for “the Anointed One, the Chosen One.” In Greek, the word becomes: Christos, the Christ. Simon named Jesus to be “the Christ,” the Anointed One whom God had promised to the Israelites since their beginning as a nation.

And once again, we hear those famous lines: “Blessed are you, Simon, son of Jonah, for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my heavenly father. And so I say to you, you are “Petros,” and upon this “petra” I will build my church, and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it. I will give you the keys to the kingdom of heaven. Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.”

And so, over the remaining centuries, the popes, the successors of Peter, the Rock, have maintained the authority over the Church, given by Jesus, that has been passed down to them. And for this reason, the symbol of the papacy has been the keys given to Peter. But once more, the story does not end here.

Rather, it begins here. It begins with what Jesus established on his “rock,” on his foundation. Jesus said that on this rock, on this foundation, he would build his ekklesia, his Church. This Greek word for church, ekklesia, means “those who are called forth by a herald” or “those who are gathered together.” And so it was that on the foundation of Peter, his Rock, Jesus calls forth his people, his people who are gathered here this day, right now, this moment.

We are gathered here for two purposes: to hear his word and to approach his table. Here at this liturgy, at this public gathering, God comes to us and we, in turn, come to God. To be part of this gathering, we, too, must take part in the conversation which began with Jesus and Simon, son of Jonah. Just as Jesus asked Simon: “Who do you say I am?” he asks each one of us: “Who do you say I am?” And each one of us must give an individual answer.

Some might respond with such names as “Lord” or “Master.” Others might reply: “Savior or Redeemer.” Still others might answer: “Brother or Friend.” As important as each answer might be, we also need to remember we heard a second response in today’s reading. When Simon gave a name to Jesus, Jesus gave a new name to Simon.

Yes, it’s important for each one of us to respond to the question Jesus asked Simon: “Who do you say that I am?” But it’s also important to listen to the reply Jesus gives to each one of us. As you call him “Lord” or “Master,” does he call you, Faithful Servant? As you call him “Savior” or “Redeemer,” does he call you, “Forgiven?” As you call him: “Brother” or “Friend,” does he call you, “My Companion?” For you see, what name you call him, influences what name he calls you. Simon named him “the Anointed One sent by the Living God.” In turn, Simon received the name “Rock,” the firm foundation.

Finally, I would remind you: when two people are deeply in love they usually have a pet-name, a term of endearment, which they use when they are alone, together. And so, today, as you speak the silent name you have for Jesus, you might listen with your heart, to hear what name, what true name, what name of endearment, Jesus speaks to you. In response to our answer to his question: “Who do you say that I am,” he tells each of us who we are to him. Yes, my first question to you today was about the Church, the gathered people of God. And my last question is also about the Church. My question is this: By what name does the Living God call you?

^{Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary; August 24, 2008; revision of August 22, 1999
Is 22:19-23; Rom 11:33-36; Mt 16:13-20}

All of you who come here to mass every week know I begin each homily with a question. Many of you realize I do this with a hope that, on a personal basis, you’ll enter into my attempt to break open the scriptures we hear at this particular celebration. I expect on some occasions you hear the question and wonder how in the world will I relate it to the readings? I also recognize a few of you, later, recall the question, but can’t remember anything else about the homily. I hope that’s not the case today. However, even if it is, it’s ok, because today’s questions are directly about scripture, itself.

The New Testament has a lot of questions. Today I’d like to bring four of them to your attention. They are four questions which have very related answers. Perhaps, one of the most basic questions in the New Testament is the one raised by those who followed Jesus. One of them asked him: “What is the most important commandment of God?” Is there anyone here who does not know the answer? (No, I won’t ask you to raise your hand.) Yes, of course: it’s to acknowledge that the Lord is one God and to love him and to love my neighbor as I love myself.

Immediately this question leads to another one: “Who is my neighbor?” The answer should be familiar to each one of us. So, again I don’t need to elaborate on the story of the “good Samaritan.” The next two questions I have in mind are ones Jesus asked Peter. The first one is found in the Gospel of John, when Jesus asked him: “Do you love me?” Again, you know his response, or series of responses, since Jesus asked the question three times. And the last of the four questions I’d raise for your consideration today, is the one we heard Jesus ask Peter much earlier in his ministry. Today, we heard Jesus ask: “Who do you say that I am?” And once more, we heard Peter’s response.

When I began this series of questions, I said their responses are related. I believe the answer to each question has something in common with the others. Recall – the questions are:
● “What is the greatest of all of the commandments?”
● “Who is my neighbor?”
● “Do you love me?”
● “Who do you say I am?”
I believe the answers to these four questions are related because each one deals with a matter of relationships. In the first two questions the response deals with the relationship between our God and each one of us, as well as with the relationship each one of us has with another person. The question about love is certainly about relationships. And the question “who do you say I am?” maybe the major question we can ask about any relationship.

If you listen closely, Jesus did not ask: “Who am I?” He knew the answer to that one. Instead, Jesus asked the question: “Who do you say I am?” This question is a relational one. The response is about the perceptions we have about our relationships with one another. How I respond to the question Jesus asked Peter tells me, and him, about the relationship I have with him – who I believe Jesus really is, who I believe I really am.

Consider for a moment, the relationship you have with others. How would you respond if your spouse asks you: “Who do you say I am?” Would you respond:
● “You are my spouse” … “you are my husband” … “you are my wife”
● “You are my beloved” … “you are my lover “ …. “you are my best friend”
● “You are the mother of my children” …. “you are the father of my child”
● “You are the one who takes care of the house”
● “You are the one who brings home a paycheck so we can have food and shelter”

I think you’d readily agree each set of responses is about the relationship you have with the person to whom you’re married. The answer may be about the other person, but it’s also about you. When Jesus asked his disciples who do people say he is, he was inquiring about second-hand information. And he received a second-hand opinion. He received “hearsay.” He was told some people believe he is a prophet like John the Baptist, or Elijah or Jeremiah. He is a spiritual leader who tells them about God.

But when he asked Simon the same question, he wanted a first-hand answer. It was then that his disciple replied: … You are the Christ, the anointed one of God, … You are the Son of the living God, … You are the Messiah, the One who will redeem us, the One who at the end of time will be there to usher in the final reign of God. Yes, Simon gave his first-hand response about the relationship he believed existed between the two of them. Simon gave Jesus another name, “Christ, Messiah.”

And Jesus, in turn, gave Simon another name. He called him Peter, the Rock, the foundation upon which he would establish his church, the gathering of those who would follow him, now and forever. A new relationship was formed between “Jesus the Christ” and “Simon the Rock.”

The question Jesus asked Simon is the same question he asks of each one of us. And how each of us responds to this question speaks about the relationship between the two of us. Yes, it’s important for each of us to respond, individually, to the question Jesus asked Simon Peter: “who do you say that I am?” It’s also important to listen to the reply Jesus gives to each one of us.
● As you call him: Lord or Master … does he call you: Faithful Servant?
● As you call him: Savior or Redeemer … does he call you: Forgiven?
● As you call him: Brother or Friend … does he call you: My Companion?

A few minutes ago, I implied there are many ways to respond when a spouse asks: “who do you say I am.” Sometimes, the reply could be a pet-name, a term of endearment, which is used when you are alone, together. And so, today, as you speak the silent name you have for Jesus, you might listen with your heart, to hear what name of endearment Jesus speaks to you. In response to our answer to his question: “who do you say that I am?” he tells each of us who we are to him.

I began by saying there are at least four relational questions asked in the New Testament. Two of them are asked by the crowds who followed Jesus: “What is the greatest of all of the commandments of God?” and “Who is my neighbor?” Two of them are asked by Jesus to Simon Peter: “Do you love me?” and “Who do you say that I am?” I would now ask you a fifth question. Not one asked directly in the Scriptures but one with a response equally important as any found in these writings. My question is this: “By what name does the Living God call you?” Listen quietly and hear his answer in your heart.

^{Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 21, 2011 (Modification of Homily of 8/22/1999 and 8/24/2008)
Is 22:19-23; Rom 11:33-36; Mt 16:13-20}

When was the last time you had a crisis? That’s your question for today. I ask it because today’s Gospel Reading begins with a crisis. Perhaps, we can reflect for a few minutes on how Jesus responded to his crisis, so we might be able to respond more appropriately to our own crisis.

For many of us, “crisis” means a problem, something to be overcome. We talk about a crisis at work when we have to make a deadline for the completion of a project we should have started weeks ago. Or a crisis in the home, when Johnny doesn’t pass a course at school or when Suzie starts to date a boy we’re not sure she should date. For some, a crisis is the loss of a job or the death of a loved one. For others, a “crisis” occurs when you break a shoelace and your car-pool is waiting for you. I admit these may be examples of crises in our lives, of major or minor burdens we have. But that’s not really the kind of crisis I mean when we begin to reflect on today’s Gospel message, on the crisis Jesus faces.

The real meaning of “crisis” is: a time of change, a time of a major turning point. For instance, when a physician talks about a “crisis” being reached in a disease, the doctor really means a point is being reached where the patient will make either a rapid decline and die or will take a sudden turn for the better and recover. A crisis is the time of a turning point in one’s life. In today’s Gospel, Jesus has reached such a turning point.

Until now, Jesus has been preaching in Galilee about the Kingdom of God, the Reign of God, which has now begun. Yet his words have not been understood, not even by his closest friends, his disciples. Do you recall last week’s Gospel? The passage last week is the one which immediately precedes today’s reading. Last week, we heard Jesus’ question to his disciples: “Who do you say I am?” And we heard Simon’s response: “You are the Messiah (the anointed one), the Son of the Living God.” And Jesus’ response to Simon: “you are Peter, the rock.” But now, only a few verses later, only a few minutes later, Jesus has another name for Simon-Peter. He calls him “Satan.” Surely, this is some indication of a major change, a turning-point, a crisis.

Although Jesus has been preaching about the God who is love, his friends have not understood him. He now accepts the fact he must show them what he really means. He tells them he must leave Galilee and go to Jerusalem where he will suffer, be put to death, and be raised up. He must show them that love, true love, must also accept the burdens which are part of true love.

Peter’s reaction is typically human and typically Peter! He takes Jesus aside and says: “God forbid that any such thing ever happen to you!” Wouldn’t we have said the same thing? When a friend comes to us and tells us of a hard choice, a difficult decision he must follow, wouldn’t we, too, say: “God forbid that it has to happen!” Or when I, myself, have a hard decision to follow, I too want to cry out: “God forbid that I really have to do it!”

It’s then, when Peter cautions Jesus not to go to Jerusalem, that Jesus called him: “Satan.” But what does he mean? He does not mean Peter is an evil devil, some kind of monster. Do you remember when we first meet Satan in both the Old and New Testaments? In the opening chapters of Genesis, Satan is the tempter, the one who counsels Eve about the easy way to be like God. And in the New Testament, Satan is the one who, in the desert, tempts Jesus to accomplish his mission the easy way, by bowing down to Satan who will then give him all the kingdoms of the world.

Now, here is Peter saying: “Surely Jesus, you don’t really need to go to Jerusalem to suffer and die.” But what does Jesus say, besides calling Peter the great tempter? He says: “You are not following God’s standards but rather human standards.” And then he goes on to say something I find very difficult to accept: the need to deny my very self in order to save my self.

When I began this reflection, I used the word “crisis,” a Greek word which means “turning-point.” To reflect about this crisis, and our temptation in a time of crisis to take the easy way out, I need to reflect on another Greek word, psyche. This word, psyche, is used several times in today’s Gospel reading and it’s essential we have an appreciation of what it means.

The Greek root-word is found in modern English terms such as “psychology” or “psychiatry” and so we usually think psyche means “mind.” But it doesn’t. Not really. In modern translations of the Gospel, the one word “psyche,” can be rendered by three different English words: life, soul, or self. The “psyche” is that element within a human being that makes a person a uniquely human person: one’s life, one’s soul, one’s self.

Let me read a passage from today’s Gospel using the word “psyche” and as you listen, think of the whole concept: of life, of soul, of self, of all that makes you a human being and makes you who you are as a unique person. “If you would try to save your psyche, you will lose it. But if you lose your psyche for my sake, you will find it. What profit would you show, if you were to gain the whole world and destroy your psyche in the process? What can you offer in exchange for your psyche?”

That last question is the most important one of all: what can you offer in exchange for your psyche? One answer is given in the Gospel of John: “There is no greater love than this: to lay down one’s psyche for one’s friends.” What we have then, in today’s Gospel Reading, is Jesus’ recognition it is not enough for him to preach about the reign of God and about the father’s love for us. Rather, he saw it was necessary for him to express his willingness to accept the suffering that love sometimes demands and lay down his very selfhood, his psyche, for his friends.

Sometimes, we seem to think this was no great decision. After all, Jesus trusted in God to raise him up. Besides, it’s no great marvel to trust in God. If we believe in a loving father, we are bound to trust him. However, the greater wonder is this: to recognize that God trusts us! He trusts us to do what is right, even when it may be difficult to do what is right.

In today’s gospel, we heard about a crisis, a turning point in the life of Jesus. But what about a crisis in my own life? In a time of crisis, at a turning point in my life, I need to recognize the world may urge me to take the easy way out. Yet, I have to recognize God trusts me to accept my burden, my responsibility, my cross and to do what I know is right. I have to give up my own ego-trip, my own self and to not be tempted to take the easy way out. Instead, if I really am to be a follower of Christ, if I am really to be a Christian, I must be willing to put aside my own selfhood to see what will benefit others and not merely what is of benefit to me, personally.

Jesus never said it would be easy. What he does say is that, since he did it and since he was as human as I am, than I can do it, too. He asks me not to follow the standards of the world, but rather those of God. He asks me to do what is difficult when I would rather do what is socially acceptable – and easier. He asks me to believe God trusts me to do what is right and not merely what is convenient. He assures me the reward, in the long run, is there – and here, as well – for the Reign of God is not some future event, it has already begun, this kingdom of the now and of the not yet.

What conclusion can I reach in this reflection? I could say: at the time of a crisis, of a turning-point in my life, when I am tempted to take the easy way out, God trusts I will accept my burden and, setting aside my own self-interests, my psyche, I will do what benefits others, just as the Son of God did for me.

I admit this is a complex sentence with a lot of words to understand and to follow. Our Lord used a much simpler one. And so, the best way to summarize this reflection is to use his very simple conclusion. All he said was: “Love your neighbor as your own self, your own soul, your own life, your own psyche.”

^{Twenty-second Sunday of Ordinary; September 2, 1984; September 1, 1996 (revised)
Jer 20:7-9; Rom 12:1-2; Mt 16:21-27}

For the last several weeks I’ve been asking questions about childhood. I asked about whether a circus is a place or an event and how the reign of God might be how we act right now rather than being a kingdom we hope to see someday. I asked about whether there are monsters under the bed and how to confront them with our own friendly tiger. Now I have another question which goes back to our childhood.

The question is this: When you were a child, did you play the “What if – game?”
● What if I step on a crack, will I break my mother’s back?
● What if I’m really extra good, will I get a bike for my birthday?
And as we got older, the what if’s changed and became somewhat open-ended.
● What if I drink a beer …
● What if I make out in the back seat of the car …
And adults are not immune to the what if game.
● What if I run this red light …
● What if I cheat on my income tax …
And, yes, some of the what if’s could have been positive.
● What if I study extra hard for this test …
● What if I put aside a few bucks every week for an emergency …
What if’s are like that. Positive or negative. Sometimes both.
● What will happen if …
● What will not happen if …
We can play the what if game on even a larger scale.
● What if the US had not dropped two atom bombs on Japan 60 years ago?
● What if the US had not invaded Iraq two years ago?

The what if game is not a new one. It existed over two thousand years ago, back in the time of Jeremiah, who wondered what if he had not allowed himself to be, as he said, “duped” by God. What if he had not allowed himself to be fooled into speaking for God and, as a result, being flogged and imprisoned because of his unwelcome prophesies? Or what if Jesus had heeded the tempting words of Peter and not gone to Jerusalem?

In today’s gospel, Jesus told Peter and his companions that the one Peter had just called the Messiah, the anointed one of God, must go to Jerusalem “… to suffer greatly … to be killed, and on the third day to be raised.” What if Jesus had not died on a cross and be raised again? What if there had been no “Last Supper?” What if the Eucharist had not been left to us? What if Jesus still has a physical body and resides in Jerusalem in the temple there? Or perhaps in Buckingham Palace, or in the still-standing World Trade Center in New York City?

Oh yes, the “what if game” can become rather fascinating. And totally unreal. We know what really happened. We know Jesus did sacrifice his own life so we could have life. We know he did leave us his Body and Blood so we, too, could become his body and blood. We know that through our actions, he has lived on in the world into the third millennium after his death and resurrection. We know he is not confined to a single building anywhere on this planet but lives in the hearts of each one who inhabits this world.

And there are those of us who know what he meant when he said, “For the Son of Man will come with his angels in his Father’s glory, and then he will repay all according to his conduct.” And what is this conduct which will be rewarded? It is the conduct of doing what we know should be done, what must be done. Some call it the “carrying of one’s cross.” But what is this cross? Is it something under which we shudder? Something we fear? Or is it something we embrace?

A few weeks ago, Fr John spoke about the sign of the cross we make on our mind, on our lips and on our heart. As little children, we were taught to make the Sign of the Cross … “In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” We do not shudder under this sign of the cross. We acknowledge it, not for the death of hope, but for the birth of hope. It is a sign of Passion, a sign of Love. It signifies the action of our Savior and the action to which he calls us.

He calls us to new questions of “what if?” What if I become my brother’s keeper? What if I love my neighbor as myself? He calls us to positive responses to this new game, this adult game of “what if?”

After today’s celebration of his own sacrifice and resurrection, after this liturgy, we are once again provided with opportunities to play the adult what if game. What if, upon leaving this building today, I jump in the car and merely return home? Or what if I go to the large hall across the plaza and see how I might join with others in living out the reign of God?
● What if I check off a couple boxes on this Ministry Form?
● What if I become a greeter, a lector? What if I distribute his consecrated body and blood to others?
● What if I take an active part in faith formation?
● What if I join with others in prayer?
● What if I become his hands for delivering care to others? Social justice to others? Peace to others?
●What if I become a steward for Christ?
What if …?

^{22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time; August 28, 2005 (Ministry or Stewardship Sunday)
Jer 20:7-9; Rom 12:1-2; Mt 16:21-27}