Good Friday

This is a narrative meditation of what perhaps Mary pondered as she reflected on the words she heard her son, Jesus, speak from the cross.

It is Accomplished

I suppose I must look a little different than you anticipated I would. Tonight you see me, not as the young madonna arrayed in a pale blue mantle, but as a woman shrouded in the black of mourning.

He said it would be this way, you know. For thirty three years I have kept in my memory what that old, wise, devout man named Simeon had said the day Joseph and I brought Jesus to be presented at the Temple. “And your soul a sword too will pierce” , he predicted. So many times I thought I understood what Simeon’s words meant, as I felt the prick of that sword as I bore some of the crosses that God has asked me to carry. But today, the sword has pierced me through. The sword has pierced me through just as surely as the centurian’s lance pierced the side of my son as his lifeless body hung limply from the cross.

What can I say this night as I reflect on the events of this past day. Can anything I say to you adequately convey the grief that I feel? There are just some things that there are no words for. As I stood beneath his cross, I recalled the words from the Book of Lamentations. Perhaps they express my feelings better than anything else could. “Come, all who pass by the way, look and see whether there is any suffering like my suffering.”

As I replay the day’s events in my mind, I try to make sense out of it all. I try to understand how this all happened . . . why this all happened? Why did such violence and hatred have to be inflicted on my son, a man whose words and actions spoke nothing but love and peace and forgiveness. I wish my husband Joseph was alive to help me deal with these things. He had such an extraordinary knack of being able to see God’s will in things. How I wish I could call upon his strength and wisdom now.

Of all the things that have happened today, which has led to such pain in my heart and such confusion in my mind, one thing keeps resurfacing. It was something that Jesus said just before he died. Raising his eyes toward heaven, my son said “It is acomplished.” What could he possibly have meant by that? Perhaps if I could only understand what he meant by those words, I could possibly make sense of the horrible events of the day.

So many images are beginning to come back to me in a rush now; so many things my son said and did during his lifetime. So many memories that I have kept treasured in my heart. Why do they suddenly come back to me now?

I think back to the beginning now. As I recall the words of the angel Gabriel, suddenly I understand them as perhaps I never did before. I do not speak of when the angel came to me, but when he came to Joseph in a dream to tell him that the child I was carrying was conceived through the Holy Spirit and that I had not been unfaithful to him. The angel told him to name the child “Jesus,” because he would save his people from their sins. The name itself means “savior.” And now I see. Today my son has fulfilled his destiny, the mission that began so long ago. Today, it has been accomplished.

My own words to my cousin Elizabeth now come back to me. “He has dispersed the arrogant of mind and heart. He has thrown down the rulers from their thrones but lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, but the rich he has sent away empty. He has helped Israel his servant, remembering his mercy, according to his promise to our fathers, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.” Everything we and our forefathers have waited for, everything we have been promised has been accomplished in my son. Truly today, the prophesy of Elizabeth’s husband Zechariah find their meaning, for through my son, God has visited and ransomed his people. It has all been accomplished.

I remember too my sons words to me when he was twelve years of age and Joseph and I found him with the elders of the Temple, after searching for him for days. Upon questioning him about the worry that he caused us, Jesus said, “Don’t you know I must be about my father’s business?” How strange those words seemed then. But today, I know that this is what today has been about. His father’s business. And now - it has been accomplished.

And then, that time we attended the wedding in Cana. I informed him that the bride’s family had run out of wine. He replied to me, “Woman, my hour has not yet come.” What strange words I thought then. But now I realize that today, on the cross, his hour has finally come. He once said, “Unless you eat of the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you.” That whoever eats his flesh and drinks his blood has eternal life. He said that whoever eats his flesh and drinks his blood remains in him and he in them. Today, he has become our sacrificial lamb. As his body was slaughtered and his blood shed upon the cross, his flesh has become true food and his blood true drink. Yes son, today your hour has come. It is accomplished.

I recall when John the Baptist sent his disciples to asked him if he was the Messiah. Jesus said, “Go tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind regain their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have the good news proclaimed to them.” Yes, all this, too, has been accomplished.

In the Garden of Gethsamane last night, I am told that while facing with sheer human terror what he obviously knew was his obvious destiny, he prayed, “Father, not as I will, but your will be done.” He has spread his Father’s word; he has done his Father’s will. And now his Father’s will has been accomplished.

I remember that once he said, “No great love has anyone but this, than to lay down one’s life for those he loves. That is what today has been all about, hasn’t it? He has proved the magnitude of his love. It has been accomplished.

My friends, before I depart from you tonight, I must ask you, has it really all been accomplished? Has it truly been accomplished in you? He accomplished it FOR you; have you let it be accomplished IN you? Do the things Jesus said and did really make a difference in your life? My son once said, “If you make my words your home, you will indeed be my disciples; you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” Have you allowed his words to find a homewithin you? O my friends, open yourself up to him. Allow him to move you, to shape you, to love you, to transform you. Let his life have meaning to you; let his death have a purpose for you. And if it has been accomplished in you, won’t you take up your cross and follow him? There is still hunger, there is still hatred, there is still injustice in the world. Let him again accomplish it. Let it be accomplished through you!

Palm Sunday (Cycle A)

The Palm and the Cross

Isaiah 5:4-7; Philippians 2:6-11; Matthew 26:14- 27:66 

The journey into Jerusalem began with the glorious spectacle of waving palms and adoring crowds. As Jesus entered the holy city, some people ran ahead, alerting friends and neighbors, while others threw their cloaks upon the road, crying, “Blessed is the King! “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” At that triumphant moment, there was nothing the crowd would have denied him. Nothing they would begrudge him. Nothing they would have withheld. Power . . . Riches . . . A throne . . . It was all within his grasp.

Or so it seemed.

But the rowdy crowd was as eager to “get” as to give. They were hungry — hungry for whatever Jesus could give them. Some were hungry for political status, and waved their palms for a King who would restore the Jewish state. Some were starving for power, and threw their cloaks before a Warrior who would crush the Roman army. Some were hungry for comfort, and shouted for a Hero who could fill their bellies and dry their tears. The crowd was hungry and it was all within their grasp…or so it seemed.

But God had a different plan. You see, this warrior, this ruler, this king rode into Jerusalem on a humble donkey, not a pure-bred stallion. He wore homespun, not polished armor. He spoke about sin and redemption, not national sovereignty or imperial might.

The jubilant crowd that lined the road to Jerusalem knew they were seeing a “winner”, but they completely misunderstood God’s vision of success. They didn’t realize that Jesus had come to conquer not just Rome, but the world. They didn’t understand that Jesus came to the holy city, not to deal death or to sidestep death, but to meet death head-on. He would conquer the world and death itself…by dying. The crowds that ripped branches from trees and screamed with excitement, didn’t understand that their hunger would be eased and their emptiness filled, not by conquest or power or wealth, but by the challenge of the cross.

No scripture study or theology class can explain the cross completely. No homily or lecture fully outlines its meaning. Yet, all of us who follow Jesus will eventually find ourselves walking that dusty, lonely path to Calvary, and standing before the cross.

Jesus said, “whoever wishes to come after me must deny themselves, take up their cross and follow me.” From a marketing standpoint, this message is a disaster. Just imagine how many followers Jesus might have if he had avoided the cross — if he said:
“Lay down your cross and follow me.”
“Ignore your burdens and I will make them disappear.”
“I will not suffer, and if you believe in me, you will never suffer, either.”
That’s a message designed to keep the palm branches waving!

But the cross teaches us that suffering can be redemptive, that burdens can be shared, that sins can be forgiven, and that darkness can be dispelled, transformed by the power of a loving God. The cross dares us to believe that life is more powerful than death and that love is more enduring than hate. It stands as a reminder that our views of “success” and “defeat” might differ from God’s, and that sometimes, God has a different plan.

This week, we too have come to the city gate, palm branches waving, agendas in hand, our want lists ready. As we welcome the King into Jerusalem, what are we hungering for?

Fifth Sunday of Lent (Cycle A)

“Lazarus, Come Forth!”

Readings: Ezekiel 37:12-14; Romans 8:8-11; John 11:1-45

He’s dead. She has died. Those are the words we dread to hear. They are especially painful when someone close to us, someone who has meant a lot to us has died. How are we expected to cope with the hurt that accompanies the death of a loved one? How can we deal with the pain, the emptiness, the questioning, the helplessness, and the yearning for things to be different?

I’m sure that Mary and Martha must have experienced something like this when their brother Lazarus died. And there is a tinge of rebuke and regret in Martha’s words, "If you had been here, Lord, my brother would not have died!" To her, Jesus seems uncharacteristically indifferent, seemingly uncaring about the death of somebody who was supposed to be a very close friend. He deliberately delayed going to Bethany after he had received word that Lazarus was ill. So by the time he gets arrives, Lazarus had already died, in fact the funeral has already taken place and the body of Lazarus is in the grave for four days.

Jesus sees their tears and feels their grief, and he weeps with them. He weeps not because he loves Lazarus - not because Lazarus has died – for he knows what he is about to do -- he weeps because Mary and Martha weep. He weeps because he is sharing the heartache of the sisters - because he sympathizes with them in their pain. His tears are tears of compassion. He knows what pain and sense of loss death brings. He’s saddened at the power that death has and the terrible suffering it causes.

But just maybe he is also saddened by a lack of trust on the part of Martha and Mary. Yes, they believed he could heal the sick, the blind and the paralyzed, but death – that was another thing. Death is so final. Yes, Martha did confess that Jesus was the Messiah, the Son of God, but she had no idea that Jesus had such power even over death. As far as those gathered at the grave that day were concerned, death is death. When it comes, it is final, absolute, the end.

For Jesus, however, death does not have the last word. There is no obstacle large enough to prevent the power of God from setting anyone free. "Lazarus will rise again," he states. He then goes to the tomb, and tells them to roll away the stone that blocks the entrance.

Traditional Jewish belief had it that the soul of a dead person somehow remains with the body for three days. After three days the soul departs finally from the body never to return, and that is when corruption sets in. When Martha objects to the opening of the tomb and says, "Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days”, she is expressing the common view that this is now a hopeless situation. Is that why Jesus delayed coming to the funeral, to let the situation become "impossible" before acting on it? G.K. Chesterton once said, "Hope means hoping when things are hopeless, or it is no virtue at all." In traditional Jewish mentality bringing back to life a person who is already four days dead and decaying is as unthinkable as Ezekiel vision of gray, dry bones are restored to life.

After praying to his Father, Jesus cries in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out.” and a dead man – a once dead man emerges totally wrapped in the burial shrouds.

Straight after this incidence at Bethany, Jesus will go to Jerusalem where he himself will experience death and three days later rise to new and eternal life. Jesus rises to new and eternal life, never to die again. Unlike Lazarus who walks out of the tomb with his burial wrappings, Jesus leaves behind the burial wrappings. He will not need them again. He will never die again. Lazarus will.

Jesus comes to give life that cannot be touched by death. Jesus’ resurrection was an announcement to the whole world that death has been swallowed up in victory. There is now nothing to be afraid of. Now, on the other side of death, there is the glorious hope of life, eternal life, life in heaven, a blissful life, a perfect life. This life is something to look forward to, not with fear, but with confidence.

Death is a very powerful force in our world and in our lives. When it strikes close to us, its dreadful power is felt to the very core of our being. But as powerful as death might be, there is one who is even more powerful – the risen Jesus. One day he will call to us as he called out to Lazarus, and we will walk out of the tomb. Lazarus was raised but he would eventually die again, but we shall be raised to life forever. This will be a new life, a life without the present hurts and hindrances, a life with all those saints who have gone before us.

But the story of the raising of Lazarus is more than a pointer to the resurrection of Jesus. This miracle is a challenge to never give up hope even in the hopeless situations in which we find ourselves as individuals, as a church or as a nation, for it is never too late for God to revive and revitalize us.

Many of us are held in tombs of our own making, and like Lazarus, Jesus bids us to come forth, to be unshackled and be set free.

“Lazarus, come forth!” he calls out to us. “Walk from the burial chamber built from all of the possessions that you surround yourself with, things that can offer you only fleeting happiness and contentment.”

“Lazarus, come forth! Forsake the career crypt where frenetic ambition leaves you no time for family, prayer or contrition.”

“Lazarus, come forth! Break out of the captivity of sin - of false pride, selfishness, hatred and revengeful desires - and experience the true freedom of the children of God.”

"Lazarus, come forth!" Come out of your tomb-like lives no longer filled with joy or hope or meaning or possibilities. Come and live again joined to the one who offers you forgiveness and life. Come into communion with the one who has a place and a purpose for you.”

The story of Lazarus illustrates that there is nothing that can hold us back. No tomb is strong enough. Like Lazarus, we must hear the voice of God calling us away from whatever imprisons us. God’s voice calls us from the past and calls us to the present. It calls us from our old habits and invites us to try new ones. It calls us from apathy and indifference to caring. It calls us from despair to hope. It calls us from darkness to light. It calls us from loneliness to community. It calls us from captivity to freedom.

To respond to that call can be scary because it means change. It means stepping into the unknown. Imagine how fearful it must have been for Lazarus to step out of that dark cave and into the light. But the voice of God was one that he knew and trusted and therefore he responded.

Scripture tells us that like Lazarus, we have a friend waiting for us. A friend who can roll aside the stone that keeps us entombed. A friend who can loosen the bonds of whatever it is that keeps us separated from God. A friend who can set us free. A friend who wants to give us new life. A friend who calls each of us by name and wants us to experience the grace and love and forgiveness a relationship with Him offers. That friend, of course, is Jesus. He wants to breathe new life into our old bones. He wants to set us free. This morning, let’s “do a Lazarus.” Let’s hear His voice. Let us “Come forth!”

Third Sunday of Lent (Cycle A)

For What Do You Thirst?

Exodus 17:3-7; Romans 5:1-2, 5-8; John 4:5-42 

Poland Spring, Perrier, Deer Park, Dasani, Evian, Aqua Fina. If you recognize those brands, you might be among the millions of Americans who drink bottled water. Last year, Americans spent over ten billion dollars on bottled water and sales are rising.

It seems that many Americans aren’t satisfied with the water that flows from their taps at a cost of less than half a penny per gallon. Instead they seek out bottled water at a cost of one to four dollars per gallon. To get that water they have to go to the "well." They have to go to ShopRite, Weiss, Wal-Mart, Costco, Target, or their local convenience store. Or they have to arrange to have the "well" come to them by having bottled water delivered to their home.

In today’s gospel we hear about a woman who came to a real well seeking to have her thirst quenched. What she got was more than she could ever have imagined.

The scene begins as Jesus arrives, tired and thirsty, at Jacob’s well located in Sychar in the heart of Samaria. It’s noon—the hottest, most sun-scorched time of the day. And there at the well is a Samaritan woman, going about her daily routine of drawing water. She went alone at noon, not the usual time for seeking water. But the woman was not the usual kind of woman one would find in the village. She had been married five times and was now living with a man who would not give her the benefit of a marriage ceremony. This Shady Lady of Sychar was rejected by men and shunned by women.

Driven by thirst she comes to the well. There she encounters Jesus, not the usual Jew she was used to meeting. This Jewish man breaks the taboos of his day by addressing a Samaritan and by publicly speaking with a woman.

It’s a bizarre conversation that they have. At first it seems that they’re having two different and disconnected conversations. He speaks of living water and she thinks of physical water. He tells her that if she has this water it will quench her thirst forever. Jesus is talking about her soul, her spiritual life, and she’s thinking of her body. And of all people—a woman, an enemy despised by the Jews, an adulteress—of all people to her Jesus gives that living water. This journey of faith, which began with an innocent and harmless request for a drink of water, radically changed the woman’s life. Jesus goes from asking her for a drink, to offering her living water, the living water of acceptance and a relationship with God—things for which this scorned woman had been thirsting.

For what do you thirst? For what do you really yearn in our culture of such great excess and unmeasured need? What, down deep in Your heart and soul, do you really want?

For what do you thirst? Jesus said, “Blessed are they that hunger and thirst for righteousness. They will be satisfied” What is the liquid diet that you feed yourself on? If you drink in love and truth, mercy and compassion, gentleness and sincerity, honesty and charity, humility and simplicity, we have Jesus’ pledge that we will have our fill.

For what do you thirst? Did you ever realize that just thinking about being thirsty can make you thirsty? For all too many, the choice is to satisfy thirst by drinking from the sugary fountains of the world around us. We dip our 16 ounce cups into the streams of modern life – we try to quench our thirst with pleasure, power, prestige, possessions, popularity, pornography, and perversion. Well as they say, you are what you eat, (or in this case, what you drink).

For what do you thirst? In today’s gospel, Jesus says, “I am the living water. Whoever drinks the water I shall give will never thirst.” Each of us has the choice to draw only H2O from the well every day or to also accept the living water that Jesus offers us. What is this living water? Put simply we could describe this living water as the very life and love of God, poured into us—grace. As the water we drink becomes one with our bodies, so God becomes one with us. This water never goes dry. This water is never withheld from those who seek. This water cannot be constrained. But if we don’t receive this living water from Jesus every day, we will look for satisfaction in ways that will never please, never satisfy, never nourish.

Lent is a special season of grace in the Church each year to enable us to drink more and more of this living water that Jesus offers us. And so, this Lent, let us draw from the WELL OF PRAYER. The Living Water which we are invited to drink at this well is one that quenches. It satisfies; for through prayer we deepen our relationship with the God who will never disappoint, the God who knows us better than we know ourselves, the God who accepts us as we are, but encourages us to be more than we are. Only this water can satisfy our thirsting, longing, craving, to get to know him better. The water from the well of prayer is a water that nourishes. It makes us stronger to face all that the world throws our way.

This Lent, let us also draw from the WELL OF FASTING, SACRIFICE & PENANCE. Through imbibing in its life-giving water, we will find ourselves satisfied and full, for it disciplines our bodies from the desire for the carbonated soft drinks of self-indulgence and lust that leave us with empty calories that are ultimately both unsatisfying and unhealthy. And through its purity, we will be cleansed, reconciled and made worthy recipients of the salvation won for us through Jesus’ passion, death and resurrection.

And this Lent, let us draw water from the WELL OF CHARITY & ALMSGIVING. Through it, we will be satiated with the love of Christ, inebriated by a sense of service to those who are in need, giddy by the opportunity to give all in his name. We who have tasted of this lively water must in turn become an abundant, excessive, overflowing fountain to others. As we hear Jesus say in the Gospel of John, three chapters after today’s gospel passage, “Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.” (John 7:38)

Streams of living water... That’s what the Son of God offered the Samaritan woman at the well and that’s what he offers us as well: life giving, life renewing, life refreshing water that can satisfy those who drink so that we will never thirst again—Living water that satisfies our longings in life. Living water that nourishes our innermost selves. Living water that promises to give life to our faith. Living water that supplies us with an endless source of strength and encouragement no matter what we face in life. Living waters! That’s what we need and that’s what Jesus offers us this morning. That’s what Jesus invites us to drink – right here and always.

The Parable of the Prodigal Son 3

The Prodigal Brother

Now the older son had been out in the field and, on his way back, as he neared the house, he heard the sound of music and dancing. He called one of the servants and asked what this might mean. The servant said to him, ‘Your brother has returned and your father has slaughtered the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’ He became angry, and when he refused to enter the house, his father came out and pleaded with him. He said to his father in reply, ‘Look, all these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders; yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends. But when your son returns who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him you slaughter the fattened calf.’ He said to him, ‘My son, you are here with me always; everything I have is yours. But now we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.’ (Luke 15:25-30)

I don’t understand! It isn’t fair! I was there when he asked my father for his inheritance. He so much as disowned himself from us. He no longer wanted to be called son. All he cared about were the riches my father worked so hard to gain.

I saw the tears in my father’s eyes when he took those riches and started out the gate. I felt the pain in his heart as he watched him continue down the path. He never once turned and looked back! He was proud of the dishonor he bestowed upon my father’s house.

This thoughtless son humiliated our good name. The embarrassment I felt when I went back into the fields with the other workers! They knew what happened. I had to endure their stares and gossip; and I had done nothing wrong! There I would sweat under the burning sun from morning till night, listening to the workers tell me stories of my brother’s sins in faraway towns. The mockery continued until I pretended I no longer cared.

And that was hard in the beginning, because I did care. I hoped then that my brother would come to his senses and return to us. But each time I heard another story about his life of scandal, I began to care less and less. Finally, my pain turned to anger, and my anger to disgust. In my mind, he was gone forever, and no longer my brother – just as he wanted. I could bear no longer to hear the stories about him and demanded the workers keep quiet about such things. In time, my brother became a distant memory, one I had hoped to forget about once and for all.

And then today, after breaking my back in the field, my hands and fingers ingrained with the very soil this lost son had spat upon, instead of coming home to find rest, I find singing and dancing, for the sinner had returned!

I don’t understand it. He dishonored my father. He lived an adulterous life. He gave his money to gambling, and drink, and sin. I was the one who stayed behind! I did everything that was asked of me! I did what was right and noble and good! Yet my brother receives the reward. Everything has been restored to him!

There is something that I do understand, though. My father has compassion, forgiveness and love far greater than mine. And it was he who suffered the greater pain, yet he still forgives. I have respected my father for all he has taught me, and I respect him now. I will surrender my pride and bury my anger. And, while I don’t fully understand, for my father’s sake, I will show my brother compassion. For my father has taught me how to forgive, and so . . . I too will forgive.

The Parable of the Prodigal Son 2

The Forgiving Father

While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him. His son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you; I no longer deserve to be called your son.’ But his father ordered his servants, ‘Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Take the fattened calf and slaughter it. Then let us celebrate with a feast, because this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found.’ Then the celebration began. ( Luke 15:20-24)

What would you have done? Perhaps you think me foolish. Perhaps I am, but they say love makes fools of us all. And I do love my two sons more than anything else in the world.

A great fortune I intended to leave him. Everything that I had worked so hard for I wanted to be his so that his future would be secure. In life I shared with him all that I was; in death I wanted to share all that I had. What a legacy I had hoped to bequeath him! My fortune, yes, but more . . . a family name: honored and respected. A name that stood for something. And values . . . like kindness and generosity, a love of what is right and good and decent, and a wisdom that finds its origin more in the heart than in the mind. All this I had hoped he would be heir to. I prayed that these things would have an even greater value to him than gold and silver.

Sure I was devastated that day when he came to me and demanded his share of the inheritance. It wasn’t so much the money, but the fact that he wanted to leave, to separate himself from me . . . that’s what hurt the most. He was going to get the money eventually anyway; couldn’t he wait? It was as if he were saying that my fortune was more important to him than I was to him. Since he was going to inherit it at my death anyway, it was as if he was telling me that my life and my love did not have value to him, only my money.

I guess I could have said no. I could have refused to give him the inheritance. In my heart, I knew he wasn’t quite ready for the responsibility that comes with such great wealth. But how could I hold him back? Sometimes you just have to let go. My heart was to the point of breaking as I saw him pass from my sight as he went off to pursue his own pleasure. As he left, my prayer was with him: “May you be as rich in virtue and wisdom, my son, as you are in gold and silver. And when there is nothing else, know that you will always be rich in my love.”

Oh I heard the reports: the gambling . . . the drinking . . . the prostitutes. I heard it all. It wasn’t so much the squandering of his life’s fortune that hurt so much, it was the absolute rejection of everything I hold dear, the values that I tried to impart to him throughout his life. How could he reject everything I have stood for all my life? I was so deeply hurt, but I thought how much he must be hurting now after hitting rock bottom. How humiliating it must have been for him to be tending swine on that farm, an animal considered so low, so dirty, so despicable by my people that, under our law, we are forbidden to eat of its flesh.

What should I do, I wondered. Should I forget him as if he were dead to me? Should I perhaps go to him and force him to come home? No, I believed in him. All I could do was hope that he believed in me. I had faith in him that he would somehow see the error of his ways and would reject the sinful lifestyle that he had taken on. At the same time, I prayed that he would feel secure enough in my love for him to know that my forgiveness was his for the asking. And so, I climbed a high hill top every evening. With every sunset, I hoped to catch a glimpse of my returning son. I waited. And I waited. And I waited.

Nothing could have prepared me for our reunion. I had played the scene over and over in my mind. What would he say? What would I say? Although I had played the scene over and over, time and time again in my imagination, I never imagined I would react as I actually did. When I caught sight of him a long way off, I was so overcome with emotion that I totally lost myself and ran to him. I was moved to tears when I drew closer. Words choked in my throat and I could say nothing. The well-rehearsed speeches were gone from my mind. Nothing I could possible say to him anyway could possibly convey my joy. And so, I let my tears and my embrace do the talking for me.

Finally, he broke from my embrace and through his tears said, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. O no longer deserve to be called your son. Treat me as you would one of your servants.” How difficult it must have been for him to admit to himself he was wrong – how much harder it must have been for him to admit it to me! It must have been difficult for him to say, “I’m sorry.” How much easier for me to say, “You’re forgiven.” As my riches were his, so too my love and my forgiveness was his.

I called to one of my servants, “Sandals on his feet!” – only slaves are barefoot and he is not my slave but my son! . . . “A ring for his finger!” - a signet ring with the family seal, for he has come home and is once again a member of my family! . . . “Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him! Take the fatted calf and slaughter it! Let us celebrate with a feast, for this son of mine was dead, and has back to life; he was lost and now he has been found!”

Perhaps you think me foolish . . . perhaps just a sentimental old man. Perhaps you think I should have reacted differently . . . with anger . . . with resentment? Should I have held back my love and forgiveness till I had made him sweat a little? Forgive, you say . . . but never forget. I am who I am, and I must be true to myself. And so, my forgiveness is not halfhearted; it is total . . . complete . . . unconditional. After all, he is my son and I love him. What else could I do? What would you do?

The Parable of the Prodigal Son 1

The Prodigal

Then Jesus said, “A man had two sons, and the younger son said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of your estate that should come to me.’ So the father divided the property between them. After a few days, the younger son collected all his belongings and set off to a distant country where he squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation. When he had freely spent everything, a severe famine struck that country, and he found himself in dire need. So he hired himself out to one of the local citizens who sent him to his farm to tend the swine. And he longed to eat his fill of the pods on which the swine fed, but nobody gave him any. Coming to his senses he thought, ‘How many of my father’s hired workers have more than enough food to eat, but here am I, dying from hunger. I shall get up and go to my father and I shall say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as you would treat one of your hired workers.”’ So he got up and went back to his father. (Luke 15:11-20)

The call me the “prodigal,” and I guess that name suits me better than any other, for indeed that’s what I am: reckless . . . wasteful. And I guess there are a few other names you could add to the list, like black sheep of the family . . . ingrate . . . drunkard . . . sinner. But there is one name, though, that I never appreciated and one I fear I’ve lost forever. That name is “son.”

I’m not going to bore you with all the sordid details; I’m sure you are familiar with them all too well. I guess that comes with the territory when your life is as infamous as mine.

I’ll admit to you that I’ve always been headstrong. I’ve always been selfish and self-centered. That always seems to be the root of it, doesn’t it? I’ve always had to have things go my own way. I’ve always had to have what I wanted, when I wanted it, in the way I wanted it. So I guess it’s not all too surprising that I did what I did. A lot of people in my predicament would point a finger, blame others. But I have no one to blame but myself. I have been travelling a road toward self-destruction practically my whole life.

I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. There’s nothing much else to do while tending swine all day but think. There’s nothing like rolling around in the mud with a bunch of pigs to set your priorities right. The thing is, I had it all and now I have nothing. I sunk about as low as one person can sink. But it’s not the money. And it’s not that I’m hungry. It’s a lot more, for you see, I didn’t just squander my inheritance; I squandered my father’s love and trust. Money somehow I can recoup; food I can always scrounge for. But my father’s love . . . I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get that back.

Yes, I hunger. I do long to fill my stomach with the pods on which the swine are fed. But I hunger much more for my father . . . for his love and forgiveness . . . for him to make things right again like he used to when I was young. Yet I know that I am the one that has to make things right this time.

And so, I go back to my father. Perhaps I have a chance at his forgiveness. If he won’t take me back as his son, perhaps at least he’ll have me as his servant. I know that my father is tender and compassionate. He is slow to anger and rich in kindness and faithfulness. He is known to forgive faults and transgressions and sins. Today I will test where my father’s real wealth lies. Today I will see just how rich my father truly is!

Believe me, I’m not here looking for your sympathy, but neither do I want your judgment. For look within yourselves, my friends, and perhaps you’ll find a little bit of the prodigal there too. Some of you out there, are you really so much different from me? Yes, I squandered my inheritance, but are there gifts that you too waste? Gifts misused? Gifts unused? Gifts not even recognized? Yes, I was a drunk. But are some of you perhaps inebriated with a sense of your own self-importance or with power? Yes, I went to prostitutes. But what are the false loves that you chase after? Money? Possessions? Prestige? Look within yourselves, my friends, and perhaps you will find a bit of me. Perhaps the road home is a journey we both need to take.

And so, I’m off. Wish me luck. I don’t know how all of this is going to turn out. The journey is a long one. But it’s worth it when you have a father like mine!

Ash Wednesday

Things to Give Up for Lent

• Taking those you love for granted 
• Feeling sorry for yourself 
• Promising more than you can deliver 
• Thinking of greener pastures 
• Losing your temper
• Denying your gifts 
• Trying to please everyone
• Doubting you can change 
• Trying to get everything perfect
• Never saying you’re sorry 
• Blaming yourself 
• Doing the right thing for the wrong reasons 
• Believing only in the possible
• Justifying your anger 
• Doubting your goodness 
• Thinking about money
• Looking for easy answers 
• Lying to God
• Listening only to yourself 
• Expecting others to solve your problems 
• Wanting to be in control
• Looking the other way
• Needing to be effective
• Doing what everyone else does
• Having to be right
• Being Bored
• Patronizing people 
• Carrying a chip on your shoulder
• Complaining 
• Cursing the darkness
• Carrying grudges 
• Denying your obsessions 
• Denying your limitations 
• Making snap judgments 
• Blocking out what you don't want to hear
• Denying that you are loved

Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle A)

Agapan 

Isaiah 49:14-15; 1 Corinthians 4:1-5; Matthew 6:24-34 

Today’s Gospel begins as so many Gospel readings do: with the words, “Jesus said to his disciples.” Those words invite us to get into that audience; to think of ourselves as disciples, as students, as followers of Jesus; and his words invite us to put ourselves into an attentive mode, a listening mode, so that we can pay attention to what the Master wants to say to us; to listen to what our Teacher wants to teach; to benefit from what our Friend, our Brother, has to share with us. We can always count on wisdom being associated with what Jesus has to say. We can always count on what he has to say being in some way relevant to our daily lives. 

Today’s Gospel is a continuation of the one we heard last week. It should sound familiar. It uses the same device, the same pattern that we heard last week. “You have heard it said . . . But I say to you . . .”

“You’ve heard it said….” And they had heard it said — over and over — in the synagogue, in their homes or wherever they found themselves. They had been born and raised on things said to them in the commands and prescriptions of the law. For the people of Judah, the law was their faith. From the greatest to the smallest, the law would be their reverence, their honor, and their devotion to the God of Israel.

“But I say to you…” Something new is happening. More than interpretation, or added information, Jesus’ saving word would reveal new life, new hope, and a new springtime in the history of salvation.

“You have heard it said . . . But I say to you . . .” His listeners in Palestine heard one thing, but the question for us is: what do we hear? Is it a message of mercy, of undying faithfulness, and boundless compassion – or is it simply rhetoric?

In today’s Gospel, Jesus says to his disciples, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you . . . Give to the one who asks of you . . . Be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect” Well that should have gotten their attention! . . . As indeed it should get ours today. 

Of all of the teachings of Jesus, the mandate to love our enemies is the one most far reaching and difficult to live. Jesus gives us a commandment, not a suggestion. Love for our enemies is not an ideal but rather a way of life. We cannot consider ourselves authentic disciples of Jesus unless we truly live out this commandment.

As you probably know, the four Gospels were originally written in Greek. The Greek language has different words for our English word love. Each of the Greek words defines a particular meaning and nuance for our word love. In today’s Gospel passage, the Greek word agapan is used to describe the kind of love that Jesus is commanding us to live.

Agapan means that no matter what others do to us, we will never allow ourselves to desire anything but their greatest good. Agapan tells us that we will actively go out of our way to be kind to those who are our enemies. The commandment to love our enemies goes deep into our hearts. Jesus commands us to live a totally different way of life, because agapan necessitates forgiveness.

Jesus turns the law of “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,” the law of revenge, on its ear—in fact, he obliterates it. There is to be no retaliation of any kind, not even measured or proportionate. When someone harms you or tries to take advantage of you, return it with a blessing. Instead of physical retribution to someone who slaps you on the cheek with the back of their hand, offer them the other cheek so that they can strike you with the full force of an open hand. We are to go beyond what is minimally asked of us and generously go further and do more and give more. And we are to love our neighbor. And by neighbor Jesus is not talking about the people who live down the street. He means our families, our friends, our fellow citizens, the strangers, the illegal immigrants, the panhandlers, those we can’t bear to look at or be with, and . . . yes our enemies. All of them. 

Author Lewis Smedes wrote, “Forgiveness is the most difficult chord to play in the human concerto.” Yet when we play it, even if we don't play it well, it is the most beautiful chord in the concerto of life. As you know, a musical chord consists of three notes played simultaneously. The first note of the forgiveness chord is letting go of our right to hurt back, refusing to exact payment, rejecting the impulse to get revenge on the person who has hurt us. Forgiveness is the flip side of revenge. Forgiveness is complete when we become the instruments of God's blessings in the life of the one who has betrayed us, when we love our enemies and bless those who persecute us.

The second note of the forgiveness chord is seeing the one who has wronged us as a whole person with bad, but also with good qualities, refusing to define that person by what they have done to us. Forgiveness is more than reactive, it is proactive. It is more than simply not moving toward the person in such a way as to hurt them. It is more than simply keeping your distance. It is moving toward them in such a way as to bring them blessings, even though they have done the opposite to us.

And the third note in the forgiveness chord is praying for, earnestly desiring blessings, even being a blessing to the person who has hurt you. Forgiveness is taking the hand that hurt you, and as you hold it in yours, praying that its owner might receive God's full blessing of eternal life, even though that hand scarred you for life.

Jesus calls us to the level of love and to the degree of forgiveness that is God-like, “Be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.” It is a call to holiness. Few of us think of ourselves as being holy. Oh, we strive for holiness, pray for holiness, and occasionally do holy things. But to be holy? 

We can’t simply convince ourselves that Jesus has gone too far and is asking the impossible. To behave as he is asking, is to reveal not only something of God, but also what it means to be truly human. We can all do better; we can all do more. It means that we will be more compassionate; more forgiving. It means going beyond justice and standing not on rights but responsibility; it means giving more, maybe even so much that it hurts; it means walking away from confrontation even when the blame is someone else’s; it means responding in silence when to utter even a single word would be to escalate an argument; it means not having to win; not having to get the better of another in any circumstance; and it means re-thinking our basic attitudes about who is our neighbor. It is all about being holy.

“Be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.” It is a call to the perfect love and forgiveness that Jesus demonstrated on the cross when he said, “Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.” Some of us shrug off perfect love and forgives as something possible for Jesus, yet impossible for us mere mortals. Yet it is the love and forgiveness that Assunta Goretti demonstrated at the canonization of her daughter Maria to the man who sat next to her, Alessandro Serenelli, who had mercilessly bludgeoned the twelve year old girl to death after she rejected his sexual advances; the kind that Pope John Paul II offered his would-be assassin; the kind that Nelson Mandela extended to those who imprisoned him for twenty-seven years.

Impossible, beyond our abilities?—No! Holy and Christ-like?—YES! Christ is calling us to this change in behavior as disciples, as Christians, as citizens of this country, as inhabitants of planet Earth. It has to start with us. It’s important, it’s difficult and it’s risky. And we can’t do it without his help.

We have plenty of evidence of the effects of life lived according to the eye for an eye law in our personal lives and on the world stage.

Tell me . . . who’s winning?

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle A)

Salt and Light for the World

Isaiah 58: 7-10; 1Corintheans 2: 1-5; Matthew 5: 13-16 

In this week’s gospel, Jesus compared his followers to salt and light. He said to his disciples: “You are the salt of the earth….You are the light of the world.”

Now, the light comparison makes sense. Jesus explained that people don’t light a lamp and then hide it under a bushel basket. Just as the light illuminates the whole room, Christians need to “illuminate” the world. The light of God’s truth must shine out from us so that a lost and sinful world can see that there is a way to be saved.

The salt metaphor, however, has always caused me to scratch my head and say, “Huh?” What in the world did Jesus mean when he said, “You are the salt of the earth”? To me, salt is the stuff in those little shakers that are on virtually every kitchen table, right next to the matching pepper shaker. The main purpose of salt is to give well-meaning relatives the opportunity to warn, “Don’t use so much salt! You’ll get high blood pressure and have a stroke! . .  . I read it in a magazine.”

But I recently read a story that helped me understand just what Jesus might have been getting at when he said we must be the salt of the earth. It was about a guest who was asked to give a toast at a friend's wedding. At the reception, as the glasses were raised, the guest presented the couple with a beautifully decorated gift box. Inside the box was salt - common table salt. The guest then offered this toast to the couple:

"It's hard to keep house without salt. It adds flavor and taste to just about every dish.
And if you run out of toothpaste, you can brush with a mixture of soda and salt because of salt's cleansing qualities.
If you develop a sore throat, you can gargle with salt because of its healing properties.
If you're hungry, you can cure a ham or other meat with salt because of its preserving qualities.
You can use salt to melt the ice that builds up in the winter cold; salt can also be used to put out fires that flare up.
So if you'll bring to your marriage the qualities found in salt - the cleansing qualities, the healing quality, the preserving quality -
If you use it to enhance the flavor of your life together; to melt the ice that will build up and put out the fires that will occasionally flare up between you; and, of course, if you take everything with a grain of salt, you will have a long and happy life together."

And the same can be said when we are “the salt of the earth.” Jesus’ disciples are to spread the Gospel as if it were salt, preserving and saving mankind (to keep mankind from “rotting” or “decaying” because of our sinfulness). The disciples are to spread the “flavor” of the Good News to everyone we meet. And with this Gospel salt, we don’t have to worry about getting high blood pressure and having a stroke. This salt is so healthy it gives people eternal life.

"You are the salt of the earth." "You are the light of the world," Jesus says. Today it is we who are the disciples whom Christ gives these instructions. It is we who take these images to heart and be salt and light for the world. Through you, in you, because of you, the "light" enters the world; life is given meaning. You are the light of the world, you are the salt of the earth. The building of the Kingdom of God is dependent on the warmth of the individual heart, the courage of the faithful spirit, the generosity of the disciple's soul. You are the salt of the earth because you enter into the world and make a difference. You are the light of the world because what you do, what you say, how you live, who you are, is a witness for all to see. God makes us an essential part of his plan of salvation. The Kingdom is to be built in us, by us, and through us.

Easier said than done. In 1973, world-renowned psychologist Karl Menninger made headlines by writing the book Whatever Became of Sin. In his book, Dr. Menninger decried our modern tendency to deny the existence of sin and to avoid even speaking about sin. He pointed out two dangers to this tendency. For one, if we lose our sense of sin, then we run the risk of losing authority over our lives. In other words, if we blame our parents or our culture for all of our actions, then we eliminate accountability for our decisions. Secondly, without a sense of sin, any choices that we make are valueless. If nothing is wrong, then it doesn’t matter what we do.

I fear that what Dr. Menninger wrote over thirty years ago is still the mindset of our society today. It seems that everyone can find a psychologist who can relieve them of the burden of taking responsibility for their actions. Individuals no longer recognize that they can choose to sin. Sin, instead, is presented as a result of environmental conditions, or of bad genes, or, most often, the fault of other people.

But there are people in the world who stand up for what is right, and who take responsibility for their actions and seek forgiveness. These people are Christian. Many of these people are Catholic. And they are Salt of the Earth and the Light of the World.

There are people in the world who say that marriage as civilization has known it no longer exists. They say that the current divorce rate demonstrates that people are incapable of making a lifetime commitment to one person. They talk about open relationships where fidelity is no longer a necessary element of marriage. For them the word “commitment” goes the way of the word “responsibility.”

But there are people who believe that marriage is to one person. They work on their marriages, relegating divorce as the last possible alternative. They want their children to grow up with a healthy respect for marriage. These people are Christian. Many of these people are Catholic. And they are Salt of the Earth and the Light of the World.

There are people in the world who believe that hurting other people is just part of life. They believe that the only way you can gain in any area of the world, be it business or even just social status, is to knock others down. They are convinced that it is a dog eat dog world and they would rather eat than be eaten. So they take advantage of others.

But there are people in the world who believe that a bad gain is a loss. These are people who aren’t willing to accept a promotion in business or status unless they earn this position honestly. These people are Christian. Many of these people are Catholic. And they are Salt of the Earth and the Light of the World.

The fact of the matter is, that if we want to be faithful to the challenge of the gospel, we cannot simply listen to Jesus and store his words in our heart; we have to go out and proclaim them to the world. It is not enough to have his light shining within us, unless we take that light and let the world see Him shining through us. It is not enough to realize that Jesus provides the flavor and the salt for our own lives. We must go out into the world and share that salt with others whose lives are flat and tasteless because they have not come to know Jesus, our Lord.

The extent to which we center our lives around values, around what is right, and act on that, simply because it is right, quite apart from whether or not it is comfortable, fun, profitable or popular, to that extent we will truly be the salt of the earth and the light of the world. In any relationship, in any setting – at home, at work, at recreation, at school, in casual contacts – our role is the same . . . to preserve, to strengthen, to encourage goodness, to enlighten, to dispel darkness and shadows. That is what salt and light do. And we are the Salt of the Earth and the Light of the World.

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?