Fifth Sunday of Easter (Cycle C)

Loving as Jesus Loved 

Acts 14: 21-27; Rev. 21:1-5a; John 13: 31-33a, 31-35 

Sometimes, as we get older and look back on our life, we tend to do so through rose-colored glasses. We often look back and see events as we wish they had happened and not as they actually did, and we view ourselves, not necessarily as the person we were, but as the person we would like to have been. That being said, when I look back at my younger self, I think I can honestly say I was a good kid. I loved my parents, had lots of acquaintances and a few really good friends. I did relatively well in school,  respected my teachers and had a good relationship with all of them. That is, until my freshman year in college.

For some reason which defies logic, after taking four years of Latin and three years of French in high school, I decided to now take up the challenge to tackle Spanish. My professor was an elderly Italian priest by the name of Fr. Minelli. Fr. Minelli hated me, and, as hard as I tried, nothing I did could please him or change his opinion of me. You see, I had the misfortune of sitting next to Pete Cavanaugh in class. Pete didn’t pay attention, constantly talked, and made fun of Fr. Minelli’s accent, the gimp when he walked, and his right eye, which seemed it might be searching the skies for enemy aircraft as his left eyes stared directly at you. It was a case of guilt by association. Because Pete sat next to me, Fr. Minelli assumed that I was in on it, and in his eyes (or at least the one that wasn’t focused skyward) I was just as guilty as Pete. He even had a name for us – “The Collaborators.”

One day, the class was assigned a particularly difficult and lengthy passage to translate for homework. I spent hours preparing it because I knew . . . I just knew that I was going to be the “chosen one” who would have the misfortune of being singled out to read and translate it in front of everyone during the next class. Sure enough, my worst nightmare became reality. But despite all my preparation, I delivered, shall I say, a less than stellar performance. And after struggling, stammering and shuffling for what seemed like an eternity, Fr. Minelli had this assessment of my performance: “Senor Olsen, your grammar is not good; your pronunciation is not good; your translation is not good; you are not a good student. I hope you are a good lover!”

That was my last day in Spanish class. A knowledge of Spanish might not have sunk in, but common sense had, and I realized I was in a no win situation with Fr. Minelli. And so, I decided to return to "parlez vous-ing my Francais."

But Fr. Minelli’s humiliating words to me that day in class are Jesus prayer for each one us: “I hope you are a good lover.”

Many times the last thing a person says before he or she is dying takes on a very special significance. It is as if the very essence of that individual is somehow summed up and compacted into a single message. I imagine this is how the earliest disciples felt about the words that are in our gospel today. They were all at table with Jesus, and the impending crisis that would take his life loomed ahead of them inescapably. And then came those final, poignant words, his last will and testament, "A new commandment I give to you; love one another. As I have loved you, you are to love one another." This will become your unique signature in the world, the way people will sense your true identity, your essence. This will be your ultimate reason for being.

There is actually nothing original or brand new in these words. The commandment to love one another goes back much, much further than Jesus himself. It is one of the themes that is cited again and again all through the Old Testament. And Jesus had certainly repeated those words again and again as he walked the ways of the earth during the days of his flesh. What, then, was the unique nuance that made this final mandate so special and so memorable, as it is, right down to this very moment?

I believe that it was the fact that when Jesus gave his last will and testament, he gave it as a commandment. He didn’t say, “This is my suggestion; here is an idea that you may want to consider; here’s something to think about.” No, he said, “Here is my new commandment.” And he goes one step further. He qualifies it. Jesus will be dead in less than 24 hours and he proclaims, “Love one another as I have loved you.” There’s the remarkable difference—loving like he loves; as he will love; as he loved.

In other words, the unique way that Jesus had incarnated that ancient ideal was to become the pattern of how the disciples, and that includes us, were to love one another. Here is one of those places where the famous imitation of Christ's ideal got its origin, and it raises the seminal question, "Exactly how did this one, who became what we are so we could understand more fully who God is, actually and realistically love?"

St. Augustine has given us two clues to answer this question. He once observed that Jesus loved each one he had ever met as if there were none other in all the world to love. In other words, Jesus radically individualized the affection he acted out toward others. He didn’t just love everyone, but loved every ONE. Instead of never seeing the trees for the forest, as the old adage goes, Jesus reversed that process and never failed to focus on the particular and the unique in each human being. This represents an extraordinary commitment and discipline, especially because, even in Jesus' day, he came in contact with so many people and, therefore, must have found it tempting to lump people together into categories, into classes, and to allow the forest mentality to blind him to the genuine uniqueness of each human being. And even though such an ideal to individualize our loving energies is difficult, it is within the possibility of each and every one of us. Let’s never forget that we're made in the image of that extraordinary love. And doing what Jesus did in loving each one he ever met as if there were none other in all the world is the ideal toward which we can reach. Jesus would not have given us this new commandment if it had not been possible.

The second clue St. Augustine offers is that Jesus loved all as he loved each. The way he loved was not only individualized, but it was also incredibly universal. He didn’t play favorites. His love wasn’t just extended to the priests, and the Pharisees, and the rich. It was all-inclusive and was extended in the same measure to tax collectors, lepers, prostitutes, and the poor. His love was unconditional. His love, his mercy, his concern, his compassion was extended to saint and sinner alike. Those eyes out of which he looked when he lived upon this earth were never filled with contempt or disdain. Even when the words Jesus spoke assumed a note of harshness, it was because of a concern that he felt for those whom he addressed. They were never words of hatred. We must never forget that the opposite of love is not anger or hostility but indifference. There is not one example in all of the gospels of Jesus ever turning away from another as if what happened to that one made no difference to him. I find St. Augustine's words to be a wonderful description of that unique way that Jesus loved and invites us now to love also. He loved each one he ever met as if there were none other in all the world to love, and he loved all as he loved each. I don’t know which of these qualities is more amazing, but, once again, Augustine’s description remains true to the memories that we're given of Jesus in all four of the gospels.

“Love you.” It’s a phrase which seems commonplace and overused in our society. It can mean everything and mean little. It can roll-off our tongues effortlessly—“love ya.” It’s the last thing we say to someone when we part company; it’s how we end a phone call; it’s the way we sign-off a letter or an email. It can be void of all meaning when we tell someone we love them when we barely know them. Sometimes it just seems like the only thing to say. “Love you."

But Jesus’ command to love is radical. He is demanding that the love we have for those closest to us—our spouses, our children, our grandchildren, our dearest and closest friends—that love is what we are to have for everyone. For sinners, for people we hardly know, for those we’ll never meet, for those we cannot stomach, even for those we despise and hate, for those who are our enemies, and for all of those unworthy of love. Just as he loved us, “while we were still sinners,” we also are to love others. This is his last will and testament. This is what he really wants us to do. Nothing could be clearer; nothing more challenging. To love as Jesus has loved us is the most difficult demand of Christianity. But it is the easiest path to human perfection.

How do we measure up? Can we ever hope to love like that? Today, when we receive Jesus in the Eucharist, perhaps we can tell him that we accept his bequest; that we promise to try and love better; that we will go back to those we have failed to love; that we will heal what has been hurt and broken; that we will let go of anger and hate, and that we will strive to love as he loves.

“I hope you are a good lover.” And if we’re not, we only have to look at the example of how Jesus loved to become one.

Fourth Sunday of Easter (Cycle C)

I Know My Sheep 

Acts 13:14, 43-52; Rev 7:9,14b-17; John 10:27-30 

How often are you identified with a number? At the bank you have account numbers, PIN numbers to access your accounts, and credit card numbers. The IRS identifies you by your social security number. When you enquire about your power or phone bill the first thing you are asked is, "What is your customer number?" When you go to the deli department at ShopRite you’re required to pick up a number and will be served when your number is called. On internet sites you need usernames and passwords. And we could go on.

Numbers are so impersonal. Isn’t it nice when someone remembers your name, or when you’re known by name rather than by a customer account number? Isn’t it refreshing in today’s society to be personally known, recognized, appreciated, as an individual, for the person we are?

Today’s gospel reading from John is the shortest passage from scripture that the Church gives for our reflection at mass in our three year cycle of readings. Yet, although only three verses long, it probably is the most consoling and the most reassuring words in all of Sacred Scripture. And how fitting that we hear them this Sunday, after such a disturbing week in our nation. We hear Jesus speak words that tell us that he is a Good Shepherd who cares for us, is interested in what is happening in our lives, who empathizes and encourages us. It assures us of the care, guidance, and presence of a loving God.

Jesus speaks to us of the Shepherd's voice today. It is a voice of promise. It is a voice that promises stubborn protection and care. It is the voice the flock hears and knows and follows. It is the voice which is especially precious in times of tragedy or struggle and pain. And it is one we sometimes have to work hard to hear when other voices especially seem to drown it out. And yet even when those other voices overwhelm, yes even when we don't pause to listen, it is always there, inviting and comforting and urging us on. Jesus says, "My sheep know my voice, and I know them. They follow me, and I give them eternal life, so that they will never be lost. No one can snatch them out of my hand. My Father gave them to me, and he is greater than all others. No one can snatch them from his hands, and I am one with the Father" (John 10:27-30).

Artists have taken up this theme and pictured Jesus holding a lamb, or carrying a lamb on his shoulders, or watching over sheep. Jesus is the one who cares, the one who saves the lost, and rescues from trouble. He is the one who is intimately and individually concerned about each one of his sheep. He provides his sheep with everything they need. He is the one whose staff and rod defend the sheep if any danger should come their way. We are led to think of what would have happened to a lost lamb if Jesus did not rescue it. Even if that lamb was wild and independent of all help, the shepherd doesn’t give up. The image of the Good Shepherd is one of love, care, protection, intimacy and closeness.

The sheep depended on the shepherd. They gladly followed him because they knew he could be trusted because he lived among his sheep, slept among them, walked with them, fed them, guided, directed and protected them, knew each sheep by name. All this builds up a mental image of someone with an intense love for our total well-being at every turn of our life. This is a description of how Jesus feels about each one of us. Big business thinks of us as a number. Jesus knows us by name.

By using this shepherd imagery Jesus is connecting himself to the Old Testament imagery that we read of in Psalm 23. The writer refers to the Lord as my shepherd. There nothing else I need. I will not be afraid be. You are close beside me.

No doubt there are times when it seems that Jesus is a million miles away. We have prayed for help in times of sickness and the pain is as intense as ever. We have asked him to guide us through some difficult decisions but we have blundered on making one mistake after another. We have wanted him to watch over our loved ones, but they have still been caught up in trouble and bad decisions. But the fact is Jesus hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s right here with us. He knows what is happening in our lives. He knows what is going through our minds and how restless and anxious we are - he will use his power to help and support us. Jesus’ promise is good even when we are doubting and despairing. Jesus says, "My sheep hear my voice." And that voice is never far off or distant from us. It is heard in the preaching and teaching of the Church, in the scriptures, in prayer, through the witness of faithful Christians, and in the events of human life,

Even though we are down and almost out, we are assured that we are in the arms of the everlasting shepherd who lovingly supports and strengthens us in our weakest and most painful moments. Like the lamb that is often pictured in Jesus’ arms, we can be at peace and feel safe in the arms of our loving shepherd.

This reminds me of a passage from the prophet Isaiah in the Old Testament where the people are in trouble and ask, "Has God forgotten us"? God answers, "Never! Can a mother forget her nursing child? Can she feel no love for a child she has borne? But even if that were possible, I would not forget you! See, I have written your name on my hand" Isaiah 49:15-16). Those words are just as applicable to us today as they were three thousand years ago. God feels the same way about us as he did back then. He even gave his life for the sheep.

This Fourth Sunday of Easter is called “Good Shepherd Sunday.” Today, as we reflect on Jesus in his role as the Good Shepherd, we think about the need for Good Shepherds for the local communities scattered throughout the world in towns and villages. We think about our need for priests, good priests, priests who will lead us and serve us and bring us the sacraments. But this passage about the Good Shepherd has implications for all of us who are followers of Jesus. We are challenged to share his concern for those who are in trouble, for those who suffer injustice, for the sick and for the poor. It is not good enough for us to say to those suffering "You should trust in Jesus to make things work out for you." As his followers, we share the same concerns as he has, and show our love in very practical ways, as Jesus did. It may be inconvenient to offer assistance, it may cost us time, effort and money, but love demands that this be done.

What I am saying is that we become shepherds to one another. We are to be shepherds to one another as members of St. Therese parish. We are to be shepherds to one another in our families, to one another at work, among our friends. Just as Jesus guides and protects his sheep, mothers and fathers guide and protect the lambs he has given to us in our families. Just as Jesus shepherds us with patience and love, we shepherd those lives whom God has entrusted to us. Just as Jesus comforts and helps us, husbands and wives comfort and help one another. We are called to be shepherds to one another.

As the horrible and tragic events of this past week have shown us, we never know what tomorrow will bring, but we do know that we have a loving shepherd who walks with us through the good and bad. And one day when we must walk through the valley of darkness and death he will walk with us and lead us to the glorious new life beyond the grave. Because we have a loving shepherd, goodness and love will follow us all our lives and we will live in the house of the Lord forever.

Funeral Homily for Frank Litts

Revealed and Recognized 

A Funeral Homily for Frank Litts 

April 15, 2013 

As you know, we’re currently in the midst of the beautiful, glorious season of Easter – a time for us to reflect upon, celebrate, and rejoice over Jesus rising from the dead, conquering death and making everlasting life with him a possibility for us – a reality that Frank lived his whole life in the hope of, a reality that he now enjoys.

Over the past few Sundays in our liturgy, we’ve heard the accounts of the post-resurrection appearances of Jesus, those times after the Easter event, that he appeared to his disciples alive, proving to them the validity of his teachings, proving to them the validity of who he had claimed to be, proving to them that the hope that they (and we) had in him was not in vain. The Gospels record five such appearances, but they allude to many more.

Yesterday at mass, I was struck by that fact that in each of these appearances, Jesus revealed himself in a different way, and it was through the disciples faith that they were able to recognize the presence of the Risen Lord in their midst. Last night, as I was preparing this homily, I realized that the ways Jesus revealed himself to his disciples after his resurrection are the same ways that he makes his presence known to us today, but, just like the disciples two thousand years ago, it takes faith to be able to be able to recognize his presence in our lives. Today, we honor and celebrate a man of tremendous faith, our beloved Frank. So, for a few minutes, let’s reflect upon those five post-resurrection appearances of Jesus, the unique ways that Jesus revealed himself in them, and the similar ways that Jesus revealed himself to Frank throughout his life.

On Easter Sunday, we heard the account of how Mary Magdalene went to the tomb early in the morning to anoint the body of Jesus. But when she arrived there, she found that the stone, which sealed the tomb, had been rolled away and the tomb was empty. Distraught, she ran to someone she mistook to be a gardener and asked him, “Please sir, can you tell me where they have taken the body of Jesus?” Mary Magdalene’s eyes were blinded to the fact that the very person she was speaking to was, in fact, the person whose body she sought. And it was only when Jesus spoke her name, “Mary,” that the blinders were removed from her eyes and she realized that the person she stood in front of was her beloved Lord; and she was filled with great joy. Can you imagine the great joy with which Frank was filled last Thursday when he heard that same voice call his name, “Frank.” As we will hear in this coming Sunday’s gospel, Jesus tells us that he is the Good Shepherd and that his sheep know and recognize his voice. It’s a voice that Frank recognized. It was the still, small inaudible voice that he had heard and followed throughout his life, but on Thursday, Frank heard this voice in a new and marvelous way, calling his name, calling him to himself, calling him into the place that he had prepared for him.

Later, that first Easter Sunday, we’re told of two men who were travelling from Jerusalem to a town about seven miles away called Emmaus. Jesus, whose appearance was once again hidden from these disciples, came and accompanied them on their journey. He asked what they were talking about and what made them so sad. They answered by asking him if he were the only person in Jerusalem who hadn’t heard about what happened to Jesus of Nazareth, the one that they had hoped would be the Messiah. And that now, some in their group had claimed that he had risen from the dead. As they walked together, Jesus, in the guise of the stranger, opened up the scriptures to them, and taught them how it was necessary for the Messiah to suffer and to die. Upon arriving at Emmaus, the men invited this stranger to have supper with them. And at the meal, Jesus repeated what he had done the previous Thursday. He took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them. And suddenly, they knew! They knew that this “stranger” whom they had walked with those long seven miles was their resurrected Lord! Even though it was late, even though they were tired from their day’s journey, they ran back to Jerusalem to tell the Apostles that they had seen Jesus – that he revealed himself to them in the breaking of the bread. The “breaking of the bread” – that was the original way that the early Christians described what we call the Eucharist. Frank certainly recognized his Risen Lord in the Communion that he received each Sunday, in the Eucharist that he so loved to distribute as a Eucharistic minister. That truly was one of the greatest joys in Frank’s life! Whether he was assigned or not, Frank arrived at this church every Sunday wearing his Eucharistic Minister’s cross, hoping that, even if he wasn’t assigned, he would have the opportunity and privilege to serve. Nothing, not even illness, not even wearing an oxygen tank, stopped Frank from participating in this ministry that he dearly loved and serving his Lord, whose presence he, like the disciples, recognized in the breaking of the bread.

Scripture goes on to tell us about the occasion when Jesus appeared to his Apostles and revealed to them that it truly was he by showing them his hands and his side, the marks of his suffering. And I’m sure that over the past year, as his health began to decline, Frank recognized our Lord in his sufferings and recalled Jesus’ words, that to be a true disciple of his it necessitates that we, like Jesus, take up our cross daily and follow him.

Yesterday at mass, we heard the account of Jesus appearing to his disciples after his resurrection at the Sea of Tibereas. Once again, the disciples didn’t initially recognize Jesus. Even though they had been fishing all night and had caught nothing, Jesus tells them to set out again and to drop their nets. And when they do, their effort results in a catch so large that the nets were at the point of tearing. John yells to Peter, “It is the Lord!” How did John now realize that this stranger on the shore was Jesus? Because he recognized him in the memory of that same exact thing happening three years before when Jesus first called them to be his Apostles. Over the past several months, I’m sure Frank had many occasions to review his memories, but now to see them in a way he never saw them before - and to see and appreciate all the times that Jesus was present to him in the events and in the people of his life, especially in his beloved wife Hildegard, and in his children and grandchildren, in his friends, in the men with whom he served in the military, and in his co-workers at the Morris County Parks Department.

The last time Jesus revealed himself to his disciples was the day that he ascended to his Father in heaven. At that time, Jesus was revealed to them his glorified self as he was taken up in a cloud out of their sight. This is how Jesus reveals himself now and forever more to Frank! Frank now has the reward of seeing the Lord that he served so well for 84 years, as God, in all his glory, in his kingdom. Scripture tells us, “Eye has not seen nor ear has heard of the riches in store for those in the Kingdom of Heaven.” What a sight that must be! What a sight Frank now has the privilege to behold.

Yes, during this Easter season we hear the wonderful accounts of the times and ways that Jesus revealed himself to his followers after his resurrection. But it took people of faith to recognize that Jesus was in their midst. It takes a person of faith, like Frank Litts to do the same today. There is no doubt that Frank was a man of faith. So many times Frank said to me, “I just love God so much!” . . . and we could tell that he did, that those were not just words. Frank was blessed by God in so many ways. But a great man of faith is not only blessed but becomes a blessing to all those around him. And Frank demonstrated that faith and that love constantly in the joyful way he lived his life, in the optimistic way he met every situation, in the perpetual smile on his face, in the kind words that he offered to every person he met.

Hildegard, the priests and deacons, the parishioners of St. Therese, share with you the great sense of loss and grief that you are experiencing. But we also share with Frank the tremendous joy and peace he now experiences in the presence of the God he loved so much, the God he served so well.

As Frank was a blessing to us during his life, may he continue to bless us . . . through the memories that we have of him, and through his intercession to God on our behalf.

Third Sunday of Easter (Cycle C)

Déjà Vu All Over Again 

Acts 5:27b-32; Revelation 5:11-14; John 2:1-19 

After being frustrated by the rain delay that interrupted the Yankees game the other night, I decided that I’d pop into my DVD player the movie “61,” which is about the rivalry between Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris in 1961 to break the single season homerun record. As I watched the movie, I was reminded of all of the great players over the years who have worn Yankee pinstripes, from Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig, to Joe DiMaggio, Whitey Ford, Thurman Munson, Reggie Jackson, all the way to Derek Jeter today. And when I first read today’s gospel earlier in the week to prepare my homily, believe it or not, another Yankee great came to mind: Yogi Berra. Yogi, I think, is probably the only player in the history of the game who will probably be remembered, not so much for what he did on the field, but for what he said off the field: those innocent little remarks that just don’t seem to come out right. “Yogi-isms they’re affectionately called.

For example, one day while Yogi was showering in his Montclair home, his son Larry called into him: “Hey Dad, the man is here for the Venetian blind.” Yogi, thinking that the “Venetian blind” was a charitable organization to help blind people in Venice, called back, “Well, go in my pocket and give him a couple bucks for a donation and get rid of him!” Another time, Mary Lindsay, the wife of then New York Mayor John Lindsay, commented to Yogi that he looked cool despite the heat, to which Yogi replied, “Thanks . . . You don’t look so hot either.” And one day while driving with Yogi, a concerned Phil Rizzuto commented, “Hey Yogi, I think we’re lost.” Yogi answered, “Yeah, but we’re making great time!”

But the Yogi-ism that came to mind as I first read today’s gospel was: “It’s déjà vu all over again” because what struck me about today’s gospel from John, which takes place after Jesus’ resurrection, is that it is so reminiscent of a passage from Luke’s Gospel that takes place at the very beginning of Jesus’ ministry. A very similar scenario to today’s gospel: Peter is fishing in the Sea of Tiberias with no success. Jesus tells him to lower his nets one more time, and it results in a catch so large that the nets are to the point of tearing. And both gospels end with Jesus’ call: “Come follow me.” Once I recognized the similarities in these two gospels I began to wonder: why did Jesus bring Peter back to the same place, to the same set of circumstances? Why did Jesus find it necessary to renew, at this time, the same invitation to “come follow” that he gave Peter three years earlier?

I think the answer to these questions might be connected in some way to the three times Jesus asks Peter, “Do you love me?” Traditionally, it has been suggested, that these three questions are put to Peter because of the three times he denied Jesus. I don’t know if I’m really comfortable with this explanation because, it seems to me, that Peter’s denial of Jesus wasn't just limited to the three times he denied him after Jesus was arrested, but his denials are there, subtly and implicitly, throughout the gospels. And so, perhaps, Jesus requires a new commitment on the part of Peter because of all that has transpired over those three years since his first invitation to come follow him.

I’ve always found the repetition of the same question three times by Jesus baffling. But perhaps it’s not the same question at all. Maybe Jesus was asking Peter three altogether different questions. Luke's gospel provides us with what Jesus said, but it can’t address how he said it. So I wonder if the first time Jesus might have asked, “Peter, do YOU love me?” And the second time, “Peter, do you LOVE me?” And the third time, “Peter, do you love ME?”

When Jesus asks Peter, “Do YOU love me?” perhaps it’s meant to address Peter’s rejection of Jesus’ view of discipleship. So many times throughout his ministry, Jesus spelled out the conditions for discipleship: things like “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross and follow me.” “Whoever wishes to be great among you shall be your servant; whoever wishes to be first among you shall be your slave.” And at the Last Supper, Jesus gives a final and most vivid example of what discipleship is all about when he washes the feet of his disciples. But when he comes to Peter, Peter says, “Lord you will never wash my feet.” He says this I think because he realizes, even before Jesus explains what he has done, the implication of the act: that if Jesus, the Master and teacher serves, that necessitates that Peter do the same. “Peter, do YOU love me?” is a call to discipleship, which is always a personal and individual call that demands a personal and individual response. Peter’s answer, “Yes Lord, you know that I love you” is Peter’s ultimate personal acceptance of not only Jesus’ call, but also to all that discipleship demands: a total and complete life of service to others.

And then Jesus asks, “Do you LOVE me?” Jesus taught that no greater love is there than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. And at the Last Supper, Peter brags that that is precisely the type of love he has for Jesus. “Lord, I am prepared to go to prison and to die with you,” he proclaims. But we know that same night Peter denies having any intimacy with Jesus; he denies even knowing him. And so, perhaps Jesus’ second question, “Do you LOVE me?” comes in response to Peter’s rejection of the personal, intimate relationship of love that Jesus offers. That invitation is to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind” . . . more than things . . . more than others . . . more than self. And so, Peter’s response, “Yes Lord, you know that I love you” is Peter’s admission that love is more than just words, and is the complete and unconditional gift of self to God.

And then finally Jesus asks, “Do you love ME?” Perhaps what prompts this third question is the time when Peter rejected Jesus’ view of his messiahship when he revealed that “the Son of Man must suffer greatly and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the scribes, and be killed.” We are told that after Jesus said this, Peter took Jesus aside and began to rebuke him, to which Jesus responded, “Get behind me Satan. You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do.” It is not that Peter doesn’t know who the messiah is (he proclaimed Jesus to be the messiah just a few moments before). It’s that Peter has a misconception of what it means to be messiah and cannot accept Jesus’ vision. And so, after his resurrection, when Jesus asks Peter, “Do you love ME?” Peter’s response, “Yes Lord, you know that I love you” is an affirmation that he is now willing to accept Jesus according to Jesus’ own terms; to accept him as he is, for whom he is, for what he came to be, the Suffering Servant.

And so, in today’s gospel, Jesus brings Peter to the same place, to the same set of circumstances, to the same call to “Come follow me” as he did three years before. With Jesus’ initial call, Peter didn’t know what he was in for. His response was a pure leap of faith into the unknown. But now, the cards are on the table. This time, Peter realizes all the implications. And so the renewed call to come follow is one that will involve more than just faith. It will demand Peter’s trust and his total love. This call by Jesus is more than just a call to discipleship, it’s a call to ministry. He doesn't just call him to be a “fisher of men,” as he did three years before, but to be a shepherd, a leader of his flock. Jesus instructs him, “Feed my sheep.”

The same three questions asked of Peter, Jesus poses to us today. Are we for Christ? Are we comfortable with our discipleship of service? Do we put him and his kingdom first? Do we love him more than anything else? Do we accept Jesus for who he is, or do we distort our image of Christ into what we want him to be? Jesus asks each of us, “Do you love me? Come follow me.” And so, today, like Peter, let us renew our commitment to discipleship. Like Peter, let us realize that discipleship is more than a call to someTHING; it is a call to someONE. And like Peter, let us realize that the call to discipleship is ongoing, that it is the invitation to hear Christ’s voice and discern his will each and every day of our lives.

Because, as Yogi would say, "It ain’t over till it’s over.”

Second Sunday of Easter

Peace and Faith 

Acts 5:12-16; Revelation 1:9-11a, 12-13, 17-19; John 20:19-31 

“Peace be with you,” Jesus says to his post-Resurrection disciples. “Peace be with you,” he says to each one of us today. Peace is his gift to us. Peace is the legacy he leaves with us now that he is risen, now that he is victorious, now that he reigns with Father and Holy Spirit in eternal glory, as we remain on earth following in faith our Risen Lord. “Peace be with you.”

Are you at peace today? I’m not asking, “Are you complacent, are you numb, are you zoned out, mellow, disengaged? But rather, “Are you at peace - in balance, in touch with your Risen Lord?” Peace was defined by St. Thomas Aquinas as “the tranquility of right order.” Are you tranquil today? His victory is our victory. It’s not so much that we’ve picked a winner, but that a winner – an eternal winner, the Jesus of glory – has picked us. Therefore, be at peace. Let nothing disturb you. “Peace be with you.”

Today’s gospel puts us in the midst of that band of close disciples who huddled there in the Upper Room. He showed them his hands and his side where hours earlier there was blood, but now they see not marks of torture but badges of honor, signs of victory. He will suffer no more; he is king forever.

“Peace be with you,” he greets them again the following Sunday. And then, to the Apostle who must see before he believes, he says, “Put your finger here and see my hands, and bring your hand and put it into my side, and do not be unbelieving, but believe.’”

How often have we said, “Seeing is believing?” Most times it’s said after we’ve been let down, disappointed by someone we trusted, someone we put our faith in, after resolutions to change that never seem to happen; after an endless stream of promises that are never fulfilled. But the fact is you don’t BELIEVE what you see; you KNOW what you see. You have sensory evidence, experiential knowledge of what you see. You believe only what you cannot see. You take it to be true on the testimony of another, or something deep within your being assures you that something is true, not based on any direct sensible experience of that which is believed.

Surely we all have doubts. But faith overcomes doubt to the point that we surrender ourselves to that which is unseen, unreasonable, illogical, and defies common sense. Faith demands that we abandon the attitude that SEEING is BELIEVING, and instead embrace the conviction that BELIEVING is LOVE. What did Jesus say to Thomas? “Do not be unbelieving, but believe.” Thomas answered as each of us can answer out of the depths of our doubt, “My Lord and my God.”

Then Jesus spoke the words to him that are really intended for all of us: “Have you come to believe because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.”

That’s you! That’s me! We haven’t seen the Risen Lord and yet we believe that he did indeed rise from the dead. Even if we had seen him when he walked the earth, we, like Mary Magdalene and all his other disciples, would have to make a post-Resurrection adjustment. We would have to learn, as they did during these privileged moments when he appeared to them after rising from the tomb, that the physical contacts of the past are no longer possible. If they want to touch him now, cling to him now, follow him from now on, they would have to touch, cling, and follow with the embrace of faith. That is exactly our situation today.

Believe and peace will follow. Believe and balance will come into control. Be in touch with your Risen Lord – and remember you can touch him now only by faith – and feel a marvelous and profound peace settle into your heart.

So if you hesitated to say "yes" to my earlier inquiry about whether or not you are now at peace, or perhaps said “no” within the quiet confines of your heart, if you admitted to the absence of peace within your heart, perhaps you were actually admitting to a deficit of faith. And if that’s you, today’s gospel should give you great consolation and hope, for just look at what happened to Thomas.

“Do not be unbelieving, but believe.” Let the “Amen” you say today during Communion be a humble affirmation of your faith in our Risen Lord, whose body, blood, soul and divinity you stand before about to receive. In your heart, intend that that simple two syllable word (which is so often said without thinking) will mirror the profound affirmation of faith of the once-doubting Thomas: “My Lord and my God!”

Just say it and let the healing begin. Let the doubts diminish. For after all, if Jesus conquered death, if his Father raised him from the tomb, they together with their Holy Spirit can conquer your doubts; they alone can help you to believe that which cannot be seen; they can deepen your faith; they alone can bring you true peace.

In today’s gospel, Jesus tells the Apostles, “As the Father has sent me, so I also send you.” Yes, we too are sent . . . sent out to the members of our families, to our friends and neighbors, to our co-workers, to the world . . . to proclaim our faith in our Risen Lord by word and through example, and to share the peace which comes through belief in him and through following his way.

There is a famous prayer attributed to St. Francis of Assisi. You’ve heard it and prayed it often:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is discord, unity;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is error, truth;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is sadness, joy;
Where there is darkness, light.
     O Divine Master,
     Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;
     To be understood, as to understand;
     To be loved, as to love.
     For it is in giving that we receive.
     It is in pardoning that we are pardoned.
     It is in dying that we are born to everlasting life.

Those words are certainly the example of living that Jesus set for us. They are the way that St. Francis lived his faith. They are the challenge that another man named Francis, our new pope, has given us. Today, let’s make that prayer our own.

Peace be with you.