The Third Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle A)

The Quest

Isaiah 8:23-9:3; 1 Corinthians 1:10-13,17; Matthew 4:12-23 

His name was Alonso Quijana . . . a country squire, no longer young. Bony and hollow-faced . . . eyes that burn with the fire of inner vision. Being retired, he has much time for books. He studies them from morn to night, and often through the night as well. And all he reads oppresses him . . . fills him with indignation at man’s murderous ways toward man. He broods . . . and broods . . . and broods – and finally from so much brooding – his brains dry up! He lays down the melancholy burden of sanity and conceives the strangest project ever imagined . . . to become a knight-errant three hundred years after the age of chivalry and sally forth into the world to right all wrongs. No longer will he be plain Alonso Quijana . . . but a dauntless knight known as – Don Quixote the Man of La Mancha!!!

And so, he leaves his home, and invites a peasant named Sancho to become his squire and assist him as he begins his quest to restore goodness, truth, and grace to a fallen world; to follow the star of hope with unfailing determination; to seek a new and more promising world of justice, peace, and love. And as he does, his vision of reality changes: to his eyes, a windmill is a giant ogre with which to do battle, a country inn is a castle, and a barber’s shaving basin is a golden helmet that when worn by one of noble heart renders him invulnerable to all wounds. And, how he sees people, also changes: in a common prostitute he sees beauty, purity, the woman each man holds within his heart.

One night, as he keeps vigil beneath the stars, he articulates the creed, the principles, by which he tries to live:

“Call nothing thy own except thy soul.
Love not what thou art, but only what thou may become.
Do not pursue pleasure, for thou may have the misfortune to overtake it.
Look always forward; in last year’s nest there are no birds this year.
Be just to all men. Be courteous to all women.
Live always in the vision of that one for whom great things are done.”

In today’s Gospel, Jesus too embarks on a quest. He calls the first four of the twelve men who will assist him in bringing the good news of salvation and the challenge of personal transformation to the towns and villages in Galilee and Judea. And like Don Quixote, Jesus has a vision of the world that is different from others. To him, the greatest is the one who serves, and characteristics, like poverty of spirit, compassion, humility, moral integrity, forgiveness, peacefulness, and tolerance in the face of persecution, are not signs of weakness, but values that bring true happiness. And he too sees beyond appearances and beyond the social limitations that his society placed on those who were poor, or sick, or sinners, or tax collectors, and saw their worth in the eyes of God and that they too had been called to participate in his father’s kingdom.

And as he travelled throughout Israel, at different times and in different places, he too beautifully articulated his creed, the values that he accepted for himself, the values that he challenged those who wished to follow him to accept as their own:

“Love God with all your whole heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.
Love your enemies.
Do good to those who hate you.
Bless those who curse you.
Pray for those who mistreat you.
Give to everyone who asks of you.
From the one who takes what is yours do not demand it back.
Do to others as you would have them do to you.”

The invitation that Jesus extends in today’s gospel to Peter, Andrew, James and John is not just to follow him. The invitation wasn’t just to self - improvement. The invitation wasn’t just to an opportunity for personal growth. The invitation wasn’t just to assure a place in heaven for themselves. As important as all these things are, the invitation which Jesus gave ran far deeper.

It is an invitation to become part of a great quest. It is an invitation to become co - workers with Christ in his continuing ministry to those who are lost, who are infirm, who need hope. It was an invitation to play part in bringing God’s mission to light in the world. It was an invitation to become a part of what God is doing in our world. It is an invitation to become a partner with God in transforming the world. It is an invitation for them to become church.

Often times, we ask of our faith the same question we ask of anything else in our lives: “What’s in it for me?” This question is often the litmus test that we use to judge whether or not something is worthy of our attention and involvement. This question really shouldn’t be a concern when it comes to living out our faith. Following Christ and being a member of the Church is not about us and our personal comfort and convenience and needs. It is about Jesus and his quest. It is about finding our own place it Jesus’ quest, his mission, his ministry. It is about what we can do for Christ. It is about giving God our prayers, our gifts, our presence, and our service. It is about taking our place in the band of his followers and living lives that make a difference in the world. Following Christ is about leaving our old, self-serving lives behind and entering into a life of service to God and availability to the mission of God.

Jesus came into Galilee preaching the good news that the kingdom of God was at hand. He asks us to go out into our world and do exactly the same thing. Jesus calls us to a life of conviction, to a life of urgency, to a life of reaching out with his message of love and forgiveness to all the people we encounter in life. He calls us to reach out to the lonely, to the hungry, to the sick, to the ones in prison, to the disabled, to the forsaken, to the needy, to all of those people who need to hear that someone indeed does loves them and that someone is Jesus Christ.

It is the noblest and holiest of all quests. Not that of the Man of La Mancha, whose dedication to his quest led him to fight windmills. It is that of the Man of Galilee, whose wholehearted dedication to his quest led him to the cross.

The Second Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle A)

Here Am I, Lord. I Come to Do Your Will

Isaiah 49:3, 5-6; 1 Corinthians 1:1-3; John 1: 29-34 

Let me ask you a question: Are you a person of your word? In other words, when you say something, do you mean it? Some people don’t. Or in some situations, some people don’t. Sometimes some people say things only because they feel they are advantageous to themselves: to get the job, to clinch the deal, to endear themselves to someone for their own benefit. Sometimes some feel a sense of obligation to say what they think people want to hear. Or sometimes people feel put on the spot. They say the safe thing . . . the politically correct thing . . . the thing that is popular opinion, the thing everyone else is saying, the thing everyone else is believing. And sometimes some people say something and they really don’t understand what they are saying. What about you? Do you mean what you say?

The reason I ask is that just a few minutes ago we all said something and I wonder if we meant it. Or did we really understand the implications of what we were saying? As a matter of fact, what we said, we didn’t just say once; we repeated it four times. And sadly, as I look around, I can tell some of you don’t know what the heck I’m talking about!

Just a few minutes ago four times in our responsorial psalm we said, “Here am I, Lord. I come to do your will.” Ah! Remember now? “Here am I, Lord. I come to do your will.” Were you paying attention? Did you mean it? Did you understand the implications of what you were saying?

“Here am I, Lord.” Are you here? Or are you really somewhere else? Sure, you’re physically here, but is your mind somewhere else? Or are you here, but here isn’t really where you want to be?

“Lord, I come to do your will.” Have you really? Have you come here this evening to find out what God’s will is – for the world . . . for the Church . . . for you, yourself? Have you come here this evening because you truly desire to do His will and you realize that to do it, you need strength, strength that comes from the Bread of Life and the Cup of Eternal Salvation, the Eucharist, or are you here merely out of obligation?

“Here am I, Lord. I come to do your will.” Did we understand that those words that we said (or sang) four times was our affirmation, our consent to what immediately preceded it? Did we understand that through those words, we were entering into a sacred covenant with God?

Well what exactly did we get ourselves into? In the first verse of Psalm 40, through our response, we committed ourselves to be people of faith. “I have waited, waited for the LORD, and he stooped toward me and heard my cry. And he put a new song into my mouth, a hymn to our God.” Through these words we pledged to listen, to discern, to wait. Sometimes it’s hard to “wait for the Lord.” But through faith we know that God is never blind to our tears, never deaf to our prayers, never silent to our pain. He sees. He hears. And he will deliver. Faith tells us that God has perfect timing . . . never early, never late. But when we finally see His plan, we realize it’s been worth the wait. Here am I, Lord. I come to do your will!

The second and third verse are interrelated, and through our response to both of them, we’ve committed ourselves to be people devoted to God’s Word – hearing it, obeying it, acting upon it. “Sacrifice or offering you wished not, but ears open to obedience you gave me. Holocausts or sin-offerings you sought not . . . In the written scroll it is prescribed for me, to do your will, O my God, that is my delight, and your law is within my heart.” Sometimes we get caught up with externals. God doesn’t. Sometimes we think that our prayers have to be eloquent, our liturgy solemn, and our sacrifices extravagant. But God simply wants our obedience – an obedience that’s that comes as a natural and necessary extension of our love for Him. As I told my students thousands of times, and as I’ve also said here before, Christianity isn’t just something we do on Sunday mornings (or Saturday evenings). Christianity is a way of life. It’s a lived experience. What good is it if we hear the Word of God every Sunday and then not seek to live it every other day of the week? And we shouldn’t just depend on the Sunday readings to be our nourishment. We need to get into the Word of God ourselves. Read it, meditate on it, memorize it, recite it, repeat it, devour it, obey it, and believe it. No Sunday homily can ever substitute for that. Here’s the ultimate question we need to ask ourselves: Are the biblical phrases lines that we merely recite or the script that we live? Here am I, Lord. I come to do your will.

And then our last verse. Did we understand that the refrain we said for the fourth time was a commitment to service? “I announced your justice in the vast assembly; I did not restrain my lips, as you, O LORD, know.” God is a just God. And for a just God, there are no favorites. He loves all and desires that all be treated rightly and fairly, and their needs taken care of. God commissions you as an agent of divinity. It wouldn’t make sense for an orchestra to play silently, or for an artist to paint invisibly. Neither does it make sense to be a disciple of Christ secretly. Every member of the church is called to ministry, gifted for ministry, authorized for ministry, commanded to minister, saved for ministry, accountable for ministry, needed for ministry, and rewarded for ministry. But the problem is most people want to serve God, but only in an advisory capacity. As Christians, we’re called to be counter-cultural . . . to shift our focus from what’s in it for me - to - how may I serve? We have to stop being go-getters and learn to become go-givers. If you can’t do great things for God then do small things in a great way. God’s greatest works take place without our doing anything spectacular. They are the side effects of doing the ordinary things that we’re supposed to be doing. We are on this planet for one purpose only; to give our gift away. Here am I, Lord. I come to do your will.

I’d like, if I may, to address the teenagers who are here tonight. Some of you might not think that any of this applies to you. A lot of you may feel, “Leave me alone! I’m young! I don’t want responsibility . . . I don’t want commitment . . . All I want is to have a good time.” Others may feel, “Yeah this religion thing is important, but not now. Maybe when I’m 30 or 40 or 50 it will be. After all, how much can God expect of me now anyway? I’m just a teenager?” But you couldn’t be more wrong.

Did you realize that the Blessed Mother was probably no older than fourteen when God asked her to be the mother of his Son? Mary was a teenager – just like you. Yet he asked her to do something that had eternal consequences. And despite her age, this teenager said “yes” to God.

We celebrated Christmas less than a month ago. And probably in pictures on Christmas cards or the figures in your manger at home, the shepherds were depicted as being old men. Well, I’ve just recently read that actually, the shepherds that kept the night watch were teenagers, probably no older than fifteen or sixteen. Just think – the very first people that God chose to announce the birth of his Son to were teenagers, just like you.

And did you realize that most of the Apostles were teenagers? The first people that Jesus extended the invitation to come follow him, the very people he entrusted with perpetuating his ministry after he died, rose from the dead, and ascended into heaven were teenagers, just like you. If he could call and entrust teenagers then, don’t you think he still does that today?

If you don’t get what I’ve been saying, let me put it another way:

To be a Survivor in this Amazing Race
with a Need for Speed, you need God's grace.
And if you're Desperate like Housewives
watching Days of our Lives,
you can't cope without hope
and that's not on a soap.

If you're looking to Oprah or Dr. Phil,
you can shop non-stop or pop a pill
but the pain won't heal and the void won't fill
'til you love the One that hung on a hill.

Kickin’ back in your La-Z-Boy easy chair
watching Who Wants to be a Millionaire.
Nah! You ain’t find it there.
No American Idol or Council Tribal
has the final answer that will satisfy you.
CSI aint got a clue.
SVU don't know what to do.

Not the ER, the OC,
nothing on a CD, TV, DVD, or MP3
can save you and me.
CNN's got no Good News.
Here's the headline, "YOU GOTTA CHOOSE."

You can be a Heavy Hitter or Wheel of Fortune winner,
a Fox News spinner or flat out sinner,
but you better check this life that you're livin'
and make sure your sins are forgiven.

I bet you 50 Cents: Elvis done, came and went.
And eventually every Black-Eyed Pea, Gwen Stefani,
P-Diddy and Britney,
every wanna-be on MTV
with their Icy Bling,
every Dixie Chick that sings,
they all gonna see the King of Kings.

I don't care if you're J Lo, Leno, or Bono.
One thing you gotta know,
Someday you're gonna die bro.
Then where are you gonna go?
So the next time you’re impressed with GaGa, Cyrus, or that Bieber kid,
look to the cross and see what Jesus did.

Hey, I'm not talking some punk junk that is irrelevant
like your Grandma's church from way back when.
It's not some preacher feature on TBN
that you need to be liking or listenin’.
The real Superstar is Jesus Christ.
He's the Way, He's the Truth, He’s the Life.
One day he's going to split the sky.
He’s the Brightest Light. He’s the Highest High.

What I came to say and what I'm telling you
is don't buy that stupid stuff they be selling you.
It's all designed to fill your head
and waste your space until you're dead.
Here's the bottom line in my rhyme:
Give your life to God while there’s still time.

So here you are in church today, you only come to chill?
You stand before the King of Kings; you’ve come to do His will.

The Solemnity of the Baptism of the Lord (Cycle A)

Jesus’ Baptism and Ours

Isaiah 42:1-4, 6-7; Acts 10: 34-38; Matthew 3: 13-17

The decorations are all down now. Our living rooms and dens are back to normal. The Christmas tree is at the curb, and the lights that once outlined our houses are still up, but are no longer lit. Even the department stores don’t advertise their sales as “After Christmas” any longer. And now Valentines Day Cards and candy occupy the spaces in Hallmark left vacant by Christmas merchandise. Christmas has come and gone and we have begun to put our lives back into its normal routine. But whereas Christmas is just a memory to much of the rest of the world, we in the Church hold out for one more week. Today we celebrate the Baptism of the Lord and liturgically it is both the last Sunday of the Christmas season and the first Sunday of Ordinary Time. For the first time in several weeks, our Gospel does not focus on the Child in the Bethlehem manger, but rather on the adult redeemer, becoming public with his baptism by John. The good news spoken by the angels continues to unfold. The Emmanuel story is yet to be fully revealed. And we now meditate on the wonder of Jesus who reveals the great love for God for us not only in his Christmas birth but in his parables and miracles and in his Easter death and resurrection.

In today’s Gospel from Matthew, Jesus comes to the River Jordan to be baptized by John. This seems strange in itself -- what need would there be for Jesus, the sinless one, to be ritually cleansed? And, in fact, John the Baptist tried to argue just that point with him -- but to no avail. When the Son of God became incarnate, became flesh, became one of us, he held back nothing. His identification with humankind was complete.

And so Jesus came on that day and entered the water. And the Gospel says that the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, "This is my Son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased." These supernatural events that coincide with Jesus’ baptism are rich in symbolism. The opening of the heavens clears the way for God to re-establish contact with his chosen people. Thus, the heavens are pictured as being opened from the other side, as God eagerly responds to the presence of his appointed Messiah.

"The Spirit of God descending like a dove and coming upon him" is the signal for a new creation. This same "Spirit" had hovered over the deep in the original creation (Genesis 1:2); and a new beginning was signaled again to Noah when the dove returned to him after the flood (Genesis 8:11). This means that the coming of Jesus also represents a new beginning; in fact, history will never be the same again.

The nature of the new creation is revealed in the final climactic words from heaven. When Jesus is called God's "beloved Son," it means that this new world will be filled with the love of God, radiating from his Son, who will become, in a sense, the very embodiment of God's love.

Down through the centuries, the Church has baptized children and baptized adults. Baptisms have taken place on riverbanks, in churches, in hospitals, in kitchen sinks, and in swimming pools. Some happen at the beginning of life and some on deathbeds. Baptisms may be surrounded by great pomp and circumstance, or with great secrecy in places where to be a Christian is a punishable offense. We pour, we sprinkle, we immerse, we dunk. The details are not important; what is important is that we baptize with water in the name of the Trinity. There is a very rich symbolism about it all: the cleansing water of baptism; the Paschal candle representing the light of Christ; the oil of chrism that marks the newly baptized as Christ's own forever. A Baptism, whether of a child or an adult, is always a happy occasion -- not only for the person being baptized and their family, but for the whole Body of Christ.

But the sad thing is that the contact of modern Christians with their baptism is often little more than a report given by others about an event of their long-forgotten infancy. If this is so, then we need to re-discover in our adult lives the meaning of this critical moment. We need to "claim" our baptism and make it operative in our adult experience. When we do so, we must realize that the experience of Jesus belongs to us also and that today’s celebration of the Baptism of the Lord is intended to do more than recall a religious event or a biographical element in the life of Jesus, but to speak of our own experience, as well.

At our baptism, God's heavenly realm is opened to us. And the creative Spirit calls us to a new kind of life. The possibilities of this new existence are contained in the words of the Father, "You are my beloved Son," now understood as spoken to us also. For in our baptism we become children of God and thus join Jesus in the family of God. Through our Baptism we have been reborn into newness of life - the very life of God. It speaks of our supernatural life - the divine life - a far superior and most precious gift of God to us than our natural life.

One of the favorite stories the tour guides love to tell the pilgrims in the Holy Land is about the Sea of Galilee and Dead Sea. The likeness between the water in the Sea of Galilee and the water in the Dead Sea is that, "it comes from the same source." But there is a big difference: the water in the Sea of Galilee is vibrant and full of life; it is constantly flowing. It is here that Jesus calmed the winds and the waves and walked on the waters. It is here that Jesus told Peter to cast out his nets, and the catch was so great that the nets were to the point of tearing. After leaving the Sea of Galilee, the water descends down the river Jordan where Jesus was baptized and eventually empties into the Dead Sea. Here the water loses its movement and stops flowing. Here the water finds its dead end. It is full of salt deposits. There is no life and no fish in the Dead Sea. That is why it is called the Dead Sea.

Applied to our Baptism, the analogy is quite clear. The likeness between our natural life and supernatural life is that, "it comes from the same source - God." God is the giver of all life human and divine. But there is a big difference: It is the supernatural life - the divine life - that we received in Baptism that makes our natural life vibrant and full of joy like the water in the Sea of Galilee. It keeps us growing in our relationship with God and with one another and helps us fulfill our purpose on earth. It is this supernatural life that we received in Baptism that keeps us moving towards our eternal happiness.

On the other hand, without this supernatural life, our natural life becomes like the water in the Dead Sea - it loses its purpose and its eternal goal. The person who neglects to nourish his or her supernatural life eventually turns into emptiness. It loses his or her spiritual joy and life becomes only a momentary pleasure. Such a person eventually becomes one of the living dead.

My friends, it is not enough to be baptized and claim to be followers of Jesus. We must allow the waters of Baptism keep flowing, keep moving, like the water in the Sea of Galilee, purifying us from our sinful behavior, from all of our sinful actions. We must continually keep changing and transforming our lives in the ways Jesus himself taught us and showed us. The moment we stop growing in our relationship with God, we become like the water in the Dead Sea. The saying has it, "He who stops being better, stops being good." Let us renew our Baptismal promises today and resolve to live lives worthy of God's children.

The Epiphany of the Lord (Cycles A/B/C)

Stars

Isaiah 60: 1-6; Ephesians 3: 2-3A, 5-6; Matthew 2: 1-12) 

One of the things I love about Christmas stories, whether they’re the ones from the Gospel, or other traditional stories told over time, is that each tells of a journey that leads to the manger. There in that cold stable full of animals is Jesus, come into the world. And all around him is the world in miniature. Creation is there in the animals and the angels and the stars; all people are there in the rich Magi and the poor shepherds, the Jews and the Gentiles. In this backwater town, behind the inn where no one would go on a cold night, God has come.

I love Christmas stories, and I particularly love the story we hear in today’s gospel, the story of the Magi. The gospel presents how, in the persons of the Magi, the rest of the world can see the star and come to the manger. The story of the Magi reminds of us three things:

First, that God is present in the world. That’s what Christmas is all about. More than in creation, although God's handiwork is seen there, God came into the world in Jesus. He is Emmanuel – God with us. Like the Magi, we need to look, to be aware, to listen to the signs of his presence.

Second, that each of us has a gift to bring to Bethlehem. The magi gave gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. But we too have a gift to bring Jesus, each and every one of us. We are a gathering of God’s gifted people. The gift God gives to each of us is the gift we in turn bring to Bethlehem, to be shared with him and with each other.

And thirdly, that if we follow the light in our lives, all of our journeys will lead to Jesus. Our lives are a journey with many turns in the road. Many times we feel as though we’re going in the wrong direction, or we find ourselves going through the painful process of deciding which way to go. But if we seek God’s presence in our lives and in his Will for our lives, then all our journeys will lead us to Jesus.

But there’s a fourth lesson in the story of the Magi . . . perhaps not as evident . . . perhaps ignored because of its implications. And perhaps that lesson is best learned by telling you another story – the story of Michael. No, not Michael the Archangel, but Michael the Littlest Angel.

Michael is “four years, six months, five day, seven hours, and forty-two minutes of age” when he presents himself to the Venerable Gatekeeper for admittance into the Glorious Kingdom of Heaven. But Michael feels out of place in heaven. He’s more accustomed to simply being a boy than being an angel, and because of this, heaven is never quite the same because of the mischief and antics of the Littlest Angel—his ear-splitting whistling is heard at all hours, he sings off-key in the heavenly choir, and his halo is just so tarnished and keeps falling off and rolling down the golden streets. And to top it off, he’s always biting his wingtips! Eventually, his mischief lands him in trouble and he has to report to an Angel of the Peace.

Expecting to be disciplined, he trudges off to his fate, but when he comes to the home of the Angel of the Peace, he finds a kindly elderly angel known as the Understanding Angel. Eventually, the Understanding Angel discovers that the Littlest Angel is just homesick for his mother and father back on Earth. He takes Michael under his wing—literally, and asks what might help him feel less homesick. The little angel tells the older angel that hidden under his bed back on earth is a box that contains all his earthly treasures: a butterfly with golden wings, a little piece of a hollow log, two shiny stones from a river bank, and the worn out strap of his faithful dog. If he could just have that box, he would feel so much better. So, the older angel allows Michael to return to earth to retrieve the box and bring it to heaven. Well, it just so happens that at about that time, heaven is all abuzz because they are preparing for the birth of the Christ Child on Earth, and all the angels are preparing magnificent gifts for the Holy Child. After much agonizing, the Littlest Angel decides to give the baby Jesus his box of treasures.

He places the box on the pile of gifts, but when he sees how magnificent all the other gifts are, he begins to cry, thinking his gift is unworthy. Running to the pile of gifts, he tries to reach the little treasure box before it’s seen by God. But before he can, God reaches down and picks it up. The Littlest Angel hides his head in shame and begins to sob. Trying to run, he trips and falls at the very foot of the heavenly throne. God opens the box, looks at its contents, smiles, closes the box, and speaks: “My children, you please me. Never have the heavens seen such splendor. Your gifts will delight my Son. You have done well. There is one gift though, that stands alone and apart from all the others. Though he would seek to hide it from me, he cannot. It is the gift of our Littlest Angel. Its contents, so dear to this tiny soul, are the miracles of earth and men. And my Son is to be born King of both. These things He too will know and love and cherish . . . and regretfully leave behind when His task on earth is done. This box shall rise and span the heavens until it comes to rest and shines its light over a stable in Bethlehem, where this night Jesus is to be born of Mary. And it is to be hoped that the light from this star will be reflected forever in the hearts of mankind; mankind, whose earthly eyes, blinded by its splendor, will never know that the gift of the Littlest Angel is what they will call the shining Star of Bethlehem.”

Like Michael’s box, which really represents Michael himself, we are called to be stars – stars to others, stars for others - guiding, helping, giving signs, warning and shining light to people in their journey to Christ. We are each other’s stars, shining God’s glory on each other. We are each other’s compass, guidance, strength, joy and hope. We shine the light of Jesus Christ who came two thousand years ago and is still shinning so forcefully.

We can be stars through our words: kind, consoling, and encouraging; words that shed light and love, words that have power and influence.

We can be stars through our actions . . . sometimes reaching out, sometimes giving, sometimes praying, sometimes just being there . . . always living a lifestyle that draws people to Jesus Christ.

We can be stars through our witness: We must stand up for Christ and gospel values. It’s important that our words and actions square up with what we believe. But sometimes we must go beyond just our example to tell others specifically about what God or Jesus mean to us, sharing our faith, expressing the truth and the joy we have in being Christians, sharing the word of God to them.

As we begin a new year, the very first gospel we hear challenges us to be a star, a star which provides a light that illumines others’ minds, warms their hearts, pierces their souls; a star that offers a direction – a direction that leads to Jesus; a star that lights the path others travel each day as they search for meaning in their lives; a star that offers a light out of loneliness and destructive patterns, toward new life.

We are called to be a star that guides others to the stable and illumines the face of the Child who still offers hope to the world.

We are called to be a star that guides others to the towns and cities of Galilee and Judea to hear the words of the One who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life shining brilliantly in us.

We are called to be a star that leads others to the cross to experience a love and a mercy so strong that it has forever destroyed sin and death and has replaced it with reconciliation, redemption and life.

And we are called to be a star that beckons our families, our friends, our neighbors, our co-workers, and perhaps even total strangers, forward - like the Wise Men in today’s gospel - to go a different way than the well-trod path of the world that leads to selfishness, self-centeredness, and self-indulgence; in a new direction of selflessness, compassion, mercy, humility, love and service.

In his book, The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry wrote, “All men have stars, but they are not the same things for different people. For some, who are travelers, the stars are guides. For others they are no more than little lights in the sky. For others, who are scholars, they are problems.”

Which kind do you want to be?

Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph (Cycle A)

Making Our Families Holy

Sirach 3:2-6, 12-14; Colossians 3:12-21; Matthew 2:13-15, 19-23

One Sunday, on the Feast of the Holy Family, a priest gave his homily presenting Jesus, Mary and Joseph as the ideal family. As he was talking he noticed a man muttering to himself. Like all priests, he tried to ignore the man, but the man’s upsetment grew as the homily went on. Finally, the exasperated priest asked, “What seems to be the problem, Sir?”

“This is all a waste of time,” the man said. “You talk about Jesus, Mary and Joseph as being the ideal family, but Mary was a virgin, Joseph never opened his mouth, and Jesus was the Son of God. How can any family consider realistically modeling themselves on the Holy Family?”

That’s a good question, and perhaps one that has come to your minds. I think it would help if we consider what the word, “Holy” means. To be holy means to be separate for the Lord. Our families can be separate for the Lord, our families can be holy. How? Here are three suggestions for our families to be holy. Actually they are just three words.

The first word is JOY. Families need to play together, goof around, laugh together and not take each member too seriously. Families need to find ways to laugh together, whether it’s the beach, a board game, or a pillow fight. Joy is not a part time business for a Holy Family. The famous author C. S. Lewis put it this way: “Joy is the serious business of heaven.” A joyful family is a sign that the one who brought joy to the world is present in our homes.

The second word is TIME. If a little child could spell love, he or she would spell it this way: t-i-m-e. Jesus only spent the last three of his thirty-three years serving people. The first thirty were focused entirely on his family. Based on their culture, Mary and Joseph started sharing scripture with Jesus when he was five, the Mishna or oral tradition at age ten, and the commandments and law at age thirteen, Joseph would have taught Jesus his trade, that of a carpenter. Jesus would have had to learn how to use an axe, hammer, chisel and saw. Joseph also taught him the difference between various woods, cedar, cypress, olive, pine, and sycamore. This all took time. Mary and Joseph would have spent time with their child out of love for him.

Our families need to do this to be holy families. We have to stop crowding our day with tasks that take us outside of the home. We have to limit the number of activities we let the our children be involved in. The greatest need a child has is to spend time with his or her parents.

The third word is PRAYER. The ancient Jewish family would recite the prayer of Eighteen Benedictions three times each day. The lesson was that the family must always look to the God the Father, praising Him. Our families need to be families of prayer. It is not just a cliché; the family that prays together, stays together. Grace before meals and bed-time prayers are a minimum. Even better than the bed-time prayers are prayers together as a family every evening.

None of our families are ideal families, but all of our families can be Holy Families.

The readings for this Sunday present some aspects of a Christian home. The first reading from Sirach says that children need to respect their parents. At first it refers to young children as it notes that mothers and fathers have their authority from God. Then it refers to older children when it says that children should take care of their parents when they get older. Little children learn respect for their parents from the respect they see their parents giving their grandparents. The way you treat your parents will be the way your children will treat you. If your relations with your parents are motivated by respect and love, and are evident in your kindness to them, your children will have learned this aspect of Christianity and will treat you the same way as your years mount.

The second reading deals with the interrelationships of the family. Paul tells the Colossians and us to deal with each other out of kindness, to be patient with each other, to forgive each other continually, not to let out pride determine what we say and do to each other. If we strive to live this way, than as a family we can pray together not just in Church, but in every aspect of our lives. "Whatever you do, whether in speech or in action, do it in the name of the Lord." Paul goes on to mention the roles of a family in his epoch. At that time the equality of women was not recognized. In the Roman empire women were seen as property that needed to be protected by their fathers and their husbands. It would be rare that a woman would be given the respect due to every individual. That's why we have the phrase, wives be submissive to your husbands. Closely followed by husbands love your wives. In our society, with the recognition that most roles in a family have nothing to do with gender, the real meaning of this part of Colossians is that husbands and wives must respect each other. This same line of thought continues with children being told to respect their parents, and parents being told not to nag, to continually find fault, with their children.

It used to be fashionable for the American media to claim that the family is no longer a viable unit. Now, it claims, there has been a resurgence of the family and family values. This is all a bunch of rhetoric. The family has and will remain strong as long as there are people of faith, people like you people here, who are doing their best to make the love of God real in their homes.

Today we pray for all our families. May your home be a little church, displaying your reverence for the presence of the Lord in your homes by the way you care for each other. May your families be Holy Families.

The Fourth Week of Advent (Cycle A)

The Greatest Gift

Isaiah 7:10-14; Romans 1: 1-7; Matthew 1: 18-24 

Christmas is a time for stories. It’s a time for re-reading the story of that “squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner” named Ebenezer Scrooge in Charles Dickens' A CHRISTMAS CAROL. It’s a time when children are lifted upon parents’ or grandparents’ laps to hear A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS (“The Night Before Christmas”) by Clement C. Moore. In that spirit, this evening I’d like to tell you a story.

It’s the story of a man by the name of Barnaby. He was a juggler who lived from day to day on the small donations he received. He went from town to town and he would take knives and balls and rings and juggle them. But that is all that he could do. He was embarrassed over his lack of talent and felt totally useless. People in the towns in which he juggled would be involved in their business work. Some ran small shops. Some were doctors, others teachers. And Barnaby would see all these people working, using their talents, making a difference, and he became more and more discouraged with each passing day.

One day on his travels, he was passing a huge monastery and he started to think and pray, “Maybe, if they let me enter this monastery I can do the most menial tasks, do something positive and save my soul and have more meaning and happiness in my life.”

And so he knocked on the monastery door and was greeted by the Brother who was in charge of all the monastic duties. Barnaby told him he would perform the most menial tasks for just a place to sleep and a little something to eat. He was admitted and was given a small room in which to live and told what time the Brothers ate their meals. He did his menial chores for months and seemed to find more meaning and happiness to his life. But then his sense of meaning and happiness started to diminish. He knew that all the Brothers of the monastery were preparing for Christmas. One Brother was writing a new musical score for the midnight Mass. Another Brother was making special bread to be given to the poor on Christmas Day. Another Brother was making a beautiful Christmas crib for the Christ Child to lay. Barnaby, in seeing what was done by others so talented, felt more and more inadequate. His sense of his own inferiority became more painful than ever. Christmas was coming closer, and what was he doing, but the most menial jobs in the monastery. He went to bed each night heartbroken.

Early on Christmas Morn, his despair reached its lowest point, and feeling he had nothing worthwhile to give, Barnaby decided to leave the monastery. Without even a goodbye to his fellow monks, he packed his tattered, well-worn travelling bag with his knives, his balls, his rings and visited the chapel for one last prayer. There, before the statue of our Blessed Mother, he saw the gifts of the other brothers. He saw the musical score that had magnificently praised God just a few hours before at Midnight Mass; he saw the loaves of delicious bread that would feed the poor later that morning; he saw the exquisite hand carved crib in which the Baby Jesus rested. And Barnaby cried.

But suddenly, as he stood in front of the statue of Our Blessed Mother, he decided to give her the only thing he had, the art of his juggling. At that moment, as balls and knives and rings flew in the air with the greatest of precision, something extraordinary happened. The statue of our Blessed Mother seemed to come alive with a radiance that Barnaby had never seen before. The Brothers of the monastery, seeing how the chapel was becoming filled with this new light, rushed in thinking that something tragic had taken place. And as they came into the chapel, they saw Barnaby, standing in front of the statue, juggling with joy and happiness. They all thought that Barnaby has gone mad. The Abbot screamed, “Sacrilege!” And they all rush at Barnaby to forcibly remove him from the chapel. But suddenly, the Blessed Virgin’s image came to life. She descended from her shrine, and with her mantle she wiped the sweat off the juggler’s forehead! The Abbot fell to his knees, and bowed his head to the floor. The other Brothers knelt behind him making the sign of the cross. And the Abbot quietly and prayerfully proclaimed: “Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God;” to which all the Brothers behind him respond in unison, “Amen.” For in the name of her Son, Mary accepted the gift of the juggler, who in his humility, thought he had nothing of worth to give, but who gave everything he had, everything he was, his entire self, and it turned out to be the greatest gift of all.

Today in our gospel, we hear another story about another man who was pure of heart; another man who, like Barnaby, gave the greatest Christmas gift to the Child Jesus . . . his entire self – everything he had, everything he was. His name is Joseph, the humble carpenter of Nazareth.

Matthew’s Gospel, describes Joseph as “just,” which can means pious, quiet, kind, not given to quarreling, and that sort of thing. But he is also called “righteous.” The term “righteous” means being in a right relationship with God. As God carefully selected the woman who would be the mother of his Son, he must have been equally careful in his selection of the foster-father. For genes are not the only thing parents impart to their children. Jesus, in his humanity, had to grow in wisdom, age, and grace. And Joseph must have been responsible for a good deal of this growth. It was Joseph who was Jesus’ male role model. From Joseph Jesus learned the trade that he himself would practice for some twenty years.

But there are even more important things that Jesus learned from Joseph. For Joseph was a just man, an honest man, a courageous man, a man of integrity. His betrothed was pregnant but not by him. Imagine the shame, the hurt, and the anger that he must have experienced assuming what anyone would assume in such a situation. His integrity would not allow him to marry an adulteress and pretend the child was his. But neither would he expose the woman he loved to shame and punishment. He didn’t procrastinate or waffle. He made the difficult decision to divorce Mary quietly.

But then God's messenger, an angel, visited Joseph in a dream. This was Joseph's Annunciation. He was disposed not only to the encounter, but to the invitation it presented, to pour himself out in love and for Love. He heard the message and, without hesitation, did what the Lord commanded and took Mary into his home. This was Joseph's Fiat, his YES. He exercised his freedom by saying Yes to God's invitation. His response was his song, his Magnificat.

Mary’s great claim to fame is her faith. When told the unbelievable, she believed. Joseph’s claim to fame is also his faith. He too was told the unbelievable and dared to believe. His response of faith entailed taking action – he change his plans, received Mary into his home, and accepted responsibility for this special child. Through his response of faith, he would receive the greatest gift promised for all men and women, and held in His arms the One that Kings and Patriarchs and Prophets had only longed to see.

Joseph’s importance can hardly be overstated. He saves Jesus and Mary from a life of shame and exclusion from the community. He gives Jesus his social identity, by naming him and including him in his own descent from King David. He’s indeed a righteous man, with a generous nature that goes far beyond the letter of the law. He listens, he loves, and he chooses the right path, no matter what people might say. His openness to God’s guidance makes the whole story of Jesus possible. Joseph emptied himself in order to be filled with the love and life of God. He gave himself fully as gift to God through accepting his unique and specific vocation as guardian of the Redeemer. Before angels give their gift of song, before kings present their gold, frankincense and myrrh, before shepherds kneel and offer their praise, there in the solitude of the stable, Joseph the Humble Carpenter offers the first gift, the greatest gift: the gift of himself.

What about us? This Christmas, as we come to the stable and bow our head and bend our knee, what gift will we offer? On Jesus’ Christmas list is no latest toy or fashion, no iphone, no flat screen TV. But what’s on his Christmas list actually is more costly and infinitely more valuable. On his list is US . . . Our hearts, our wills, our devotion, our praise, our service, our total dedication to him and to his gospel . . . the gift of ourselves. Total and complete; no wrapping necessary. It is the only one that is truly worth giving. Because, after all, that is the gift He gave to us.

Thanksgiving

~ On This Thanksgiving Day ~

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.

Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle C)

When Temples Fall

Malachi 3:19-20a; 2 Thessalonians 3:7-12; Luke 21:5-19

As you probably know, the word gospel comes from the Old English word godspell, which means "good news." Stones thrown down . . . votive offerings overturned . . . nation rising up against nation . . . earthquakes . . . famine . . . plagues? "THE GOSPEL OF THE LORD!" Well what's so good about the "good news" this morning? What's so good about wars and insurrections, earthquakes, famines, plagues and personal persecution, maybe even death? This is the Gospel of the Lord, the "good news" that we're presented with today, just a week after nature wreaked havoc on the Philippines and brought such horrific destruction and death in its path? Are you trying to tell us something, God? . . . Yes, or God is always trying to tell us something. But perhaps something different than what appears on the surface.

Today’s gospel begins with the disciples marveling at the glory of the Temple in Jerusalem. It must have been something to see. The Temple they looked at was one of the wonders of the world. It was brand, spanking new. The original Temple, the Temple that Solomon built, was destroyed by the Babylonians at the beginning of the captivity in 588 BC. When the Israelites returned to Jerusalem around 528, the people had all to do to build shelters for themselves. So, it took about fifteen years for them to begin to build a new Temple. This was a modest undertaking, merely adequate, but the best the people at the time could do. As the centuries progressed, this temple was enlarged and refurbished, but it never approached the magnificence of the Temple that Solomon built. In the year 26 B.C. Herod decided to restore the Temple to the glory of Solomon’s day. It was made of carved blocks of greenish white marble, some of them sixty feet long. The eastern front of the temple and part of the side walls, were covered with gold plate, flashing in the sun, and the inside of the Temple was filled with beautiful ornaments. It took Herod's workmen fifty years to build it, and in fact, was only completed in Jesus’ lifetime.

So we can understand the disciples awe as they pointed out its wonders. And we can understand their shock and horror when Jesus said that all of this magnificence would come to ruin. And, in fact, within forty years, the Romans would put down the Jewish Barsabbus revolt, and to break the spirit of the zealot rebels, would completely destroy the temple leaving nothing but part of the retaining wall (what we now call the Wailing Wall) still standing.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that Jesus prophesied that the Temple would fall, he then goes on to say that the whole world will be destroyed. He says that natural disasters, earthquakes, hurricanes, and political turmoil demonstrate that the world is coming to an end. Jesus says that there will be many claiming that the end is at hand, and in fact, in our own time, every few years someone pops up with proof that the world is going to end on a specific date, like last year when the Mayan calendar expired. But remember what Jesus said: "Ignore them." In the same way we should ignore the Jim Joneses, Charles Mansons, Reverend Sun Myung Moons, and other assorted wackos who have the audacity to claim to be Jesus, incarnate again.

Jesus is adamant that we Christians are not to get flustered, distraught, or full of anxiety. These feelings are reserved for those who refuse to commit their lives to the Kingdom of God. What we need to do is to give witness to Christ, particularly in the face of persecution. Jesus wasn't just addressing the early Christians when he said that you will be delivered up to those who will murder you for being faithful. He was also talking to Archbishop Oscar Romero, Jane Donovan and the Maryknoll sisters and the six Jesuits who were all murdered in El Salvador for demanding that the poor be treated with respect. He was talking to Maximilian Kolbe and all those put to death by the Nazis, Communists and Fascists during the blood stained 20th century. He was talking to all those throughout the ages who were persecuted for living their faith. And he was talking to every one of us who is mocked for hanging on to what the media presents as a dated morality. He was talking to all of us who fight for traditional family values and who fight against the forces that deify self-gratification. All of these people, from the martyrs of the past to those living in your house, may be put to death, or at least commit social suicide for their Christian witness, but patient endurance will save their lives.

Today's gospel is indeed frightening. But it isn't frightening for the reason some fundamentalists would give: the fear of the end. It's frightening because Jesus demands that we give witness - in a sense, become martyrs - if we want to be saved.

It's frightening because Jesus demands that we stand up for him, his kingdom, his values, his call to love, to turn the other cheek, to live the Christian way of life in a materialistic, self-centered world.

It's frightening because it demands that we accept ridicule and rejection from those who mock us.

It’s frightening because it proclaims that only by patient endurance can we be saved.

And so, what do you do when your temple falls? What do you do when the security and stability of your world are gone? What do you do when everything nailed down comes loose, and the institutions, and the laws, and the people you once put your trust in all fail you? What do you do? . . . You find your strength and your security in the one thing that is rock solid, permanent, and indestructible - the Mighty Fortress that is our God.

Life can be bad. Evil is very real. But God's promise is also just as real: "Not a hair on your head will perish . . . you will gain your lives." Jesus wraps us up in a promise of safety in the only way that really matters. God holds you. He will never let go of you. That doesn’t mean that you won't go through bad times. It doesn’t mean that bad things won't happen to good people. But it does mean that God's kingdom will come nonetheless, and his will shall be done - both here and now, on earth, as well as finally, in heaven. He holds us in a grasp that will never let us go, that will never allow evil to have the final say over us.

And so, in a week and a half, when you sit with your family around the Thanksgiving dinner table, say a little silent prayer of thanks that God has allowed you the stability you need to keep on going. And give thanks for God's steadiness and dependability, that when everything else is gone, when your personal temples have fallen, God is still beside you.

And give thanks that God is a God of change, and new beginnings, and new options, and new possibilities, and new challenges, and new opportunities, and new life.

And give thanks that the day will come when we will no longer need to hide inside our temples, but can leave them behind, and walk forward, hand in hand with our Lord - head erect, eyes searching for new horizons, brave and confident - into God's glorious future!

The Solemnity of All Saints

Saints Among Us

Revelation 7:2-4, 9-14; 1 John 3:1-3; Matthew 5:1-12a 

He was born in 1985 and his smile was contagious from the moment he first gave one. A typical kid, with typical interests. He loved professional sports and was a diehard Yankees, Giants and Bulls fan. In elementary school he joined the basketball team and played trumpet in the school band. And it was in fourth grade, when he became an altar server, that his love for God, his love for the church, and his dedication to a life of service began to grow. When he was fifteen years old, he needed a kidney transplant. He never complained, never felt sorry for himself, and used that experience to come to a deeper appreciation for life. He was an average student, but what wasn’t average about him was his goodness, his gentleness, his faith, his love of God, and his commitment to serve God’s people. In his senior year of high school, he became a Eucharistic Minister and spent a week that summer serving the Navajo Nation in Arizona. But during his second year in college, his body began to fail him and he spent five months in various hospitals. The will of God proved stronger than the prayers of his family and friends, and God brought him home to Himself. He had discerned that God was calling him to be a priest. And perhaps we can question the wisdom of God: why would God take such an inspirational and faith-filled individual at a time when the Church needs priests? But if a priest is one who dedicates his life to God through service and sacrifice, in reality, although he never was ordained, he already was a priest. His name is Patrick Nilsen. He was my student, and today is his feast day.

She was born in Brooklyn, NY in 1925, the youngest of seven children. Her father passed away when she was five and there were days when there was little on the family dinner table, and years that they couldn’t even afford a Christmas tree, much less Christmas presents. She attended her parish elementary school and would love to sneak into the church during lunchtime to light a candle and say a prayer in front of the statues of the Sacred Heart, the Blessed Mother, St. Joseph, and her patron saint, St. Therese. In her life, she never accomplished anything that the world would consider great, except to those who see greatness in being a loving and devoted wife to her husband of 51 years, a dedicated mother to her three sons, and a dear friend to all. She attended mass everyday, volunteered to feed the hungry every Thanksgiving, and was a member of a sewing group in her parish that provided clothing for the poor. She was someone who mastered her patron saint’s spiritual philosophy, known as “the little way” to sanctity, by doing the mundane things of everyday life and infusing them with tremendous love. When she was diagnosed with cancer in 1997, she lost her hair, she lost weight, and ultimately lost her life, but she never lost her faith. During her illness, she never admitted to being in the tremendous pain that wracked her body, but only spoke of it as “discomfort,” and refused pain medication that would cause her to be “out of it,” and chose instead to take only Extra-strength Tylenol so she could appreciate the time that she had left with her family. As her life was an example in Christian living, her death became an example in Christian death. And as she lay in her hospital bed a few days before she died, as she finished praying with her family, her face beamed with the most beautiful and serene smile as she announced to her family (while she stared at seemingly nothing at the foot of her bed), “He looks so beautiful.” Her name is Theresa Olsen, my mother, and today is her feast day.

Today, we celebrate the Feast of All Saints. And today is not about those who have been officially canonized. They already have their own particular feast days on the Church calendar. "All Saints" speaks of those who were not famous, but those nonetheless whose lives and deeds and love have endured beyond their death . . . my mother, your father, his brother, her husband, their child; our grandparents, our relatives, our friends . . . all those who have died and are now in the eternal embrace of God in heaven.

What is a saint? Saints are normal people, normal everyday people, who differ from most others in this world, not necessarily because of the degree of their moral perfection, but because of their faith. A saint is someone whose life is dedicated to the love of God and the doing of God's will in their lives. A saint is someone who inspires in us the desire to know and to follow Christ. And so, the feast of All Saints is an opportunity for us to offer a hymn to the ordinary people of the world who are extraordinary in their holiness, their love, their compassion, their dedication, and in their prayerfulness.

What makes a saint? Extravagance: excessive love, flagrant mercy, radical affection, exorbitant charity, immoderate faith, intemperate hope - none of which is an achievement, a badge to be earned or a trophy to be sought, but are secondary by-products of the one thing that truly makes a saint: their love for God.

Saints are those who hear the self-absorbed, success-orientated values that mainstream society has to offer and rejects them; values that shout out to us that: “Happy are those with strong personal ambition - they will get everything they ever dreamed of possessing!” And, “Happy are those who fulfill the expectations of the present age - the world is at their feet!”

But despite the promised happiness that the world offers, saints are those who embrace the values that Jesus proclaims in the Beatitudes, that:

• Blessed are the poor… not the penniless but those whose hearts are free. Theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
• Blessed are those who mourn… not those who whimper but those who raise their voices to weep with those who weep, and rejoice with those that rejoice. They will be comforted.
• Blessed are the meek… not the soft but those who are patient and tolerant. They will inherit the earth.
• Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice… not those who whine but those who struggle. They will be filled.
• Blessed are the merciful… not those who forget but those who forgive. They will be shown mercy.
• Blessed are the pure in heart… not those who act like angels but those whose life is transparent. They will see God
• Blessed are the peacemakers… not those who shun conflict but those who face it squarely. They will be called sons of God
• Blessed are those who are persecuted for justice… not because they suffer but because they love. Theirs is the kingdom of heaven

We can choose to accept our society’s blessing. If we do, I’m sure we will be gifted with what the world knows and understands as blessings. But if we do accept that definition, we also reject our Lord’s voice. For in the world’s blessing there’s very little room for the poor in spirit, the mourning, the merciful, or the meek.

Or we can reject the modern view of blessing and stand in the company of God’s saints. God’s saints are those who know their identity and security are found only in God. God’s saints are those who give only God their total devotion. God’s saints are those who morn because other members of God’s family suffer. God’s saints are those who renounce the violent ways of the world causing that suffering. God’s saints are those who actively strive to do God’s will, and in their merciful actions reflect God’s mercy, and bring God’s peace. God’s saints are those whose actions, and whose very selves, may be rejected by the world, but they rejoice because they know they do their Lord’s work and follow their Lord’s path.

Today we are invited to walk the path of the saints, the way of the Beatitudes. The way is narrow and hard. We need faith and courage to walk it. Today we look to the example of the saints and call upon their prayers to encourage us and strengthen us. We’re told that St Augustine found it hard to live the Beatitudes, but when he read the lives of the saints he said, "What these ordinary women and men have done, why not me?"

Why not us?

Thirtieth Sunday of Ordinary Time (Cycle C)

The Pharisee and the Tax Collector

Sirach 35: 12-14,16-18; 2 Timothy 4: 6-8,16-18; Luke 18: 1-14

Evidently, going to church can be a tricky business!

One person can enter this sanctuary thinking: "I feel good here. I’m doing okay God. Thank you that I have not fallen in temptation like some others I know. Bless me that I may keep up the good work."

Another person can slip into this place thinking: "I’ve got no right to be here, God. I really have screwed up and made a mess of life. If you can, have pity on me."

According to Jesus the first person may leave this church at odds with God, while the second one may leave very much okay with God.

This is just so typical of Jesus, isn’t it?. He keeps on upsetting our complacency, our self satisfaction, and how we justify ourselves before God. Like so many of Jesus’ stories, today’s parable unsettles us, maybe even confuses us a little. It hooks us into looking at someone else, only to discover, in the end, that we are examining our own life before God.

The Pharisee in today’s parable is presented as telling the truth. He does follow the commandments and has avoided the serious sins he list. He also goes beyond the Jewish requirements and customs for fasting. He said he fast twice a week, when fasting is only mandated for the Day of Atonement; not only does he follow the Scriptural command to tithe, he tithes on all his possessions, not merely on his earnings.

He is, by one measure, as good as he thinks he is. The Pharisees were thought of as very good people. They sought to instill a renewed and deep piety in the Jewish people.

Tax collectors, on the other hand, were despised because they were part of the economic system put in place by the Romans. They were not paid by their employers, so they added fees to the taxes collected. There was no standard scale governing this added charge, and so the tax collectors often exacted exorbitant amounts.

There was hardly anyone in Jewish society viewed as being lower than a tax collector. That Jesus would have told a story of a tax collector seeking mercy would have been shocking. The general attitude would have been that tax collectors were unworthy of mercy.

The Gospel of Luke is noted for what is called "divine reversal." Jesus’ listeners and Luke’s readers would have expected praise for the Pharisee who was as good as he said he was, and condemnation for the tax collector who was as low as he said he was. In fact, his prayer for mercy seems to be an admission of his guilt. His demeanor is radically different from that of the Pharisee. 

But it is the Pharisee with whom Jesus finds fault and the Tax Collector who wins God’s favor. He does not find fault with the Pharisee’s actions. After all, he is truly devout, he obeys the religious laws and is faithful and generous. But what he does find fault with is that the Pharisee’s prayer is not so much a prayer as it is a speech. His fault is that his knowledge of his goodness has caused him to become a judge of his fellow man. His problem lies in his point of reference. He is complacent, self-satisfied, and justifies himself before God by comparing himself with the attitudes and actions of others. However, Jesus has said, “Do not judge lest you yourself be judged. The starting point for the man’s comparison should not have been with the tax collector, but with God himself, for Jesus taught: “Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect. He’s looking for recognition of his goodness, but instead of measuring his goodness against God Himself, he measures himself against another human who is in the mind of the Jews a true sinner. 

And to the utter surprise of everyone, is the tax collector who found favor with God. At least he knew he needed God. His prayer was a cry for mercy, not a request for recognition of a job well done. He, in his lowliness, stood humble before God.

Do we consider ourselves lowly? That is what Sirach in the first reading is asking of us. He wants to teach us that the prayer of a lowly person pierces the heavens in a way that the prayer of someone else cannot. And so often we confuse true lowliness with poor self-image. But lowliness is not poor self-image. It is a simple recognition of who I really am before God.

When we become lowly, we recognize that we cannot live by our own strength, but that we must rely totally on a power greater than ourselves. It is not that we cannot act, but that our actions truly become effective when we are living from this other power and not from our own.

Today’s parable is not about who is good and who is bad, or even who is better and who is worse. It is about who is open to God's love, grace and forgiveness and who allows that grace to transform them. The real question for the Pharisee, the Tax Collector and for us is this: are we humble enough to be open to God's grace? Are we able to see God's love for us and for others, and are we able to accept and share that love? God does not ask us to live better than someone else, but to live as best as we can according to our own faith, our own gifts, and our own sense of God's call.

And so, as we continue with our liturgy and prepare to offer at our altar, not only gifts of bread and wine, but ourselves: all that we are, all that we have and all that we do, let our prayer echo that of the great Jesuit theologian, Walter Burkhardt, who once wrote:

"O God, I thank you that I am like the rest of humankind. I thank you that, like everyone else, I too have been shaped in your image, with a mind to know and a heart to love, and that, like everyone else, I too was embraced by the crucified arms of your Son. I thank you that, for all our thousand differences, I am so remarkably like the people all around me and that you judge me, like everyone else, not by my brains or beauty, my skin tone or muscle power, my clothes, the size of my house or the roar of my car, but by the love that is your gift to me.

I thank you for letting me see that there is a little of the Pharisee in me, that I too have this very human yearning for something that sets me apart from the rest. If I am to thank you for making me different, let it be because, through your mercy, I am different from what I would have been without you. Thank you, Lord, for making me so splendidly the same as everyone else, because it means I am that much closer to your Son, who became what all of us are: wonderfully and fearfully human. Keep me that way, Lord, and always be merciful to me, sinner that I am."

Twenty-ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle C)

Pray, Constantly and Always

Readings: Exodus 17:8-13; 2 Timothy 3:14-4:2; Luke 11: 1-13

Well, we don't have to look very hard to find the theme of today's gospel, do we? Luke emphatically blurts it out at the very beginning of today’s gospel passage. It’s the only time, at least that I can recall, that any of the four evangelists explains a parable even before the parable is given. Apparently, the message of the parable was something Luke didn’t want his readers to miss. And so, he tells us: "Jesus told his disciples a parable on the necessity of praying always without becoming weary." Prayer is one of Luke’s favorite gospel themes. Luke, more than other gospel writers, emphasizes the importance of prayer. He portrays Jesus as a man of prayer and underscores the necessity of prayer for those who would choose to follow Jesus

Prayer is asking, prayer is wondering, prayer is bringing to God all of the feelings from the depths of our souls, so that we might lay them before his throne. So that we might cry out from the very inner longings of our soul all the concerns, all the problems, all the things that make us who we are, and what we are.

Prayer is a struggle, a tug of war between parts of our self, between our self and God, between our self and others.

But not only do we struggle to bring from the depths of our souls, our longings, our searchings, our inner feelings to God, not only do we struggle to lay bear before the throne of God our very self, but in prayer, we come in contact with God. Prayer is indeed an encounter with God, and encounter between our spirit and the spirit of God. God's spirit comes to us and mingles with our spirit so that we might be encouraged, so that we might be enabled, so that we might be strengthen to bring from the depth of our souls all those needs, doubts, struggles, joys, thanksgivings, celebrations, all those events of life into the realm of God.

But as wonderful as all that sounds, prayer is a problem for many people. If it wasn't a problem, then why are there so few people who seem to take prayer seriously? If it isn't a problem for us then why do we find it so hard to set time aside everyday to spend with God in prayer? If we took prayer seriously then we wouldn't hesitate to be persistent and consistent in the time we spend in conversation with God. And if you think that this is a particularly new problem, think again. Why would Jesus have told this parable and quite a number of others about prayer to his disciples? Why would he have given us the Lord's Prayer as a model prayer if everybody back then had perfect prayer lives? Prayer is a problem for anyone who desires a relationship with the all-present, yet unseen God.

But if we really believed in the power of prayer, if we really believed that prayer can effect world peace, if we were truly convinced that prayer changes things, changes us, heals broken lives and restores severed relationships, then we would be praying constantly. You couldn't keep us from praying. So what stops us? More often than not, we simply lose heart.

Yet clearly, the example of the widow in this morning’s gospel teaches us that what God requires is faithful perseverance, even when things seem hopeless. Luke tells us to pray persistently like the widow who nagged the dishonest judge "who neither feared God nor respected any human being." Persistence to get the just decision she wanted was her only strategy. Knowing she would not relent, the judge finally gave in.

We don’t know why life is cruel, but it is. We don’t know why some of our prayers seem to be answered so dramatically while others seem to fall on silent ears. But one thing is true. In today’s gospel, Jesus teaches us to pray constantly and always, and never give up offering our prayers to our Heavenly Father. Because when we pray, something happens - not only to what we want done in the prayer, but more importantly, something happens to us! Prayer is not so much getting God to do what we want done as it is drawing closer to God. As we pray constantly and always, we move closer to God, and something of God’s heart becomes ours.

Pray constantly and always! That’s sound advice. Even when things go wrong, even when we don’t seem to get any results, even when our world falls down upon us, pray, Jesus says, constantly and always. Because when we pray like that, our thoughts, our minds, our hearts are drawn closer to God. In prayer, we pour out our hearts to a loving God, to the God of all compassion and justice. In the gospel, Jesus contrasts God with the hard-hearted, unscrupulous, uncaring judge. If God were like that judge, who’d bother to pray at all? Who’d want to worship a tyrant like that? Rather, Jesus says, pray trusting in the goodness of God.

I don't know what you’ve been praying for. It might have been something as big or something small. It might have been world peace or peace in your family. It might have been food for the hungry or the health to eat what you have. It might have been for whole nations to find Christ or for one person to be saved. Whatever it is; keep praying, constantly and always. Don’t give up. Pray with faith that your prayers are heard. Pray with trust that God is loving. And let your prayers draw you closer to God. For often that nearness to God is the answer we seek and the blessing God has for us.

Twenty-eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle C)

Jesus, Master, Have Pity on Us

2 Kings 5:1-3, 9-17; 2 Timothy 2:8-13; Luke 17:11-19 

Who knows how long they had suffered or the pain they had endured? Who knows the sweetness they left behind or the shattered dreams that marked their sleep?

They had been cursed by God; visited by a plague that didn’t kill, yet, never seemed to end. Their leprosy lingered for years, as limbs became twisted and deformed, skin became scarred, and memories of happier times began to fade. They were both pitied and feared; lamented and shunned. They were the lost ones — people whose families mourned them as dead, though their bodies lived on. The lepers who met Jesus on the road to Jerusalem lived out their lives as ghosts wandering in the shadows of the hills and along the brambly edges of the path. In the eyes of the world, they were fearful and unclean.

Where did they get the courage to raise their voices? What gave them the nerve to shout, “Jesus, Master! Have pity on us!” Had they heard of this healer? Did they know his reputation? Had they huddled together on edge of a crowd, straining to hear him preach? Did they dare to believe in life, even when the world saw them as dead?

Whatever drove them or inspired them, these ten lepers got it all. A new start, a clean bill of health, a chance to reclaim their lives. And in their joy, they ran out to embrace it. But one of them returned to give thanks. One of them saw beyond the gift to the giver.

It’s interesting that Luke, the author of today’s gospel and a physician by trade, presents the cure so matter-of-factly, almost in passing. There’s no discussion, no dramatics, no nothing. And so maybe in the very way he tells the story, Luke is trying to convey to us that what’s important isn’t that they were restored to health, but that the change in their bodies gave them an invitation, an opportunity to be changed in their minds and their hearts - an opportunity to see in Christ not just a healer, but a savior; to see in their cure not just their own good fortune, but rather the saving presence of God at work among His people.

The Samaritan-leper in today’s gospel returned to Jesus because he saw more than healed flesh; he saw new realities in his life. God had touched his life in an act of profound mercy, and life would never be the same for him again. Jesus had come to him, had touched him, had told him that he mattered to God, that he had a Father in heaven who cared for him. And, in that touch, this Samaritan, this outsider, now understood what it was like to come home and be embraced by his Father. So he turned, and he came back to the source of that greater healing which he - and he alone among the ten who were healed - received. He, who thought of himself as nothing more than a beggar before his God's throne, found a God who listened to him, who cared for him as a dear son!

It would be so easy to neutralize this powerful message by emphasizing the theme of the need to be polite or the value of saying, “Thanks.” It might be tempting to re-cast this dynamic encounter as little more than a morality tale designed to instill good manners and fine behavior. But that would be a mistake. This passage isn’t about courtesy, or civility, or the importance of being nice. There’s so much more that’s going on in this passage than a lesson in gracious living. In this passage, in the changes that come over one grateful leper, Luke gives us an insight into our own spiritual development. You see, besides being a loathsome and deadly physical disease, the Bible often uses leprosy as a symbol of emotional, psychological, social and spiritual dis-ease, a lack of wholeness, that keeps us alienated from God, from others, and even from ourselves. For like leprosy, these things are highly contagious and destructive. They can disfigure us, deteriorate us, distance us, and if not addressed, can ultimately lead to a different but equally costly death.

Let me look around here. No, I don’t see any lepers with us this morning. No ulcerating skin, no nodules with foul discharges, some loss of hair, but I’ll write that off as natural. Physically, we all look to be leprosy-free. But of course looks can be deceiving. What looks on the outside like a normal, healthy person could be someone suffering from emotional or spiritual leprosy.

What about you? Is there something that makes you feel like a leper? Something that alienates you from others? Something that you feel you have to keep hidden, fearful that if others became aware of it they would see you differently, treat you differently? Or are you cut off from others because of past history, false allegations, rumors, gossip, innuendo?

What are the oozing sores that you bare - physical, emotional, psychological, social, spiritual - that perhaps cause you to see yourself as different or unattractive, if not to others then to yourself? Or maybe you still bear the scars of a failed relationship or the wound of the loss of someone you love.

What are the areas in your life where you need healing? Physical pain, disease, chronic illness; problems with an addiction; anxieties about school or the job; concerns about others – their health or the choices they’ve made; confusion about who you are or what the future holds for you; hurt feelings over what someone you care about said or did; depression because no matter what you do, it never seems to turn out the way you want. Or maybe a deep sense of guilt fills you because of things you’ve done, and you don’t know how in heaven God will forgive you, or how on earth anyone else can forgive you, because you can’t even forgive yourself.

The truth is, to one extent or another, we all suffer from leprosy. We all have those discolored patches, the ones that emit a foulness that seeps into and infects the rest of our lives. There’s something in our life that keeps us from being whole before God. There’s someplace where we’re incomplete.

But part of being human is admitting that we’re less than perfect and that we need healing. And that’s what we’ve been offered. Through his death and resurrection, through the gift of bread and cup, through the gathering of his body that’s called the Church, Christ has reached out his hand to us and offered a healing touch. When Christ’s divinity meets our humanity, healing begins again. All it takes is for us to echo the words of the leper in today’s gospel and cry out, “Jesus, Master! Have pity on me!” And when we do, regardless of the afflictions and the seriousness of the symptoms, each week we’re told over and over again, “Go in peace; your faith has saved you.”

So go ahead. Say those words in prayer, “Jesus, Master! Have pity on me.” Say them at Communion time. Say those words directly to our Lord, conscious of your need for healing – spiritual healing, along the lines perhaps of forgiveness and reconciliation; or healing of a broken spirit, spiritual healing needed to overcome discouragement, confusion, disappointment, sadness. Your spiritual leprosy may stand in need of the healing of hope, the healing that only hope can bring, and the hope that can bring that healing can be found only in the Lord. Here you are, face-to-face with him in prayer today. Seize the moment as best you can.

Got a problem? Call out to Jesus. Oppressed with a concern? Take it to God in prayer. Our gospel today shows us that God cares for us. God hears our prayers and responds, not because we’ve earned that respect nor done anything to deserve it. But just because that’s who God is. And a sincere, humble and contrite heart God will not spurn.

The Twenty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle C)

Jesus First. Jesus Only. Jesus Forever

Readings: Wisdom 9:13-18b; Philemon 9-10:12-17; Luke 14:25-33

For more than 10 weeks now we’ve been walking with Jesus as He makes His way to Jerusalem, where He will ultimately lay down His life for the salvation of the world. Each Sunday, as we’ve heard the continuous proclamation of the Gospel of St. Luke, we’ve been invited to join Jesus and His disciples in their pilgrimage. And it is in the course of that journey, through parables and direct teachings, Jesus tells His disciples – and us – the meaning of authentic discipleship, the qualities and expectations of being one of His disciples.

For example, just this summer, in our gospel readings, we’ve heard Jesus say things like:

• “No one who sets a hand to the plow and looks to what was left behind is fit for the kingdom of God.” And when He said that, He taught that a disciple must make a firm and irrevocable decision to be with Him.
• We also heard on another Sunday this summer Jesus instruct his disciples to “carry no money bag, no sack, no sandals.” Through this, he tried to get across that a disciple must rely totally on God.
• A few weeks ago, when we heard Jesus say, “Ask and you will receive; seek and you will find.” He meant that a disciple is a person of faithful and persevering prayer.
• Still another week, we heard the Parable of the Good Samaritan in which Jesus emphasized that a disciple must practice charity toward his neighbor.
• And to Martha, who complained that she was left with all the work to do while her sister, Mary, sat at Jesus feet listening to Him teach, we heard Jesus say that “Mary has chosen the better part”, that a disciple is one who listens attentively to the voice of God.

Then we come to today’s gospel. To his disciples and the great crowd that gathered with them, Jesus now reveals the cost of true discipleship: “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 . . . Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple . . . anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple.”

Difficult and startling words! But the fact of the matter is that Jesus is calling us to be more than just his followers; He calls us to be His disciples. It’s easy to be a follower. It doesn’t really involve any serious accountability. Followers may easily change their allegiance to the leader if his message isn’t what they expect. Followers are opportunists. Their attitude is "What's in it for me?" But on the other hand, being a true disciple involves a serious commitment, a total dedication to the message, as well as to the messenger. A disciple is faithful and loyal. A disciple has a profound sense of obedience. A disciple has a desire to learn as much as he can from his teacher.

Is it possible to be just a follower of Jesus without really being his disciple? Sure. They’re the ones who may claim to be Catholics because they’ve been baptized from birth, but in reality, they have no commitment to Jesus, nor his Church. Others may go to Church occasionally whenever it feels good. But that’s called convenience not commitment. Still others boast about being followers of Jesus, yet they have nothing to do with him when his teachings or the teachings of the Church contradict the way they live their lives. The problem is this: one cannot be a part-time or sometimes disciple. We cannot follow Jesus only when it’s convenient and doesn’t demand very much from us.

God wants me. And God wants you. And he doesn't just want a bit of us. He wants all of us. Jesus lays it on the line for us: Living the Gospel means total and absolute surrender to God. He calls forth from His disciples the same love, the same obedience, the same single-hearted dedication that He has for His Father. And His words, "Unless you turn your back on father or mother, wife or children, brother or sister, and your very selves you cannot be my follower" shouldn’t really shock us because we all know that love demands a total claim upon the Beloved.

Those of you who are married are so aware of this. You know that you can’t expect your marriage to grow if you hold back part of yourselves from each other. When you first considered how serious of a relationship you could establish with that girl or guy you felt so attracted to, you asked yourself, "Is this someone whom I can give myself to? Will he or she accept me as I am? Can I accept him or her totally as she or he is? Indeed the success of the marriage is directly proportional to the capability of the couple to enter into intimacy, to their ability to give and to share with each other. Love claims the Beloved, totally.

And as true as this is in every relationship of love, this truth reaches its perfection in the relationship with the One who is Love Incarnate, with our Lord Jesus Christ. He has given himself totally to us. And for our relationship with Him to flourish, we have to accept his gift of himself and give ourselves totally to him. This relationship with the Lord must supersede all other relationships: family, friends, and even ourselves. The relationship with Jesus demands living His life and even following Him in sacrifice by denying ourselves and taking up life’s crosses.

We are in a love relationship with Jesus. Sometimes we forget this. We treat religion as an obligation rather than as an action of love. But like all relationships, we have to work hard for the relationship to succeed. We have to make time for our Loved One. We have to seek his presence in the community where we receive his intimacy in the sacraments. We have to seek his presence in our homes where we unite his presence to the intimacy of our family. And, as in all valued relationships, we have to protect the relationship from anything that would diminish its intensity. That's why we have to avoid sin and the occasion of sin. Our Christian morality isn’t a way of life to keep God happy. He doesn't need that. He's perfectly happy. Our Christian morality is a way of life to keep ourselves happy. We grow in the intensity of His love when we fight off anything that destroys or diminishes this love.

The Eucharist that we are privileged to celebrate today nourishes and strengthens us for our “journey to Jerusalem”. It is here, through Word and Sacrament that we are empowered by Christ Himself to give up everything, take up our crosses and follow him. Participating in this holy meal means that we are of one mind and one heart with Him, and that we submit our will to God's will in all things. That is the cost of becoming and remaining a disciple of Jesus.

Jesus first. Jesus only. Jesus forever.