The Third Sunday of Easter (Year B)

ALIVE! RISEN! HERE! 

Acts 3: 13-15, 17-19; 1 John 2: 1-5a; Luke 24: 35-48 

“Why are you troubled and why do questions arise in your hearts?” Lord, how could their hearts NOT be troubled and how could their minds NOT be cluttered with questions? So much has happened in just one week’s time and they have experienced a full spectrum of emotions. Just one week before, you triumphantly came to Jerusalem, hailed with hosannas, proclaimed as the messiah, the Son of David, the King of the Jews. Everything they had pinned their hopes on for three years seemed to finally be within their grasp. On Thursday, you shared the yearly Passover meal with them, yet somehow very different this year: the unleavened bread you told them was your body and the cup of wine your blood. You gave them a model of service by washing their feet and you proclaimed your deep and abiding love for them and called them, no longer servants, but friends. Then pandemonium and chaos! In the garden after the meal, one of them, handpicked by you, betrays you by handing you over to the Jewish authorities. They fight, they struggle, they scatter, they abandon. They hide behind locked doors, as they still do, hearing others describe the unthinkable - Arrest. Trial. Torture. Condemnation. Crucifixion. Death. Entombment. Their hearts shatter into a million pieces, as do their hopes and their dreams. And then, with the Sunday sunrise, come reports that the grave is empty, your body is gone, no longer held captive by the tomb. Some claim it has been stolen. Others claim you are resurrected, come back to life. Some claim they have even seen you . . . at the tomb . . . on the road to Emmaus. And now, despite locked doors, like the tomb, doors and stone walls cannot hold you! You invade their cells of despair and grief and confusion and stand in their midst. Are you a ghost? Are you an hallucination? Are you a memory? Are you just a dream for things to be as they once were just a few short days ago? “Why are you troubled and why do questions arise in your hearts?” Lord, how could their minds and their hearts be anything but? 

Have you come to haunt them? Have you come to condemn them? Have you come to seek revenge on those who should have stood courageous, but ran away; should have remained faithful, but abandoned you; should have loved you as you loved them but who loved themselves more? NO! Instead, you stand before them and wish them PEACE. “Peace be with you,” you say. Shalom Aleichem. Your last words to them on Thursday night at the Last Supper become your first words to them tonight: “Peace be with you!” Shalom Aleichem. You show them your nail-pierced hands and your spear-punctured side. It is YOU! No ghost! No hallucination! No memory! No dream! But YOU alive again, yet somehow radically different. “Peace be with you.” And with that peace comes joy to their broken hearts. With that peace comes reassurance to their shattered faith. You are there, alive, present . . . because you have a love that stays . . . beyond death, despite infidelity, 

But Lord, perhaps your question is more directed to me than to your Apostles. “Why are you troubled and why do questions arise in your heart?” Lord, how can my heart be anything but consumed with worries and my mind not cluttered with questions? Did you not hear the diagnosis? Do you not know of my self-doubts? Have you not seen my alienated relationships? Did you not see what I did that I don’t know if you, or anyone else can forgive, or if even I can forgive myself? Do you not know how I worry if I will be able to pay the bills and provide for my family? Did you not know that my feeling of self-worth has been destroyed by my unemployment? Have you not sensed that I am tired . . . so very tired? Tired that today is the same as yesterday, that yesterday was the same as the day before, and that there is no hope for my tomorrows? Tired that my life is aimless and seems to have no meaning? Tired that, no matter how much I try, no one seems to need me, appreciate me, love me? “Why are you troubled and why do questions arise in your heart?” Lord, how can my mind and my heart be anything but? And so, like the Apostles, I hide in a locked room, a room of fear, of hurt, of anger, of alienation, of doubt, of guilt, of grudges; locked behind doors that I hope will keep me from danger, from pain, from hurt, or maybe just from being too challenged. 

But . . . can it be that, like the walls in the upper room, the walls that I have constructed are penetrable too? Can it be that, as death and a tomb could not hold you back, the locked doors to my rooms cannot hold you back either? 

My Lord and my God! You stand before me in this season of renewal and rebirth, and you speak the word “peace” to ME! Shalom Aleichem! Peace to my mind! Peace to my heart! Peace to my soul! PEACE! Not the overused, contrived, insincere word that is part of our daily vocabulary, but Shalom Aleichem. Shalom is God’s peace. Shalom is order restored where there was once chaos. Shalom is harmony and well-being. Shalom is rest for a troubled spirit. Shalom is reunion where once there was alienation. Shalom is God’s salvation, God’s healing and liberating work of grace in the whole world. THAT’S the peace that you wish me . . . No, that’s the peace you offer me. 

And like you did in that upper room with your Apostles, you stretch forth your scarred hands and bid me to examine them. And you take my hand and guide it as I probe the wound in your side and trace with my finger the depth of your love for me. You are ALIVE! You are RISEN! You are HERE! You are not forever nailed to a cross. Your body has not decayed in the dark dampness of a borrowed tomb. You are ALIVE! You are RISEN! You are HERE – for all eternity - to wipe away every tear, to give joy to every broken heart, to give consolation to every crushed spirit, to give reconciliation to every bruised soul, to give hope to everyone who lives in the shadow of darkness! 

And so fellow freed captives of locked and seemingly impenetrable rooms, let us sing our Alleluias! Let us proclaim him to the ends of the earth! He commissioned his Apostles to preach his name to all nations, beginning in Jerusalem. Let us do the same, but beginning here, in Roxbury - in our homes, in our places of employment, in our schools. We proclaim what we know to be true. We have seen him with our own eyes, we have felt his love, we have experienced his mercy. We have felt his healing hands on our broken bodies, on our bruised hearts, on our crestfallen spirits. We have heard his gentle voice echoed in scripture and in prayer. He has fed and nourished us with the bread of life and the cup of eternal salvation, his own body and blood. He has opened our blind eyes to see what continues to be done to this day in his name. He has opened our ears to eternal truths. He has promised us that what happened to him will happen to us - We will arise from graves of death and despair and hopelessness, and lovelessness, and rise to new life, eternal life. We are His witnesses. We are an Easter People and Alleluia is our song. So, let us sing that joyful anthem, for the tomb has failed to hold him back, nor have the locked doors that we and the world place in his way. He is ALIVE! HE is RISEN! He is HERE! 

For ME. For YOU.

First Sunday of Lent (Year B)

CTRL + ALT + DELETE

Genesis 9: 8-15; 1 Peter 3: 18-22; Mark 1: 12-15 

Well, here we are on the First Sunday of Lent. Lent always seems to sneak up on us and catch us by surprise, doesn’t it? No matter if Ash Wednesday is early or late, we always seem to have the same reaction: “Oh my goodness! I can’t believe it’s Lent already!” While Christmas is something that we eagerly anticipate, I can’t ever remember hearing anyone saying: “Oh man, I can’t wait for Lent! Prayer, fasting, abstinence, sacrifice, mortification of the body! YES!!!”

The word lent comes from the Latin word lento, which means “slow down.” And maybe that word fits most, or at least some of us this morning. We’ve slowed down, perhaps even come to a standstill. Physically, because of the cold, the snow, less sunlight, our lives have become more sedentary, less active. We don’t want to go out and face the cold so we stay in. And all the activities that we normally enjoy - outdoor sports like golf, tennis, soccer, baseball, and even some of the work that we enjoy, like gardening, go on a temporary hiatus until the warmth of the spring and summer sudden tell us it’s safe to come out of our winter hibernation. And, other than big events like Christmas, New Year’s and Super Bowl Sunday, even our social lives take a hit, as we prefer a quiet night by the fireplace than the cold trek through the frozen tundra to visit relatives and friends.

And unfortunately, our spiritual lives can also slow down or come to a standstill as well, not just in winter but in any season of our lives. The fervor that coincided with the reception of a Sacrament, a retreat experience, a moving homily or a prayer answered can quickly be cooled off by the problems and tragedies that confront us, or simply (and most often) through lack of effort – we simply become too busy, too tired, too overwhelmed, too distracted, too bored to do what’s necessary to maintain our spiritual lives (or more importantly, for it to grow deeper). And so, our spiritual lives slow down, get stuck. 

I know what to do when my computer slows down, freezes or gets stuck. It needs to reboot. And I know I can do that by hitting three keys on my computer simultaneously: CTRL + ALT + DELETE. And maybe Lent is the time for us to do the same thing - not with our computers but with our lives. 

What do I mean? During Lent, we’re asked to CONTROL . . . to control ourselves, to control our appetites, to control our habits, to control the things we over-indulge in, to control those things that we like and which give us some degree of pleasure. And so, Lent is a time of SACRIFICE, of giving up . . . as a Church, giving up meat on Fridays . . . but as individuals, giving up those things that might cost us a little bit – not money, but pleasure: the cookies, the candy, the chips, the soda, Facebook or Instagram, online gaming, the alcohol, the cigarettes, the drugs, the gossip, the foul language, the porno. By its nature, a sacrifice is not meant to be easy; it hurts a little bit. Why sacrifice? Well we only need to look at the cross for the answer to that one. Jesus sacrificed his life for us. It wasn’t easy. It hurt a lot. And anything that we sacrifice, and any pain or inconvenience associated with it, is far less than the supreme sacrifice Jesus made FOR US on the cross. 

Lent is also the time when we should hit the ALT key in our lives . . . to ALTERNATE, to shake things up, to change what we normally do, to live life a little bit differently. And so during Lent we’re invited to add something to our daily routine, something that will put demands on us – something that demands our time and something that demands our effort. Maybe it means spending more time with your family . . . or . . . more time with God. Maybe it means daily prayer if that’s not your routine . . . or more time in prayer if it is . . . maybe praying the Rosary every day and reciting the Sorrowful Mysteries, since all of them focus on the suffering and death of our Lord. Maybe it means coming to Mass every Sunday if you don’t . . . or coming to daily Mass if you already do. Maybe it means attending the Stations of the Cross every Friday during Lent. Maybe it means finding the copy of the Bible that’s somewhere in your house, dusting it off, and reading a little bit of it every day so that you complete one book over the course of the forty days of Lent. (Maybe the Gospel of Mark; it’s the shortest Gospel and the one that’s proclaimed on the Sunday’s of our current liturgical year). Or maybe it means performing one not so random, but deliberate and well thought out, act of kindness every day. 

And hitting the DELETE key in our lives, well that’s what Jesus addresses in today’s Gospel. Today’s Gospel was the shortest one you’ll hear all year - just three brief verses. But three very important verses, for in them we hear Jesus’ first words as he begins his public ministry: "This is the time of fulfillment. The kingdom of God is at hand. Repent, and believe in the gospel."

First words can be important and memorable. I bet those of you who are married can recall the first words you said to the one who would ultimately become your spouse or the first words that he or she said to you. Those of you who are parents, I bet you can recall the first words that your child said, whether it be “Mama,” “Dada,” “yes”, “no”, And the first words of a politician in his inaugural address become the words that set the tone of his term in office and are often referred back to in assessing his success.  

In Jesus’ inaugural address he tells us, “REPENT!” Do we believe Jesus? Do we take him at his word? Do we see a need within ourselves to repent, or do we treat Jesus’ words merely as a joke that he tells at the beginning of a speech. 

“Repent!” Sometimes, I think a lot of us are, what I call, “Christian Nihilists.” Nihilism is a philosophy that believes that nothing we do, whether right or wrong, makes any difference since there’s no God and life ends at death and therefore has no ultimate meaning. The Christian version of this is to believe that nothing we do, whether right or wrong, makes any difference because in the end, God is so loving and so forgiving that, no matter what, He will forgive us.

Is God loving? ABSOLUTELY! Is God forgiving? YOU BETTER BELIEVE IT! But we tend to forget that God is also just and that all of God’s attributes are in perfect harmony with each other. One never dominates the others. And so, God’s justice demands that we get what we deserve. But because God is loving and forgiving and just, God calls us to repentance. We can’t just sit back and expect God to do everything. Repentance requires initiative on our part.

And so, during Lent we’re called to DELETE . . . to repent, to recognize and get rid of our sinful ways. Perhaps to focus on our most serious sin, or the one we find ourselves most frequently committing, and working on it, conquering it, allowing it to no longer have a hold on us . . . deleting it from our minds, our hearts, our words, our actions, our souls, our lives. And the perfect way for us to DELETE is to go to Confession . . . to not only be forgiven by God but reconciled to God . . . to have our status as his sons and daughters restored – fully, totally, nothing held back, no lingering feelings of ill will on the part of God. 

So here we are, on the threshold of the season of Lent. During this season we’re challenged to CTRL + ALT + DELETE – three keys when pressed simultaneously on our computers allows it to reboot, to get unstuck, to perform better - the way that it’s meant to. Same thing for us. During these forty days, sacrificing, devoting ourselves more to our spiritual lives, and repenting are the three keys which, when pressed simultaneously will reboot our lives, give us a fresh start, and allow us to be the people God created us to be. 

CTRL + ALT + DELETE . . . Sounds like enough to keep us busy this Lent. Sounds like enough to keep us busy for a lifetime!

The Third Sunday of Ordinary Time (Year B)

SOME SAID NO

Jonah 3: 1-5, 10; 1 Corinthians 7: 29-31; Mark 1: 14-20 

It was a journey of twenty-six miles from Nazareth to Bethsaida on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, a journey of perhaps eight or nine hours by foot. He had probably been there many times before. The Jewish historian Josephus wrote of the region that it was “wonderful in its characteristics and beauty.” And ancient rabbis had said of it, “Although God has created seven seas, yet He has chosen this one as His special delight.” But whereas I’m sure he was refreshed and energized by the calm, sun-glistened serenity and beauty of the lake and refreshed as its warm water bathed his tired feet, this was no holiday he had embarked upon. He had work to do – important work. And so, as he took in the scenery, he also observed the people. Among them, four fishermen: Peter, Andrew, James and John. What was it in these four that Jesus took note of? We’re not told, but it is to them that he gives an invitation, “Come follow me and I will make you fishers of men.” In our Gospel today, we see their response. They abandon their nets, and the wealth, success and way of life that those nets represent, and follow Jesus. 

As I reflected this past week on today’s Gospel, a question came to mind that I had never thought of before. A question that I think it’s important to consider. A question that I think has implications for us. And the question is this: What other roads did Jesus travel before he came to Bethsaida on the Sea of Galilee and how many others did he bid to come follow him before Peter, Andrew, James and John said yes? 

Was there, perhaps, someone from his hometown of Nazareth that caught his attention? Someone that he had known all of his life and had admired for his sense of loyalty to family and friends. “I can use that!” Jesus might have said. “There are rough times ahead. Many will not accept what I have to say. I will be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and rise after three days. Your loyalty to me and those who will believe in me will be so appreciated. Come follow me and I will make you a friend of the friendless!” But the man responded, “Thank you, Jesus, but no. I am indeed loyal, but my loyalty to my family and to myself comes first. They and I deserve a secure life and what you have just described to me seems anything but. This talk of rejection and death are all too unsettling to me. 

And surely the roads that Jesus walked led him past farms and vineyards. Was there perhaps someone there that Jesus admired and said, “I have observed that you are a hard worker. You work tirelessly in the hot sun from sunrise to sunset. Your hands are strong and dirty, your brow bears the sweat of your labor. I can use you! There is much work to be done. Day in and day out we will travel throughout Israel preaching the good news of salvation. There are the sick to heal, the hungry to feed, the poor and the outcasts to minister to. Come follow me and I will make you a harvester of souls.” But the man said, “Thank you, my friend, but no. I am indeed a hard worker. But what I sow, I reap. I see the results of my long hours of work and I benefit from the work of my hands. What you describe seems to benefit everyone but me. And, after all, don’t I deserve to reap the reward of my own labor? 

Another road led Jesus through a pasture where he observed a shepherd tending his flock. He said to the shepherd, “I see the care and concern that you show to every sheep in your flock. I see how you protect them from wolves and thieves and how you go after the ones who stray. I can use someone like you! I have come to shepherd the lost sheep among the people of Israel. I have come to lead them along right paths to verdant pastures and to give them rest. Come follow me and I will make you a shepherd of the flock of God.” But the shepherd said, “Thank you, sir, but no. I am a simple man and just don’t think I’m good enough for your noble mission. For you see, it is one thing to lead sheep; it is another thing to lead people. I just don’t know if I have what it takes. I am a quiet man, I just don’t know if I possess what it would take to do what you want me to do.”

And finally, the path took Jesus into the city of Jerusalem. There he observed men of commerce, merchants, buyers and sellers, and those involved with foreign trade. To one he said, “I admire your wisdom and your ingenuity. You’re well organized and creative, and your personality is such that you work well with all people, not just Jews, but Romans and Greeks alike. I can use someone like you. I can use your mind, your wit, your sense of organization to take my message to the ends of the earth. Come follow me and I will make your business the business of God’s people. But the merchant said, “Thank you, but no. I just don’t think I have the time to devote myself to your pursuits. Although my success is measured in silver and gold, it is the frenetic pace of my life and the art of wheeling and dealing that are my passion. I just can’t risk leaving what I know I’m so good at to traipse around the world promoting someone who seems so countercultural and something that isn’t measured by profit margins.

And so the road led Jesus to Bethsaida, to the shores of the Sea of Galilee, and there he saw four fishermen and in them too he saw something special, something he could use. And to them he beckoned “I will make you fishers of men.” And these four abandoned their nets and followed him. Other roads would lead Jesus to a tax collector named Matthew and to seven others whose birthplaces and occupations have been lost in the sands of time: Philip, Jude, Bartholomew, Thomas, James, Simon and Judas. 

But the thing is, Jesus still walks pathways and he still invites those whom he meets to come follow him. And like the Twelve, he doesn’t just call them to discipleship, to be mere followers and students, he calls them to be APOSTLES. The word apostle means “one who is sent. And so he seeks individuals whom he can send in his name to heal bodies and broken hearts, to feed hungry stomachs and souls, and to teach the ignorant and the know-it-all. 

And guess what? The road Jesus walks comes right down Main Street, across Route 10, up Hillside Avenue, down Eyland Avenue and around the shores of Horseshoe Lake. And the ones he stops and greets and invites to come fellow him . . . well, they’re you and they’re me. And he looks at YOU and he looks at ME and he sees something special in each one of us, and he says with delight, “I can use that!” What is that special thing Jesus sees in you and what is it that he calls you to do? Only you can discover that within yourself. But the question is not, “Does Jesus call me?” Absolutely HE DOES! The question is, “Do I hear? Do I respond? Do I make excuses for myself?” 

What prevents you from recognizing your special gifts and allowing Jesus to use them to build up his kingdom? Are you like the friend in Nazareth who is too overwhelmed by family obligations and expectations? Are you like the farmer who needs to have the tangible fruit of your time and your talents? Are you like the shepherd who is unconvinced that you really possess anything worthwhile that God can use? Or are you like the merchant who is just simply too busy with the things of this world to work toward the things of the next.

All I know is this . . . when we say no to what God asks us to do, God’s will is not done, the good that God desires is delayed, and both human history and salvation history are impeded towards the destiny that God intends for them.

Yes . . . I believe that Jesus walked many roads before the one that led him to Peter, Andrew, James and John. Many received the invitation to come follow him. Some said no. What’s your response?

The Fourth Sunday of Advent (Year B)

THE POWER OF “YES”
2 Samuel 7: 1-5; 8b-12, 14a; Romans 16:25-27;Luke 1: 26-38 

One simple, three letter, one syllable word – “YES.” And despite it being a simple, three letter, one syllable word, “YES” is one of the most powerful words in our vocabulary. “YES” can make things happen. “YES” can change lives. A man and woman say "YES" to their marriage vows and the two become one. A man and woman say "YES" to life and they become a father and mother and their lives are never the same. Elected officials vote "YES" and nations go to war and countless lives are affected. A man says "YES" on the day of his ordination and his words are able to transform simple bread and wine into the presence of Christ. "YES” – simple, three letters, one syllable, but oh so powerful!

Across the heavens an angel races to Nazareth. “Do not be afraid . . . All things are possible with God,” he announces to a virgin. And sweeter than the song of an angel is her response: “YES . . . Let it be.” And this “YES,” uttered by a girl no older than fourteen years of age, living in a nondescript village in Galilee, was one of the most powerful words ever spoken in all of history. Her “YES” brought forth something truly marvelous. So marvelous, in fact, that we have been celebrating what happened because of her "YES" for more than 2,000 years. 

In today’s Gospel we hear how the angel Gabriel came to Mary to announce she had been chosen to give birth to the long awaited Messiah. In response, Mary proclaimed “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.” Mary said “YES” and Christmas happened. 

Today, God asks things of us. God asks us to live lives of mercy, when it’s so much easier to harbor grudges. God asks us to love, when it’s so much easier to put a wall of indifference around ourselves to protect us from being hurt. God asks us to feed the hungry and thirsty, to clothe the naked, to welcome the stranger, to look after the needs of the ill, when it is so much easier to look out for our own self-interests. God asks us to live simply, when the American dream is one of material success and pleasure. God asks us to be counter-cultural and live the values of the Gospel, when it’s so much easier just to go with the flow. God asks us to be peacemakers, when revenge is oh so satisfying. Saying “YES” to God? Easier said than done. 

So what do we need to do to be able to open ourselves say “YES” to God? We need to do what Mary did.

1. We need to BE READY & PREPARED. What are we doing to prepare ourselves for when God calls? Are we serving others, are we praying daily, are we reading the Bible, are we surrounding ourselves with faith-filled people?
2. We need to BE LISTENING. Our lives can get so noisy. We can get so distracted. Are we making time and space for quiet and solitude so that we can hear God when he speaks?
3. ]We need to BE OPEN TO WHAT GOD HAS TO SAY. If we look at all of those in Scripture that God asked things of, whether it be Noah, Abraham, Moses, Kind David, Samuel, Mary, the Disciples, St. Paul, to name only a few, I think we can conclude three things about saying YES to God:  

• IT MAY BE HARD.
• IT MAY BE UNPOPULAR.
• IT MAY BE UNCOMFORTABLE. 

BUT if we say “YES” to what God asks of us, then good things happen. God’s kingdom grows a little bit more visible in our world. God’s compassion and love touch the hurting. Jesus Christ takes on flesh in us and continues to walk this earth. 

Our “YES” to God in things both big and small makes good things happen. Our “YES” to God, makes Christmas happen today. It allows us to share Mary’s vocation in bringing to birth Emmanuel, “God with us.” For like Mary, our “YES” allows Jesus to be born into our world anew, not for one moment in history, but every day and for all time. 

Simple. Three letters. One syllable. "YES.” A powerful word indeed!

Second Sunday of Advent (Year B)

DO YOUR HEAR WHAT I HEAR?

Isaiah 40: 1-5, 9-11; 2 Peter 3: 8-14; Mark 1: 1-8 

Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy,

“Do you hear what I hear?

Ringing through the sky, shepherd boy,

Do you hear what I hear?

A song, a song, high above the trees

With a voice as big as the sea

With a voice as big as the sea

A voice cries out in the wilderness, “Prepare the way of the Lord! Make straight his paths.” Do you hear what I hear?

The Roman authorities didn’t. They were too interested in keeping the “Peace of Rome” by force than to take seriously the challenge to prepare for the “Prince of Peace” who would come to establish his kingdom on love. 

Herod didn’t. He was an unpopular, cruel and power-hungry king. He was too busy trying to work deals with the competing factions.

The Pharisees and teachers of the Law didn’t. They knew the Bible backwards, but unfortunately didn’t know it “forwards.” In theory they were looking for the Messiah to come sometime in the future. But in reality they didn’t want anyone to disturb their control on the highly structured, all-encompassing rules that dictated how they lived their lives, and which they expected everyone else to live by, as well.

The ordinary people . . . they didn’t either – most of them. They were poor and life was hard. They had to pay close to sixty percent of their wages to pay the Temple tax, as well as the tax imposed by Rome. Life was a struggle. They were simply too busy to realize that the very ancient prophesies that they knew by heart and longed to become a reality for their nation, had been fulfilled in their midst. 

Do YOU hear what I hear? 

In today’s gospel, we hear a voice imploring us to get ready. It’s a familiar voice, one that we hear every year at this time. But it’s a voice that often gets drowned out by other voices: a voice chuckling “Ho, Ho, Ho;” a voice crooning dreams of a White Christmas, or a voice reminding us on TV or radio that there are only 14 shopping left days ‘til Christmas.

For nearly 2000 years, the voice of the Baptist has echoed out from the wilderness: “Prepare the way of the Lord! Make straight his paths.” It’s a voice that must be heard before we can hear about angel’s songs and humble shepherds’ surprise, and “Silent Night, Holy Night.” His voice is the voice of a herald who challenges us to get ready. For preparing for Christmas cannot simply be a matter of making sure the Christmas lights work, or of putting up the Christmas tree, or of making enough gingerbread cookies for company. All of those things are fine, but the real preparation for Christmas takes place not on the outside, but on the inside, through radical self-examination, and yes, even though making changes in our life. John the Baptist cries out to us from the wilderness to look at our lives and re-examine our priorities; to ask ourselves where we are investing our time, our energy, our money; to get rid of whatever is hindering us from having deeper faith, or from loving and being loved, or from living in the ways of justice and peace.” 

John the Baptist's call to preparation through benevolence to the poor, honesty and integrity in business, and contentment with one’s lot in life is just as real today as it was when he first proclaimed it in the wilderness. Now all of that may not be the kind of Good News we want to hear. But it is the Good News that will enable God’s love to be born among us in Jesus Christ in a way that is truly transformational, that changes us and our world. John reminds us that each of us needs to repent – to turn around and go in another direction, the direction of Bethlehem and the birth of God’s love in Christ Jesus. 

So here we are on December 10th beginning the second week of Advent. How are you doing with your Christmas preparations? This past week one of the women where I work told me that she’s almost finished her Christmas shopping . . . FOR NEXT YEAR!!! I’m not that prepared, and I imagine most of you aren’t either. But along with the shopping and decorating and card writing and baking, how are your spiritual preparations for Christmas coming? Let’s not make our spiritual preparations be like New Year’s Resolutions – things that are well intended . . . things that we really want to do . . . things we promise ourselves that we’re going to do, but in the end, time slips past us and the busyness of life gets the better of us, and our good intentions get shifted to our “to do” list for next year. 

So, if you need a little help, here are six suggestions to help spiritually get ready for Christmas this year:

1. Give God one very special gift – just from you to Him. Let this gift be something personal, that no one else need know about, and let it be something that “costs,” not your money, but you personally, a sacrifice. Perhaps your gift to God will be to forgive someone you’ve needed to forgive for a longtime. Or maybe your gift will be to commit yourself to spending time with God daily in prayer, maybe praying the rosary and focusing on the Joyful Mysteries, since most of them are connected with the birth of our Lord.

2. Set aside a special time to read Scripture. Perhaps this would be a good year to read the Book of the Prophet Isaiah, and recall some of the ancient prophesies that were fulfilled by Jesus. Or, read the Gospel of Matthew or Luke. I recommend either of them because they contain what we call the “Infancy Narratives,” the accounts of Jesus’ conception and birth. 

3. Set up a Nativity scene in your home. Set it up in a prominent place, and don’t let it be just another Christmas decoration, but something you visit every day, which you allow to help you transcend time and space and bring you back 2,000 years to Bethlehem.

4. Send Christmas cards that convey a spiritual message. This is an easy way to share your faith at Christmastime. If you've already bought the snowman cards -- no problem! Just write a Bible verse and include a personal message with each card.

5. Plan a project of good will this Christmas. The idea of giving the gift of service to someone in need demonstrates Christ-like love and service. It could be volunteering in a soup kitchen, caroling at a nursing home, baking cookies for an elderly neighbor, or running an errand for a friend. Oh, and don’t forget, charity really does begin at home, so maybe look around to those who live under the same roof as you and the special needs that they might have. 

6. Go to the Sacrament of Reconciliation. There's no better way to prepare yourself spiritually for the coming of our Lord at Christmas than to go to confession. Do some spiritual housekeeping in your heart, mind, and soul, to prepare a place worthy of Jesus being born anew this Christmas. 

Today we celebrate the Second Sunday of Advent. Christmas is two weeks and one day from today. And today a voice cries out from the wilderness, “Prepare the way of the Lord!” Do you hear what I hear?

A Tribute to Fr. Marc Mancini

A TRIBUTE TO

Fr. Marc Mancini

On the Occasion of the Twenty-fifth Anniversary

Of His Ordination to the Priesthoood 

The Good Shepherd

by Laura Smith (an excerpt from "A City Without Walls")

There once was a flock

That was lost and afraid

It wandered around

Without direction for days.

But the Lord looked down

With compassion from above

And sent a good shepherd

To lead them with love.

The shepherd was kind

Loving and wise

And he cherished his whole flock

No matter the color or the size.

Though the shepherd was quiet

Humble and meek

Every ear listened

Whenever he would speak.

He showed them the way

To walk in the light

And he prayed every day

For God to give them true sight.

He taught them about

The blood of the Lamb

And about the creator

The great I AM.

They flourished and they grew

Through the knowledge they gained

About the Savior from above

Who lived without blemish or stain.

The flock is so thankful

To the Lord up above

For sending a wise leader

Who is so full of love.

He leads them with

A strong and gentle good hand

And takes the whole flock

Safely into God's Promised Land.

Today we celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of Fr. Marc. And I think the poem I just read, although not written specifically for Fr. Marc, so beautifully and so aptly describes Fr. Marc, the priest, and most specifically, Fr. Marc the pastor.

Last Saturday, Fr. Marc and I went to the Roxbury Diner, as we often do after the 5:00pm mass. At one point during dinner, Fr. Marc said to me, “I can’t believe where God has taken me and all that God has allowed me to experience over the past twenty-five years!” Priest, canon lawyer, Promoter of Justice in the Marriage Tribunal, Vice-Chancellor of the diocese and pastor. Not bad for an electrician from Paterson, New Jersey! And yes, we could focus on all those accomplishments in his life over the past twenty-five years, but I really think the measure of Fr. Marc's priesthood is found in the good he’s accomplished, the lives he’s touched, the tears he’s dried, and the souls he’s brought closer to God. 

Fr. Marc epitomizes everything that the letters in the word priest can represent: P-R-I-E-S-T:

• P – Fr. Marc is PRAYERFUL. Prayer is at the beginning, middle and end of Fr. Marc’s day. He is able to “Let us pray” during mass, to lead us in prayer and to take all of our prayers and present them to the Father because he himself is a man of prayer and sets the example. Few people have seen, as I have, Fr. Marc alone here in the darkened church at 9:00 or 10:00 at night, praying the Divine Office and mediating before the Blessed Sacrament. He’s PIOUS. Simply put, Fr. Marc has his priorities where they should be. His greatest ambition is to be a saint and he realizes that the road to sainthood is simplicity, charity, mercy, humility and service. 
• R – Fr. Marc is RESPONCIBLE. He takes his ministry seriously. He can be counted on. Everything he does he performs with selfless dedication, giving over his time and talent to whatever is good for our parish or whatever is in the best interest of any man, woman or child that seeks his help. 
• I – Fr. Marc is INSPIRATIONAL. His homilies, which often talk about people like Marco Mangonanzo and Fambino Bambatzo (or whatever their names were) and the other cast of characters with whom he grew up with in Paterson, provide us with messages that help us to see ourselves, inspires us with simple wisdom, and motivate us to see the extraordinary in the ordinary – to find God in our everyday lives.
• E – Fr. Marc is EUCHARISTIC. His whole life centers around the Eucharist. It clearly is the food which nourishes his soul, strengthens his character, and provides him the stamina he needs to face the daily challenges of being a Man of God and a Man for Others.
• S – Fr. Marc is SACRIFICIAL. He’s a man of service. He’s a man who never has a day off or takes a vacation. All that he is he gives over to God and he gives to us. What a reflection of the one who said, “Just so, the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many.” He simply gives himself and his time to whoever needs him and to whatever needs to be done. There are some priests who like to wear a white shirt with French cuffs and gold cufflinks in under a black clerical shirt front called a rabat. When I see a priest dressed like that, I think he’s the type of priest that doesn’t like to roll up his sleeves and work. Fr. Marc is also someone who doesn’t roll up his sleeves – he wears short-sleeved shirts so his sleeves are always up ready to work, to minister, to celebrate the sacraments, to counsel, to accompany the teenagers on their mission trip, to sit at the bedside of the sick or dying and yes, even to shovel the snow or sweep the goose poop. 
• And T – Fr. Marc is TENDER-HEARTED. He has a heart as big as all outdoors. There is room in his heart for everyone. And because his heart is like that, he occupies a significant place in all our hearts, as well. 

But Fr. Marc, above and beyond all of these qualities the one that best characterizes you is that you are a Man for Others. Fr. Marc . . . 

You are the image and likeness of God

But with you the morning awakens

With the call to rise

Not for you

But always for others.

God handpicked you from a myriad of souls

Molded you since you were a babe

To prepare you for a journey

Not for you

But always for others.

God blessed you with wisdom

To use to give form to his plans

And love to carry them out

Not for you

But always for others.

Mary walks with you

Guiding and loving you

For to her you are a Christ

Not for you

But always for others.

You hold the Body of Christ

Embrace his name and proclaim it

And a father and counselor you have become

Not for you

But always for others.

God forever bless you

Walk and carry you when your feet are weary

Bring peace and joy to your heart

For though your life is never for you

It is Christ’s and he delights in you.

Fr. Marc, in the homily you preached at my father’s funeral mass, in extolling his life and virtues, you said, “They just don’t make them like that anymore.” Today, I say the same thing about you, “They just don’t make priests like you anymore.” Would that they did. On behalf of the staff and parishioners of St. Therese, congratulations, Fr. Marc, on your twenty-five years of service to God and his People. May God bless you and us with many, many more. Ad Multos Annos!

The Thirty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A)

TIME IS RUNNING OUT. I’M COMING. 

ARE YOU READY?

Wisdom 6: 12-16; 1 Thessalonians 4: 13-18; Matthew 25: 1-13 

I have some news for you - For some of you, it won’t be news at all, but for others it will be eye-opening and just might change your after-mass plans. Thanksgiving is in 10 days, 16 hours, 08 minutes and 07 seconds! There’s an app for that. Are you ready? Have you ordered your turkey from Ashley’s Market or qualified for a free turkey, turkey breast, ham or party-size Stouffer’s Lasagna at ShopRite yet? Or have you made a reservation at a restaurant? Time is running out! The relatives are coming! Are you ready?

I have some more news for you – Some of you will be delighted by the news (especially if you’re under ten years of age), others will be depressed. Christmas is in 42 days, 16 hours, 7 minutes and 33 seconds! There’s an app for that. Are you ready? Have you made out your Christmas list, begun your shopping, started watching the Holiday movies on the Hallmark Channel or listened to Christmas music on Sirius Radio yet? Time is running out! Santa is coming! Are you ready?

In today’s Gospel, Jesus gives us similar news: Time is running out! HE is coming! Are you ready?

I have to tell you that when I read today’s Gospel last week as I began preparing my homily, I got a little depressed as it occurred to me that I think Jesus had a better social life than mine. I don’t know why that should surprise me . . . EVERYONE has a better social life than me! But did you ever notice how many times in the Gospels Jesus is either at a party or talking about one? And that’s true about today’s Gospel, Jesus talks about a wedding. He tells us about waiting for the bridegroom to arrive so that the wedding feast could begin. In the male dominated society of Jesus’ time, it was the groom who was the center of attention. These days it’s the bride. Everyone waits for her arrival. Even if she’s late, sometimes really late, everyone is gracious and waits patiently because today she is the bride. When she arrives, every movement of the bride is photographed. Everyone stands when she enters the church. Everyone stares at her beautiful dress. The groom is just the guy sweating next to the priest or deacon. He’s the lucky one who has won the love of the beautiful woman walking down the aisle.

But in Jesus’ day, it was the groom for whom everyone waited with bated breath. It seems that often the bridegroom was delayed because he negotiated with the bride’s family about a gift to give to them in return for their daughter. Often, the negotiations would be delayed by the bride’s parents as a way of communicating that they thought their daughter was worth much more than what the groom had offered by his initial gift.

In Jesus’ parable, the bridesmaids are waiting through such a delay. But even though the groom was delayed, they were to be ready for his arrival and escort him into the wedding feast. Five of them, however, were not ready. They hadn’t prepared themselves for his delay. They fell asleep. And when the groom arrived they had to rush off to the merchants to buy more oil. The problem was that when they returned and sought entrance to the feast, they were considered no different than other uninvited wedding crashers. The feast had begun and the doors were locked. It was too late.

So . . . in this story, steeped in Jewish tradition and history, what’s there for us to learn? Three things:

First, Jesus, the bridegroom, is coming. This story, along with the rest of Scripture, leaves us in no doubt that Jesus is coming again. We don’t know precisely when he will come again but he is definitely returning. This may not be the most popular idea in our material and pleasure-centered culture, but like it or not, that’s the fact of the matter.

Second, it’s clear that Jesus’ return has been delayed. It might seem like a long time between his first and second coming but in God's eyes 2 or 3 thousand years are nothing. The Bible, as well as some of the saints and mystics of our Church, tell us that without a doubt we are now living in the last times before Jesus will come again.

Third, this parable of Jesus is all about waiting, being ready. Jesus is telling us that God has graciously given us this time of waiting. Why? 

• Jesus is delaying so that everyone who has never heard of his dying and rising to life will be given a chance to know their Savior.
• He’s delaying to give all those who have heard but have rejected what he’s offering or have left taking him seriously until another day, another chance to get ready.
• He’s delaying so that no one can have the excuse that they didn’t have time to get ready for his return.
• He’s delaying his return to give the church, you and me, time to give every person in our family, in our community, in our place of employment a chance to hear about Jesus and to respond to the Good News. 

St. Paul expresses something of the urgency in all this when he says in his letter to the Romans, "It is time to wake up. You know that the day when we will be saved is nearer now than when we first put our faith in the Lord. Night is almost over, and day will soon appear" (Romans 13:11-12). And in his second letter to the Corinthians he says, "This is the hour to receive God's favor; today is the day to be saved!" (2 Cor. 6:2).

Be ready, Jesus is saying. How? 

• By taking his teachings seriously. 
• By honoring God above all other things.
• By seeking Jesus' forgiveness. 
• By getting to know God and his plan for our lives through reading and studying the Bible, and through diligent prayer. 
• By helping and caring for those who need comfort, help and support.

Or to use the imagery of the parable – keeping our lamps lit and ready, waiting for the inevitable coming of the bridegroom. There will come the day when Jesus will return. The dead will rise and enter eternal glory. The door will be shut. Then it will be too late. Those who are not ready will be left outside. Then the dreadful sentence will ring in our ears, "I do not know you." He doesn’t say, "I do not love you." "I haven't called you." "I do not draw you to myself." He only says: "I do not know you - because you never bothered to know me."

This is a hard hitting parable because it’s a parable of judgement; it strikes at the core of our half-heartedness and lukewarmness. It hits hard at how uncommitted we are to Jesus and his Church. It strikes out at all those good intentions we have but never get around to fulfilling them. Good intentions like –

• One day I’ll follow the teachings of Jesus and the Church. But right now I just want to have fun. 
• I’m just too busy to go to church. Sunday is my one day to sleep. Maybe when things slowdown in my life. 
• Someday I’ll get around to setting a time aside to spend with God in prayer. I just don't have the time now.
• When I retire, I hope to devote more time to church activities. 

Being prepared isn’t just for bridesmaids and boy scouts. It’s for all of us. We’re called to live today as if Christ is coming tomorrow. The words of Jesus in this parable shout at us saying that leaving everything to one day in the future may be just too late. "Watch out because you do not know when I will return." 

Time is running out! Are you ready? Jesus is coming! When? . . . There’s no app for that.

Twenty-ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A)

ALL OR NOTHING AT ALL

Isaiah 45: 1, 4-6; 1 Thessalonians 1: 1-5B; Matthew 22: 15-21 

As I’m sure you know, prayer is conversation with God. We talk, but we also listen to what God has to say to us. And that’s often the difficult part of prayer . . . the listening. Because how exactly does God speak to us? For me, I’ve found that God often speaks to me through my memories. And last week, as I prayed for inspiration for today’s homily, all of a sudden I had a memory from my boyhood. I have a lot of beautiful, wonderful memories of growing up on Long Island in the 60’s and 70’s, and this one was especially so. It was of the late Saturday afternoons and evenings that I would accompany my parents across the street to the house of our neighbors, my parent’s best friends, Fran and Joe Kless. Down the steps we would go into their basement, finished with highly varnished knotty pine walls and square green and black tiled flooring, with vinyl upholstered furniture that made embarrassing sounds as you shifted on it. And there, in addition to listening to their conversation and laughter for hours on end, I received a brilliant musical education as the recordings of Big Bands the likes of Glenn Miller & Tommy Dorsey and singers like Frank Sinatra & Nat King Cole played in the background. And in the midst of this memory, one song played over and over in my mind, the recording of All or Nothing at All by Frank Sinatra and Harry James. 

All or nothing at all

Half love never appealed to me

If your heart never could yield to me

Then I'd rather have nothing at all

All or nothing at all

If it's love there is no in between

Why begin, then cry for something that might have been

No, I rather have nothing at all. 

What does this song have to do with today’s Gospel? Everything! But before I get to that, let me give you a bit of the backstory of the Gospel.

That day in the temple, the religious leaders of the Jews thought they were clever. They had sent their emissaries to Jesus with a loaded question, a question that they thought would paint him into a corner that he wouldn’t be able to escape. They thought they had him trapped in a question where his patriotic loyalty would be revealed, and they hoped they could get proof that he was an enemy of the nation so the civil authorities would take him away. They wanted him out of their hair. He was getting too much attention with his message of God's love for all people. The religious leaders were losing control of their followers who were more attracted to his law of love than to their letter of the law.

"Teacher," they maliciously addressed him, "Is it lawful to pay the census tax to Caesar?" Should we support the government or not?" Of course, Jesus knows their intent. He asks them to show him a coin. Being law-abiding followers, faithful to their temple leadership, these supposedly righteous Jews should have had in their pockets only temple currency. Anything else would have defiled them and made them unworthy to be in that place - at least according to the rules and regulations their religious leaders had instilled in them. Yet the coin retrieved from their pocket had the emperor's face stamped on it, his head surrounded with the words, "Emperor Tiberius, Son of God." Loyal subjects in occupied Palestine were expected to worship the emperor as their God.

So, one of the emissaries of the Pharisees gives Jesus the coin, the blasphemous coin, and waits to see what Jesus will say about it. It seems to them that Jesus has two choices. He can support the political government and blaspheme against the Creator God. Or, he can support the Creator God and blaspheme against the political leadership. But, Jesus - of course - outsmarts them. He doesn't fall into the trap. “Give to the emperor what is the emperor's and give to God the things that are God's.” With these simple words, he confounds them. They realize their attempt to trap him has been unsuccessful. And they go away.

“Give to Caesar, what is Caesar's, but give to God, what is God's.” A clever response on Jesus’ part that silenced his critics. But the second part of his response is perhaps more directed at us then it was at them, and the implication of it is more than many of us want to hear. Because what is God's? What do I, what do we, owe God? “All or Nothing at All.”

All or nothing at all? That’s too much! Some, yes. Maybe half. Maybe even more. But all? No that’s too much to ask for. If I hand it all over, I’ll have nothing. If I hand it all over, what is left to satisfy my own desires? What’s left to fulfill the expectations that others place on me? All or nothing at all? We consider it a risk rather than a sure bet. 

But one of the Psalms says, “The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it, the world, and those who live in it” [Psalm 24:1]. And at the other end of the Bible, when St. Paul writes his First Letter to the Corinthians, he reminds them, “You are not your own. You have been bought and paid for. And at what a great price!” And so what is God’s—we are, every single one of us. We are, every single part of us: our heart, our soul, our mind, our strength. 

But this isn't just a matter of semantics:

To give to God our HEART means making Him our greatest treasure - valuing our relationship with Him, with Jesus, more than anything else in our life. It’s surrendering to him anything that that becomes an obstacle to your love affair with him: crammed schedules, toxic relationships, distracting ambition. It’s making truth, and charity, and mercy, and service the hallmarks of our lives.

Your SOUL is who you are. It’s the part of us that lives forever. And so, giving God our soul means loving Him with all we are. This includes:

• Our DESIRES - conforming our desires to those which will please and honor God. 
• Our AFFECTIONS - that we love those things that God loves.
• Our PURPOSES - that we pursue those things that God would have us pursue. 
• Our WILL - that we choose that which is good in our lives.
• Our FEELINGS - that we subject our feelings to the truth of God’s Word.

Having faith doesn’t mean giving up knowledge and understanding. And so rendering to God our MIND includes study and thought that will grow my faith and bless my relationship with Him. But it also means that we be less dependent on facts and more dependent on faith, less held by reason and more open to mystery. 

And STRENGTH is love in action. We give our strength over to God by what you and I do and say. It’s to honor him with the strength of our words and the strength of our abilities, the strength of our actions, and the strength of our character. And most importantly, that we find our strength in that which is holy, godly, and pure.

Not such easy stuff. The rendering to Caesar might be unwanted, but it is ever so much easier. To give to God costs a lot more than what the government and what society, what our employers, what are family, what our friends, and even what our church expect of us or demand from us. But God wants it all - all of us; all that we have; all that we are. He wants our heart, our soul, our mind, our strength. But you know what? All of that was never ours to begin with. It’s been given to us on loan. And he who has given it to us wants it back – all of it. Anything less is shortchanging God. 

A Remembrance of Deacon Anthony Signorelli

SNAPSHOTS

A Remembrance of

Deacon Anthony Signorelli

September 22, 2017 

Snapshots . . . Moments frozen in time . . . Glimpses into the lives of the people captured in them.

This past week, as I’ve gone through the photo album of my mind, I’ve found snapshots, hundreds of them, perhaps thousands, beautiful memories of Tony. Some of them are recent – snapshots that show him as brave, courageous. But these snapshots are too recent. I choose not to focus and dwell on them now. They’re for another time.

Snapshots . . . Here’s one of Tony wearing an apron. I don’t think there was anytime Tony was happier than when he wore an apron preparing a meal, ready to welcome guests into his home. Tony delighted in good food, good company, and good conversation. Whether it was a party with a dozen guests in his dining room with a feast from fruit to nuts, or a few priests, deacons and seminarians sharing a burger on his deck in the summer discussing theology, Tony was in his element and in his glory. He was the epitome of a generous, gracious and gregarious host, who allowed the occasion of breaking bread to be an opportunity to share his home, good food, and most especially, himself. 

Snapshots . . . Here’s one of Tony walking down Arthur Avenue in the Bronx. Here’s another one of him wearing a blue cap with the letters ND embroidered in glistening gold - Notre Dame. Tony was a passionate man who celebrated his roots and never forgot the significant influences on his life. I see snapshots of him and Fr. Jim Smith engaged in fierce debates over which was greater – Brooklyn or the Bronx, the Red Storm of St. John’s University or the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame. Tony claimed victory on both. 

Snapshots . . . Here’s one of him teaching at Pope John. When most men would look forward to a life of leisure after retirement, Tony yearned for new challenges, new opportunities to share his wisdom and his faith. At Pope John, Tony not only taught lessons in science but also lessons in Christian living. And, as with all things, Tony embraced life at Pope John with model dedication. That is, except in one area. Tony “claimed” that he would always forget when he was assigned to cafeteria duty. This invariably led to an announcement over the loudspeaker, “Doctor Signorelli, would you PLEASE report to the cafeteria!” Tony told me that once, he actually reported for his assigned duty, BY ACCIDENT. And when he walked into the cafeteria, all of the students rose and gave him a standing ovation.

Snapshots . . . Here are snapshots of Tony surrounded by family: his sister Barbara, his daughter Laurie Anne and her husband Craig, his son Michael and his wife Allison, and his grandchildren Brendan, Annie, Ava and Bobby. And I recognize the expression that’s on his face. It’s the same expression that was on his face whenever he talked about the success and achievements of his children and their spouses, the same expression as when he would tell me about the track meet, the baseball game, the Confirmation, the academic success of his grandchildren – PRIDE!

Snapshots . . . In my collection, I have so many of Tony with Dolores. And in those snapshots I again recognize the same look in his eyes that I saw every time he looked at Dolores – the look of love . . . the look of admiration . . . the look of appreciation. I remember one time years ago when Tony and Dolores were asked to give presentations to our RCIA candidates. And as I saw them interact with one another, I said to myself, “My God! After all these years of marriage – children and grandchildren – they still act like newlyweds!” Tony and Dolores had the kind of marriage that in the 1940’s and 50’s, they used to make movies about. The type of marriage that everyone strives to have, but ultimately say it can’t be; it’s just too good to be true. But it wasn’t. And it isn’t. And it's the kind of love that we need a lot more of today. 

Snapshots . . . Here’s a whole bunch of Tony and me. We were the greatest foils for each other’s jokes. We had nicknames for each other. As a jab at him being somewhat older than me, instead of Signorelli, I called him “Senior-elli”. And instead of Olsen, he called me “Young-son.” Dolores once said, “You two are just so silly!” Yeah we were . . . and we loved it. I don’t know if you ever noticed, but Tony was somewhat shorter than me. There were times when we would be exchanging barbs with one another, and he’d say, “You know, you’re not too big for me to take care of you.” I’d say, “And just how are you going to do that?” And he’d look up at me, pointing his finger, “By physical force if necessary! Come on Big Guy! Let’s go!” 

When Tony arrived for mass on Sundays, he would go up to the sanctuary, make sure the ribbon was in the right spot in the Book of the Gospels, make sure the credence table was set as it should be, and check how many ciboria were in the tabernacle. After he had set everything the way he wanted it to be and returned to the sacristy, I would go and raise the microphone stand as high as it would go, so the microphone would be about four feet taller than Tony. When mass began, I would stand in the back of the church, and after he reverenced the altar, I’d see Tony’s shoulders moving up and down with laughter when he saw what I had done. When he turned around and saw me, he would squint his eyes and shake his finger at me as if to say, “I’m gonna get you!” And he did. The following Sunday, I processed into the sanctuary, to find that Tony had lowered the microphone stand so it was no higher than my knees. 

Tony was my mentor, my friend, and my brother. He was there to guide me throughout my diaconate studies, and has offered me his sage wisdom and encouragement throughout the sixteen years of my ministry. He was the friend who constantly put in a good word for me at Pope John whenever there was an opening in the Theology Department. And he was the brother who was there for me when both my parents died. 

Snapshots . . . Here are ones that all of you are most familiar. They’re of Tony as deacon. Deacon Tony at the altar. Deacon Tony baptizing. Deacon Tony conducting a wake service. Deacon Tony leading Adult Education. Deacon Tony involved in Work-Life Ministry. And most memorable, Deacon Tony standing here, at this ambo, PROCLAIMING the Word of God and PREACHING the Word of God - both of which he was able to do so authentically because he LIVED the Word of God. Of all the homilies Deacon Tony preached, there’s one that I most remember. It was the one where he focused on one simple, three letter, one syllable word: YES. The YES of Mary. The simple, three letter, one syllable word that transformed the world, because it made salvation possible for us. I think that Deacon Tony was able to speak so eloquently about that simple, one syllable, three letter word, because YES was his mantra, his creed, his philosophy of life. YES! YES to God! YES to the teaching of the Church! Yes to the values of Christian life! YES to love and fidelity in marriage! YES to the responsibilities of family life. YES to job-related obligations. YES to every man, woman or child that sought his advice or ever needed his assistance. YES!

The word “deacon” comes from the Greek word diakonos, which means servant. The patron saint of the diaconate is St. Stephen, one of the original seven deacons. But for me, the patron saint of what it means to be a deacon is Deacon Anthony Signorelli, for he epitomized what it meant to be a servant to his family, to his students, to his parish, to his Church, and to his God. 

On Tuesday when I first got word of Deacon Tony’s passing, immediately one line of Scripture came to mind. It’s from the Gospel of Matthew: “Well done, my good and faithful servant.” I truly believe that those were the first words that Deacon Tony heard from the mouth of our Lord when he stood before him. “Well done, my good and faithful servant!” 

Snapshots . . . I’ve got hundreds, thousands of them of Tony. Some are vivid. Some are blurry and I wish I had paid more attention when they became part of the photo album of my memories. But there’s one problem with snapshots. Even assembling all of them together, they don’t do justice to one who lived his life with such grace, nobility, purpose, and virtue. But how much better our lives are that one such as he blessed us by his presence in them. Thank you, Tony. 

And Tony, I know you’re angry with me right now. You always told me that the ideal homily should be seven minutes. And tonight, I certainly exceeded that. But it’s your fault, you know . . . Why did you have to be so darn good? God bless you.

The Twenty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A)

TO FORGIVE IS DIVINE

Sirach 27: 30 – 28: 7; Romans 14: 7-9; Matthew 18: 21-35

A condemned man hangs on a cross just outside of Jerusalem on a hill called Golgotha. Although for three years he has proclaimed Godly love, here he is now met with demonic hatred. Soon this preacher from Nazareth will lift his eyes to heaven and commend his spirit to his Father. But before he does, he looks down. He looks down directly into the eyes of those who five days earlier waved palm branches and shouted out to him, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” but who this day wave their clenched fists at him, curse him, and shout, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” He looks down into the eyes of those who just moments before stripped him and used the very instruments that he had used as a carpenter, hammer and nails, and pounded those nails into his hands and his feet. Into their eyes he looks. And as he does, he says, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” 

To err is human. To forgive is divine.

Maria was close to her 12th birthday when she was stabbed to death by 19 year old Alessandro Serenelli, a farmworker who shared a dwelling with her family. Alessandro had attacked the young girl when she resisted his efforts to sexually assault her. Alessandro was sentenced to 30 years in prison. Although he was aware that Maria had forgiven him on her deathbed (even saying she wanted to be in heaven with him) he didn’t feel remorse. One night during the third year of his confinement, Maria appeared to Alessandro in his cell. She was smiling and holding 14 lilies to symbolize the 14 wounds she suffered—which she lovingly offered to the man who had taken her life. From that moment on, he lived a life of goodness and grace. Four years after his release from prison, he went to visit Assunta, Maria’s mother. Begging Assunta's forgiveness, she placed her hands on his head, caressed his face and gently said, "Alessandro, Marietta forgave you, Christ has forgiven you, and why should I not also forgive. I forgive you, of course, my son! Why have I not seen you sooner?" The next morning Assunta took Alessandro by the hand and led him to Mass. From that day on he was welcomed into the family as "Uncle Alessandro." Assunta and Alessandro were also side by side when St. Maria Goretti was canonized. 

To err is human. To forgive is divine. 

This past April (2017), Robert Godwin Sr. was walking home from an Easter meal when a man walked up to him and shot him in the head. To add to the horror, the killer recorded the shooting and uploaded it to Facebook. Thousands of people saw the slaying before it was removed over an hour later. The family’s grief, particularly that of Godwin’s children, was painfully evident on the next day’s morning news. But so was their love. In a baffling demonstration of grace, three of his children publicly forgave their father’s killer. His daughter Tonya said, “Each one of us forgives the killer, the murderer. … We want to wrap our arms around him.” Godwin’s son said, “I forgive him because we are all sinners.”

To err is human. To forgive is divine.

I know what you’re thinking: “I could NEVER forgive like that! I just couldn’t. But in today’s Gospel, Jesus tells us that we CAN . . . and more than that . . . . we MUST. 

In our Gospel, Jesus offers a parable about a servant who is ultimately condemned by his master, not because of the servant’s debt to him, but because the servant refused to forgive the debt of his fellow servant. So do you think Jesus is serious about this forgiveness thing? I think so. It’s the only time in all four Gospels that he put a PS on one of his parables: “So will my heavenly Father do to you, unless each of you forgives your brother from your heart."

To understand what Jesus is talking about in today’s Gospel, maybe we need to understand what he isn’t saying: He’s not saying that forgiving is condoning. By trying to understand those who have wronged us, or even forgiving them, we aren’t saying that their actions are acceptable. He’s not saying that forgiving is pardoning. When we forgive, we aren’t exonerating anyone from responsibility. He’s not saying that forgiving is a form of martyrdom. When we forgive, we don’t suppress our emotions and we aren’t doing it for the person who wronged us . . . We’re forgiving for ourselves.

So what is he saying? He’s telling us that forgiveness means freedom. Forgiveness frees us. It opens us up. It allows us to stop playing games. We no longer have to pretend that it didn't hurt, because it did; we don't have to pretend that everything's fine, because it’s not. When we forgive, we say to the person who has hurt us, “I will not allow you to do that again!” But more importantly, when we forgive, we say to ourselves, “I’m moving on with my life; I refuse to be held back by her mistakes or his problems!” That's forgiving. It's not saying that everything’s alright (that would be a lie) it’s saying, “I’m moving on now... there’s no grudge, no revenge - it's over; I’m through; the past is past and I’m free!”

Guess who gets blessed when you forgive. YOU do. The importance of forgiveness is not so much that it absolves the person forgiven as that it cleanses the person who forgives. Forgiveness is the greatest gift you can give yourself. Forgiveness just might be the most gloriously selfish thing that we do. 

Maybe this story can better explain what I’m talking about: This is probably going to seem silly to you, but I did something on August 15th that I never thought I'd do because I thought it would be too painful. But I decided I needed to do it. I drove to Bergen Catholic where I used to teach. I only work ten minutes from the school but have avoided it like the plague. You see, my exit from there six years ago wasn’t pleasant and has left its scars. And even though I’ve prayed to be able to forgive those that I felt wronged me, the hurt was still there, as were my fantasies of revenge. I always felt that if I even saw the building again, all the hurt would come flooding back. But on that day last month, I decided I needed to do this. So I drove to the school and into the semicircle in the front of the building. And you know what? I felt nothing! No hurt. No nostalgia. No bad memories. No happy memories. No anger. No regrets. NOTHING! I even said a prayer as I did it. The demons that held me in their grasp for six years were finally released. I felt lighter. Like a weight had been lifted from me. And I felt that I was finally able to move on. 

So maybe that’s what forgiveness really is. It’s letting go so we can move on. Too many of us are controlled by events that occurred yesterday. We drive through life looking in the rearview mirror rather than keeping our eyes on the road ahead. The decision to forgive is a decision to live in the present moment. 

So this week, let’s take our hurts and our grudges to a trash heap. The heap is just outside of town at a place called Golgotha. Here one sinless man hangs falsely accused between two criminals. He is abused but will not retaliate; condemned but will not judge. He is beaten, but will only show mercy. At the cross, his mercy becomes his justice, and that all becomes grace. Let’s take that grace home with us and lay in bed at night with it when we are tempted to tally up the score of hurts from the day. Because to err is human. And to forgive is . . . well, you fill in the blank.

Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A)

THE SILENCE OF JESUS

Isaiah 56: 1, 6-7; Romans 11: 13-15, 29-32; Matthew 15: 21-28 

Do you have a favorite story from the Gospels? Maybe the story of Jesus’ birth, or an account of one of his miracles – healing someone, changing water into wine at the wedding feast at Cana, the multiplication of the loaves and fish, walking on water? Maybe a parable of Jesus – the Lost Sheep, the Prodigal Son, the Good Samaritan? 

What about lines of Scripture? Do you have any favorites? Most of us do. Maybe “Ask and you shall receive, seek and you will find, knock and the door will be opened to you.” Or “A new command I give you, love one another as I have loved you.” John 3:16 is a popular one (at least among football fans) – “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. 

The reason why I ask is because what we just heard is probably not on anyone’s list. As a matter of fact, it’s my least favorite passage in all four Gospels. In it, we meet a Jesus that I’m not really sure I like. He seems arrogant, prejudice, rude, insulting, sarcastic and downright mean. Far different from the one we’re accustomed to. And for me, it contains the most devastating line in all of Scripture: “But he did not say a word in answer to her.” 

It’s this silence of Jesus that sends one's mind and heart spinning when we read today's Gospel. “But he did not say a word in answer to her.” He certainly heard the plea of the Canaanite woman, for the disciples begged him to get rid of her because she was being so loud. “But he did not say a word in answer to her.” Can this be the Jesus whom we call merciful? Can this be the one who was known for his wonderful deeds of compassion? Yes, it’s he. It’s none other than Jesus, "Lord, Son of David," who is silent.

The silence was unmercifully disconcerting, but the words that then came from his mouth sounded like the ultimate in thoughtless mercilessness. ‘I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.'" To her it sounded like, "I want nothing to do with you, for I have not come for anyone such as you. I have a mission, but you’re not part of it."

But she just wouldn't give up! She then confronted him directly, "Lord, help me." It was the voice of the most helpless of all the helpless ones. "Help me." I have no other recourse. Only you can help me. Have mercy.

"It is not right to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs." Oh, the heartlessness of that response! Perhaps better the silence than this, to be called a "dog." Yet, she had heard this "title" bestowed upon her before. It was typical of a Jew to speak thus of the Gentiles. To hear that in the face of this need, though, was truly a sign that all was now over. What more was there to be said?

She would gladly be a dog, she said to Jesus, if he would just do what dog owners do - let some crumbs fall from the table for the dog to lick up. It would be enough to have some crumbs! She asked for nothing more. And there was one thing she was determined she would not do, and that was to go away without at least some crumbs from the master's table. If this was, indeed, the Lord she had heard about in the many rumors flying about - and if, indeed, he was "Lord, Son of David," he could and, in fact, had to give her what she requested. Why? Because he was who he said he was! That was the beginning and the end of her plea. "Be who I know you to be and I will be satisfied!"

Then . . . at last! . . . the word she had been yearning for with all her heart! "Be it done for you as you desire." She had broken through all those "defenses," had endured all those "rejections," had insisted that Jesus be who he truly was - "Lord, Son of David"! "O woman, great is your faith!" 

What about you? Have you ever experienced this awful silence when you prayed . . . and prayed . . . and prayed . . . and nothing seemingly happened? Have you ever experienced what St. John of the Cross called “the dark night of the soul,” or the "hiddenness of God," as Martin Luther spoke of it? The God who asks us to pray is silent as we watch our resources dwindle to nothing while we ask him to help us find a job; as we watch a beloved father, mother child, friend continue to suffer from cancer; as we pray in desperation for safety from terrorism, and we hear the devastating news from Barcelona; as we beg God to turn the hard heart of a wayward child back toward the love and help of a parent who watches her waste her life away; as we hold up our hands in supplication for rain while our fields bake in the sun - or ask for relief from the rain as the floods pour over our land and our homes.

Having exhausted all your resources, having presented the total helplessness with which you approached the throne of God, have you felt rebuffed, as though your petitions fell on ears that wanted nothing to do with you? Have you ever felt as though out of the silence came an even more terrifying sense of sinking into the quicksand of the troubles that were so besetting you? The one who supposedly was hearing you spoke, instead, a word exactly opposite that which you wanted to hear. If you’re like Job, or the Canaanite Woman, or Mother Teresa, or me, probably you have. 

And so what do we do? It seems to me there are two options: We can retreat in anger, feeling abandoned and let down by God. Or we can pester God to be who he claims to be, “a God merciful and gracious, longsuffering, and abounding in goodness and truth” (Exodus 34:5-7). That’s exactly what the Canaanite woman did, so maybe we need to take our cue from her. Although we feel so guilty doing this, when we dare quarrel with God, he is delighted that we enter into dispute with him. For that is the mark of faith. We will not stop speaking with him, no matter what the circumstance, for that is the precise sign that we do, indeed, believe that he can be trusted to listen and respond. Faith is not mere submissive receptivity to someone beyond our understanding. Faith is a relationship that God initiated through our baptism. He draws us up into that relationship in such a way that he actually invites us to enter into it as a willing disputant by making it plain that we not only can, but that we should, expect him to be what he has said he is and that he will do what he promises to do. Faith is to take God so seriously that, when he hears us, he knows that we trust him so implicitly that we can say whatever is on our mind with the confidence that he will take it seriously, believing that even "in the silence" and "behind the hiddenness" he is still present, still promising, still acting in our behalf, still working out circumstances in our lives in a way ever so obscure to us, but ever so plain to him. 

And yes, God will make up his own mind about what to do concerning the contention we have with him when all is said and done. The woman's daughter was healed. But it doesn't always work out that way. Jesus' urgent request to let the cup pass from him wasn’t granted. His cross is the mark that the Father's will shall, in the end, be done. But that’s not as though he hasn’t heard and listened and taken seriously what the woman, what Jesus, or what we have to say. He made great good come out of Jesus' denied request! He relishes the times when we pour out our every wish before him, for it is the sign that we take God as seriously as he takes our situation seriously.

Matthew tell us about the woman in today’s Gospel because she is a model of faith for all who stand alongside her with that stirring cry, "O Lord, Son of David, we are severely oppressed by demonic powers. Lord, help us." There may be a terrifying silence for a while. It was so with her - and with Jesus. But when faith persists speaking into the face of that silence, the Word will eventually break the silence and demons will be sent away and the dead will be raised. For even in the silence we are in the hands of a gracious Lord who never fails to hear the cry "Lord, help us."