“No man is an island” wrote British poet John Dunne. And that’s something that I’ve reflected on these past two and a half months living in my solitary confinement of the COVID-19 lockdown - we’re all connected, one life affects another life, one life contributes to who you are.
And so, for example, my ability to tell a story well, that I get that from my dad. And my faith and my love for the Church and dedication to it, I get from my mom. But my ability to write and put a noun and a verb together, and maybe throw in an adjective for good measure to form a sentence that somehow makes sense, that I credit to the School Sisters of Notre Dame who were my teachers at St. Raphael’s School in East Meadow, NY. I’m eternally grateful to them for drilling in me such things as grammar, usage, vocabulary and spelling.
I reflected on that education as I meditated on the word church this week as we celebrate Pentecost Sunday, the Birthday of the Church. And I chuckled to myself that I would probably scandalize those good sisters by what I’m about to say: Church is not a noun; Church is a verb, an action verb
A noun is a word that identifies a person, place or thing. As a noun, the word church can have two meanings. As a common noun (church with a lower-case “c”) it refers to a building, a physical structure . . . the one we were used to going to every Sunday morning . . . the one we miss and so long to return to. But as a proper noun. Church (with a capital “C”) is an institution, an organization, a hierarchical structure. But the Church is so much more than that. As St. Paul reminds us in our Second Reading, the Church is a body, the Body of Christ. It is not passive It is not complacent. It is alive. It moves, it ministers, it teaches, it serves, it feeds, it heals, it reaches out, it touches. And all of those things are ACTIONS!
Why is Pentecost considered the day on which the Church was born? Because on that day Jesus fulfilled his promise: “I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you . . . I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate* to be with you always . . . The Advocate, the holy Spirit that the Father will send in my name—he will teach you everything and remind you of all that told you.” (John 14: 16-18, 26). On that day, those 120 gathered in the Upper Room received everything they needed to be Church: a thunderous noise like a strong wind, like a tornado, came from the sky. And then flames appeared. Flames of fire appeared out of nowhere, spontaneously hovering in the air. And those flames divided up and started floating through the air until they came to rest on each of the people gathered. And the promised Spirit came upon them and both empowered and emboldened them. ACTION!
But the Church was also born that day because it responded to the Spirit now within them. They rushed out into the street and became Church as they began to fulfill the mission Jesus gave it ten days before at his Ascension when he told the Apostles, “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.” They speak in tongues so the Good News they proclaim can be understood by all. They announce that God has indeed visited His people, and that the one they had crucified was risen. They announce that death no longer reigns supreme, and sin has no power to shackle people in slavery. They go forth to transform every human heart and mind. They go forth to invite everyone, Jew or Gentile, to drink of the one Spirit so that all may be one family in Christ. They go forth and baptize three thousand that day who responded to the power of their proclamation. ACTION!
What about us? The same Spirit given to the 120 that day of Pentecost in that Upper Room in 33AD was also given to us on the day of our Baptism and strengthened within us the day of our Confirmation. And although those events were not accompanied by driving winds and tongues of fire, we too have become empowered and emboldened by the Spirit of the Living God to be Church – to be people of ACTION in the name of Jesus Christ. But like all gifts, the gift of the Holy Spirit can be received, but just collect dust on the closet shelf where we have stored it away. Or it can be unwrapped, unboxed, admired, appreciated and used.
Here’s a question for you: Are you a proper noun or are you an action verb? Are you a member of the Church in name only? Or are you a member of the Church because the Spirit within you is a driving force that spurs you to hyperactivity.
I believe there are seven actions that members of the Church, as Pentecost People, should be engaged in:
First, we PRAY: A member of the Church is one who is in a constant dialogue with God. It is through dialogue that relationship is established, maintained and strengthened. And so, in prayer, we bring to God our joys, our sorrows, our needs, our hopes, And, in turn, God reveals his will to us, consoles us, guides us and strengths us.
Second, we LISTEN: A member of the Church is an active listener. We listen the God’s revelation through his Word in Sacred Scripture. We listen to the teachings of the Magisterium of the Church, We listen to the still small voice of our conscience in discerning right from wrong, We listen to others: to the witness of their own faith – to be inspired by them. To their wisdom and advice – to learn from them. To their needs – to respond to them. To their sorrows – to console them. To their joys and successes – to celebrate with them. To their tragedies and failures – to encourage them.
Third, we LEARN: A member of the Church engages in life-long learning. Not content with the instruction received as a child, the People of Pentecost seek to embrace the mystery of God through new eyes and ears through reading, adult bible study programs and online programs such as those offered on Formed.org. We also learn through an appreciation of those members of the Church who have walked the road of faith before us, the lives of the saints.
Fourth, we LIVE: A member of the Church realizes that participation in the mystery of faith is not just to be expressed one hour a week in church (small “c”). You are a member of the Church (capital “C”) 24/7/365. It is a lived experience. And you demonstrate that by how you live you live your life, consciously following the example of Jesus Christ.
Fifth, we LOVE: For a member of the Church, love is not an option or a pious suggestion. It’s a command and a demand - challenging, not always convenient. It costs – more than money – but also time and talent. It makes one vulnerable - It might not be returned or appreciated, perhaps not even recognized. It is directed towards those who are familiar and to those who are strangers, to those who are lovable, but especially to those who aren’t.
Sixth, we PROCLAIM: We do as Peter did on the first Pentecost, we go out into the streets, into our living rooms, to our workplaces and proclaim Jesus Christ – Lord, Savior, God incarnate, crucified, resurrected. We share good news of glad tidings. We share that which we have found meaningful and transformational in our lives. We share it, as the Apostles did, in a “language” that will be understood by all. We shout it out by words and proclaim it through the example of our lives.
And seventh, we SERVE: We feed the hungry, quench the thirst of the parched, cloth those who are naked, shelter the homeless, care for the sick, visit the stranger, bury the dead. We admonish the sinner, instruct the ignorant, counsel the doubtful, comfort the afflicted, pray for the living and the dead.
As we get ready to (hopefully) open our church (small “c”) in a few weeks, let’s pray for a new Pentecost in our Church (capital “C”). Let’s pray that, being so overjoyed with going to church, that we don’t forget to be Church – wind in our sails, fire in our heart, alive with the Spirit, empowered, emboldened, not content with being proper nouns, but energized to be verbs of ACTION.
Come, Holy Ghost, Creator blest,
And in our hearts take up thy rest;
Come with thy grace and heav'nly aid
To fill the hearts which thou hast made,
To fill the hearts which thou hast made. Video Version
Acts 1: 1-11; Ephesians 1: 17-23; Matthew 28: 16-20
How’s your eyesight? I have to admit that lately I’m doing a lot more squinting than I used to. I’ve been nearsighted most of my life and wear glasses or contacts to see at a distance. But lately, I’m having more and more of a problem seeing those things that are closeup – the print in a book, the text on my phone, the images on my computer. Even the teacup or the pen that I just laid down on the table or desk in front of me seems to have disappeared when I go to pick them up again. Once I was told that, when that happens, it’s the playful spirits of children who are playing a practical joke on you. I like that! It’s a lot better than having to admit that I’m getting old and I can’t see what’s right in front of me anymore. But invariably, if I squint, I ultimately see what’s been there all along. How’s your eyesight?
Today we celebrate the Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord, when, Jesus, “as he blessed them, parted from them and was taken up to heaven” (Luke 24:51). It’s interesting, if you think about it, that our Easter season seems to begin and end with similar questions. On Easter Sunday, we heard of two men dressed in white at the tomb of Jesus who ask Mary Magdalene, “Who are you looking for? Why search for the living among the dead?” And in today’s First Reading from the Act of the Apostles, we hear that, after Jesus ascended into heaven, the Apostles stood staring up at the sky. Two men dressed in white appear to them and ask, “What are you looking at? This Jesus who has been taken up from you into heaven will return in the same way as you have seen him going into heaven.”
The early Christians spent a lot of time looking up at the heavens for Christ. The earliest Christian writings reveal a general expectation that Christ would return soon, perhaps even before those who knew him firsthand had died. There’s a legend that, in the early Church, someone (probably a deacon) was appointed to go outside during the celebration of the Eucharist to see if Christ had returned. But gradually, the Church learned that it should be concentrating on building up the Kingdom of God here on earth rather than gazing at the heavens.
But sometimes, we're guilty of doing that too, aren’t we? It occurred to me that maybe a lot of us are like Mary Magdalene and the Apostles . . . often we’re looking for Jesus in the wrong places rather than squinting to see someone that’s right there in front of us.
We pray and ask God to reveal Himself to us in dramatic fashion. We search the sky for a new Miracle of the Sun, or cloud formations in the shape of angels’ wings, a cross or an image of our Blessed Mother to affirm that we’ve been heard, that God is with us. We look at the ordinary occurrences in our lives and sometimes see the phenomena that surrounds them to have supernatural elements in them. Now don’t get me wrong, I believe in all those things. I do believe that God still reveals His presence to us in the extraordinary, the supernatural, the miraculous. And probably we could all share beautiful stories of occasions when those things have happened in our lives. But notice what I just said. “OCCASIONS.” Because if you’re looking for that as the norm – two things: One, you’ve hoping for something that not even the saints experienced; And two - boy, you’re really missing out how God IS with you every day, in so many ways, as your constant companion, guide, Lord, and Savior.
Remember what we sang over and over again during the season of Advent, “O Come, O Come, Emanuel?" Remember the prophesy of the Isaiah, “Behold the virgin shall conceive and bear a son and shall call his name Emmanuel?” Remember how the angel reminded Joseph about that prophesy in his dream when he was told not to be afraid to marry Mary? Jesus is EMMANUEL – GOD WITH US. He still is. Not just at the Incarnation. Not just during biblical times. Not just when He chooses to reveal Himself through dramatic, mighty deeds. God IS with us. And like the disciples in today’s First Reading, maybe we too are being asked, “Why are you looking up at the sky? Don’t look UP . . . look AROUND. This Jesus who has been taken up from you into heaven may be out of sight, but he’s not gone. He’s here! Now! Always! You just need to squint sometimes to see Him.”
Squint and you will see Him in nature: In the purity of a winter’s new fallen snow. In refreshing spring rains. In the gentleness of a warm summer breeze. In the splendor of autumn’s colors. In the power of an ocean wave. In the tranquility of a clear blue sky. In the brilliance of sunshine. In the majestic splendor of a mountain range. In the vastness of the stars and planets. In the complexity of atoms and cells that make up the human body.
Squint and you will see Him in the words of Sacred Scripture. In their wisdom. In the truth they put forth. In their ability to inspire. In the consolation they bring. In the challenge they offer. In the love they reveal. In their eternal relevance.
Squint and you will see Him in the Church. In the liturgy and sacraments it celebrates. In the Gospel it proclaims. In its continuity back to Jesus, through our bishops – the direct successors to the Apostles. In the two or three, or two or three hundred gathered in His name. In the holiness of the saints. In the blood of the martyrs. In the truth and wisdom of its doctrines and teachings. In its concern for the poor, the sick, the outcast. In its unfaltering respect for human life. In the diversity of gifts of its members. In its openness to all who seek salvation through it.
Squint and you will see Him in others. In the neighbor who rings your doorbell and says, “Hey, I was just going to ShopRite. Do you need anything?” In the family member, friend or fellow parishioner who calls or texts, “I was just thinking about you. You doin’ okay?” In the affirmation of a spouse. In the affection of a child. In the selflessness of our frontliners and first responders. In anyone who’s there for us with good advice, an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on.
Squint and you will see Him in the Eucharist. In ordinary bread and wine that has become divine. In the bread of life. In the cup of eternal salvation. In spiritual food that nourishes both body and soul. In bread for the journey down the pathways of life, as well as for the walk through the valley of death.
I once heard a story about a monk who rode on an ox into town and came to a group of people. The people asked him, “What are you looking for, monk” He said, “I’m looking for an ox.” They all laughed. He rode his ox to the next group of people. They too asked him, “What are you looking for, monk?” He said, “I’m looking for an ox.” And they laughed. He rode his ox to a third group of people and they also asked him, “What are you looking for, monk?” And, again, he said, I’m looking for an ox.” They said, “This is ridiculous! You are a man riding on an ox, looking for an ox!” The monk said, “So it is with you looking for God.”
And so it is with us who look for Christ in the clouds when all the time he is here among us. To see him, sometimes all we need to do is squint.
Cole Porter is regarded as one of America’s premier songwriters. The composer of such classic songs as “Night and Day,” I Get a Kick Out of You,” and “I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” his music was noted for both its sophistication and its clever rhymes. And along with such songwriters as Irving Berlin, George and Ira Gershwin, Harold Arlen, Johnny Mercer, and Rogers and Hart (probably none of which some of you have ever heard of!), Cole Porters’ songs make up what is referred to as the “Great American Songbook.
One of his hits is the song, “What Is This Thing Called Love?” and its first verse goes like this:
What is this thing called love?
This funny thing called love?
Just who can solve its mystery?
Why should it make a fool of me?
You know, a lot of great minds throughout history have tried to solve that mystery, philosophers, poets and playwrights. And today, it still continues to get a lot of attention. It fills television and movie screens, books, magazines and greeting cards. Love is something we talk about, read about, philosophize about, sing about.
What is this thing called love?
This funny thing called love?
Just who can solve its mystery?
Well somebody did solve its mystery. Someone who lived two thousand years ago. And He solved it using only five words: AS . . . I . . . HAVE . . . LOVED . . . YOU.”
Oh, what a special night that was, the night of the Last Supper. The Apostles’ heads must have been spinning, for this was no ordinary night . . . this was no ordinary Passover celebration. Jesus, the Master and Teacher reinforced in them, in dramatic fashion, a lesson that he, no doubt, had repeated to them time and time again – that the way to greatness is the way of service. He gave them (and us) the gift of his intimate and abiding presence through the institution of the Eucharist. But not only did He consecrate ordinary bread and wine that night; He consecrated eleven ordinary men to be the first priests in the Church He was establishing. And He did something else that few people seem to take notice of - something that must have brought tears to the eyes of those brawny, sometimes thickheaded, sometimes dense, collection of fishermen, tax collectors and what not. He told them He loved them. It’s said that the gospels contain 31, 426 words spoken by Jesus. But that night was the first time those three words ever came together: I . . . LOVE . . . YOU! “As the Father has loved me, so I LOVE YOU.”
Of course, they knew it. But it’s always nice to hear it, isn’t it, “I LOVE YOU.” And that night, He didn’t just say it. He defined it. He solved the mystery of what true love really is as he further instructed them, “Love one another, AS I HAVE LOVED YOU” Notice Jesus doesn’t go on to say, “And let me tell you guys exactly what I mean.” He didn’t need to. The Apostles didn’t say, “Jesus, could you elaborate a little on that? They didn’t have to. They knew. Because, although the words might only have been said that night, they experienced His love, they felt His love, from the very first day they laid eyes on Him and heard Him say, “Come follow me.”
But whereas the Apostles needed no further explanation of what it is to love as He loved, maybe we do. In today’s Gospel, Jesus is inviting us all to be great lovers. How do we do that? If we are to love as Jesus loved, what exactly are the characteristics of His love? What is it that made Jesus Christ the greatest lover the world has ever known? If He indeed is the model of what true love is all about, then I think it’s beneficial for us to reflect on what exactly it means to love as Jesus loved. In my own meditation, this is what I came up with:
Jesus love was a pervasive love: It was always evident; it was always constant. Ever wonder why the crowds were attracted to Jesus? How he amassed such a following and such notoriety in only three years? Why, when he walked into a town, even the little children ran up to him and clung to him? Jesus possessed an aura of love. Love oozed out of His pores, radiated from His eyes, beamed from His smile, trajected through His touch. It simply felt good to be around Jesus. When you were in the presence of Jesus you knew you were in the presence of love. It was who He was, and He was always true to Himself.
Jesus love was an unconditional and an all-embracing love: You didn’t have to qualify to be loved by Jesus – you simply were. Jew or gentile, man or woman, Hebrew or Samaritan, wealthy or poor, healthy or ill, supporter or persecutor, saint or sinner. You didn’t have to win His love and you couldn’t lose His love.
Jesus love was an active and selfless love: It was a love that was more expressed in deeds than in words. The blind received their sight, the lame walked, the lepers were made clean, the deaf heard, the dead were restored to life, the poor had the good news proclaimed to them. What, other than love, could inspire one to say, “Come to me all who are weary and heavy burdened and I will give you rest”? Without fanfare, without looking for anything in return, no strings attached, what could possibly have been His motivation if not simply love?
Jesus love was a merciful love: He once said, “What credit is it to you if you love only those who love you?” And he demonstrated that His love was so much more than mere reciprocity. He forgave his persecutors. He forgave the Apostles for abandoning Him. He forgave Peter for denying that he even knew Him. He preached forgiveness – He lived forgiveness. Why? Simply because He loved them. He forgives your sins. He forgives mine. Why? Simply because He loves us.
Jesus love was a challenging but patient love: Repent! Believe! Turn the other cheek! Go and sin no more! Love your enemies! Pray for those who persecute you! Forgive seventy times seven times! Turn the other cheek! Serve! Feed the hungry! Nourish the thirsty! Clothe the naked! Welcome the stranger! Minister to the sick! Visit the prisoner! He challenged the people to go beyond the status quo, beyond who they were and where they were at. He saw the best in them, all their potential. And gently, patiently, he encouraged them to grow, to become who His Father created them to be . . . in their own time, in their own way, by His grace.
Jesus love was a sacrificial love: His was a costly love. It cost Him his worldly possessions, his time, his energy, his creativity. It cost Him his reputation, his family, his friends. It cost him his body, his blood, his life. He said that "no greater love has any man than to lay down his life for those he loves." And that’s exactly what He did, the kind of love He had.
So how does the way that you love match up with the way Jesus loved? Seem impossible? Beyond your reach? Easy for God – not so easy for us mere human beings? Well here’s the thing . . . what Jesus said was not just a suggestion, was not just something to reflect on, was not just a hope, something that he desired from the Apostles and the saints. It’s a command! It’s an expectation! “Love one another AS I HAVE LOVED YOU!”
But here’s the good news – we’re not meant to accomplish it all by ourselves. What does Jesus go on to say? “I will not leave you orphans . . . I will ask the Father and he will give you another Advocate to be with you ALWAYS.” The fulfillment of that promise we will celebrate in two weeks, on Pentecost Sunday.
In the next two weeks, lets pray that the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, will come upon us, that there will be a new Pentecost in our Church and within ourselves, and that we will be “all fired up” with his gifts of wisdom, understanding, knowledge, counsel, fortitude, piety and fear of the Lord so we will dare to love in the way we have been loved . . . in the way in which we have been commanded to love.
What is this thing called love?
This funny thing called love?
Just who can solve its mystery?
Love one another in the way you received it from me.
LORD, WE DON’T KNOW WHERE YOU ARE GOING; SHOW US THE WAY
The Fifth Sunday of Easter (Year A) Acts 6: 1-7; 1Peter 2: 4-9; John 14: 1-12
I had a restless night sleep last night; I don’t know why. I felt okay. My mind wasn’t necessarily on overdrive, pondering the mysteries of the universe. Nor was it preoccupied with problems or worries. I simply thought of this, that, and the other thing. Somewhere in the midst of my journey through the random thoughts, and people and memories that kept me awake, I recalled one particular July of my young childhood.
I was raised in a very middle-class family. My mom was a stay-at-home mom (as most were back then) and my dad worked hard to pay the bills, put food on our table and clothes on our back. There wasn’t much money left over for the luxuries that some families enjoyed and that perhaps many of us think fall into the category of “necessities” today. As a result, we didn’t go away on too many summer vacations. But we never felt deprived. During the weeks that my Dad had off from work, we had picnics at Belmont Lake or Salisbury Park (now renamed Eisenhower Park), or went to the beach. (Being from New York, it was NEVER referred to as “the shore,” as it is here in New Joicy.)
But one particular year, it rained every day of the two weeks my Dad had off. Frustrated, and trying to salvage at least a few days, the suitcases were rapidly packed and loaded into the car. We were going away! Away to someplace, anyplace. Away to someplace that didn’t have clouds and rain . . . Away to anyplace the summer sun shone. Nowadays, vacation getaways are planned, reservations made, and eagerly anticipated for months well in advanced. Not that summer during the 1960’s for the Olsen Family! We literally had absolutely no idea where we were going as our green Chrysler Newport backed out of our driveway. As we drove down Newbridge Avenue (now called East Meadow Avenue), my Dad pulled into Sam’s Gulf Station. While the car was filling with gas, my Dad went into the gas station office and emerged with a road map, the only one Sam had. The decision had been made for us. We were going to Pennsylvania! Where in Pennsylvania? That’s a story for another homily.
As I tossed and turned in bed last night, suddenly I saw a connection with Thomas’ words in today’s Gospel, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going; Show us the way.” On his last night with his friends, Jesus told his closest friends, “Not to worry! I’m leaving to get things ready for you. Then I’ll come back to take you with me. And you know the way!” But Thomas, the doubter, the realist, the practical guy says, “Jesus, we have no idea where you’re going! How could we possibly know how to get there?”
Have you ever been in that place where you feel lost and don’t know the way out, let alone the way home? Has there been a time in your life when you just couldn’t figure out what you should do? what God might want you to do? what would be the right thing, the best thing for you to do? Thomas was feeling just that kind of frustration when he heard Jesus say, “You know the way.” It’s the frustration of thinking that maybe you should know the way, certainly that you want and need to know the way – but you don’t!
And Jesus’ answer is not altogether or immediately satisfying. At least – it’s not a quick solution. What Thomas really wants is a GPS, with the destination and shortest route, avoiding toll roads, already calibrated, a AAA map with a big red X indicating the destination and a yellow highlighted route leading him to it.
But what Jesus is saying is, “Thomas, I AM the map! I’m the WAY. And I’m the TRUTH. And I’m the LIFE. Stay as close to me as you can and you’ll be heading in the right direction. Make every effort to find the path that leads to the TRUTH and do everything you can to avoid the shortcuts and dead ends of what is false. And always choose the paths that bring you LIFE. Don’t head in directions that burden you and drag you down, eating away at your heart and your hopes. Choose what brings you LIFE and you’ll end up where you’re supposed to be even, if right now you don’t know where that is, or how to get there; even if right now you can’t see where I’m leading you; even if right now you can’t see me at all . . . "
But we still can get lost – and we still do get lost.
We start to get lost as soon as we begin to think that we can find our own way without God’s help.
We lose our way as soon as we begin to believe we can discover the truth apart from God’s Word.
We get disoriented when, at life’s crossroads, we’re sure we will choose the right path without stopping to ask God for directions.
But when we stay by the Lord, close to his side and let his Word map our route, and when we walk in the company of other believers, all of them seeking to follow the Lord’s way, too - then we can be sure we’re on the road Jesus asks us to travel.
On the highways of our lives, our gathering in church on the Lord’s Day is like pulling over on the interstate, into a service area. There we find the exit we take to get our bearings. There we find rest from the hustle and hassles of our journey. There we are refueled at the altar where we’re nourished with the Eucharist to give us the strength we need to resume, to continue on our journey with the Lord as our guide. Oh how we long to return . . . oh how we need to return to our parish church!
We need to return to our church because it is all too easy during the week to lose sight of the Lord along the way, but every Sunday we can find him at Mass: in one another, in the Word of the scriptures and in the Eucharist. It is there that He waits for us, ready to reset our GPS to the path that leads to peace. He promises to be the way for us when we’re lost, to show us the truth of things when we’re confused, and to be our life, even when we travel in the shadow of death. We so need to, once again, take the exit, pull over, come to the table and be refreshed by the One who is our way, our truth and our life.
This is a slightly adapted version of a beautiful prayer written by the great spiritual writer and Trappist monk, Thomas Merton. Perhaps, as we feel lost in the midst of our pandemic lockdown and can't see the road ahead, we all need to be reminded that JESUS is the WAY, the TRUTH, and the LIFE and this can be our prayer:
O God, I have no idea where I’m going.
I don’t see the road ahead of me.
I don’t know for certain where it will end.
I don’t really always know my own self,
and the fact that I think I’m doing what you ask of me
doesn’t necessarily mean that I am.
But I believe that even the desire to do what’s right
does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in everything I do:
the desire to do what you ask of me.
I hope I’ll never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that if I live my life that way
you’ll lead me by the right path,
even though I may not know I’m on it.
So, I will trust you always
especially when I'm lost, even in the shadow of death.
Even then, I will not be afraid,
because you will be with me,
and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.
THIRTY DAYS PRAYER TO ST. JOSEPH IN HONOR OF THE 30 YEARS HE SPENT WITH JESUS AND MARY
Ever blessed and glorious Joseph, kind and loving father, and helpful friend of all in sorrow! You are the good father and protector of orphans, the defender of the defenseless, the patron of those in need and sorrow.
Look kindly on my request. My sins have drawn down on me the just displeasure of my God, and so I am surrounded with unhappiness. To you, loving guardian of the Family of Nazareth, do I go for help and protection. Listen, then, I beg you, with fatherly concern, to my earnest prayers, and obtain for me the favors I ask.
I ask it by the infinite mercy of the eternal Son of God, which moved Him to take our nature and to be born into this world of sorrow.
I ask it by the weariness and suffering you endured when you found no shelter at the inn of Bethlehem for the Holy Virgin, nor a house where the Son of God could be born. Then, being everywhere refused, you had to allow the Queen of Heaven to give birth to the world’s Redeemer in a cave.
I ask it by the loveliness and power of that sacred Name, Jesus, which you conferred on the adorable Infant.
I ask it by the painful torture you felt at the prophecy of holy Simeon, which declared the Child Jesus and His holy Mother future victims of our sins and of their great love for us.
I ask it through your sorrow and pain of soul when the angel declared to you that the life of the Child Jesus was sought by His enemies. From their evil plan, you had to flee with Him and His Blessed Mother to Egypt.
I ask it by all the suffering, weariness, and labors of that long and dangerous journey.
I ask it by all your care to protect the Sacred Child and His Immaculate Mother during your second journey, when you were ordered to return to your own country.
I ask it by your peaceful life in Nazareth where you met with so many joys and sorrows. I ask it by your great distress when the adorable Child was lost to you and His mother for three days.
I ask it by your joy at finding Him in the temple, and by the comfort you found at Nazareth, while living in the company of the Child Jesus.
I ask it by the wonderful submission He showed in His obedience to you.
I ask it by the perfect love and conformity you showed in accepting the Divine order to depart from this life, and from the company of Jesus and Mary.
I ask it by the joy which filled your soul, when the Redeemer of the world, triumphant over death and hell, entered into the possession of His kingdom and led you into it with special honors.
I ask it through Mary’s glorious Assumption, and through that endless happiness you have with her in the presence of God. O good father! I beg you, by all your sufferings, sorrows, and joys, to hear me and obtain for me what I ask.
(Here name your petitions or think of them.)
Obtain for all those who have asked my prayers everything that is useful to them in the plan of God. Finally, my dear patron and father, be with me and all who are dear to me in our last moments, that we may eternally sing the praises of: JESUS, MARY AND JOSEPH.
“A blameless life, St. Joseph, may we lead, by your kind patronage from danger freed.”
Acts 2” 14A; 36-41; 1Peter 2: 20B-25; John 10: 1-10
The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
Only goodness and kindness follow me
all the days of my life;
and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD
for years to come.
The LORD is my shepherd . . . And He is a Good Shepherd.
He gathers us in; He guides our way; He protects us. He came so that we might have life and have it more abundantly. He came to make human life better by revealing life's meaning and purpose; by offering us a personal relationship with God; by connecting us to each other – brother and sister, neighbor and stranger - to all who are part of the flock he tends; by allowing us to move beyond our past failings and to start again; by touching our heart and our soul in the liturgy; by being our constant companion in life's journey; and by offering us hope beyond the grave.
He is the Good Shepherd and when we stray, He searches for us. And when He finds us, He gently picks us up and tenderly carries us on his shoulders back to safety. He is the Good Shepherd and we know His voice. There’s no mistaking it. It is the voice of goodness and love, of compassion and service, of mercy.
The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
Even though I walk in the dark valley
I fear no evil; for He is at my side.
With His rod and His staff
that give me courage.
The LORD is my Shepherd . . . and my Sheepgate.
Most of us think that when Jesus identifies Himself as the “sheepgate” he’s saying that it’s only through Him that we pass through from this earthly existence to eternal life. That His life, His teaching, His example, His death and resurrection have become the gateway, the doorway, the portal to salvation that has now become open to us. And yes, Jesus did mean that. But he meant so much more.
A sheepfold in Jesus’ time was a large enclosure sometimes made of a roughly circular stone wall, sometimes of thorn bushes, planted to hedge in a pen where the sheep stayed at night. But rather than a gate, there would be a simple opening in the wall or hedge through which the sheep would be herded to safety. And once the sheep were in the sheepfold for the night, the shepherd would lie down on the ground, stretching across the opening. This shepherd literally makes himself into a barrier gate, a role that requires, not only care, but courage. If any marauders or predators are to get to the sheep, they will only do so over the dead body of the shepherd.
Jesus is the Good Shepherd - He lives for his flock . . . He dies for his flock. Can we be lost or destroyed? Only over the Lord’s dead body. Through the laying down of his life on the cross and his rising before us, we are led into the sheepfold of eternal life.
The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
In verdant pastures he gives me repose;
beside restful waters he leads me;
he refreshes my soul.
The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want . . . but . . . I do . . . I want . . . And probably you do too.
Perhaps what you want is a thing: something physical, something you want to have, to own; or perhaps it’s a person, a relationship you want to have or one you want to deepen, or mend, or end; or perhaps it’s something you want for someone else: healing of an illness, peace in a troubled family, a job for someone unemployed; or perhaps it’s something emotional: maybe you’re praying for some peace of mind, some serenity, some contentment.
But if the Lord is my shepherd – then I should want for nothing. If the Lord is my shepherd - then I have all I truly need. If you’re like me, you might find that hard to grasp, not easy to accept. Even as I say the words “I shall not want” I think of all the things for which I do want, things I want for myself, things I want for others – good things – not selfish, frivolous things, but important things. And our experience tells us that the Lord, as Good a Shepherd as he is, does not supply us with everything we want. But he does supply us with everything we truly need. Listen to all that our Good Shepherd promises to give us in today’s gospel:
Jesus, the Good Shepherd, pledges his voice, his word, for our hearing. And we hear the Shepherd’s voice in the scriptures, in prayer, in our hearts and in our minds, in our conscience. His voice is always there to be heard, to be followed - though whether we hear and follow where his voice leads - is up to us.
And the Good Shepherd promises to know us. And no one knows me better, no one knows you better, than Jesus, the Shepherd of us all. He knows us better than we know ourselves. He knows us inside out – and still loves us. He knows everything we do, everything we think of doing and everything we’ve failed to do – and still forgives us. He knows the secrets of our heart and all its desires but still gives us, time after time, opportunities to improve on our mistakes, to try again, to begin again, to win again his favor and his love.
And Jesus, the Good Shepherd, promises us eternal life. And in light of that promise, anything else we think we need to be happy pales in comparison. The problem comes whenever I begin to think that what I believe I need to be happy is greater, more important or more compelling, than the promise of the gift of life forever.
And finally, Jesus, the Good Shepherd, promises us that no one and nothing can snatch us from his hand. Not even death can snatch us from the Shepherd’s hand: we are always and ever held in the palm of the Lord’s saving hand.
Now, all of that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t pray for all the good and gracious things that we want or need. It only means that the happiness, the serenity, the contentment that any of those things might bring us is little, indeed, in light of all that Jesus, the Good Shepherd promises to us, the sheep of his flock.
The Lord is my shepherd, there is nothing I shall want.
Jesus, my Good Shepherd,
I trust in you alone
for your endless mercy follows me,
your goodness will lead me home. Video Version on this Homily
Acts 2:14, 223-23; 1Peter 1: 17-21; Luke 24: 13-35
I mentioned in my homily last week that, one of the things I like about our Sunday Gospels, is that they’re often episodic . . . that the Gospel that we hear one weekend, is sometimes a continuation of the Gospel we heard the previous week, or have been hearing over the course of several weeks. And that’s the case today. Although this is the Third Sunday of Easter, our Gospel today is still taking us back to what happened on that first Easter Sunday around 33 AD.
Today we hear what happened in the mid-to-late afternoon, as two downcast, depressed, disheartened, discouraged and disillusioned disciples walked to a town called Emmaus, seven miles outside of Jerusalem. They discuss with one another the events of the past weekend: how the one they hoped would be the Messiah was violently, brutally, put to death. But today, their grief and disillusionment has joined hands with their confusion and bewilderment at the reports that now, three days later, His body has disappeared from its resting place. These two are met up with someone they mistakenly believe is a stranger, who, through the course of their seven-mile trek, breaks open the Scriptures for them and shows them why it was necessary for the Messiah to suffer and die. But it isn’t until he breaks the loaf of bread with them that their eyes are opened. He is no stranger. He is Jesus.
I love that Scripture passage for numerous reasons. But I also find it intriguing . . . what prevented Cleopas and his unnamed companion from recognizing Jesus? You would think, that being in his company on a seven-mile trip, at some time they would have recognized Him! I checked on Google just how long such a trip would have taken. I found out that the average person, walking at a moderate pace, walks one mile in about twenty minutes. And so, the stroll from Jerusalem to Emmaus would have taken at least two hours and twenty minutes! TWO HOURS AND TWENTY MINUTES??? And they don’t recognize the one they’ve been following, pinning their hopes on, loving, and now mourning??? How is that possible?
We could engage in a lot of speculation, but the fact is, there’s probably no way that, in this life, we’ll ever find out the answer to that question. But there is a question that we can find the answer to – What prohibits us from recognizing the Jesus that travels with us on our personal roads to Emmaus?
Well there’s lots of possible explanations to that question. Maybe I’m just too busy. Or maybe I’m too lazy. Maybe there are other people or other things in my life that blind me to his presence. Or maybe I’m afraid that, if I do recognize his presence, there are changes I should make that either I don’t want to make or aren’t ready to make. So, if I don’t recognize him, but want to, where can I find him? Our Gospel today gives us three really good starting places.
Number One:“He interpreted to them what referred to him in all the Scriptures.” In other words, the REALITY of who He is, the MYSTERY of who He is, the TRUTH of who He is was broken open for them through the words of Sacred Scripture. Want to find Jesus? Open up your Bibles . . . He’s THERE! How about you? In the past six weeks or so, have you taken your Bible off the shelf, dusted off its cover, and allowed Jesus to speak to you in what’s written there? Have you searched for answers to your questions, searched for words to calm your fears, deepened your knowledge of God’s presence throughout human history, seen for yourself that God has never abandoned his people, by picking up your Bible and reading. Have you sought an inspiration for the day, a message that God is trying to let you know, right then and right there, by engaging in what some people call “Bible Roulette” and simply thumbing through the Bible, stopping at a random page, closing your eyes and pointing to a particular passage and reading it, convinced that that’s what God wants to tell you? Try it! More often than not, it works. Or have you paused as you scroll through the endless posts on Facebook and taken time to read and reflect on the post that contains the one verse or one passage that a friend felt so meaningful for their lives, they wanted to pass it on to you? As Jesus broke open the Scriptures to the two on the road to Emmaus, let him break forth into your life through His most sacred word.
Number Two:“They recognized Him in the breaking of the bread,” the Eucharist. Although recent surveys tell us that 70% of our fellow Catholics no longer believe in the true presence of Christ in the Eucharist, the TRUTH is the TRUTH! And the TRUTH is that the Eucharist IS the body, blood, soul and divinity of Christ. Not a sign, not a symbol, not a nostalgic glance back at the Last Supper! Want to recognize Jesus? Recognize that reality! Adore Him! Receive Him! “Oh but Deacon, I can’t do that in this pandemic lockdown. And doing it remotely, through livestreams and praying the “Prayer of Spiritual Communion” just isn’t cutting it for me.” GOOD! Let me ask you: Has your desire for Jesus heightened over the past six weeks? Has your devotion to His sacramental presence deepened? Has your conviction of His true presence in the Eucharist actually become stronger, having now been deprived of what you previously took for granted? Do you now truly hunger and thirst to participate in the sacrificial meal and be satiated at the Eucharistic banquet? When the doors to our church are reopened, will you ever look upon the Eucharist in the same way as you did in the past? Do you now possess a deeper love and a more profound appreciation for the Eucharist than you ever had before? I hope so. I know I do.
Number Three:“Jesus himself drew near and walked with them, but their eyes were prevented from recognizing him.” Jesus appeared to the two on the road to Emmaus as a stranger, as someone else. Likewise, could Jesus be making himself present to you in the words and actions of others, even in the midst of our pandemic lockdown?
How about the Frontliners - the doctors, the nurses, the other health care professionals, the police officers, fire fighters, rescue squad volunteers and all those who continue to put their own lives on the line for us. In them do you see Jesus’ sacrificial love?
How about our teachers, who on such short notice, have had to become adept at teaching remotely and creatively in ways that were never taught in any Methods in Education class they took in college. In them do you see Christ’s complete dedication to us?
What about the parents whose love and patience has been put to test and their vocation as mom and dad taken on new dimensions as they’re now with their children 24/7 and have added “Teacher” to their parental resume. In them do you see the presence of Christ’s selflessness?
What about our priests who had to learn livestreaming on the fly and not only use it to celebrate the Mass, but Adoration, the Divine Mercy Chaplet, the Rosary and Morning Prayer, as well. Or how about the priests who have thought outside of the box and have built confessional sheds or engage in “drive through” confessions? In them have you noticed the presence of Christ’s constant love?
Or what about some of own parishioners who have used their time and talents to make masks for those who need them or have used their own resources to buy breakfasts and lunches to deliver to area hospitals. Or how about those friends who have called, texted or messaged you on Facebook to say, “Hi. How you doing? Do you have enough food? If you need anything, just let me know.” In them, have you seen the presence of Christ’s compassion?
Yes, Jesus might not look like he does in the statues and stained-glass windows that adorn our churches or the pious pictures of classic works of art. But look around. Squint you eyes. Adjust your focus. He’s present. He’s here. He just looks different than you thought.
Acts 10: 34A, 37-43; Colossians 3: 1-4; Matthew 28: 1-10
Be not afraid . . . Lord, that is the first message that your angel proclaimed to Mary when she was asked to be the mother of your Son. And it is the first message that your angel proclaimed to the women at your empty tomb on the morning of your Resurrection . . .
Be not afraid . . .
Are those words also meant for me on this Easter morning? Because, Lord, I AM AFRAID! And sometimes, Lord, I'm not even sure I know what I fear but I know when I'm afraid because I know how fear feels - and I know when I feel it . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
Sometimes I'm afraid of things in my past, things that don't even exist anymore: the ghosts of things long gone . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
And sometimes I'm afraid of what doesn't yet exist: I fear what's next, or what might be, or what could be . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
Sometimes, Lord, I'm afraid of people . . . people who are strangers . . . people who I know wield power over me . . . people who have it in for me . . . even people who love and care for me – fear that they just don't "get me" . . . fear that I will disappoint them . . . fear that they will disappoint me . . . fear of losing their love . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
Sometimes, Lord, I'm afraid of myself, of who I am and what I've done or what I might do or fail to do . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
Sometimes, Lord, I'm afraid of you. Sometimes I'm afraid of what you know about me, what you think about me, what you ask of me, what you expect of me. And sometimes, Lord, I'm afraid that you don't hear me or see me or love me . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
And now, Lord, I’m afraid. I’m afraid to leave my home. I’m afraid of living life in the way that I always have. I’m afraid of social contact that is too close. I’m afraid of germs and illness and death. I’m afraid so, I hide behind masks and gloves and locked doors. And perhaps most of all, Lord, I’m afraid of the future. I’m afraid because I can’t see it. I'm afraid that I have lost control of it. I’m afraid to make plans that might ultimately need to be cancelled in the uncertain future. I’m afraid because I can’t see when this pandemic will end. I’m afraid that this new way of life might never end and that it is the new normal. What will it take, Lord, what must I do, to step out of my fear, beyond my fear, to trust in you, to walk with you with confidence that you are my strength, my safety and my shield?
And you tell me again and again: Fear not . . . have no fear . . . be not afraid . . .
Lord, on this Easter Sunday, do not let my fear blind me to the truth that is revealed in faith. You are RISEN! You are RISEN INDEED! O Risen Lord . . .
Do not let my fear take away my joy – YOU LIVE!
Do not let my fear take away my hope – DEATH, DEPRESSION, DEFEAT, DISAPPOINTMENT ARE NOT THE END OF THE STORY, AS THE CROSS WAS NOT THE END OF YOURS!
Do not let my fear paralyze me – LET ME RUN AND AWAIT YOU IN WHEREVER GALILEE IS IN MY LIFE WHERE YOU WILL TURN MY FEAR TO CONFIDENCE; MY HOPELESSNESS TO TRUST, MY GRIEF TO JOY; MY CONFUSION TO UNDERSTANDING, MY DEPRESSION TO SERENITY, MY LOSS TO FULFILLMENT AND MY DEFEAT TO VICTORY!
You tell me again, Lord: Be not afraid . . .
Take me by the hand, Lord, put your hand on my shoulder: guide, lead and push me where I need to go and let me know you're by my side, that I am never alone. Encourage me to trust you, to believe that you are with me always; to see that you are greater than anything I fear, than anyone I fear; that in your company, I have nothing to fear and I need not be afraid.
Lord, on this Easter day when the seemingly impossible happened and death gave way to life, and darkness gave way to light, and fear gave way to hope nudge me just a step beyond my doubts and fears to a point where I can look back and see: that much of what I'd feared had no real power over me; that much of what I feared I'd meet was really nothing to fear after all; that in taking that one small step I found that you are at my side, that you are my strength, my safety, my shield; that you are with me and I am not alone . . .
You tell me again, Lord: Be not afraid . . .
And I need to hear your words, again and again, until my faith is stronger than my doubt, my trust is stronger than my worries and my joy greater than my fear . . . Help me believe, Lord, that with your help I can walk out of my fear, beyond my fear, to joy. Fill my heart with your presence and be with me everywhere I go, every step of the way . . .
Did you see the narrow streets already crowded with pilgrims and visitors mingling with the merchants from the villages and the shepherds coming down from the hills? There were men and women carrying burdens – baskets of vegetables, casks of wine, jugs of water – tradesmen with their tools, the aged - stooped with years, the children playing – calling to each other in shrill voices. Here a donkey stood sleepily beneath his burden in the sunlight. There, under a narrow canopy, a merchant shouted his wares in a street-side stall.
Did you see the procession of Roman Legionnaires as they forced their way through the throng, pushing pilgrim and merchant, the aged and the child aside to the fringes of the street with curses and careless blows? And between them staggered three condemned men, each carrying a heavy wooden cross on which he was to be executed.
The crosses were heavy, and the first of the victims, the man called Jesus of Nazareth, was at the point of collapse, having been scourged, lashed with a leather whip in the thongs of which had been inserted rough pieces of lead. Blood trickled down from wounds in His brow from the twig of long-thorned briar twisted around in the shape of a crown that had been pushed down on His forehead. Slowly, they all moved forward from the courtyard of Pilate's palace and made for one of the gates leading out of the city.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Did you hear the whispers in the crowd? A group of women went with the procession sobbing aloud, others moaning in that deep grief that knows not what to say or do. There were men too. Their lips were moving in prayers and their hearts were heavy - they wanted to help but there was nothing they could do. The deaf he had cured covered their ears to the to the shouts and insults directed at Jesus. Those to whom he had restored sight were blind once again, but this time blinded by tears. And the crippled that he had healed, limped along to accompany Jesus as the procession inched slowly forward.
Did you hear the shouts that grew louder and louder, to a beat, a rhythm, a chant: “crucify, crucify, crucify!” Simon of Cyrene did, as he entered the city gates and found himself jostled and shoved along by the unrelenting crowd. Suddenly, the Man with the cross stumbled and the soldiers, moved more by impatience than by pity, seeing that the Nazarene was almost too exhausted to go any farther, laid hands on Simon and forced him to take the cross. Just a few minutes before, he was a lonely pilgrim quietly approaching the Holy City. Now he is a beast of burden, his shoulders stooped under the weight of a cross on which this Man was soon to die.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there at the place called Golgotha? It was where two great highways converged upon the city, and the valley below was a place of stench, a place of horror, a place of ugliness where garbage always burned and the evil smelling smoke curled up and was wafted over the brow of the scull-shaped hill. This was the place of public execution - Calvary - and here the procession stopped. And there on that hilltop, did you hear as the sounds of shouting were interrupted by the sound of shrieks of pain as nails were driven through human flesh . . . a sound that echoed across the Kidron valley with each hammer blow.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Did you see the faces of those who witnessed the spectacle? There were some who had followed Him once, who had been attracted by the charm of the wonder-worker. Some had accepted loaves and fishes at His hands. Now they shouted taunts at Him. They remembered what He had said and now they hurled His words back at Him - barbed arrows of hate and malice, promises He had made, predictions and eternal truth that had come from His lips. They shouted until they went hoarse. The noise was so great that only a few of them standing near the cross heard what Jesus said when His lips moved in prayer: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."
Where you there when the crucified my Lord?
Did it seem like time oozed out like the blood that dripped from the cross when a thunderstorm was blowing up from the mountains and it was becoming strangely dark? People looked at the ominous sky and became frightened. Women took little children by the hand and hurried back to the city before the storm would break. Yet His mother stayed . . . did you see the grief that pierced her heart?
And were you there when suddenly Jesus opened His eyes and gave a loud cry. The gladness in his voice startled all who heard it for it sounded like a shout of victory. "It is finished. Father into your hands I commend My spirit." And with that cry, He died.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
No . . . you weren’t there . . . and neither was I.
But . . . is it not I who dips my hand in the dish with him? Is it not I who leaves the table and goes out into the night and betrays him with every lie I tell, with the gossip I spread, with the cruel and hurtful things I say? Do I not also sell him out for thirty pieces of silver every time I seek vainglory or sell my soul to achieve the riches of this world? Do I not betray Him with a kiss each time I use my affections to satisfy my own selfish and sinful desires rather than for it to express love?
Do I not run away from Him every time I turn away my face and abandon the need of one of His “least ones?” Do I not desert Him when sometimes He is too slow to answer my prayer, or even, perhaps, when everything in my life is going well and I no longer have need of Him? Is it not my voice that boasts, "Lord, even though I should have to die with you, I will not deny you!” while my actions and example scream, “I do not know Him?”
Is it not my lips that cry out, “Crucify Him!” each time I sit in judgement of another? Do I not shout out the name “Barabbas” each and every time I choose condemnation instead of mercy, revenge instead of justice, violence in place of peace, selfishness over service, retribution instead of turning the other cheek?
Do I not scourge His back when I abuse, or even tolerate, the physical, sexual or emotional abuse of another, or abuse my own body with drugs and alcohol? Do I not press a crown of thorns on His head when I play mind games with another and use my intelligence, my wit or my sarcasm to harm someone’s self-esteem? Is it not me who pounds hammer upon nail into His hands and feet every time I sin and thrust a spear into His side through my cold heartedness and indifference to the plight of the poor, the aged, the lonely, the homebound, the outcast, those deprived of the right to life?
Yet, O my Jesus, I hear the words you say from the pulpit of your cross: “Father, forgive them; they know not what they do.” Me, Lord? Forgive me? Even after I have done all this to you . . . you whose only crime is that you love such a one as me for all eternity?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Yes . . . yes . . . I WAS THERE when they crucified my Lord.
The cross. To many, a sign of violence, death, and defeat. To us, it is the most sacred, the most cherished of all images. For us it represents Christ’s suffering and victory: a sign of love, life, and triumph. Today, through the Stations of the Cross, in our hearts and through our imaginations we stand on the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem and retrace the footsteps of Jesus from the Fortress Antonia, where he was condemned to death, to Golgatha, where he was crucified.
What would we see if we were there when Jesus was crucified? Far from the ornate crosses that decorate our churches and homes, we would see a stark cross of rugged wood. Our eyes would see a crucified man dying slowly, his body wrenched by pain. A sight not easy to look at. What would we hear if we were there when Jesus was crucified? The harsh thud of nails driven through wood and flesh, the moaning of the dying, the insults shouted to the cross, the mockery of his enemies to his claim of divinity, the few gasping words of Jesus himself. Sounds not pleasant to the human ear.
It is through the Stations of the Cross that we are invited to experience the sights and sounds of that day by spiritually accompanying our Lord on his sorrowful journey to Calvary, meditating at each scene of his Passion and death.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Rejected by his own people, tormented by his accusers, tortured by his persecutors mocked by the Roman officials. Jesus, the King of Kings, is forced to wear the distorted trappings of kingship: a crown, not of gold but of thorns; a robe, not of royal splendor, but a cloak soaked with blood that irritates his scourged body. The King of both heaven and earth receives the judgment of a mere puppet of the Roman government. Pilate is convinced of Jesus’ innocence, but bows to the pressure of the crowd and condemns Jesus to death. The implementation of the sentence, begins. Christ draws near to the cross, his body already atrociously bruised and lacerated, blood trickling down his face from his head crowned with thorns. Ecce homo. Behold the man.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, how often I am so very much like Pilate. How often I sit in the seat of judgment and condemn others without cause. How often I too yield to the pressure of the crowd and give up my own will just because it’s safer to agree with everyone else. Yet in your tortured appearance, Jesus, I receive my strength. Despite all obstacles, you remained true to yourself, true to your convictions. Forgive me, Lord, when I bow to the pressures of others rather than following your way. Forgive me when I become more concerned with what people think of me than what I know is right. Forgive me the times when my words, my deeds, or my silence condemned others. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Wood. A material very familiar to Jesus. As a boy, he watched Joseph cut, shape, and mold this raw material into products of beauty. And as Jesus grew into manhood, he too accepted the trade of a carpenter and came to depend on the wood as a way of life. But now, the wood has become his way of death. That wood, which had been such an instrument of joy and livelihood, becomes the very instrument of his suffering and death. Yet Jesus accepts the cross as he accepts the will of his Father: freely . . . no questions asked. And yet, it is not his cross that he bears; it is ours.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, I accept your cross, but with much hesitation. Why do I choose to leave my comfortable world and allow hardship and pain into my life? I bear it that others may know you more fully through me. Be at my side as I begin my journey. Give me strength. Give me courage. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
"I am a worm, not a man, scorned by all, the laughing-stock of the mob": the words of the psalmist-prophet come wholly true in these steep, narrow little streets of Jerusalem in the last hours before the Passover. The cross weighs heavily upon his shoulders, and he falls. And he wills all this; he wills fulfillment of the prophecy. He falls in accordance with his own will, so that "the scriptures may be fulfilled": "I am a worm, not a man.” When it would have been so easy for him to give up, he staggers to his feet once more. He continues on toward his tragic destination.
Let us pray . . .
All: Lord, in my life, there are so many times that I stumble and fall. So often I just want to lie there and give up, make people feel sorry for me. But I know that there is no cross too heavy for me because you are always there to share the weight of my burden, to pick me up and set me back on the right path again. Yet, sometimes you are the last one that I remember to call on when I need help. Lord, help me to remember that I am totally dependent on you.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Innocence meets innocence in the face of injustice. Mary looks upon her son, burdened by the cross, crowned in thorns, mangled and bleeding. Tears run down her face, her arms outstretched to embrace her beloved son. Jesus looks up and sees his mother before him. Their eyes meet – hers full of tears, his full of pain and confusion. Marys’ lips move, “I love you” they say. Knowing he is doing his Father’s will and secure in his mother’s love, Jesus finds the courage and strength to meet his own death.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, forgive me the many times our eyes have met and I turned mine away. Forgive me the times things did not go my way and I let everyone know about it. Forgive me the times I brooded over little inconveniences or became discouraged and did not heed your call to courage. Yes, our eyes have met many times, but fruitlessly. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Just passing by. Just minding his own business. Perhaps visiting Jerusalem for the Passover feast. Perhaps intrigued by the commotion of what was going on. A perfect stranger, in wrong place at the wrong time. Simon of Cyrene is summoned, perhaps compelled, by the soldiers to relieve Jesus’ burden and carry the cross, if only for a short time. When the condemned man's shoulders became too weak, he lends him his shoulders. What was Simon’s reaction? Did he accept the cross freely, as Jesus did or did he try to get out of carrying it even the short distance that he did?
Let us pray . . .
Lord, often I do not wish to help others when they (or you) call upon me. Often I say, “Hey it’s not my problem!” Or I agree to help out, but only begrudgingly. Other times, I have offered my hand to help other people, but when it became too much, too inconvenient, too demanding of my time, I left them, making excuses for myself. Help me to relieve the pain and misery of those around me with the strength and love that I receive from you. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Jesus’ face is bathed in sweat, spit and blood. Moved with pity and compassion, a woman from the crowd, Veronica by name, unconcerned with what others may be thinking, pushes forward from the crowd and wipes Jesus’ face. As a gift for her courage and unselfish caring, Jesus leaves his image imprinted on her veil.
Let us pray . . .
Lord Jesus, perhaps the reason you chose to leave your image upon Veronica’s veil was because in her faith, in her compassion, and in her love, Veronica was the image of you. So many opportunities arise everyday for me to give to you by giving to others. But so very often, I pass them by. Help me to give all I have to you by giving all I have to others. Let me be your image for others. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
No sleep, nothing to eat or drink since supper the eve before, the interrogations, the scourging, the mockery - they have all taken their toll. Jesus falls again to the dust and grime of the crowded street of Jerusalem amidst the noise of weeping and heckling with even greater force than the first time. Yet, despite the pain that he is in, despite the humiliation he must be feeling, despite the weight of the cross, despite the jeering crowd, despite the whips from the soldiers, Jesus struggles to his feet once more to continue on his way to Calvary.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, I've slipped, I've stumbled, I've fallen many times in life. But the weight of my cross is nothing compared to your cross, O Jesus. Sometimes I fall because of weakness; other times I fall because I lack the incentive or the courage to keep trying. Sometimes it is just so much easier to lie there and give up trying to do your will, trying to become the person you call me to be. Give me the strength and perseverance I need as I struggle on my way back to you.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Pain . . . exhaustion . . . the realization of what lies ahead, and still Jesus finds compassion in his heart to console the women who stand on the side of the road weeping. He speaks words of comfort to them, even though it is difficult for him even to speak. When few in the crowd have compassion in their heart for Jesus, he, in his sufferings, still finds compassion in his heart for others.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, Sometimes my heart is touched by the suffering of others, but not moved. Not moved to speak out against injustice. Not moved to act to end their hurt, their pain, their grief, their loneliness, their hunger, their poverty. But tears are not enough. Tears cannot stop evil from happening. Tears cannot stop agony. Tears cannot heal. Tears cannot bring peace. Move my tears beyond weeping and into action. Let my words, my deeds, or perhaps just my presence, comfort those whose lives are filled with hurt. Amen.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Face first, Jesus crashes onto the pavement once more. Every fiber of his body cries out to give up. But every element of his will insists that he continue on. Jesus falls under the weight of the cross. Once he said: "Do you think that I cannot pray to my Father, who would at once send me more than twelve legions of angels?" But he does not ask for that. Having accepted the cup from his Father's hands, he is resolved to drink it to the end. He wills it no other way.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, it’s tough being a Christian. You call me to pick up my cross daily and follow you. But your way is difficult and is often the unpopular way. It requires me to be different from everyone else, and I crave the acceptance of others. Yet, I also long for your acceptance of me. Sure my every step. Give me strength. Help me to realize that you are all I need. Amen.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Publicly stripped of his dignity, of his self-esteem, and now of his clothes. The utter humiliation he must have felt. He has lost so much in just one day’s time: his friends, his popularity, his reputation, and now his clothes – the last material possession he has. He has but one thing left to give, and that is his very life. With every wound, every spasm of pain, every wrenched muscle, every trickle of blood, with all the exhaustion in its arms, all the bruises and lacerations on its back and shoulders, this unclothed body is carrying out the will of both the Father and the Son.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, in my own way, I too have stripped you. I have taken away the good name of another by foolish talk, and have stripped people of human dignity by my prejudice. Jesus, there are so many ways I have offended you through the hurt I caused others. Help me to see you in all people. Amen.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Roughly, contemptuously, the soldiers thrust Jesus down onto his cross. Holding him down, they pound the nails through his hands and feet. The ringing of hammer upon nail must have been deafening. The echo of the shrieks of his excruciating pain must have been ear-piercing. Yet the persecutors are dauntless, the onlookers unmoved by pity. All around Jesus are the mockers and those who take delight in human misery. Does no one remember his loving message? Does no one remember the healings? Does anyone remember anything good at all about him? “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
Let us pray . . .
Lord, I too sometimes seem to get pleasure out of making others suffer. The gossip I spread, the lies I tell, the games I play in relationships, the guilt trips I lay on others, the revenge I seek for the hurt others have caused me, are all my subtle, yet torturous ways that I inflict pain on others. Jesus, what your persecutors and tormentors did to you appalls me; how then can I treat others in this way? Give me insight into the ways I hurt others and help me to exchange these hurtful ways with ways of healing. Amen.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
On his journey as the One sent by the Father, he preached the breadth of his love, which overlooks no one; the length of his love, which is faithful in every generation; the height of his love, a hope that triumphs over death itself; and the depth of his love, which sent him to call not the righteous, but sinners. Once he told others, “No greater love does any man have than to lay down his life for those he loves.” And here it is – the total gift of self – the perfect gift of love. Total. Complete. Free. Uncompromising. Selfless. For you. For me. Sinners. Unrighteous. The nightmare of pain and suffering, the agony of betrayal and loneliness come to an end. After three mercifully brief hours on the cross, suspended between earth and sky, Jesus dies. Choking on the hyssop dipped in wine he gasps out the words, "It is finished." He bows his head and gives up his spirit.
Let us pray . . .
My Jesus, have mercy on me for what my sins have done to you and to others. I thank you for your great act of love. Teach me to live my life for others, and not fail you again. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Jesus’ lifeless body is taken down from the cross. Once again Jesus is in the arms that once held him in the stable in Bethlehem. Mary holds Jesus’ body close to hers. She kisses his head. Her tears mingle with his blood. The crowd has gone. The noise has stopped. The show is over. The passion has ended. Or has it? There is still injustice, still pain, still the sufferings of mankind.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, you have said, “Whatever you do to one of my least ones, you do to me.” There was nothing that I could do to stop your crucifixion two thousand years ago. I was not there. But I am here now! Help me to make a difference in this world by helping to end your pain and suffering in the person of my fellow brothers and sisters. Amen.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
He was born in a borrowed place, a stable. And now, his lifeless body is placed in another borrowed place, the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea. End of story? Not quite. What appears to end in utter failure becomes the ultimate triumph. Three days after his death, he destroys death by rising to new life. Jesus lives! Death has no hold on him! What an utter contradiction of the way it’s “supposed” to be!
Let us pray . . .
Lord Jesus, help me to show the world that you do live – in me! Let me be your eyes that look compassion on the world; your heart that pulsates with love for all; your arms stretched out in service to the needs of others; and your feet which guide others on their way back to you. Amen.
CLOSING PRAYER
Lord Jesus, for how many ages have you remained imprisoned upon your cross, and still we pass you by, ignoring you? How often have we overlooked your tender presence in our lives, paying little attention to your great sorrow, your pain, your power to love.? How often have we, by indifference, added to your sorrow, deepened your pain, and refused your love?
You constantly stretch forth your hands to re-create us, to touch us with your love, and still we close our eyes to your presence and force you to remain imprisoned upon your cross.
Yet our names are written in your heart forever, and you will not allow us to ignore you or run from you. You have loved us with an everlasting love, and we continue to place obstacles in your path.
Your cross shows us, however, the power of your love, that is stronger than our fear, that it can overcome our need to run from you. Lord, let the love that flows from your cross surround us, break down the walls of our fear, and fill our hearts.
Lord Jesus Christ crucified, teach us how to love one another, as you have loved us, even to the cross. Amen.
