Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph

CHRISTMAS GIFTS

Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph

Sirach 3: 2-6, 12-14; Colossians 3: 12-21; Luke 2: 41-52

“What do you want for Christmas?”

If you had asked that question to a child this past month, you probably got an earful, an extensive wish list of the latest toys, technology and fashion that’s been marketed to them on television. Everything from Nintendo Switch to Hot Wheels Supercharged Shark Vehicle to Lego Marvel Avengers. And so, Santa’s job (or the job for “Santa’s Helpers”) was an easy one because they let us know in exact detail what they wanted . . . the things that, along with sugar plums, danced in their heads.

But it’s harder to buy for others on our Christmas shopping list. As we get older, our wish list gets shorter and when asked, “What do you want for Christmas?” the response is: “Nothing.” “There’s nothing I need or want.” “What could I want? I have everything.” And so for those people, usually older folk - grandparents, parents, husbands and wives - choosing the perfect gift is a challenge. It takes thought and creativity. Because, despite their answer, something in us still wants to not only give them something but give them the perfect something . . . the something that will express our love for them and make them happy.

Did you ever leave someone off your Christmas shopping list? Someone that you forgot to buy for? When that happens, often times we resort to re-gifting. We give them something that we were given. Sometimes it’s something that we’re all too happy to get rid of: the thing we already have twelve of, the ugly Christmas sweater, the thing we didn’t want, didn’t ask for, never will use, wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. Sometimes it’s something we reluctantly give away, something cherished, something we give joyfully and unselfishly, knowing it’s something that someone else needs or wants, something that will look better on them, something that will bring them happiness.

If you think about it, there IS probably someone who didn’t make it onto your list this year. And there’s a good chance that he never has. Yesterday we celebrated a midnight clear, a child's cry, a blazing star hanging over a stable, and wise men coming from afar with birthday gifts. We haven't forgotten that night down the centuries. We celebrate it with stars on Christmas trees, with the sound of bells, with song and with gifts. But especially with gifts. Gifts for young. Gifts for old. Gifts for family. Gifts for friends. Gift for bosses. Gifts for school teacher, mailman, and hair dresser. Gifts given out of love. Gifts given out of appreciation. Gifts given out of obligation. Gifts for all . . . except the one whose birth we celebrate.

Maybe he’s never made it onto our shopping list, because he’s difficult to buy for. He’s like the family member who tells us he doesn’t need anything . . . he has everything. After all, what can you give the SON OF GOD??? What can you give the one who needs nothing and if he did, could create it for himself? I’ve thought about that question a lot, and I’ve come up with one thing that God cannot give himself. And that’s LOVE. Because the very nature of love is that it’s dynamic, creative and never focused inward but always extended outward - towards someone or something else. Love, when it’s true love, is the total gift of self, and you can’t give yourself to yourself but only to someone else. The very last lyric that Oscar Hammerstein wrote says it beautifully: “A bell is no bell till you ring it. A song is no song till you sing it. And love in your heart wasn’t put there to stay. Love isn’t love till you give it away.”

If you think about it, love was the first Christmas gift, the gift of Mary and Joseph. Unconditional love. The type of love that causes a fourteen-year-old girl to say yes to God, despite confusion, unanswered questions, feelings of inadequacy, and the possibility of the loss of her reputation and maybe even her life. The kind of love that transforms a faith-filled virgin into a faithful mother: unconditional love.

It’s the type of love that causes a carpenter to give up his own dreams and plans in favor of God’s will . . . to accept a pregnant girl as his bride . . . to raise someone else’s child as his own. It’s the kind of love that transforms a righteous dreamer into a father of the heart. Unconditional love.

Before angels gave their gift of song, before kings presented their gold, frankincense and myrrh, before shepherds knelt and offered their praise; there in the solitude of the stable, the Virgin and the Carpenter offered the first gift, the greatest gift: the gift of their love. Unconditional love.

It’s the type of love that Jesus had, a lesson he learned well as a member of that Holy Family - the type of love that led him from the manger to the cross. The type of love he said we should have when he said, “Love one another as I have loved you.”

Our gift of love to Jesus is one that’s re-gifted, because it’s the very gift that he has given us. He doesn’t care what the wrapping and ribbon look like, because much like a father whose son or daughter gives him the handmade art class project, despite its imperfections, when it’s given, it’s worth more to him than all the diamonds at Tiffany’s.

So, if you made your list, checked it twice, but left off he whose birth we celebrate, don’t worry. Belated gifts are accepted and cherished. And just as Christmas gifts come in different varieties, sizes and colors, so too does the gift of unconditional love to babe of Bethlehem, the man of Golgatha. It might be wrapped in the honesty and integrity with which you conduct business in a competitive, cutthroat, backstabbing workplace; the faithfulness to your marriage vows amidst the temptations and allures of our sexually promiscuous society; the total dedication to your children in our materialistic culture that places greater value on productivity than on parenting, quantity of work time over quality of family time; The ribbons and bows of your gift of unconditional love might be the gentleness and fairness with which you treat both neighbor and stranger, or embracing Gospel values over Hollywood values, or time set aside for prayer and worship amidst a life of schedules and obligations.

Our gift for the one born on a starlit night so long ago can’t be found in Santa’s workshop, in a department store, or online. It needs to be found in the same place Mary and Joseph found it – in the heart. And make no mistake about it: unconditional love doesn’t come cheap. It costs. As a matter of fact, it costs everything. But it is the only gift worthy of the Son of God.

Happy Birthday, Jesus! . . . Sorry if I’m late.

The Promise

 

THE PROMISE

A Promise was given. 

A pledge was made.

Good news was spoken.
Sinful humanity would be saved.

It wasn’t a Promise made in anger,

with harsh words of guilt and condemnation,

but one in which hope, love and mercy

revealed the heart of the Promise Maker.

He didn’t reveal the where or the how or the when.

For God is more concerned with truth than with details.

And so, the Promise became the longing of the heart

for countless generations.

They recalled it, spoke of it, dreamed of it,

yearned for it, prayed for it.

Prophets clarified it.

Rabbis taught about it.

The Chosen Ones prepared for it.

God did not wait till the world was ready and nations were at peace.

He didn’t wait for the perfect time

when hearts were pure and untarnished by sin.

It didn’t happen when people thought it would . . .

thought it should.

God’s Promise came 

in God’s time,

in God’s way.

And that hoped for, longed for, prayed for moment

would be better than ever could be imagined!

God Himself would visit and ransom His People.

And he would rule over His People . . .

more than just the nation of Israel

but the whole world,

not with wealth, nor military might,

but with the power of love, compassion, gentleness and mercy.

And so, God sent His messenger to announce

that the time of fulfilment had arrived.

Not to Rome and to its mighty emperors;

Not to Jerusalem and to their power-hungry, paranoid king

did the message come.

But to an obscure Galilean village called Nazareth.

To a young, simple virgin named Mary.

The time was right.

The time was now.

The Word would become flesh and dwell among us!

He is Emmanuel – God-with-us.

Savior, Prince of Peace.

Not just a Promise Maker,

But a Promise Keeper.

THE CHRISTMAS VISITOR

The Fourth Sunday of Advent (Year C)

Micah 5: 1-4a; Hebrews 10: 5-10; Luke 1: 39-45

Have you packed the car yet to go over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house? If that’s where you’ll find yourself over the next two weeks, you’re in good company. According to AAA, more than 109 million people will travel this holiday season – from December 21st to January 1st. That’s more than three times more Americans, or 27.7 million more people who’ll be packing the sleigh this Christmas to visit relatives or friends than did last year.

Visiting . . .

Children may be expecting a “visit” that results in toys under the tree next Saturday morning. And adults, well, we anticipate a visit from a letter carrier bringing credit card bills over the next couple of weeks. But we make Christmas visits (whether it’s across the country or down the street) because we want to be near one another, close to one another at this special time of the year.

The gospel today begins with a visit: “Mary set out and traveled to the hill country in haste . . .” Despite her own pregnancy and despite the angelic proclamation that she was the one who had been chosen from the beginning of time to be the mother of the Son of God, Mary left her home in Nazareth and went to Ein Karem to visit her older and also pregnant, relative, Elizabeth. The distance between the two villages is roughly 100 miles. Ein Karem is on the outskirts of Jerusalem and is about 2,474 feet above sea level, while Nazareth is at 1,138 feet. This means Mary had to trek uphill nearly 1,336 feet in elevation! Besides the physical toll it must have taken on the newly pregnant Virgin Mary, the path she took had many hidden dangers. The dirt path that wound through the mountainous region is believed to have been a popular place for bandits, who would surprise unsuspecting travelers.

This encounter between these two pregnant women is called the Visitation and is recalled, not only on this Fourth Sunday of Advent, but also on May 31st, the Feast of the Visitation, and each time we pray the Joyful Mysteries of the Rosary. Mary, literally, brings Jesus to another, as she carries him in her womb and goes to her cousin. This is a great story for us to hear just before Christmas, the feast that celebrates the greatest visit in human history: God visiting his people, in Christ, some 2000 years ago. Not through a vision, not through a prophet, not by email: this wasn’t a “virtual visit” this was a visit in the flesh, in real time. God’s visiting the world began in just the same way our coming into the world began: through the door of a mother’s womb.

We’ve all heard a pregnant woman tell us, “I just felt the baby kick!” That’s what Elizabeth told Mary when she said, “As soon as I heard your voice, the child within me leaped for joy!” Elizabeth was carrying the child who would become John the Baptist, Christ's cousin, and in her heart she already understood who the Child who’d come to visit her in Mary’s womb was.

At Christmas we celebrate Christ who came to visit us. And Christ is a visitor who stayed not for just a day or two; in fact, not even a lifetime was long enough for him. Jesus didn’t just “stop by.” Christ moved in . . . He moved into humankind, into our history, into our hearts and our hopes, our problems and our pain; our worries and our wounds; our dreams and our desires; into our past, our present and our future. Jesus came to visit - and has never, not even for moment, left us.

Christmas is a time for renewing family relationships and friendships, a time when we try to be especially warm and welcoming of one another - even of the stranger. It’s a time to be especially warm in welcoming Jesus, too, and to welcome him to visit in those places in our hearts and lives where perhaps in the past we've told him in one way or another, “Sorry, there’s no room in the inn for you here.”

Jesus is a good and gentle guest: He comes with love and mercy and with peace. He doesn't leave those under a tree or stuffed in a stocking. He leaves them in our hearts. He knows our hearts’ desires and wants to fulfill the deepest needs we have.

For the past four weeks, as we’ve lit our Advent candle, we sang “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.” And He has. Jesus is Emmanuel, God-with-us. He is no overnight guest. He is the God who stays. Stays . . . to share our joys. Stays . . . to share our sorrows. Stays . . . when we need Him most. Stays . . . when we don’t even know He’s around. Stays . . . at the times we beg Him to be there. Stays . . . even at the times when, through our sinful acts, we’ve asked him to leave. He stays . . . never distant . . . sometimes quiet. He stays . . . sometimes making His presence known in the loud, the dramatic, the miraculous. He stays . . . sometimes His presence is so subtle and unnoticed that we chalk up the things He does for us as mere coincidence. He stays . . . He visits . . . He ransoms . . . He redeems. He is the guest of our soul . . . The guest who refuses to leave.

And so, in this week that will culminate in the celebration of His nativity, let us pray: Maranatha, come Lord Jesus! Come into our hearts! Come into our souls! Come into our lives!

Maranatha, come Lord Jesus! Come to the world as King of the nations where we wage war against the empires and kingdoms of this world.

Maranatha, come Lord Jesus! Come into our suffering as Savior and Comforter where we languish in sickness and sorrow. 

Maranatha, come Lord Jesus! Come into our conflict as Prince of Peace where we sorrow with quarrel and strife. 

Maranatha, come Lord Jesus! Come to our families as Heavenly Father and Holy Brother where we wrestle with relationships broken and ragged. 

Maranatha, come Lord Jesus!

Come, O Wisdom from our Most High God!

Come, O Leader of the House of Israel!

Come, O Root of Jesse’s Stem!

Come, O Key of David!

Come, O Radiant Dawn!

Come, O King of all nations!

Come, O Emmanuel!

Come, O God-with-us and give us Christmas peace and Christmas hope and Christmas love and Christmas joy. Come, O Sacred Visitor . . . Come, O Divine Gift wrapped in an infant’s body. Come, O Christmas Guest. Come, O Christ the Lord. Come . . . visit . . . stay in the unworthy manger of our hearts.

THANK GOODNESS!

A Thanksgiving Day Homily

November 25, 2021

How good is God?

Did you ever take time to reflect on that question? If you’re like me, probably not. Of course, we acknowledge it enough. If you’ve received a promotion, a raise, a new car, a bigger home, a good report from the doctor, a healthy baby delivered, or that job you’ve always wanted . . . you’ve probably said these words: “God is SO good!” And you’re absolutely right . . . He is. The words just find their voice without much thought. And maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that’s the way it should be. We know God is good. We take it for granted, because . . . He IS!

At some times in our lives, we might question the goodness of God, especially at times of national or international calamity and, most especially, at times of personal despair, hardship, loss, tragedy or illness. We might look towards heaven with tears in our eyes and ask “why.” Why God this dreadful and deadly coronavirus? Why God do I hurt so much when I give so much of myself to others and all I want back is a little love? Why God do I work so hard but I’m having such a tough time making ends meet? Why God did you take my beloved one? My heart is breaking. How can I go on? Why God am I suffering so horribly? I’ve tried to be good all my life, go to Mass every Sunday, pray so hard. How can this be happening to me?

Yet, even in these most difficult times, I think we know that God is good. It’s just that we don’t understand how these things can be happening, and our pain hinders us from realizing what we know down to the deepest recesses of our hearts and with true and sincere faith, that God IS good.

The goodness of God speaks to His personal character - who He is in relationship to us. In all ways and in all things, God is good. He is never absent, disinterested, careless, ill-tempered, petty, spiteful, or mean. He always does what is right, faithful, kind, and true. He doesn’t just do good - He is good. It’s His DNA (if God had DNA). God’s goodness is based on His character. He is good and He is good all the time. He does good because He is good.

God’s goodness is seen in his justice. "He makes his sun rise on the bad and the good and causes rain to fall on the just and unjust." (Mt 5:45). He is “a God gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in love and fidelity, continuing his love for a thousand generations, and forgiving wickedness, rebellion, and sin; yet not declaring the guilty guiltless but bringing punishment upon them.” (Exodus 34: 6-7)

God’s goodness is seen in his mercy. Jesus told the disciples at the Last Supper, “I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.” Pope Francis said, “Jesus Christ is the face of God’s mercy.” He shows us what it means to be merciful: He healed the sick, welcomed the stranger and pardoned those who persecuted and killed him.

God’s goodness is seen in his bountiful benevolence. Jesus said, “Ask and you will receive, seek and you will find, ask and the door will be open. For anyone who asks receives, anyone who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks the door will be open” (Matthew 7: 7-8). And in the Gospel stories of the wedding feast at Cana and the multiplication of the loaves and fish, we see the extent to which God gives – always the best and always more than we need. God is never outdone in generosity.

Today is Thanksgiving Day. But shouldn’t every day be a thanksgiving day? Unfortunately, our society has an uncanny knack for taking something good, beautiful, noble and worthwhile and slowly transforming it to something “other.” Nice . . . but less than what it originally was and still should be. So somewhere in the midst of the turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce and pie . . . some time before, during or after the parade and the football games, let’s not forget what it’s all about: “It is truly right and just, our duty and our salvation, always and everywhere to give you thanks, Lord, holy Father, almighty and eternal God, through Christ our Lord.”

And so, I’ll ask again, “Have you ever reflected on how good is God?” If you’re like me, probably not. And if we did, I don’t think we would ever be off our knees thanking Him.”

In 1998, before I was ordained, I was asked to write a Thanksgiving reflection for the Thanksgiving Day Mass at St. Therese. I said “yes” but later wished I hadn’t. You see, my mother had died earlier that year, and as I struggled to write that reflection, I was stymied by my feeling, “What do I have to be thankful for this year.” After hours, days and weeks staring at a blank computer screen, I decided the day before Thanksgiving to offer my apologies to the pastor the next day for letting him and the parish down. But at 4:00 AM Thanksgiving morning, I woke with a start, jumped out of bed and rushed to my computer. I had somehow discovered that I had a lot to be thankful for:

Lord, how quickly the pages of the calendar have turned and another Thanksgiving Day is upon us. And so, as I pause and reflect, a mind full of memories rush to find expression as a heart full of gratitude wells up within me.

Thank you, Lord, for the splendor of your creation; for the beauty of the world around me, for green pastures and still waters and for tall trees that bow their heads prayerfully in the wind. I thank you for the colors with which you paint the seasons and for the passing of those seasons that has brought us to this day: for the snow glistened winter and the dogwood spring, for the watermelon summer and the russet and gold autumn.

Thank you, Lord, for this great land, for its bounty and its liberty, for the privilege of democracy and the gift of peace. Thank you for the goodness of our people and for the spirit of justice that fills this nation. I thank you today for the brave people of our land who are more interested in being right than in being popular, and for those who are willing to support a good cause publicly even though they know that the cause may not succeed.

I offer you my thanks today for the gift of family - for all those who will gather around my Thanksgiving table, and for those who break bread at other tables this year. I thank you too for those who share with you in the heavenly banquet, those who you have called home and into your embrace. Thank you for relieving their pain and suffering and thank you for all the memories that keep them alive in my mind and in my heart.

I’m grateful, Lord, for friends who continue to be friends even after they have known me well. For those whose nods, winks, and smiles celebrated my joys and triumphs, and whose broad shoulders bore my burdens and lifted me with their compassion. Thank you for all those who have come into my life this year, for older people who have shared with me the wisdom of their yesterdays, and for the young whose enthusiasm and zest for life give me hope for tomorrow.

I’m thankful for the talents of others and for those who share them so generously with us, and for advances in technology and medicine that promise us a better day in the future. And I thank you for work which challenges the talents with which I have been blessed, and for weekends and holidays and holy days which refresh my spirit. For days of pomp and pageantry and parade, and for moments of quiet solitude, I thank you.

I give thanks to you today for the wonder of life, the mystery of love, and the gift of faith. For the sound of music that fills my soul, for the sound of laughter that lifts my spirit, and for the sound of crying that moves my heart with compassion.

I thank you for cloudy days which help me appreciate the sunshine; for tears, which help me appreciate laughter; for pain which helps me appreciate health; for weakness through which I’ve discovered my strength; for sorrow, hurt, and loss through which I have discovered the depth of my own heart; and for failure which has led me to discover my dependence on you.

I thank you for the Church, for its teaching which informs me, and for its saints that inspire me. For the priests, deacons, brothers and sisters who proclaim the gospel, not merely by word but through their tireless dedication to you and your people. For my fellow parishioners who fold their hands in prayer on Sunday morning and who extend their hands in service and generosity throughout the week.

But most of all Lord, I thank you for you! I thank you for simply being God and for loving me with a Father’s love. For sending your Son to us - for the example of his life and for the redemption that his death and resurrection has won. And for the gift of your Spirit, who guides me along the path which I pray someday will lead me home to you.

For all of this Lord I offer my thanks to you on this Thanksgiving Day.

Solemnity of Christ the King

TESTIFYING TO THE TRUTH

The Solemnity of Christ the King (Year B)

Deuteronomy 7: 13-14; Revelation 1: 5-8; John 18: 33b-37

In today’s Gospel, the Solemnity of Christ the King, the culmination of the Liturgical Year of the Church, Jesus is confronted by Pilate regarding His kingship. In the end, He revealed Himself as the one who will testify to the truth. He is the King of Truth. When Jesus was hanged on the cross, Pilate placed the inscription INRI above His head. It stands for Isus Nazarenus Rex Iudareum, Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews. Maybe, for Pilate, Jesus was King of the Jews. But he was mistaken. Jesus was the King of the Universe, the King of Kings.

This shouldn’t be hard for us to believe. For us, Christians, this should be an obvious fact. Throughout this year, beginning with Advent, to Easter, and the rest of the year, Jesus has been depicted as a good prophet, priest and king. Jesus loved us, His flock, Jesus would always defend us, His people. Jesus will never forsake us, His beloved. Jesus is King.

As I prepared my homily this past week, I did some Google searches for recent headlines featuring the word “truth.” Here are the lines that popped up most often: “The Death of Truth.” “The Assault on Truth.” “Notes on Falsehood.” “Our Post-Truth World.”

Though the articles focused (unsurprisingly) on contemporary American politics, their concerns reached beyond the political to engage a more sinister and existential reality: we live in an Age of Untruth. Politics notwithstanding, we are steeped in a culture of blatant lies, sly exaggerations, doctored images, wild conspiracy theories, and fake news. Objective facts, for all intents and purposes, no longer exist or matter. The true is false, the false is true, and anything can mean anything.

I didn’t just rely on Google to search for the word “truth” in the headlines this week. I also used it to research its use in Scripture. And I found the word “truth” is mentioned 164 times in the Bible, and that the notion of “truth” was a major theme for the evangelist John, the author of our Gospel this morning, where the word appears a whopping ninety-nine times. As a matter of fact, “truth” is the bookends of John’s Gospel. In the Prologue that begins his Gospel he tells us that “the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us, and we saw his glory, the glory as of the Father’s only Son, full of grace and TRUTH . . . (and) grace and TRUTH came through Jesus Christ.” And then, towards the end of his Gospel, we hear the words Jesus spoke to Pontius Pilate that were recalled in today’s passage, "You say I am a king. For this I was born and for this I came into the world, to testify to the TRUTH. Everyone who belongs to the TRUTH listens to my voice."

What is truth? It’s defined as that which conforms with fact or reality. It is genuineness, veracity, or actuality. In a word, truth is reality. It is how things actually are.

What are the characteristics of truth? What are its distinguishing properties? What’s the truth about truth?

First, TRUTH IS DIVINE. Ultimately, all truth is God’s truth. Truth is from above. It is not of this world. It’s not determined by opinion polls, nor is it discovered by public surveys. God is the one Source and sole Author of truth. Sin is whatever God says it is. Judgment is whatever God says it is. Salvation is what God says it is. Heaven and hell are what God says they are.

Second, TRUTH IS ABSOLUTE. Many people say truth is whatever they want it to be. They claim that what you believe is “true for you” and what I believe is “true for me,” even when the two are worlds apart. Something cannot be both true and not true. Truth is absolute because it is derived from the one God. Absolute truth depends on God.

Third, TRUTH IS SINGULAR. That is to say, truth is a single entity. It does not exist in bits and pieces of unrelated ideas or disconnected data. Because truth is one body of truth, it is always internally consistent. It never contradicts itself. Truth always speaks with one voice and is always in perfect agreement with itself.

Fourth, TRUTH IS OBJECTIVE. Truth is black and white. It is definite, definitive, and conclusive. Truth is not abstract, vague, or nebulous. Because truth is objective, it is impartial, unbiased, unprejudiced, and non-partisan. It speaks to all people in all places the same.

Fifth, TRUTH IS IMMUTABLE. God does not change and neither does His truth, which cannot be true today but not true tomorrow. Truth is the same yesterday, today, and forever. Therefore, truth is always current, always contemporary, always relevant. It is never outdated, never obsolete, never expired. Truth never ceases to be true.

Sixth, TRUTH IS AUTHORITATIVE. Truth does not stammer or stutter. It speaks with the supreme authority of God Himself. It always makes demands upon us and never offers mere suggestions. Truth is commanding, arresting, and directional. It summons us and mandates our complete compliance. Truth is binding upon our lives. Truth demands our response.

For us as Christians truth has been revealed in Jesus Christ. We’ve heard that truth proclaimed in the Scriptures during this liturgical year of 2021 and we’ve seen that truth lived out and embodied in the actions of Jesus. Today, Jesus tells Pilate he is not a king with armies and territories. “My kingdom is not here.” Rather Jesus is the king who reigns in the hearts of all those who see life as he saw life and who live life according to his Gospel. Truth is not relative, truth is found in Jesus Christ.

As I reflected on today’s Gospel passage it occurred to me that if Jesus came to testify to the truth, if he is the truth, if he is the King of truth, then what do we, his subjects, owe our king? What does loyalty to truth look like, here and now? Well, if Truth is king, then “fake news” is not. If Truth is king, then self-deception is not. If Truth is king, then lazy relativism is not. If Truth is king, then distorting inconvenient facts for our own political, racial, social, cultural, religious, or economic comfort, is not.

Not only was Jesus born to testify to the truth, so were you. Truth needs a voice. God wants to use you to speak truth. Can we stand for the truth as Jesus does? Can we belong to the truth as he does? Can we tell and keep telling the beautiful, hard, cutting, joy-filled, pain-filled, powerfully undeniable stories we know to be true about this Jesus, this Jesus whose very identity is Truth, and whose best expression of power is surrender? This is what it means to be a subject of Christ the King. This is what it means to be a citizen of the kingdom not of this world. To live in any other way is treason!

The King of Kings and Lord of Lords has created you for a very special purpose. He means to establish his reign in the throne of your heart, and from there, to rule the universe. May his kingdom come in you, and his will be done through you, until it is completed both on earth and in heaven. And may his truth set you free . . . the truth about who He is and what He taught . . . the truth about what is right and good, beautiful, moral, blameless, faultless and beyond reproach.

WHAT GOD CREATES, GOD LOVES,

AND WHAT GOD LOVES,

GOD LOVES EVERLASTINGLY

A Bereavement Service Homily

All Souls Day

“What God creates, God loves, and what God loves, God loves everlastingly.”

Today we pause to remember our loved ones who have parted from our midst in the course of the last year, as well as those whose passing occurred at an earlier time but whose loss is still so keenly felt by us as if it were just yesterday. We stop and contemplate their lives as they lived among us. And we acknowledge our pain and our need for God's grace and comfort.

“If you have ever lost someone very important to you, then you already know how it feels, and if you haven’t, you cannot possibly imagine it.” That quote is from the opening paragraph of the first book of A Series of Unfortunate Events. The author, who writes dark tales for children under the pen name “Lemony Snicket,” explains that this is how the Baudelaire children felt when they became the Baudelaire orphans after both their parents died in a house fire.

Those words of how difficult it is to convey a sense of loss fit with today’s gospel reading. Martha is hurt when she sees Jesus. She says, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Then she calls for her sister Mary who repeats that same accusation, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

If I had continued reading our Gospel further, we would have heard John tells us that, “When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, ‘Where have you laid him?’ They said to him, ‘Lord, come and see.’”

Then, in that shortest verse in the Bible, we are told that “Jesus wept.”

Jesus, the Son of God, weeps at the grave of his friend. We too weep over the graves of those we love. This evening, at this bereavement service, we remember those we love who have died. That remembrance comes with love and joy-filled memories, but it also comes with sorrow.

It is a sorrow that doesn’t go away. Real grief stays with you. In fact, not only can one not expect grief to go away completely, we also shouldn’t want it to because grief reflects our sense of commitment and love that we had for the person. And so, we pray - not for an end to the grief - but for an unbearable sense of loss to be replaced by a sorrow we can bear. And in this, we are helped by the hope of the resurrection.

Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” As we approach the death of a loved one, our faith informs and transforms our view of it. They are not gone . . . only the body dies, the spirit lives with God and goes home to be with Jesus. They have gone home, home to where they are welcomed and forgiven and loved . . . loved more than we could ever imagine. Grief is NOT a lack of trust or faith. We can and do experience profound grief and still believe deeply that our loved ones are at home with God. They are two different things. One is our response to our loss . . . the other to their gain.

As I mentioned earlier, the author of A Series of Unfortunate Events, writes, “If you have ever lost someone very important to you, then you already know how it feels, and if you haven’t, you cannot possibly imagine it.” That’s so true, but scripture tells us that in Jesus, God knows how it feels because Jesus experienced real grief. “Jesus wept.” The shortest line in Scripture, but also perhaps the most profound, because it reminds us that God can identify with our experience, that in becoming human, God was and is with us in Jesus in a way that caused him to experience the depths of human pain and loss. God can readily imagine grief because he himself has known that pain firsthand.

God is not distant and reserved. God is close, caring, and compassionate. Scripture tells us that the time is coming when God will wipe away every tear from our eyes and when even death itself will be defeated. Yet, in the here and now, there are many tragedies, personal and even national or international, which cause people to question their faith.

In all these cases one hears people ask, “Where is God?” And the answer is “with us.” God was there when the towers fell on September 11, 2001. God was there when wildfires recently torched our western states. God was there with the people of Afghanistan in the midst of their sufferings at the hands of the Taliban. God is with us as we still deal with the Covid-19 pandemic. God is there in the tragedies, large and small that have us wondering why. God is there in the midst of suffering, present with those in pain, as one who learned the depths of human suffering while living among us.

Knowing that Christ knows how it feels to experience the death of a loved one, we can hear more clearly Jesus call to put away the fear of death. Jesus calls “Come Out!” Come out from the grave. Grief is real, but that loss is not the end. Don’t let grief overwhelm you. Grab hold of the sure and certain hope of the resurrection that comes through faith in Jesus Christ.

Jesus said, “Unbind him and let him go” to those around Lazarus, and he says the same to us. We are to be unbound, set free from the power of death. For even as we find death in life, we find life in death. We know that Jesus is resurrection and life, and those of us who believe in him, even if we die, we will live.

“What God creates, God loves, and what God loves, God loves everlastingly.”

If you remember nothing else from this evening, remember that. “What God creates, God loves, and what God loves, God loves everlastingly.” I hope you will listen closely to those words, cling to them, and let them sink deeply into your life and into your heart. Let them echo through this evening and carry you into the next. They speak an eternal truth: that the love of God is a love that extends beyond the grave and transcends time and space. It is the love of the Creator who looked upon what he had created at the beginning of time and saw that it was good. It is the abundant and merciful love of the Father for his children. It is the profound love of the redeemer – the love whose depth was proven by his self-sacrifice on the cross. It is the love that now envelops our loved ones who now are embraced by the love, joy, peace, healing and mercy of the God they worshipped, loved, adored and served in this earthly life. It is the love that enfolds around each of us tonight and every night – the love of the God who hears our cries, sees our tears and knows the heartbreak in our hearts . . . the God whose goodness, kindness, love, mercy and compassion for us are without measure.

“What God creates, God loves, and what God loves, God loves everlastingly.”

 

CAN YOU DRINK THIS CUP?

The Twenty-Ninth Sunday of Ordinary Time (Year B)

Isaiah 53: 10-11; Hebrews 4:14-16; Mark 10: 35-45

For the past six weeks, our Gospel readings have focused on Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem, a journey that will ultimately lead to his death and resurrection. And the evangelist Mark has invited us along. The journey began with a question: “Who do people say I am?” And Jesus revealed that, yes, he is the longed-awaited Messiah, but not necessarily the Messiah that the people thought they were getting. Rather than the warrior king who would free Israel from the oppression of Rome, he was the savior who would free those who believed in him from the ravages of sin and death. And in the process, he would be rejected, suffer, be killed, but ultimately rise from the dead. But, as typical of Jesus, on the rest of the journey, Jesus doesn’t focus on himself, but on the Apostles . . . and on us . . . and on what it means to be a disciple of such a Messiah as he.

In the past weeks we’ve heard that discipleship means welcoming, accepting, the child, the poor, the sick, the outcast; it means avoiding sin and being examples of righteousness to others . . . that following him means not only obeying the commandments, but HIS law, which often goes above and beyond, and sometimes contradicts what is commonly accepted - the norm, the status quo. Jesus told them that discipleship involves sacrifice – it means leaving father and mother, sister and brother, personal riches, or whatever keeps you from accepting him wholeheartedly. And it means being a servant, rendering yourself to be the lowest of the low and minister to the needs of the hungry, the thirsty, the outcast, the naked, the ill.

Today, one other requirement for true discipleship is given: to drink the cup from which Jesus drinks - a cup that contains the bitter wine of suffering.

In today’s Gospel, we hear a bold request by the brothers, James and John: “Lord, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you!” It’s bold, indeed, but probably not much bolder than how you and I often pray. Don’t we find ourselves saying, “Lord, this is what I want. This is what I need. This is what I want you to do for me or for someone I love – and I’d really like you to do this for me now.”

And what were James and John asking for? To sit at the right and the left of Jesus when he enters his kingdom. In the culture of the time, to sit at the right or left hand of another meant to share in his power and prestige. And after all, didn’t they deserve it? They were faithful . . . they made the made the sacrifices . . . they left everything behind – families and careers to follow Jesus . . . FOR THREE YEARS! And they were special – they were among the three or four Apostles that saw things, heard things that Jesus didn’t reveal to the others. So, obviously, their commitment, their role as Apostles, was great, and they deserved the seats of honor and power. Right?

But Jesus knew the cost of having such a seat was great. It meant taking and drinking of the cup that he would drink – the cup of suffering. And he tells them that they really don’t know what they’re asking for. Are they willing to drink the cup of suffering that he’s about to drink? He wasn’t destined to be a powerful ruler the way earthly rulers are powerful. Rather, the cup he drinks is the cup of suffering, the cup of his blood poured out for others. The baptism with which he is baptized is his passion and death. Jesus’ cup and baptism point to the cross, the only earthly throne he will ever occupy. And having no idea in the world of what Jesus was talking about, James and John answered together, “We can!”

James and John agreed to face what Jesus was facing, to drink the cup and accept the baptism, but they hadn’t fully understood the challenges they would face. And, indeed, the prediction came true. James was martyred early in the life of the Church. John, preached the Gospel, was ultimately arrested for it, and was condemned to live a life in exile. Each, in his own way, gave up his own life to serve in obedience to God. Both drank the cup of Christ. Both chose to take the seats God prepared for them, seats of service and suffering that led to eternal life rather than the seats of honor they had sought.

Sometimes we’re like James and John. In our hearts and with our words, we freely commit ourselves to the Lord but often without a thought or a clue about the Cup - the Cup from which Jesus invites us to drink - the Cup of suffering. Although we worship every Sunday in the shadow of the Cross and eat the Bread and drink the Cup that proclaim his death until he comes again – we might still miss what James and John missed: that there is no following the Lord apart from a share in his suffering.

Discipleship is not about following the king to his castle, it’s about following him to his cross. This isn’t upward mobility. It’s downward mobility. Jesus is showing his disciples that true greatness isn’t found in climbing to the top and exercising power over others. Rather, true greatness is found in self-emptying, self-giving love. Unlike worldly rulers who lord it over others, Jesus tells his disciples, “Whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”

This is basically the Gospel in a nutshell and the spelling out of what the good news of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ means for his disciples. It’s still shocking . . . or at least it ought to be.

It’s amazing that Christians might ever imagine that somehow on account of their faith, they will escape suffering in this life – that we will experience heaven on earth. Rather, Jesus promises us just the opposite: if we would follow him and we will drink from his Cup, the Cup from which he himself prayed to be delivered on the night before he suffered and died, our lives will be lived, not in a Garden of Paradise, but, rather, in a Garden of Gethsemane

What kind of suffering is in the Cup Jesus offers us? His Cup holds more than the suffering that comes in every human life: the suffering of physical and emotional pain, the suffering disappointment, hurt, loss and grief. More than all that, the Cup Jesus offers us holds the suffering that comes: from being faithful to God’s word when that word asks more than I’m ready to give; from being faithful to God’s law of love when my beloved, my friend, offends me; from being faithful to God’s truth when a lie would be so much easier; from being faithful to God’s justice when some other deal would favor me; from being faithful to God when I think I know better, that I know more than God.

On the night before he died, Jesus gathered at table with his friends and knew the suffering that would be his on the next day and wanted to share with us the grace of the sacrifice he was about to make. He took bread, as his Body, and broke it for us. And he took wine, as his Blood, and poured it out for them and for us. The Cup of Suffering we’re invited to drink is made from the steel of the 10 commandments and the gold of Jesus’ gospel of love and mercy. The Cup of Suffering is filled with Blood of Jesus, his blood spilled on the Cross for us and given to mix and commingle with the blood of our daily lives. To drink from this Cup is to seal our Communion with the him and with one another.

"Can you drink of the cup of suffering from which I drink?" Jesus asks. Today, when you approach the altar to receive the Eucharist and do this in memory of him, your “Amen” is your “yes” to do just that.

LET YOUR LIGHT SHINE
The Diocesan Ministries Appeal
October 3, 2021

Once a pastor explained to his congregation that the church was in need of some extra money, so he asked them to consider being more than generous, offering whoever gave the most money the chance to pick three hymns.

After the collection basket was passed around the church, the pastor glanced down and noticed that someone had graciously offered up a total of $1,000. He was so excited that he immediately shared his joy with his congregation and said he’d like to personally thank the person who placed the money in the basket.

A very quiet, elderly, saintly lady in the back of the church shyly raised her hand. The pastor asked her to come to the front, so she slowly she made her way towards him.

The pastor told her how wonderful it was that she gave so much, and in thanks he told her that, as promised, she could pick out three hymns.

Her eyes brightened as she looked over the congregation and pointed: “I’ll take him and I'll take him and I'll take him.”

Sometime over the past two weeks you should have received a letter from Bishop Kevin in the mail asking you to consider giving a donation to the Diocese Paterson’s Annual Ministries Appeal. This year, the appeal is called, Let Your Light Shine.” The title is taken from a line in chapter five of Matthew’s Gospel where Jesus says, “You are the light of the world. A city set on a mountain cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and then put it under a bushel basket; it is set on a lampstand, where it gives light to all in the house. Just so, your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father”

And you do that! The light of your faith shines brightly by your attendance at Sunday mass, through your participation in the events and organizations of our parish, in your unselfish outreach to the community and through your generous weekly contributions to St. Kateri. Though other parishes struggled greatly to make ends meet as their contributions declined by tens of thousands of dollars during the pandemic, our didn’t and we were able to pay our bills, pay the salaries of the members of our parish staff, and continue to minister as we always did in happier, healthier and less fearful times thanks to you.

A lot of times, when people are asked to dig deep into their pockets and savings accounts and to contribute to this or that cause, their initial response is, “Charity begins at home and I need to take care of my own.” And that might have been your first thought after reading the bishop’s request.

But earlier in our Mass, during the Creed, we proclaimed that we believe in the ONE, HOLY, CATHOLIC and APOSTOIC Church. Did you ever stop and consider what that means?

When we say we are ONE, we are declaring that there is a unity between ourselves and with every other parishioner in every other parish within our diocese and throughout our world. We are one family, proclaiming the same God as our Father.

We are HOLY through our connection with Jesus, the Holy One, and when we follow his teachings and his way of life . . . when we follow him who said, “The Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom” and “the last shall be first and the first shall be last. The greatest among you is the one who serves.”

When declare we are CATHOLIC, we’re saying that the Church is universal and is open to all people – the rich and healthy and successful . . . and the poor and the ill and those down on their luck.

And we are APOSTOLIC through connection to the twelve Apostles, the ones Jesus commissioned to teach, to feed the hungry, to give drink to the poor, to welcome the stranger, to cloth the naked and to care for the sick in his name.

Yes, “Charity begins at home,” but we truly are members of the Church when our notion of home and family takes on a broader perspective than just the roof over our heads and the people who dwell within the same four walls.

You might ask, “What’s appealing about the Diocesan Annual Missions Appeal. If you decide to give, your contribution is far-reaching:

Pre-COVID, diocesan food pantries assisted between 5,000 to 7,000 people monthly. They are now seeing about 20,000 people come in each month as those in need continue to deal with the lingering impact of the coronavirus.

The diocese provides emergency housing and homelessness prevention, after-school mentoring and counseling programs for children, support for infants and toddlers with developmental delays, as well as support for children, from birth to 21 years of age with special health care needs.

For adults with developmental disabilities, the diocese maintains groups homes and employment training programs. For senior citizens, it provides bi-weekly groceries and in-home support for chores and minor home repairs. For veterans, the diocese provides outreach, advocacy, social work, temporary housing support, clothing and food.

The Diocese of Paterson also provides for drug and alcohol treatment: in-patient drug and alcohol detoxification, a halfway house for men, residential addiction treatment for pregnant women and support for mothers of young children struggling with addiction. Last year, the Appeal provided over $319,000 directly to Straight and Narrow to assist in their rebuilding efforts after the massive fire in August of 2019.

The Diocesan Ministries Appeal also helps fund seminarian education and supports priests’ extraordinary healthcare needs as well as Nazareth Village, our diocesan priests’ retirement residence in Chester.

Be assured that the funds raised through the Diocesan Ministries Appeal are used only for these goals. They are used for no other purpose and are never forwarded to any other local diocese or archdiocese. The funds raised in the Paterson Diocese stay in the Paterson Diocese.

St. Kateri’s goal for this year’s Diocesan Missions Appeal is $33,022. But here’s the good news - half of the amount received over our parish goal is given back to our parish. Over $900,000 was returned to parishes from last year’s Appeal – and over $3.65 million in five years. And, because of your generosity in the past, a substantial amount of money came back to our parish for our own needs.

And so I ask you to think about . . . pray about . . . making a contribution to this year’s Diocesan Ministries Appeal and Letting Your Light Shine. I can’t guarantee that Fr, Vidal will allow you to choose the him, him and him of your liking. But I can guarantee that the him, him and him and the her, her and her that you will assist will be eternally grateful.

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B)

EMBRACING THE CHILD

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B)

Wisdom 2:12, 17-20; James 3:16 – 4:3; Mark 9:30-37

I read a story a few years ago about a small jet with five passengers. While flying at thirty-thousand feet, the engine malfunctioned and the plane started to descend toward earth. The pilot came running out of the cockpit with a parachute strapped to his back and said, “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news. The bad news is that the plane is going to crash and there is nothing I can do about it. The good news is that there are several parachutes on the wall in the back of the plane. The other bad news is that there are only four of them left and there are five of you. Good luck. Have a good evening and thank you for choosing our airline. With that, he gave the stunned passengers a thumbs up, opened the door, and jumped for safety.

Immediately, a man jumped out of his seat and said, “I am the greatest brain surgeon in the world. My patients depend on me and the world is a better place because of my breakthroughs.” He grabbed a pack, strapped it to his back, and jumped.

Then a woman stood up and said, “I’m a partner in the biggest law firm in the country. We go up against big tobacco, asbestos companies, and fight for the little guy. The world is a better place with me in it.” She grabbed a pack, strapped it to her back and jumped.

Next, another man stood up and said, “I am arguably the smartest man in the world. My IQ is so great that I won’t even tell you what is, but surely you understand that the world needs me, so I simply must take a parachute.” He grabbed a pack, strapped it to his back and jumped.

That left only two people on the plane, an elderly priest and a teenage boy.

“Young man,” said the priest, “you take the last parachute. You’re young; you still have your whole life ahead of you to do great things. God bless you and safe landing.”

The teenager grinned at the priest. “Thanks Father, but there are still two parachutes left. The smartest man in the world just grabbed my backpack.”

I thought about that story this past week when I first read this Sunday’s gospel as I prepared my homily and reflected on what are the qualities that makes one great . . . at least in the eyes of Jesus.

In today’s gospel, as they’re walking down the road to Capernaum, Jesus becomes intrigued by the conversation of his Apostles, their arguments over which one of them was the greatest. You see, they were still caught up in the popular notion that the Messiah would be a great and glorious conquering hero - another King David - someone who would conquer Israel’s enemies, restore Israel to peace and prosperity, and lead Israel to a place of prominence in the world. And if that’s what the Messiah was going to be, and if Jesus was the Messiah, just think of the implications for his righthand men: power, prestige, wealth. But they just didn’t get it. They just couldn’t understand and accept that Jesus had rejected that concept of Messiah, as we heard last Sunday. The type of Messiah he had come to be was one who would establish a kingdom, not of power and riches, but of love and righteousness. He would suffer greatly, be rejected by the Jewish leaders, and be killed, but would rise three days later.

Maybe part of why the Apostles had such a difficult time with this is because they just didn’t want to accept the implications for one who would follow a Messiah such as this. And so, Jesus spells it out for them and overturns their understanding of greatness by telling them that the greatest is not the one who is A #1, top of the list, king of the hill, but the one who is servant to all. Then he took a child, hugged him and tells them, “If you want to be great, welcome one like this child, become like this child.

To understand fully what Jesus was getting at in today’s gospel, we need to avoid romanticizing about childhood and appreciate that we live in a different culture than the one of this story. In the ancient society to which Jesus belonged, children were not the center of attention they are today. It was a time of 30% infant mortality and 60% of children were dead by the age of 16. Children had little status within the family. A minor child was on par with a slave, and only after reaching maturity was one considered a free person who could inherit the family estate. Children were loved but could be severely disciplined as well. And so, for Jesus to exalt the child in front of them was to insult these status seeking disciples.

And when he placed a child in his arms and told them to welcome such a child as if they were welcoming the Messiah himself, it was because the little child stood for all who are powerless, all who are in need of being cared for, all to whom we might owe service. Seeing the poor, the outsider, the meek as especially privileged is to see them as Christ’s little ones. His followers are to have concern for those who were not seemingly important. Christ is calling each of us to servanthood and to embrace the one who stands in our midst and is in need of being fed, clothed, washed, taught, embraced, and spoken lovingly to.

This kind of living for others, living for even those people whom we have a difficult time liking, isn’t easy. But living a life of service was never supposed to be easy. It’s a difficult way to live, but it is the way of the cross . . . it is the way of Jesus. Jesus lived a life of sacrifice for others and calls you and I to such a role in our lives. We are called to be servants of God and servants to others. He is calling us to be Christ in this world, to be the light of hope, and to be the instruments of peace, love and mercy.

But children are also innocent. Children trust. Children have hope. Children love very easily. Children are spontaneous. Children find it easy to forgive. Children are accepting of people. Children are sensitive to the feelings and needs of others and give all that they are and all that they have to someone they see are in need. Therein lies true greatness in the eyes of God.

According to psychologist Carl Jung, the human personality is driven by two energies which he calls by the Latin words senex, meaning old man or senior, and puer eternis, the eternal boy or child. The senior is more wise, prudent and calculating, always looking before leaping and so ends up often not leaping at all. The child energy, on the other hand, is more venturesome, more prone to making mistakes and takes more chances. The senior is more preserving and security conscious, the child is more like easy come – easy go, more prepared to change and to let go. The senior is more geared towards competition, power and success, the child energy is more attuned to cooperation and celebration. The senior is more responsible while the child is more lighthearted. Jung tells us that to be fully human and fully alive, these two energies must find a balance, a harmony, in the personality.

I think that Jesus was telling us two thousand years ago something that modern psychology is only discovering today. When Jesus tells us that we must accept one such as the little child whom he embraced, I think he is also telling us that we need to acknowledge and accept the child within ourselves. When we celebrate the child within us, we become less calculating, less concerned about our personal dignity or shame, less afraid of failure and death, and less grabbing for power and success. With more of the child energy, we shall be more disposed to take a leap in the dark, to let go. Then, only, does believing and following Jesus become possible.

In the Aramaic language, the language that Jesus spoke, there is a word talya which can mean both "servant" or "child."  Today, let us recognize that Jesus is calling us to be both. Let us seek greatness by becoming the least and serving the needs of all who are in need or who have been marginalized. And let us also recognize and celebrate the child within each of us. Let us strive to have the simple faith of a child: to love God and one another without condition or expectation, with honesty and faithfulness. Let us strive for childlike faith that is never deterred or discouraged, never becomes cynical or jaded, and one that never ceases to be amazed and grateful for the many ways God reveals his presence in our lives.

 NOTHING IS LACKING

WHERE EVERYTHING IS GIVEN

A Homily for the Vigil of Sister Theresa Chiappa

August 23, 2021

Wisdom 3: 1-7, 9; Psalm 63; 2 Timothy 4: 1-8; Mark 10: 17-21

“Nothing is lacking where everything is given.”

I somehow stumbled upon that quote last week. It was written by the great 12th Century abbot, writer, reformer and mystic, St. Bernard of Clairvaux. And although not intended by him to be so, I think it’s probably the best one sentence definition of what it means to be a saint. I also think that it’s the statement that best summarizes the life of Sister Theresa.

“Nothing is lacking where everything is given.”

We can look at this quote in two ways and both apply to Theresa. First, “Nothing is lacking where everything is given” because God multiplies his blessings and gives us everything that is needed to live a life of holiness, to live a life of service, to live a life formed by the gospels, to live a Christ-centered life, to live a life of true happiness when we give everything over to Him – when we freely empty ourselves completely of all that the world tries to convince us is important, the things that it promises will bring success and happiness but ultimately don’t – and when we, instead, allow ourselves to become an empty vessel to be filled by and with Christ. Second, because of all of that, everything has now been given to Theresa – eternal life, unspeakably joy, immeasurable peace, total and complete healing from the pain that she endured so triumphantly in this life.

“Nothing is lacking where everything is given.”

I had a difficult time choosing the readings for this vigil service, especially the gospel because when your life so mirrors the gospels, as Theresa’s did, all of them seem to apply to her and speak of her faith.

So, should I have chosen Jesus’ invitation to the Apostles to “Come follow me” for, at an early age, Theresa heard and accepted his invitation?

Should I have chosen the passage where Jesus said, “If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple,” in recognition of the sacrifice of family she made when choosing her vocation as a sister? Or perhaps, “Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple,” acknowledging the heavy cross of pain that Theresa bore.

Or how about the Great Commandment, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind . . . and love your neighbor as you love yourself.” Or Jesus’ words to the Canaanite woman, “O woman, great is your faith.” Or the gospel of the talents where the landowner praises his industrious servant, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”

Maybe proclaiming the Beatitudes would have been appropriate for tonight’s service because Sister Theresa modeled all of them: poor in spirit – God was the only riches she ever desired; mourning – her voice was raised to weep with those who wept, and rejoice with those that rejoiced; meek – she was never weak but ever strong in patience and tolerance; hungering and thirsting for righteousness - she, like Mary, became the handmaid of the Lord and her constant “yes” to God made her holy . . . a living saint . . . and now a saint in glory; merciful – what was forgiven was also forgotten; pure of heart – she was constantly aware that she was in the holy presence of God and saw Him in everything and everyone; a peacemaker – she diffused situations of anger and hurt, and brought others together in reconciliation; and persecuted for the sake of righteousness – she united her own pain and suffering with the cross of Christ and became a suffering soul for the good of others and the salvation of the world.

The gospel that I did choose for this evening might seem to be an odd choice and is one, in all honesty, that is not usually proclaimed at a wake service or funeral mass – the story of the rich young man who came to Jesus, in sincerity, to ask what was necessary for him to have eternal life. “Follow the commandments,” Jesus tells him. “But more than that, sell everything you have and come follow me.” We know from hearing that passage over and over again, that he went away downcast, perhaps even brokenhearted, for he savored the riches of this world and couldn’t part with them. Theresa could and did.

Tomorrow, in the preface for the funeral mass, we will hear, “Lord, for your faithful people, life is changed, not ended.” Sister Theresa truly believed that - and so do we. And in spite of the tears of the past several days and the tears still to come as we miss our beloved Theresa, we rejoice. We rejoice with her and for her, for we know in our hearts, and through our faith, that her life has not ended, but merely changed. That her life is now like the gold tested by fire that we heard about in our First Reading from the Book of Wisdom. Her life, emptied of the desire for fortune or fame, for wealth and success, her only wish was to know, love and serve our Lord. Like St. Paul, in our Second Reading from the Second Letter to Timothy, she competed well; she fought the good fight, she finished the race, and now the crown of righteousness awaits her.

“Nothing is lacking where everything is given.”

Some of you might be familiar with a poem entitled, “The Beautiful Hands of a Priest.” But did you ever notice Sister Theresa’s hands?

Hers were the hands that offered her whole life to Jesus on her Profession Day.

Hers were the hands that, joined with the hands of other Sisters, created a bond of love and support in community so strong that all the Church now seeks to emulate it.

Hers were the hands that Christ chose to use to bless us and our world for the past eighty-three years.

Hers were the hands, fingerprints outlined in chalk dust, that formed and taught our little children and gave them their formal knowledge of their precious faith.

Hers were the hands that gathered our teenagers and taught them to believe in themselves - sometimes with discipline, sometimes with humor, sometimes holding them as they poured out their frustrations.

Hers were the hands that lifted up the depressed and deprived and fed the hungry . . . food for their bodies and food for their souls.

Hers were the hands that comforted the elderly and gave hope to the lonely.

Hers were the hands that healed the sick and restored the abused to sanity and to the belief in the goodness of others again.

Hers were the hands that squeezed the hands of children in the last moments of their lives and placed their hands into the hand of God.

Hers were the hands pumped up to cheer our success (and the occasional victory of the Mets); hands that held tightly to ours to give us strength; hands that dried our tears of sadness and grief.

Hers were the hands folded for hours in prayer, hands where countless beads slipped through her fingers, that our burdens might be lifted.

Hers were the hands that she placed into the nail-scarred hands of Jesus to unite the pain that wretched her body to His pain for the salvation of the world.

And today, her hands touch the face of the God she loved so much, the God she served so well, the God she gave her whole life to.

Today our hands dry the tears from our eyes . . . but tomorrow will reach out and bless the world with compassion and love, healing and mercy . . . Because her hands touched our hands.

Theresa, "May the angels lead you into paradise; may the martyrs receive you at your arrival and lead you to the holy city Jerusalem. May choirs of angels receive you and with Lazarus, once poor, may you have eternal rest."

The Nineteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time (Year B)

THE BREAD OF LIFE COME DOWN FROM HEAVEN

The Nineteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time (Year B)

1 Kings 19: 4-8; Ephesians 4: 30-5:2; John 6: 41-51

Do you ever watch soap operas? My mom did. And although she would occasionally tune in to watch such soaps as “Days of Our Lives” and “The Guiding Light,” there was one that was her favorite that she would never miss – “As the World Turns.” As you know, soap operas air five days a week so, at least back then, if an actor was ill or off shooting a movie, and the storyline needed to go on without them, another actor would be hired to temporarily replace them. The announcer for “As the World Turns” was named Dan Region, and I remember his smooth, calm voice informing the viewers that “Today the role of Lisa Miller, Hughes, Eldridge, Shea, Colman, McColl, Mitchell, Chedwyn, Grimaldi” (that’s how many times she was married!) “usually portrayed by Eileen Fulton, will be played by Betty von Furstenberg.”

I thought of “As the World Turns” this week as I was preparing my homily. And I imagined the silky voice of Dan Region emanating from the speakers here in church announcing, “The role of the evangelist, usually performed this year by Mark will today be played by John.” Yes, Mark has been given a five-week vacation by the liturgists of the Church, and in his place, the Apostle John has been brought in to share with us a key portion of his Gospel.

Because John isn’t afforded a full year dedicated to the proclamation of his Gospel the way Matthew, Mark and Luke are, it might lead some to believe that John’s Gospel isn’t as important as the other three. That couldn’t be further from the truth. And, rather than being relegated to the role of a pinch hitter, John’s Gospel is more like a bottle of fine wine that we sip in moderation and savor over the course of three years.

In fact, so important is his Gospel that, since he is writing much later than the other Evangelists, John provides us with events, miracles, teachings and dialogue not included in the other Gospels. And to that, he is able to provide one more crucial element: a theological perspective gleaned over decades of prayerful reflection on his personal relationship with Jesus and his eyewitness of the three years of Jesus’ public ministry.

For example, it might surprise you to know that, in recalling the events of the Last Supper, John doesn’t include an account of the institution of the Eucharist. Instead, John addresses the Eucharist in a different way. He does it in Chapter 6 of his Gospel, the passage that we’ve been listening to the past three weeks – the “Bread of Life Discourse.” John doesn’t recall the event of the institution of the Eucharist at the Last Supper. He doesn’t have to. That’s already been covered by the other three Evangelists. Instead, John chooses to recall Jesus’ words in the synagogue at Capernaum which undeniably and emphatically, clearly, strongly, bluntly and, yes perhaps disturbingly, reveal to the crowds, and to us, the undeniable truth about his divinity and his divine presence in the Eucharist.

Two weeks ago, we heard how the people who had eaten of the loaves and fish that Jesus multiplied were so astounded by that miracle that they were convinced he was the Prophet, the promised Messiah. And realizing that they would carry him off and declare him their king, Jesus slipped off secretly to the opposite side of the Sea of Galilee.

Last week, undaunted, the people find him in Capernaum and Jesus chides them for being more concerned about the food which is a temporary fix for the hunger in their bellies than they are with the bread he offers – the bread of eternal life.

Which brings us to today’s Gospel. In Jesus’ time, bread was a staple, something that people just could not do without, literally could not live without. But to people of the Jewish faith, bread meant even more - bread was laden with symbolic and theological meaning that made it, not just vital for physical needs, but an intricate part of their faith identity. The crowds asked Jesus for a sign, mentioning that their ancestors had been given manna - bread from heaven - when they were wandering in the wilderness. But Jesus, declares that HE is the bread from heaven. He will not show them signs - he is the sign. The crowds become upset. They know Jesus isn’t from heaven – after all, they know his parents; they know where he is from. To compare himself to something that is so important in their faith histories is insulting and heretical. "Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph," they ask? "How can he now say, 'I have come down from heaven'?" The appearances confound them. How can it be? He is familiar. How is it possible? He is commonplace. How can he be from heaven? He is flesh and blood like us.

"Don't murmur about my answers," he chastises them. "I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh." His language is precise. What he says is not cushioned in a parable or metaphor whose meaning might be subject to interpretation. He is the bread of life, and those who take this gift of grace receive that gift of bread into themselves and receive the gift of life itself. A mighty claim! God himself will be our food, our ultimate provision. God wants to inhabit our flesh. God wants to make us tabernacles.

SPOILER ALERT!!! In part four of the Bread of Life Discourse, Jesus pushes the envelope even further. He tells the people, in words which sound cannibalistic, that unless they eat his flesh and drink his blood, they cannot have life within them. But that’s the cleaned up English translation we use. The more literal version from the original Greek is, “Unless you gnaw on my flesh and guzzle my blood, you cannot have life within you.” How offensive to the ears of the Jews whose dietary laws forbade them to eat the flesh of certain animals and to drink of its blood.

The discourse will conclude with the people grumbling, “This saying is hard; who can accept it?” And they walk away. The very people who the day before wanted to carry Jesus off and crown him king, now desert him. And Jesus lets them. He doesn’t call them back. He doesn’t try to better explain. He doesn’t excuse his words by telling the people that they misunderstood and that his words were merely symbolic, only a metaphor. No, he lets them walk. Because there has been no misunderstanding. What he said was what he meant to say. What he said is the truth. He IS the bread from heaven who must be consumed to have eternal life. He then turns to the Apostles and asks, “Do you also want to leave?” Simon Peter answered him, “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God.”

For two thousand years there are those who have echoed the words of the crowd, “This saying is hard; who can accept it?” And have walked away. Many Christian groups since the time of the Protestant Reformation see in Communion, only bread and wine – only a sign, a symbol, only a representation, only blessed bread. What’s more, sadly, polls indicate that 70% of those who, like us, call themselves Catholic, believe that the Eucharist is only a symbol of Christ’s body and blood.

And then, there is us, who take Jesus at his word. That he IS the Bread of Life and that his flesh and his blood give us eternal life. That when we stand before the priest, the deacon or a Eucharistic Minister we know that what we receive is more than mere bread and wine. What we receive and take into ourselves is the fullness of Christ – his body, his blood, his soul, his divinity.

And so today, when Fr. Vidal, or I, or one of our Eucharistic Ministers holds the host before your eyes saying, “the Body of Christ,” let your “Amen” resound the words of Peter, “Yes Lord, truly, surely, certainly, I have come to believe and am convinced that you are the Holy One of God.”