Third Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle C)

The Power of Words 

NEH 8:2-4A, 5-6, 8-10; 1 COR 12:12-14,27; LK 1:1-4; 4:14-21

I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but I have a problem with my weight. Call it whatever you want . . . heavy, overweight, fat, portly, rotund, obese . . . I’ve heard it all. When I was a youngster attending Catholic elementary school, I used to dread the annual visit to a store called Lobel's in Levittown, NY to purchase my school uniform, because every year after the salesman measured me, I would hear the same thing . . . “Oh, it looks like we’ll have to try the “husky” sizes!” My mother used to call it “baby fat,” and comforted me by assuring that it would disappear as I got older. But last year I came to the realization that, at my age, maybe it was more than "baby fat," and as many of you know, last September I had surgery to try to do something about it.

As a kid, I was the big butt (no pun intended) of many jokes and comments from my peers about my weight. And one of the expressions I used to defend myself was: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” As children so often do, instead of physically fighting with one another we used to have a “war of words” by calling each other names. It was to inflict insults and get somebody upset, and maybe even make them cry. One of the popular techniques for trying to deflect the name calling, and pretend that it wasn’t really bothering you, was to say: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” Those are just words; they can’t hurt me. But the truth is, they did hurt—those names, those words made a difference, and sometimes they cut deeply and really hurt.

Do words really make a difference? What about, “I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.” And how about: "I baptize you in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit?” Words spoken by prophets, or history’s greatest writers, or the simplest of individuals. Words of a powerful world leader which bring a country to war. Words of a helpless child who begs his mommy and daddy to stop fighting. Words of anguish and desperation—“I want a divorce.”—which rip a family apart. Words spoken by an employer or a manager—“You’re fired.”—which crush an ego and force an unwanted change in the life of an employee. What about the simple words “I’m sorry?”—words from the heart and soul, words which heal and give hope? Just words you say? Think again. Words have real power. Words make things happen. Words change lives.

Jesus grew up in a small town, in a community where everybody knew him. If he misbehaved on his way home from school, his mother heard about it by the time he got home. He was like any other Jewish boy—growing up he heard and memorized his sacred scriptures, and he was shaped by them. But today is different; today everything changes. Today Jesus preaches his first sermon to his own people. He had grown up in front of them and now he was saying: “Today I’m fulfilling the prophecy of Isaiah . . . in your hearing—God has called me to bring Good News to the poor and freedom to the oppressed.” If Jesus is the son of Joseph, an artisan, what gives him the right to preach and teach us? Shouldn’t he be working with his hands?

For the first time, Jesus preached a living word to them. Some rejoiced, some repented, others became hostile, and all wondered what this word was going to do to them when they heard it.

Every Sunday we come to this place and we hear that same Word. And our tradition teaches us that when that word is proclaimed it is Christ himself who is speaking. Is that what we really believe? If it was, wouldn’t we be listening and concentrating as best as we could, sitting on the very edges of our seats excited about what God has to say to each one of us? Ezra read to the people. Jesus read and preached in the synagogue. Today we listen, but do these words change anything? Or are we looking for comfort of the same words we’ve heard over and over, year-after-year, Sunday-after-Sunday, changing nothing but making everything familiar and comfortable?”

What does this word have to do with us? What does this word do to us when we hear it? “The Spirit of the Lord has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor, liberty to captives, sight to the blind, and to let the oppressed go free?” Are we oppressed, do we need to be set free, are we imprisoned or exiled, are we downtrodden? Besides, the captives are in prison because that’s where they belong. The poor can get rich if they’d just get a job. The disabled and the disadvantaged, they’ve got laws to take care of them. What do they have to do with us?

But what if Jesus had said: “Your mortgages are paid-off, your credit card balances have been taken care of, those terrible mistakes you made years ago, the hurt you caused, the damage you did, all record of it is gone, you’re forgiven. Your cancer has been cured?” Would that make a difference—would Jesus then have our attention?

But that isn’t what he said. Maybe those words of Jesus were meant to unnerve us. Maybe those words were supposed to make us sit and think, examine our behavior, and get us to act in a different way. Maybe Jesus was trying to challenge our attitudes and confront our prejudices. Just maybe Jesus was attempting to show us that our faith has everything to do with justice, economics, poverty, and other real world issues. The words of Ezra the prophet, the words of Jesus first proclaimed in that synagogue, and his words we hear every time we gather in his name—do they make a difference to us? Do we try live better lives, are we more understanding, do we become less tolerant of the status quo, are we more generous in our community and in our parish? The words spoken by Jesus are supposed to be fulfilled in our hearing. Every one of us here brings life to those words—we give them voice, we walk with them, and we act with them. Without us those words are rendered barren and lifeless. We make them real. For us it is a matter of faith. Do we really believe the words we hear? When we enter this sacred space every Sunday, when we open our ears and our hearts to God’s words, we place ourselves at grave risk. It is a risk we cannot avoid; it is risk we have to take.

Second Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle C)

Lessons from Cana

Isaiah 62:1-5; 1 Corinthians 12:4-11; John 2:1-11 

As you can see, this morning I’m wearing a green stole. For the Church, green is more than just the color of the day; it’s the color of the season. And so, after preparing for our Lord’s coming in purple during the season of Advent, and celebrating his birth in white during the Christmas season, we have now settled back into the green of Ordinary Time. Today is actually the Second Sunday in Ordinary Time. Ordinary Time kind of slipped in quietly last Sunday as we celebrated the Solemnity of the Baptism of the Lord.

In addition to returning to Ordinary Time, we also return to our normal cycle of readings for the year. As you may recall, there are three cycles of Sunday readings. In Cycle A, the focus is on the Gospel of Matthew, Cycle B: Mark, and Cycle C (which is the cycle we're currently in): Luke. But interestingly, the gospel that you just heard me proclaim, isn’t from Luke’s Gospel. It’s from John. There is no cycle of readings dedicated to John’s Gospel, so John is heard periodically within the other three cycles.

And how appropriate it is that today we hear John’s recounting of the wedding feast of Cana. After celebrating the Baptism of the Lord last Sunday, the event which inaugurated Jesus’ public ministry, today we are presented with the account of Jesus’ first public miracle.

From this story, we hear that Jesus, His mother, and His disciples all attended a wedding that took place in Cana in Galilee. Cana was a town about 9 miles north of Nazareth--the city where Jesus and His family lived.

A wedding celebration in the first century was a gala occasion, even more than weddings are today. The wedding celebration usually lasted about a week and some lasted up to two weeks. During this week long festival, normally everyone in the community attended the event. It was considered an insult to refuse a wedding invitation. This means that hundreds of people made an appearance to congratulate the newlyweds.

As to the ceremony itself, it would be scheduled for a Wednesday evening to allow travelers to avoid the necessity of going any distance on the Sabbath. It would be preceded by a huge feast, with the actual exchanging of the vows late in the evening. Afterwards, the couple would be led on a winding trek through the town by the light of flaming torches, a canopy over their heads, allowing the other townspeople the opportunity for congratulations and good wishes, ending up at the couple's new home. Then for another week or so, the newlyweds would host an open house. They would wear crowns and dress in their bridal robes. In a life of poverty and hard work, such a week was truly a great occasion.

When the guests attended the celebration, the host of the party was expected to provide them with food and wine. And if for some reason the host failed in providing adequately for the guests, it was considered a social disgrace. Running out of wine and food meant more than embarrassment; it broke the strong unwritten laws of hospitality. In the closely-knit communities of Jesus’ day, such an error would never be forgotten and would haunt the newly married couple all their lives.

In today's gospel, the host of the party did the unthinkable--he ran out of wine. So Mary, the mother of our Lord, told Jesus of the predicament, expecting Him to do something about it.

Jesus’ response seems surprising to us and perhaps even a bit rude. He says to his mother, “Woman, how does your concern affect me? My hour has not yet come.” Yet Mary is the first disciple, the first one to have faith in her Son. So despite what appears to be his resounding “NO,” she instructs the servants, “Do whatever he tells you,” and Jesus then, or soon after, tells the servants to fill six stone water jars, each one holding a capacity of twenty to thirty gallons, with water. The servants, following Jesus’ instruction, draw some of the water transformed into wine to the headwaiter, who after sampling it, comments to the bridegroom that he has chosen to serve the choicest wine till last.

There are three points that I’d like to make concerning this passage. First, the miracle we hear about in today’s gospel speaks of both the quantity and quality of God’s love and blessings to us. Each jar held twenty to thirty gallons. Have you done the math? That was 150 gallons of wine, far beyond what the wedding revelers needed. There's an inverse ratio between the problem of running out of wine at the wedding and the bizarre abundance of the solution. But we have a God that doesn’t skimp. The God that Jesus revealed is a God of lavish liberality, generosity and extravagance. God’s love and his blessings are not rationed out, carefully apportioned. They’re given generously and readily. Furthermore, whereas most hosts serve the best wine first when people will appreciate the quality, and cheaper wine later when no one can taste the difference, Jesus reversed the pattern by saving the best for last. So too when God answers our prayers. His response to our requests is never lacking, second rate, or merely adequate. The gifts and blessings he bestows are always the best, extravagant, and more than we deserve.

The second point that I want to draw to your attention to concerns Mary’s instructions to the servants: “Do whatever He tells you.” Although Mary will be present throughout the gospels in various times and situations, these words are the last words we hear her speak: “Do whatever He tells you.”

Throughout history, we’ve had a fascination with the last words that a person speaks. Some have been of little consequence. For example, Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s last words were, “I have a terrible headache.” And Washington Irving said, “Well, I must arrange my pillow for another weary night.” Other final words were a little more theatrical: Broadway producer Florenz Ziegfield said, “Lights! I am ready for the finale. The show looks good.” Beethoven said, “Applaud my friends, the comedy is over.” Then, there were those who spoke lastly about their concerns for the next life. Horatio Nelson Algiers said, “Thank God, I have done my duty.” Edgar Poe said, “Lord, help my poor soul.”

And Mary . . . Mary said, “Do whatever He tells you.” I believe those words are directed more towards us, than they were to the servants in today’s gospel. “Do whatever He tells you:” profound advice and perhaps even at times subtle correction from a loving, spiritual mother to us, her children. You know, if you took all of the things that Mary is credited with saying in all her apparitions, whether it be in Knock, Ireland; Lourdes, France; Fatima, Portugal, or Medjugorja, Croatia, all things could be edited down to one simple sentence: “Do whatever He tells you.” The rest is mere commentary.

The final point I want to make also has to do with Mary. Notice the dynamics of today’s gospel. Even though Jesus apparently says “no” to his mother’s request, he nonetheless grants it. Why? Because what good son can deny his mother anything? For me, this speaks of why Mary is such a great intercessor with her Son on our behalf. If we get Mary to plead our case to her Son for us, chances are great that our prayer will be granted.

And so, today, we like those invited guests to the wedding feast at Cana marvel at the generosity and lavishness of our Lord’s love for us and his blessings to us. And truly with confidence, we add our voices to all those who for over five hundred years have called upon our Blessed Mother’s intercession through the prayer, the Memorare:

Remember, O Most Gracious Virgin Mary,

that never was it known 

that anyone who fled to Thy protection, 

implored Thy help 

or sought Thy intercession, was left unaided. 

Inspired by this confidence, I fly unto Thee, O Virgin of Virgins, my Mother;
To Thee do I come, before thee I kneel, sinful and sorrowful.
O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions,
but in Thy mercy, hear and answer me. Amen.

Solemnity of the Baptism of the Lord (Cycle C)

Today Is The First Day Of The Rest Of Your Life 

Isaiah 42: 14, 6-7; Titus 2: 11-14; 3: 4-7; Luke 3: 15-16, 21-22

Do you read the funny papers? I think most people do. For some people, the comic strips are the first thing they turn to when they look at the morning newspaper. Somehow they feel that after a cup of coffee, and after reading the wit and wisdom contained in comics, they are now better able to accept whatever grim reality they may encounter as they turn the pages of the newspaper back to page one. Sometimes, if the wit or wisdom of the strip is particularly meaningful to me, I’ll cut it out and save it for future reference. Today, I’d like to share two from my collection with you.

The first is a Peanuts classic. Charlie Brown is talking with Lucy and he says to her, "Someone has said that we should live each day as if it were the last day of our life." "Aaaagh!" Lucy cries. "This is the last day of my life! I'm gonna die! This is it!" With that she dashes away screaming, "I've only 24 hours to live. Help me! Help me. I'm about to die." And then in the last frame of the cartoon, we see Charlie Brown again, this time with that sad face of his and he says, "Some philosophies just aren't for everybody."

Living each day as if it were the last day of our life is not a bad philosophy, is it? But living each day as if it were the first day of the rest of our lives is an even better one. We've put 2012 to bed behind us and now we begin a new year. The old is gone and the mistakes we made and the obstacles we have overcome are behind us and a new year has begun. We can only wait and see what it will bring!

The second one is from Broom Hilda. In it, her troll-like, naive, innocent little friend Irwin puts on a long-tailed formal tuxedo jacket, picks up a conductor's baton and walks into the woods alone. Irwin steps up on a fallen tree trunk and begins waving his arms as if to conduct. There is no orchestra, no choir, no musicians - only rocks and trees and flowers. In the last frame of the cartoon, Irwin turns to face the reader and says, "It's all in there; you just have to work at getting it out."

Both those cartoons affirm something quite important for us as we begin this new year. Three hundred and some days lie before us. What they hold, no one knows. But one thing is sure. Each of them is filled with possibilities. - "They're all in there. We just have to work at getting them out." We begin this new year in anticipation of the blessings that God has in store for us. It's up to us to uncover them.

Today’s Gospel about the Baptism of Jesus makes that very point. Jesus was beginning a new phase of his life. His baptism was the beginning of his public ministry. The blessings, the goodness, his miracles, healings and teachings all lie ahead of him. It was up to him to uncover them for us.

Some beginnings are met with anxious anticipation. Others are met with nervous trepidation. And I wonder what it was like for Jesus as he was about to take the first step out of his carpenter shop to begin the first day of the rest of his life. What was it like for him as the heavy door creak on its hinges as he pushed it open to look around the carpenter shop one last time.

Of course Scripture doesn’t tell us, but I’m sure he must have come one last time to smell the sawdust and lumber. Life was so peaceful there. Life was so ... safe. For there he had spent countless hours of contentment. On that dirt floor he had played as a toddler while his father worked. There Joseph had taught him how to grip a hammer. On that workbench he had built his first chair. Perhaps as he took one last look around the room, he stood for a moment and heard the voices from the past: "Good job, Jesus." "Joseph, Jesus, come and eat." "Don't worry, sir. We'll get it done in time. I've got Jesus to help me."

I wonder if he hesitated. I wonder if his heart was torn. I wonder if he rolled a nail between his thumb and finger, anticipating the pain one would cause him later.

But the day had arrived. It was time to go. It must have been difficult for him to leave. I wonder if there was a part of him that really wanted to stay. For you see, he didn't have to go. He had a choice. He could have stayed. He could have kept his mouth shut. He could have ignored the call of God or at least postponed it. He could have stayed but his heart wouldn't let him.

But if there was any hesitation on the part of his humanity, it was overcome by the compassion of his divinity. For his divinity heard the voices - the hopeless cries of the poor and abandoned; the dangling despair of those trying to save themselves. From the voice of Adam to the cry of the infant born somewhere in the world this very second, he heard them all.

And you can be sure of one thing: among the voices that found their way into the carpentry shop in Nazareth that day, your voice was among them. Your silent prayers uttered before they were ever said aloud. Your deepest questions about death and eternity were answered before they were ever spoken. And your direst need - the need for a Savior - was met before you ever sinned. Jesus left because of you. He set aside the security of the carpentry shop as he laid down the hammer. He hung up the tranquility of that life in Nazareth as he hung up his nail apron. He closed the window shutters on his youthful life as he locked the doors that day.

It was a time of new beginnings - the first day of the rest of his life. And as Jesus was baptized that day in the River Jordan, Jesus heard another voice. It was the voice of his Father. God spoke a word of blessing and offered a affirmation of love: "This is my beloved Son, the One in whom I am well pleased."

Before the first leper was ever healed or a single parable was told, he was loved. Before any sinner was embraced; before the crowds began to gather; before palm branches were cut; he was accepted. God’s approval came from the start - before Jesus calmed the storm, before the water became wine and before that wine was offered up for us. God’s love was present there at the beginning of the journey, long before the ending was revealed. God’s love surrounded Jesus, not because Jesus did something, or said something, or proved something, but just because he was something.

And the same is true for us. Somehow, we’ve come to believe that God’s love must be earned, and that God’s blessings, like bonuses, are carefully calculated and rationed. And that the kind of love poured out for Jesus — if it comes to us at all — should come as a benediction after a life in which we’ve proven ourselves, not a beginning. But Jesus joined us in the waters of Baptism to show us that God’s love is our birthright. God’s blessing is our gift, right from the start. Jesus plunged into the water to open our eyes - to show us that heaven has been torn apart for us. That God’s love is present for us at the beginning of our journey, long before the ending is revealed. And like Jesus, God’s love is with us, not because we do something, or say something, or prove something, but because we are something!” And because of God’s love, the good that we are able to do, the “good news” that we will be able to preach, and God’s love which we will be able to prove to the world through our example, well, there all there – we just have to work at getting it out.

Each day is not just possibly the last day of our lives. With God's blessing and promise, it is the first day of the rest of our life - a life lived here on earth and life eternal with God in heaven. "You are my child and I am well pleased with you." That's what Baptism says to us. It is God's way of telling us that we now belong to Him, a treasured member of His family. It’s God’s way of saying: “Today is the first day of the rest of your life . . . the first day of the rest of your life WITH ME.”

The Epiphany of the Lord (Cycles ABC)

Gifts Worthy of a King
Is 60: 1-6; Eph 3: 2-3a, 5-6; Matt 2:1-12 

Today, the Feast of the Epiphany of the Lord, marks the official end of the Christmas season. We've been to Bethlehem and back now. We've experienced Christmas. Yet there are millions of people who really missed out on it this year. They thought they were going to Bethlehem with us, but actually they got sidetracked along the way. Not because something terrible happened to interrupt their Christmas celebration; not because they didn't get what they wanted for Christmas; or because they somehow missed the "Spirit of Christmas." But because they missed the Christ of Christmas. They visited Christmas, but like Herod and the scribes in his court, like most of the people of that day, they never actually visited Bethlehem - they never met the One whose birthday we are celebrating at Christmastime. They visited Christmas, but they never met the Christ Child.

The scribes in Herod's court knew all the prophecies. When the magi came to Herod, they could quote chapter and verse. They knew exactly where to find Jesus. It wasn't that far for them to go. But did any of them actually go to see him? Did anyone from Jerusalem go? No - only a few Gentile foreigners - not a good Jew among the lot.

Have we met the Christ of Christmas, or did we get sidetracked along the way? The mark of the wise men was that they came whatever distance was necessary, bringing the very best they had to offer to worship him.

Gold, frankincense and myrrh – what strange gifts for a new born child. A women commenting on these gifts suggested that these men weren’t all that wise after all. If the eastern visitors had been wise women the baby Jesus would have received sensible gifts – baby food, diapers, and clothes to replace the swaddling cloths, bunny rugs and even a proper baby’s crib – not a useless lump of gold and two bottles of perfume.

Gold, frankincense and myrrh. Some speculate that these gifts were the principal items used in the wizardry and magic that wise men from the east dabbled in. So in giving the Christ-child gold, frankincense and myrrh, they were handing over their tools of trade. They were demonstrating that they were no longer pagan dabblers in magic. They were letting go of the past because they had found a new guiding star – the Christ Child.

Others have reasoned that these gifts are symbols of who this baby was:
Gold is a gift for a king. It represents power and wealth. This child Jesus is royal and kingly.

Frankincense, is like incensed, and when burned, it’s smoke and aroma coils heavenward; and so it symbolized Jesus’ divinity.

Myrrh was used in embalming the dead. It indicated this child’s humanity and foreshadowed his suffering and death as Savior of the world.

To us these might seem rather useless gifts. But what do you give this child who is the all-powerful God who controls the stars to such an extent that a particularly bright star travels westward and stops over the place where Jesus and his parents were staying? When the Lord of the universe reaches down from heaven and touches the earth, condescends in love to come to us, in the flesh, as one of us, a baby come to do battle with all evil in this world, what do you give?

When one considers the greatness of the gift we have been given in Christ, - the wonder and majesty of it all - what can we possibly give in return? We, like the wise men, are simply blown away by the awesomeness of God’s love that led him to become flesh in a little child. We fall to our knees, and fumble in our purses for a gift worthy of such a gift. What have we to give? God's gift to us is just too great, too wondrous for us to find any gift worthy of return.

What can we give in return? The best gifts that we can offer the Christ-child are the gifts of ourselves. If you think about it, the gold, frankincense and myrrh of the wise men are trivial and quite useless for the God of all creation and the savior of all people. He has all the gold, frankincense and myrrh he ever needs. After all, he is the creator and owner of all these gifts. But as useless as these gifts are for God, they are a sign of the way the wise men gave of themselves. We are told, "They went into the house, and when they saw the child with his mother Mary, they knelt down and worshipped". Here are these men, learned, wealthy, wizards of the east, non-Jews and probably pagans, kneeling at the tiny toddler’s feet of the true God. Even as they paid homage, they would have realized that even the gift of themselves is something far too small for this king of kings.

What we give to our Lord may seem so trivial and modest and poor, but if it is representative of the giving of ourselves to God, this is our most important gift. Because, if you think about it, that is exactly what He gave to us, through his incarnation, through his death and resurrection, and through every word and every act in between.

A couple of days ago we celebrated the beginning of a new year. As the old year ends and a new year begins, many people reassess where life is taking them and they make a new year’s resolution or a promise to themselves that things will be different in the coming year. This may take the form of looking for a new job, seeking to improve relationships, determining to take a new direction.

This is the first Sunday in the New Year, and having heard about the gifts of the wise men, I guess this would be a good time to take another look at our response to the God who was born in a bed of hay just for us. I’m not just talking about money that we give in the collection basket. I am asking:

How well have we given ourselves to God in response to his wonderful gift to us?

How readily and regularly have we spent time with God in worship, in prayer, in reading his Sacred Word?

How readily and regularly have we given of ourselves and our time to someone who needs love and compassion?

How readily have we shown that this king rules in our lives by letting him make a difference when we are confused or lonely or devastated by what life throws up?

How well have we used our gifts to do our work honestly and well?

How readily have we given God, not second best, not what’s simply ‘good enough’, but the best of what we have to offer?

How open am I to hearing the voice of God, gently calling me to the vocation in life where I can serve him best through that total gift of myself. For most of you, that will be through marriage. But for some it is a call the priesthood, to the diaconate, or to a vocation as a religious sister or brother. The Magi set out because of a deep desire which prompted them to leave everything and begin a journey. It was as though they had always been waiting for that star. It was as if the journey had always been a part of their destiny, and was finally about to begin. This is the mystery of God's call, the mystery of vocation. It is part of the life of every Christian, but it is particularly evident in those whom Christ asks to leave everything in order to follow him more closely.

The wise men went home by another road, we too can walk a different road this year, a road where we can make the king of kings the living, active center of everything we are and do. The challenge in front of each of us is to make each breathing moment a gift worth giving to the King.

God gave himself to us because he loves us. May his love be reflected in our lives as we worship him with all that we have. That’s our gold, frankincense and myrrh.