The Second Sunday of Easter (Year C)

TOUCHING YOU, TOUCHING ME 

Divine Mercy Sunday 

Acts 5: 12-16; Revelations 1: 9-11a, 12-13, 17-19; John 20: 19-31 

They must have been rough, those hands of the carpenter from Nazareth. In an age without gloves or skin creams, he shoved stones into place, absorbed splinters, hewed timber, and gripped lumber with bare-fisted fingers. In a day without sunscreen lotions, he labored under the blistering Middle Eastern sun. In an era without modern machinery, he raised houses, erected buildings, fashioned furniture, and repaired children’s toys. His hands must have developed a thick layer of protective hide that was obvious to those who shook his hand or felt His touch. 

But, oh! what gentle hands. Never squeezing too hard, touching too roughly, or overzealously slapping another’s back. 

What powerful hands! Those hands touched the lame and they walked; they restored sight to the blind and hearing to the deaf. They brought the dead back to life and blessed the little children who ran up to him. Jesus wasn’t afraid to touch others. Leprous skin didn’t repulse him, nor did he hesitate to handle the filthy feet of his disciples in the Upper Room. Those hands . . . that touch! Intimate, powerful, transformational. 

What wounded hands! They bore the scars that no lotion could heal, no oil could help, no cosmetic could hide. And it was those hands that Jesus showed to his Apostles – his calling card to prove that it was he – no ghost, no impostor, HIM, their master, their teacher, and now, their Lord and their Savior. RESURRECTED! ALIVE! Those hands . . . that touch! Intimate, powerful, transformational STILL! Those hands . . . that night, restored the intimacy of a relationship, demonstrated power over death, transformed fear into faith. 

But in today’s Gospel, it is not Jesus who touches. It is he who is touched. The incredulous hands of Thomas touch the nail marks and probe the wounds. For almost two thousand years this Apostle has borne, perhaps unfairly, the moniker of the “Doubting Thomas.” But you know, I wonder if the other ten Apostles were actually jealous of Thomas. The week before, to them, Jesus merely showed his hands and his side. To Thomas, he extends the invitation to touch. 

Touch is perhaps the most personal of the five senses. To touch and to be touched by another person is an intimate and personal experience. There is something wonderful about the touch of the human hand. Friends shake hands. Sweethearts hold hands. There is some indeterminate healing in the touch of a mother’s hand on a sick child. There is reassuring peace in the touch of a father’s hand on his child after a bad dream during the night. Yes, there is something wonderful about the human touch. And that night, in that room, Jesus extends to Thomas the invitation to touch . . . “Thomas, put your finger here and see my hands, and bring your hand and put it into my side." 

In the Old Testament, the place where God chose to meet with his people was a place of “contagious holiness.” It was so supercharged with holiness that merely touching the very instruments of worship in the tabernacle would make a person holy. Concerning things like the altar, the altar of incense, the lampstand, the utensils, and even the vestments worn by the priests, God instructs Moses, “You shall also consecrate them, that they may be most holy; whatever touches them will become holy.” (Exod. 30:29). And so, Jesus’ invitation for Thomas to touch the wounds on his glorified body was nothing less than an invitation for Thomas himself to be made holy. The same invitation is extended to us.

Today’s Gospel isn’t just that Thomas came to believe, and was moved to exclaim, “My Lord and my God.” Today’s Gospel isn’t just about the result; it’s about the process. It’s important for us to not only see what happened but appreciate how it happened. 

As we heard, Jesus first appeared to the apostles while Thomas wasn’t there —and Thomas was incredulous. He didn’t buy it. It sounded too good to be true. Show me, he said. So, Jesus appeared a second time. This time, Thomas was there. He saw and believed. 

And that transformation in Thomas was able to happen for one reason: because Jesus gave him another chance. He offered him another opportunity—a way back from doubt to faith, from skepticism to belief. He knew what Thomas needed. He knew what was lacking. So, Jesus, the font of Divine Mercy, returned to that upper room a second time in a gesture of mercy that left Thomas profoundly changed. A skeptic became a saint. 

It happened for Thomas. It can happen for all of us. This is what lies at the heart of Divine Mercy Sunday. And it’s what lies at the heart of Sacrament of Reconciliation—the opportunity to begin again, to start anew. Jesus didn’t give up on Thomas. And he doesn’t give up on us. God is waiting for us. Grace is waiting for us. Mercy is waiting for us. 

Have you ever seen the painting entitled The Incredulity of Saint Thomas by Caravaggio? (See above.) It shows Thomas with his finger poking into the wound in Christ’s side, his right forefinger nearly halfway into Jesus’ side, and leaning over to examine it aggressively with what one critic described as a “clinical and forensic determination.” On this Second Sunday of Easter, Jesus encourages us to penetrate the wound even deeper and to touch his heart – the Heart of Mercy – to puncture his heart and have the streams of his mercy pour over us, wash us, transform us. 

What consolation it is to know that God is ready to forgive us all our sins! We need but to reach out with our finger and touch the heart of the Risen Jesus, for the wound in his side has remained open in order that he might show us his mercy. Our scars, our brokenness, our sins do not need to define us. For we are Easter people! 

This Sunday, we mark Divine Mercy Sunday, when we embrace the power and beauty of God’s forgiveness. It’s a time for fulfilling the promise of the Resurrection, the glorious hope of Easter. Christ has left the tomb. If we choose to, so can we. We can step out of the tomb of selfishness and sin. We can feel the healing light of God’s care. We can take that second chance. God’s mercy, Divine Mercy, assures it. The Sacrament of Reconciliation enables it. 

As we gather around the table of the Lord this Sunday, and prepare to receive him in the Eucharist, let us invite Jesus into our own locked upper rooms and pray that he will break through all the barriers that might be keeping him out of our lives. Let us pray as well that, as we touch his pierced heart, that our hearts too may be touched . . . touched by his tender and Divine Mercy. And let us pray, that with contrite humility, yet also the joy of Easter discovery, we might cry out, “Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One, have mercy on us and on the whole world.”

The Third Sunday of Lent (Year C)

OF TRAGEDIES, FIG TREES & GARDENERS 

Exodus 3: 1-8A, 13-15;    1 Corinthians 10: 1-6, 10-12;    Luke 13: 1-9 

You know, sometimes it’s tough being a lowly deacon . . . especially when it comes to preaching. Do you want to know why? I’ll tell you - Priests are “Gospel Hoarders.” It’s true! They choose the best gospels to preach on for themselves. And the ones they’re not too crazy about, they give to the deacons! For example, when have you ever heard me preach on Christmas Day? Or Easter Sunday? NEVER. And so, I really suspect that Fr. Marc, Fr. Miguel and Fr. Dulibber sit around the kitchen table in the rectory to prepare the preaching schedule and Fr. Marc reads the upcoming gospels and says, “Eh . . . I don’t want to preach on THIS one.” And Fr. Dulibber says, “Well, I’ve only been ordained ten months, I certainly don’t want to!” And Fr. Miguel says, “Let’s get the deacons to do it!!!” Case in point, last week’s gospel about the Transfiguration – I could have given a GREAT homily on that! And next weeks gospel is the Parable of the Prodigal Son! Even now, my mind is flooding with ideas about what I would say. But today’s gospel . . . mmm . . . not so much. I have to admit, it’s not one of my favorites. And reflecting on it this past week, I think one of the reason’s it isn’t is that, for me, in a mere nine verses, it’s all over the place emotionally. And its message is consoling, confusing and disturbing. 

So today’s gospel begins with the people discussing what is weighing heavily on their minds and in their hearts. Pontius Pilate has made a religious sacrifice to the Emperor—who was often considered a kind of demigod in those days—and as a part of that burnt sacrifice, he slaughtered a gathering of Galilean Jews and placed their remains on the sacrificial pyre, mixing their blood with the blood of the animal sacrifices that the Galilean pilgrims had brought to the Temple. And as if that isn’t horrifying enough, at the same time that Jesus hears of Pilate’s treachery, news arrives that a tower in Siloam has fallen, crushing eighteen people. 

We can relate, can’t we? Because technology has made the world smaller, we hear of all the disturbing and unsettling tragedies from around our country and in our world; tragedies which break our hearts and shock our sensibilities. (For example, the killing of fifty worshippers last week in two mosques by a gunman in Christchurch, New Zealand, and the tornado that ravaged Alabama earlier this month, leaving twenty-three dead in its path.) And like the crowd in today’s gospel, their questions are our questions. Why? Why God? Why do bad things happen to good people? Did these people deserve to die? Was it God’s will that they did? Was it his punishment? Did they die because of their sinfulness? And Jesus emphatically says to them, and to us, “BY NO MEANS!” 

The sad thing is, often times, even after 2,000 years of knowing better, we often still think that way. It’s easy to play the “Blame Game.” It’s easy to blame people’s fate and our own personal tragedies and misfortune, even illness, on one’s sinful behavior. And it’s easy to blame God for everything in life that baffles us, disturbs us, and for which we have no other explanation. 

And for me, although my mind often likes to connect a cause with an effect, Jesus response is good news that gives me a sense of peace and consolation. Because what Jesus is saying is, we don’t have a vengeful, spiteful God. He doesn’t punish us with tragedy, calamity, misfortune, bad luck or disease. We don’t have a “Gotcha God,” one who lurks in the shadows and behind the corners ready to punish us at our smallest indiscretion. God just doesn’t work that way. It’s not who he is. We are, however, vulnerable to human nature, to the poor, sometimes evil, sometimes even horrific decisions of other people. And we’re also vulnerable to the forces of nature, forces that can bring about both atmospheric calamities and disease. Our faith is not a suit of armor that renders us impervious us from these things, but it can be a shield to help us remain strong in the face of them. 

So from the empathetic sadness that I was feeling for the Jews who had to come to grips with the tragedies mentioned in the gospel, to the feeling of consolation I felt that God does not rain misfortune on me for my sinfulness, Jesus then seems to pull the rug from in under me. He says, “But I tell you, if you do not repent, you will all perish as they did!” Just as I was feeling safe and secure, Jesus reminds me that God is just and that he does punish, in the afterlife. And I know that, of course, but it’s certainly something that most of us would like to forget - that what we do does have consequences . . . eternal consequences. That we aren’t blameless. And that we need to repent or our fate will be worse than those who lost their lives in the tragedies in Israel. If we don’t repent, we will not share in the eternal life of heaven, but in the eternal “death” of hell. Sadly, many in our society today, don’t believe that. They believe in a God who is so loving, so merciful, that no matter what they do, in the end, God will forgive them. They forget that God is also just. And that we get what we deserve. Very sobering, isn’t it? 

But from there, Jesus tells us the Parable of the Fig Tree that doesn’t bear fruit. The owner of the tree is ready to cut it down, but the gardener pleads with him to give the tree one more chance, to let him prune it, to cut away what is dead, to fertilize it, and see what that attention and care might yield. 

And so, yes, Jesus says that if we don’t repent, we will all perish, but through the parable, he reassures us that God is a God of second chances. And maybe even third, fourth and fifth chances. He wills that we live. He wills that we bear fruit. And he will do everything possible, even move heaven and earth, to get us to do that. When we feel most lifeless and hopeless and worthless, the Gardener isn’t going to leave or forsake us or send us to the fires. Rather, he is entering into our lifelessness, hopelessness and worthlessness with compassion and love. 

As with many of Jesus’ parables, we don’t get to hear the end of the story. We don’t because the end of the story is still to be written. Many of Jesus’ parables are meant to be mirrors for us to look at and see ourselves. Are we the fig tree that responds to the care and attention of Jesus the gardener? Or despite his efforts, do we still bear no fruit? If so, we shouldn’t be surprised at out fate. We ourselves write the conclusion of the parable of our lives. We’ve been forewarned. 

Lent offers the time to develop the habit of repentance in daily life. Lent is the time of aerating the soil and adding humble manure, of pruning away what is lifeless with us. Lent is a time of taking care of things, while being taken care of. Those sacrifices you decided to make at the beginning of Lent – how are they going? The promises you made to pray more, read Scripture more, attend mass more frequently, go to the Stations of the Cross, be more charitable, be more patient – how’s that going? The Sacrament of Reconciliation – been there yet? Today’s the Third Sunday of Lent. Four more weeks until Easter. Let’s use that time to fill, not Easter baskets with colored eggs and jelly beans, but instead, baskets that bear good, ripe fruit – beautiful to the eye, delicious to the palette of God.   

Seventh Sunday In Ordinary Time (Year C)

UPSIDE DOWN, INSIDE OUT 

TOPSY-TURVY 

1 Samuel 26: 2, 7-9, 12-13, 22-23; 1 Corinthians 15: 45-49; Luke 6:27-38 

The poor, the hungry, the weeping, the hated, the excluded, the insulted, those falsely accused are blessed? 

Upside down, inside out, topsy-turvy. 

The rich, the well-satisfied, those who are joy-filled and praised are cursed? 

Upside down, inside out, topsy-turvy. 

Love those who hate you? Do good things for those who harm you? Take no revenge for harm done to you? Give more than you are asked to give and expect nothing in return? 

Upside down, inside out, topsy-turvy. 

I guess that’s how most of society views today’s gospel, as well as the one we heard last week: upside down, inside out, topsy-turvy. And maybe add to that: naïve, absurd, impractical and unattainable. Maybe we feel the same way, at least sometimes. If you wanted to find the most challenging, most difficult, most confounding passage in all of the gospels, this just might be it. It’s also the most fundamentally Christian – because it’s the passage that calls on each of us to be the most like Christ. 

That’s a tall order: And look at what it entails. Turning the other cheek. Giving away your cloak. And the most radical and counter-cultural of all: Loving your enemies and praying for your persecutors. It sounds so nice and reassuring. But do you know what that means? Do any of us? Take a moment to think and reflect on your own life. 

Consider all the people who have hurt you. Those who have lied to you. Stabbed you in the back. Remember the ones who spread rumors about you that were untrue. Those who have gossiped about you, or judged you, or mocked you, or bullied you. 

Consider the friend that you trusted, who betrayed you. The co-worker who broke a confidence. The person whose name you’d rather forget who wounded you, or disrespected you, or took advantage of you or even abused you. Look back on all the people in your life who have left bruises and scars, with a word or a look or a touch. 

Now, imagine doing what Jesus commands – LOVE THEM. Love them and PRAY FOR THEM. Love them, and pray for them, and FORGIVE THEM. 

If you’re like me, that can be hard to do. Sometimes it’s actually pleasurable to do the opposite—to hate your enemies and to wish the worst on your persecutors, to enjoy their setbacks and suffering. 

Today’s Gospel speaks about the impact of our actions of love or hate. Jesus asks us to do that which may seem to be unreasonable and perhaps fanciful, unrealistic and even impossible. But the words of Jesus have to be more than mere slogans that we put on the bumpers of our cars or have framed to hang up on the walls of our homes. 

Christians are called to bring an experience of God to the world, to BE an experience of God to the world. To live a 'normal' life, all we have to do are the things that the world does. But Jesus calls us to a much higher standard. We are called by Jesus, not to live 'normal' lives, but to share in the divine life, to be perfect as our Heavenly Father is perfect. And we pray for that at every Mass. During the offertory, as the deacon pours a drop of water into the chalice to become one with the wine, he prays, “By the mystery of this water and wine may WE come to share in the DIVINITY of Christ, who humbled HIMSELF to share in our HUMANITY.” 

But how can we be that experience of God to the world if we behave in a manner that is a total antithesis to God? God is Love. How can we proclaim God if we hate? Some may say “Get real Jesus. It just can’t be done.” But he did it. In the final moments of his life, surrounded by his enemies and his persecutors, he hung on the cross, stripped, bleeding, gasping, as they gambled for his clothes and waited for him to die. And in that moment, Jesus pleaded and prayed: “Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.” Here is Christian perfection – our model for living, captured at the moment of death. Here is love beyond measure: a prayer for a broken and unknowing world. 

But I know what you’re thinking . . . Easy for him, Deacon Bruce. Jesus was God. How can mere human beings, like you and me, be expected to live out such radical love and mercy. But the thing is, others have done it. Before being beheaded, from his cell, St. Thomas More, forgave King Henry VIII for destroying his reputation and his life. On her deathbed, twelve-year-old Maria Goretti forgave Alessandro Serenelli, the twenty-year-old man who stabbed her fourteen times when she refused to give in to his sexual advances, and prayed that someday he would be with her in heaven. And in January 1984, in Rome's Rebibbia prison, St. John Paul II tenderly held the hand that had held the gun that was meant to kill him. For 21 minutes, the Pope sat face to face with his would-be-killer and forgave him for the shooting. 

Jesus proposes a holy life. Not in the common sense of holiness – following all the rules and keeping our noses clean. But holy in the truest sense of that word, which means, "set apart to God." He is proposing we consider ourselves more members of God’s Kingdom than of earthly kingdoms; living under his rule rather than by the world’s rules and influence. Jesus prescribes a new ethic for us – a new way of living. 

The cornerstone of the world’s ethic is me and what’s best for me. We work to survive, to be comfortable, to meet our needs and desires. But the ethic Jesus proclaims, the ethic of the kingdom, is far different. The kingdom’s ethic is love - love that begins in God and flows from Him to us, and then out toward others. It’s a proactive and positive ethic – it doesn’t wait to see what the other guy is going to do, and then react based on how threatened we feel – rather it goes ahead and acts, based on who God is and what He does. 

We live in a world that itself often seems upside down, inside out and topsy-turvy. A world in which might makes right, the consensus of the majority trumps the will of God, human intellect is deified and supernatural faith is mocked and dismissed. A world in which gender is no longer something that you’re born with, but something that you choose. A world in which life outside the womb is respected and protected, but that same life inside the womb, mere seconds before, is considered non-human and disposable. A world in which becoming high is now sanctioned by our government as a way to increase tax revenue. Upside down, inside out, topsy-turvy. 

But something spectacular happens when the upside down, inside out, topsy-turvy world meets the radical, counter-cultural, upside down, inside out, topsy-turvy way of Jesus. That which is upside down, inside out and topsy-turvy becomes upright, correct-way-round, ordered. Author G. K. Chesterton once wrote, “The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult; and left untried.” Maybe it’s time we did. The alternative just doesn’t seem to be working, don’t you think? And let’s stop fretting that the ethic of Jesus is an impossible dream that will never be embraced by the world. Let’s just worry about living it out ourselves and let God transform the world one person at a time.

The Third Sunday in Ordinary Time(Year C)

TODAY 

Nehemiah 8: 2-4a, 5-6, 8-10; 1 Corinthians 12: 12-30; Luke 1:1-4, 4: 14-21 

Well . . . what did you think of it? What you just heard was Jesus’ first homily. How would you evaluate it? It didn’t start off with a good story. Jesus didn’t tell a joke. And it was short . . . VERY short . . . nine words . . . less than ten seconds. And we don’t know how much went into the collection basket afterwards., so we can’t measure its effectiveness that way. So, what did you think? Oh, you missed it? Here it is again: “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” Jesus proclaims that he is fulfilling the prophecy of Isaiah. He is announcing good news to the poor and powerless. He is opening the eyes of the blind. He is freeing those caught in the grasp of sin. He is proclaiming that God’s compassion and mercy are present in him. TODAY! 

“Today” is an important word in Luke’s Gospel. It’s used at a number of significant points. When the angel appears to the shepherds outside Bethlehem he says “to you is born TODAY a savior who is Christ the Lord”. Later on in the Gospel, Jesus comes across a tax collector, Zaccheus, a man who is despised by his neighbors. He has climbed a tree to catch a glimpse of Jesus, but Jesus calls him down and says to him “‘Zacchaeus, I must stay at your house TODAY.” When the crowds start to grumble at this, he turns to them and says, ‘TODAY salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham.” And then, almost at the end of the story, the thief who is crucified beside Jesus asks, “remember me when you come into your kingdom”. But Jesus can do better than that; “TODAY you will be with me in Paradise” he promises. 

Luke is telling us something with all those “todays”. He’s telling us that God is already at work, already doing the things that need to be done. He’s not waiting for people to be ready, for them get it all together and come up with a plan, set up a structure, recruit a team, and go through a training program. He’s getting on with it himself, in the person of Jesus, and he is doing it TODAY! We can join in or not, but today’s the day we need to choose. 

It seems to me, though, that “today” is something many of us struggle with. It can feel so much easier to live in yesterday or tomorrow. When we live in yesterday, we look back nostalgically to a golden age, even if it never really existed. We cling to our souvenirs. We even lug around regrets and old animosities too; they are burdens, but they are familiar burdens, our burdens, and we can’t quite bring ourselves to leave them behind. That’s living in yesterday. 

But living in “tomorrow” can be just as problematic. We dream of a time when all will magically be sorted out in our lives. We wait for the perfect moment to do something we’ve been putting off. Living in “tomorrow” can leave us permanently dissatisfied. Whatever we need to make us happy is just around the corner, over the horizon, in the next job, the next relationship, if only we could get there. 

Why are we so fond of our yesterdays and tomorrows? Maybe it’s partly because there are so many of them. All of history lies behind us to be recalled and dwelt on; all the future lies in front of us to be imagined and dreamed of. But today is just the small patch of ground under our feet right now, the place where we’re standing for this fleeting moment. We’ve hardly got time to notice it before it is gone. 

But another reason why we might also prefer yesterday and tomorrow is that we can’t do anything about them. We can’t change the past and we can’t control the future either. In a sense we are off the hook. Today, though, makes immediate, urgent demands on us, maybe inconvenient or costly ones. It’s the only moment we can act, but do we want to? 

That nine word homily preached by Jesus 2,000 years ago is one that he preaches again each time Sunday’s Gospel is proclaimed. “TODAY this Scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing.” This is the “today” when the Lord calls us to recognize what He is doing. 

He is here TODAY to bring glad tidings to those of you who are poor - poor in spirit and poor in health. To those who are lacking in an abundance of wealth and to those who are lacking in an abundance of love or peace or joy. 

He has sent been sent to us TODAY to proclaim liberty to captives - to those of you whose bodies are held captive by disease or old age, addictions or abuse; to those whose minds are held captive by pornography or depression or worry or feelings of a lack of self-worth; and to those whose spirits are held captive by guilt or anger or disappointment. 

He is here with us TODAY to bring recovery of sight to the blind - to those of you who are blind to his love and to his mercy, and to those of you who have been blinded by the secularism and relativism of modern society. 

He is here TODAY to let the oppressed go free - to free those who are oppressed by others because of their race, religion, nationality, immigration status or past. And to free those who are demeaned, dismissed and deplored because they stand up for Catholic values, for the rights of the unborn, and all those who are excluded or considered “unworthy” by society. 

He is here TODAY to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord, a year - a time when the Kingdom of God reigns supreme, when God’s will WILL be done, and the full plan and purpose of God is accomplished. 

What was the reaction of the hometown folk to Jesus’ nine word homily? We’ll here about that next week. But some “spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth.” But they were comfortable with the past, the past glories of God interacting with the heroes of their faith and they didn’t need this Jesus to shake them out of their complacency. Still others dreamed about future days when the messiah would come. But here and now in Jesus? The reality didn’t quite match up to the scenario that they had envisioned, and they didn’t welcome what the challenges that having a messiah in their midst would entail. And so, both those who were content recalling their yesterdays and those who were happy to simply dream of their tomorrows rose up and drove Jesus out of the synagogue, intent on throwing him off a cliff. 

What’s our reaction? Is our faith nostalgic and one which treats salvation history as simply that - a “history” - a collection of “once upon a time” stories of how God used to interact with the likes of Abraham and Moses, the Apostles and the Saints but no longer does? 

Or do we view God as selective, and his personal interaction in the world is limited to those who are really good or really bad and that most of us fall somewhere in between and so he really doesn’t get personally involved with people like you and me. Or if he does, it’s sporadic and inconsistent– here today, gone tomorrow. 

Or are we “Maybe Sometime Catholics” who are so entrenched with the busyness of life, and the “strike it rich, party hardy, live life to the fullest” attitude of modern society, that God, religion and faith are things relegated to the future, things I’ll try out maybe sometime, and God’s presence and action and will for my life is something I’ll concern myself with maybe sometime . . . maybe when I get old and begin to realize that the days to come are fewer than the days that have been. But I’m way too busy trying to get ahead and I’m simply having too good a time to concern myself with right now. 

But Jesus proclaims that “TODAY this Scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing.” He is not just the God of past glories and future triumphs. He is the God of TODAY. Call upon him/ Rely upon him. Look for him. Discover him. 

Funny . . . that first ten second, nine word homily of Jesus really could have been reduced to only one . . . TODAY!

Fourth Sunday of Advent (Year C)

FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW  

A Christmas Parable

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

In the past at this time of the year, I frequently would retell familiar Christmas stories as part of my homily. Today, I’d like to share with you a new story, one that I wrote myself. It’s called “Footprints in the Snow.” 

An oversized hand pushed back the panel of a lace window curtain and two eyes peered out from inside. The eyes bore the marks of age. Wrinkles were their bookends. But there was something else about those eyes. They were childlike, eyes that were beacons of innocence, goodness, awe and wonder. 

“A white Christmas!” he exclaimed in a tone that conveyed both giddiness and resignation. “I guess I won’t be making it to Midnight Mass this year; I doubt anyone will,” he said to no one but himself. It would be the first Midnight Mass he would miss since the years when “visions of sugarplums danced in his head.” But it had been snowing since early morning and it would be a fool’s mission to be out on the roads that night. 

He fell into the comfort of his armchair, a chair that knew every curve of his body, and he surveyed the room. It was a large living room in a large house which now possessed more memories than contents. And those memories all came rushing forth out of their usual hiding places that Christmas Eve. He smiled as his eyes became heavy and his head nodded as his memories became more real to him than the stark reality of being all alone. 

His brief sleep was startled, however, by the sound of tires spinning nowhere on the street outside his house. And sure enough, as his hand once again pulled back the curtain of the living room window, he made out, between the falling snowflakes, the image of a man kneeling almost in prayer beneath the street light as his hands dug into the cold snow to dig his car out of the snowdrift it had skidded into. 

“Damn Fool!” he mumbled as he let go of the curtain and moved as quickly as a man his age could toward his front door. “Hey! Hey you! You’re stuck! Come here! You’re never gonna to be able to dig yourself out until a plow comes and God knows when that will be. You might as well come in and wait.” And so, the man abandoned his car, and the snow, and the cold, and accepted the invitation. 

“Look at you! Not even a coat on! You’re going to catch your death of cold! Take your shoes off and let them the dry out a bit,” he said as he opened the door for his unexpected guest to enter. “The name’s Sam.” “Oh. Heard by God,” his guest smiled in response as he kicked off one shoe. “What? What’s that?” Sam squinted back. “Your name. Samuel. It means Heard by God.” “Oh . . . didn’t know that. Well if God’s heard me, all he’s heard lately is a lot of cussing and complaining,” Sam chuckled. “I’m Manny,” said his guest as he kicked off the second shoe. ‘Well, pleased to meet you Manny. Come on into the living room.” 

“Let me turn off the radio,” which had been playing Christmas carols nonstop all day. “No, please!” Manny protested. “I like it. I could listen to Christmas carols the whole year through.” “Well I bet you’re hungry and could use a nice hot cup of coffee. And I just made something that I think you’re gonna like – tomato soup cake – an old family recipe, treasured and passed down from generation to generation. . . from the back label of a Campbell’s Tomato Soup can,” chuckled Sam. “Sit here and let the fire warm you. I’ll be right back.” 

But when he emerged from the kitchen several minutes later, rather than sitting and warming himself, he found Manny standing at the mantle of the fireplace examining the photographs that were carefully arranged there. “That’s my family,” Sam offered. “This is my wife Kathleen, the prettiest and sweetest thing ever to come across the sea from Ireland. That one there is my daughter Sophia. And this . . . this is my son, Micah. Sophia lives in California now. She’s very successful. A lawyer! So, there’s really not much time for visits. And Micah . . . Micah was killed in the war. And picking up the picture of his wife and holding it to his chest as if to hug her, he said, “Kathleen was never the same after that. The doctors say she died of a heart attack. I say she died of a broken heart.” 

And as if not to give into the melancholy of the moment, he directed Manny's attention to another picture on the mantle. “And this one . . . this is my favorite! It’s of Kathleen and Micah and Sophia out in the front yard after the blizzard of ’74. Just look at the smiles on their faces. And look at the tracks they left, the snow angels and footprints in the snow! You know, all winter long I would look out and would see those footprints with such happiness, because even though my children or my wife might have been in school or shopping, the footprints were the telltale signs that they had been there. Those footprints, although vacant, to me were still filled with life and love and laughter. That’s why I cherish this picture. Because, although those footprints have been covered over with many seasons’ worth of grass and leaves and more snow, in this picture those footprints are preserved and frozen for all time.” 

“You know, Sam, not everyone who visits us leaves footprints in the snow.” “What? What’s that,” asked the uncomprehending Sam? “Angels leave no footprints. And neither does God. Yet without a doubt, they visit us, walk with us, stay with us. Some are unconvinced or despair when they don’t see the footprints. They believe God has abandoned them or worse – that he doesn’t exist at all. But the pure of heart don’t need to see footprints to know that God has been around, that God has visited them, that God is present and loves them.” Sam’s eyes widened, he scratched his head and then nodded at the truth of which Manny spoke, a truth Sam never thought about before but now understood. 

They spoke of many things that night. Of family and faith . . . of memories and hopes . . . of life and love. The hours past as if only minutes. Suddenly a pause came in their conversation and Sam glanced at his small Christmas tree which stood where grander trees stood tall in years past. “Oh! I have something for you! A Christmas present,” Sam exclaimed! “Every year I buy myself a present and wrap it, put it under the tree and open it on Christmas morning, trying to convince myself that I don’t know what’s inside. I want you to have it. Here . . .” Sam handed the crudely wrapped box to Manny who opened it and smiled. It was a grey cardigan sweater. “Sam, I can’t,” protested Manny. “Ah I’ve got a dozen of them. Try it on,” instructed Sam. And Manny obliged. “Well, it’s a little big but you’ll grown into it,” Sam said with a wink and a smile. “But take it off now so you feel the good of it outside later.” 

And just as Manny did, the sound of steel gliding across asphalt interrupted the beauty of the Christmas music on the radio and a stark reality suddenly hit Sam. “The plow,” he said without expression. He knew his Christmas guest would be leaving. 

“Yeah I guess I better go out and clear the snow off my car and hit the road,” responded Manny with a tone of somber reluctance. “Let me walk you to the door. Now don’t forget your shoes,” Sam joked and was amazed when he saw that they had left no puddle on the floor. Sam then gathered the courage to ask the question which had puzzled him with greater intensity all night long. “Say, do I know you. Have we ever met before? Your face seems awfully familiar to me.” “Maybe we’ve met before,” said Manny. “Or maybe I just have one of those faces that looks like everyone else,” he said. And Sam continued to stare intently, hoping to recall a time or a place of a previous encounter. “Well . . . Merry Christmas, Manny.” “Merry Christmas Sam.” And as his hand reached for the door knob, he looked back and looked deeply into Sam’s eyes. “Sam, today salvation has come to this house. You are not far from the kingdom of God.” And with that, he turned, opened the door, and was gone. 

And as the door closed, Sam returned to the living room to the comfort of his armchair and tried to make sense of Manny’s words and of that whole Christmas Eve night. Suddenly his eyes caught sight of the sweater that Manny had left draped on the arm of the chair where he had been sitting. “Hey! Wait a minute! You forgot! You forgot your sweater! Sam raced to the door and, as he opened it, his radio suddenly began to blare at an almost deafening volume with the most beautiful sounding choir he had ever heard:

Hark! the herald angels sing, 
Glory to the new-born King! 
Peace on earth, and mercy mild, 
God and sinners reconciled. 

And above the sound of the choir, was Manny’s voice, seemingly coming from both nowhere and everywhere: 

“For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me.” 

Sam squinted his eyes to see past the falling snow. But beneath the street lamp, he saw no plow. He saw no car. He saw no Manny. And then, suddenly, Sam gasped. Tears brimmed from those eyes which sometimes beamed with childlike innocence. And the cascading tears warmed his frozen cheeks as he looked down at the pathway to his door. For he realized . . . there were no footprints in the snow. 

Two thousand years ago, a babe was born in a manger, wrapped in swaddling clothes, serenaded by angels, visited by shepherds and wisemen. He grew, and walked the dusty roads of Galilee and Judea, walked up a hill called Calvary, and walked out of a tomb that held his body for three days. And today, he walks whatever road life tales us. He is Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. He is Immanuel “GOD WITH US.” Blessed are the pure of heart who need no footprints in the snow to know that God has been in their midst.

Copyright 2018

Bruce Olsen  

The Solemnity of Christ the King (Year B)

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

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

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

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

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

What’s true? Today, the answer to that question seems to depend upon the person you ask. One person says that it is absolutely true that God exists and all creation owes its existence to God, while another person says God is a human invention and creation is matter of chance. One person says that the true nature of marriage demands an exclusive relationship between one man and one woman, while another person says the truth is that marriage can be a committed relationship between any two people regardless of gender. One person defends the truth that human life begins at conception while another’s truth leads to the conclusion that life is worthy of protection only after birth. We live in world where truth tends to be regarded as relative. Truth depends upon the person you ask. It depends upon the consensus of society. 

That is certainly not what we believe as followers of Christ. What are the characteristics of truth? What are its distinguishing properties? What’s the truth about truth? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

For us as Christians truth has been revealed in Jesus Christ. We’ve heard that truth proclaimed in the Scriptures during this liturgical year of 2018 and we’ve seen that truth lived out and embodied in the actions of Jesus. Today, Jesus tells Pilate he is not a king with armies and territories. “My kingdom is not here.” Rather Jesus is the king who reigns in the hearts of all those who see life as he saw life and who live life according to his Gospel. Truth is not relative, truth is found in Jesus Christ. 

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

Not only was Jesus born to testify to the truth, so were you. Truth needs a voice. God wants to use you to speak truth. But how many times do I hold back because I don’t think it will make a difference. How many conversations have I not had, letters to the editor not written because I don’t think it will make a difference. Because I don’t think it will produce those results, I don’t speak. But there is power in the truth. Can we stand for the truth as Jesus does? Can we belong to the truth as he does? Can we tell and keep telling the beautiful, hard, cutting, joy-filled, pain-filled, powerfully undeniable stories we know to be true about this Jesus, this Gospel Jesus whose very identity is Truth, and whose best expression of power is surrender? This is what it means to be a subject of Christ the King. This is what it means to be a citizen of the kingdom not of this world. To live in any other way is treason!

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B)

WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO FOR YOU? 

Jeremiah 31: 7-9; Hebrews 5: 1-6; Mark 10: 46-85 

If you think about it, there are two really challenging questions that every Christian must wrestle with. Well, there’s probably a lot more than just two, but there’s two primary ones that I’m thinking about today: “Who do you say that I am?” And “What do you want me to do for you?” 

The first is almost a given. It’s THE question. The primary proclamation of faith. It also happens to be the question that we’re actually given the answer to. Peter says it in scripture, “you are the Messiah.” It’s the question we answer each week when we join in saying those difficult, mysterious, poetic, and ancient words of the Creed. That Jesus is the Son of God: True God from True God, yet also somehow truly and fully human: the Son of Man, the messiah, the Promised One, the anointed one, the Christ, our savior.

This formulaic answer is reiterated in all of our Eucharistic prayers, occasionally using slightly different metaphors and images, but all pointing to one reality - that Jesus is The One, and one with The One.

We all still have to wrestle with that question and answer - with what it means to us personally. We still have to fill those words - “Messiah,” “Son of God,” “Christ,” “Savior,” - we still have to fill those with meaning for ourselves. But at least we have the containers . . . we know the words. 

This other question, the one we heard last week and then again today is different. “What do you want me to do for you?” There’s no single answer for that. Every answer to that question will necessarily be unique, and keyed to the individual responding. And, for each of us, I imagine, the answer might even be different at different points of our lives. 

For those of us who are genuinely hurting, who are really desperate, for Bartimaeus, for example, the answer is simple. Heal me. Save me. Help me.

Most of us have been in a similarly desperate place, and if you haven’t been there yet, well, I hate to say it, but you will, at some point.

In those periods of real anguish the response to “what do you want me to do for you?” is often clear and simple. It’s when we’re living with more stability, when we’re higher up the ladder of privilege, further up the hierarchy of needs, that’s when the answers get harder. Because, like those whose need is desperate, what we cry out for is to be transformed, to become who we have been created to be, to be made whole, complete, but on a much deeper lever - at the core of what makes us who we are, at the depths of our soul. And so the response to this question then becomes a different kind of faith proclamation. It requires a different level of understanding. Not who is Jesus? But who am I? And who is God calling me to be? 

Take a moment and imagine Jesus standing in front of you. Imagine his eyes filled with love for you. Looking at you the way a dear friend might look at you after not seeing you for a very long time. Now, imagine him asking, “What do you want me to do for you? What needs to be healed, fixed, transformed in your life, what can I do for you for you to become optimal; for you to become the person you’re dying to be, the person God gave you life to be.” 

I’ve been struggling to find a response to that question in my own life lately, and I still think that, for me, answering that question requires a level of self-awareness that I’m not sure I have yet. Oh, sure, there are things I want, questions I’d like answers to, situations I’d like changed, people whom I know are suffering, and I’d like them not to be suffering But this isn’t a genie-in-the-bottle-you-get-three-wishes type of question. And if I turn it into that, I end up sounding like James and John last week, asking for something completely wrong or outrageous, something that will make Jesus respond, “you don’t know what you’re asking for.” 

The question, “What do you want me to do for you?” requires that we dig deep. It asks us to grow up, to grow more and more into the full stature of Christ. To become more and more the person God has created us to be. And that, in my experience, is much harder than affirming that Jesus is the Messiah.

Most Christians (especially really smart ones) can get caught up in trying to figure out the first question - Who is Jesus? How is he both fully human and fully divine? Trying to parse and understand and intellectually wrestle with that question, we can do it so much that we don’t ever get to the second question, which, for many of us, might actually be more important. 

And maybe it’s when Jesus asks, “What do you want me to do for you?” when everything seems right in our lives and in our world, the answer becomes more difficult because it requires soul-searching and it requires honesty, it requires us to admit that just maybe things aren’t as good as I’d like them to be because maybe I’m not as good as I’d like to be. THINGS are great; maybe I’m not. 

As difficult as it might be to respond with integrity that Jesus is the Son of God, it’s maybe even more difficult to respond with integrity to this second question. Because it requires us to know ourselves as we are known. To see ourselves as Christ sees us. As beloved and broken. As flawed and forgiven. And to clearly, and bravely, ask for that deep transformation.

What do you want me to do for you? is essentially Jesus offering us the gift of our true self. 

God wants us to be who God created us to be. God needs us to be the people God created us to be. But daring to look for that person, to ask Jesus to show you that person, to ask him to help you become that person, that’s a daring thing to do. Because that person you are, the person you were created to be, is the image of God within you. 

This week, take some time and let yourself get quiet, let yourself be in God’s presence and consider how you would answer that question. What would you like God to do for you? What inside you is longing to be revealed? What do you desire to see brought to life in you. What do you need healed, transformed, renewed? What do you want me to do for you? Jesus still stands before you, ready to respond. What will you ask for? 

And after you do respond, maybe you will then have a question for Jesus: “What do you want ME to do for YOU?”

The Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B)

Today's homily is dedicated to all of you who have shaken your head as you have watched the evening news the past several weeks, yet still come with head bowed to church every Sunday.  

THE CHILD IN OUR MIDST 

Numbers 11: 25-29; James 5: 1-6; Mark 9: 38-43, 45, 47-48 

When Jesus saw this he became indignant and said to them, “Let the children come to me; do not prevent them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Amen, I say to you, whoever does not accept the kingdom of God like a child* will not enter it.” Then he embraced them and blessed them, placing his hands on them. (Mark 9: 13-16) 

“Amen, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 18: 3-4) 

“See that you do not despise one of these little ones, for I say to you that their angels in heaven always look upon the face of my heavenly Father.” (Matthew 18: 10) 

Taking a child he placed it in their midst, and putting his arms around it he said to them, “Whoever receives one child such as this in my name, receives me; and whoever receives me, receives not me but the One who sent me.” (Mark 9: 36-37) 

“In just the same way, it is not the will of your heavenly Father that one of these little ones be lost.” (Matthew 18:14) 

From these passages gleaned from the gospels, it’s clearly evident the love that our Lord has for children and the special place he has for them in his heart. In addition, many of his miracles involved children: the nobleman's little son, the demonized son of the man at the Mount of Transfiguration, and restoring the life of the son of the widow on Nain and the daughter of Jairus. Jesus truly, as man and God, loves children! 

In addition to the passages I just cited, in our gospel today, Jesus says this: “Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him if a great millstone were put around his neck and he were thrown into the sea.” A literal translation of Jesus’ words is whoever scandalizes one of these little ones who believe in me . . . To scandalize someone is to cause them to stumble—to shake the faith that they have in something or someone. We may have come to know the word scandal in our culture to be nothing more than juicy gossip that gives newspapers their cover story day after day — usually about a famous person’s private life. But in the biblical sense, the concept of a scandal is much more sinister. Jesus doesn’t leave any room for his people to be flippant about their behavior toward others, the little ones in particular. 

Our Gospel passage today follows the events of the reading from last Sunday, in which Jesus took up a child in his arms and declared that whoever receives such a little one in his name receives him. This child is still in their midst today when Jesus warns against causing such a little one to sin. 

We begin to understand the danger of scandalizing a little one when we come to realize the nature of a child’s faith. It is a faith that has not yet been subjected to the temptations of the world. A child is sinful by nature but doesn’t yet receive reinforcement of sinful behavior from others. 

A little child receives God’s Word and trusts in him. He or she may not yet be able to understand the full meaning of all the words of the Lord’s Prayer or the Creed, but the faith of that child’s heart isn’t contingent on the ability of the mind to process it because that faith is of the heart and not of the mind. The faith of a little child is focused on Jesus and isn’t divided between him and other things. The little child believes and has not yet been taught to doubt. Thus, the faith of a little child is the strongest and purest of all. 

Woe, therefore, to anyone who would damage the faith of these little ones! Jesus isn’t being dramatic when he speaks of a millstone being hung around one’s neck, mob-style, and being thrown into the sea. It truly would be better for such a scandalous person to have that happen, because at least in the bottom of the sea one would never be able to scandalize a child again. 

Perhaps at this point, your thoughts might be focusing on the recent scandals involving individuals in the Church, priests and bishops, who sexually abused children and others or who orchestrated a coverup of these crimes against God and crimes against the innocent. 

The media has reported all the intimate, scandalous and criminal details. You don’t need to hear a rehashing of them from me. I certainly offer you no justification or explanation for these acts, both the sinful crimes themselves, nor the all too frequent coverup by the hierarchy of the Church.  Except to say this . . . Although the Church is a divine institution, founded by Christ and guided by the Holy Spirit, the problem is that this divine institution was left by our Lord to mere flawed mortals as its members and as its leaders. 

In the creed that we will profess in a few minutes, we will declare that we believe in the ONE, HOLY, CATHOLIC and APOSTOLIC Church. By saying the Church is catholic, we mean that the Church is universal. There are no pre-requisites to Church membership – you don’t have to be of a certain gender, race, ethnicity, or socioeconomic status to be a member of the Church. But also, you don’t have to be a saint either. And so, despite the Church being a divine institution, it is a Church of sinners – sinners seeking to become saints. 

And the sinners in the church aren’t just those sitting starting with first pew in the front of the church and ending with the last pew in the back. Those that sit and stand before you three steps higher in a sanctuary of green marble are also sinners. Sanctity was never a prerequisite for acceptance into the seminary or diaconate studies, and not for ordination either. And so today, those of us up here, your priests and deacons, also acknowledge what we all did at the beginning of the mass in the penitential rite: “We confess to almighty God and to you, our brothers and sisters, that we have greatly sinned, in our thoughts and in our words, in what we have done and in what we have failed to do.” 

And so, as you in the past have come to us in with contrite hearts to confess your frailty and sin, in the name 0f the bishops, priests and deacons of your Church, I too now come before you to acknowledge our personal sins, as well as the sins of the Church - past and present - and humbly ask your understanding and your forgiveness. 

Unfortunately, as I look out from my lofty position here in the sanctuary, I notice a lot of empty seats, seats that used to be filled. And my fear is that they have become vacant over the last several weeks because good and faithful people have had enough and have given up on the church. To do so is a tragedy, because we are all more than our sins, and despite the embarrassing reports that make the evening news, there are many wonderful reasons to be proud of your Church. 

For me, I could list its theology, its sacraments, its liturgy and its law. Our priests and religious have been with us tirelessly 24/7 to share with us our deepest joys and our most profound tragedies. In addition, I could mention that the Catholic Church, more than any other institution, has tried to make sure that the sins of the past never happen again, and so we require all those who minister in any way to children to participate in the program “Protecting God’s Children,” to be fingerprinted and have a criminal background check conducted on them. 

Did you know that the Catholic Church educates 2.6 million students every day at the cost to your Church of 10 billion dollars, and a savings on the other hand to the American taxpayer of 18 billion dollars. Our graduates go on to graduate studies at the rate of 92%, all at a cost to you. To the rest of the Americans it's free. The Church has 230 colleges and universities in the U.S. with an enrollment of 700,000 students. Did you also know that the Catholic Church has a non-profit hospital system of 637 hospitals, which account for hospital treatment of 1 out of every 5 people - not just Catholics - in the United States today. 

The Catholic Church is certainly bleeding from self-inflicted wounds. But let’s walk with our shoulders high and our head higher. Let’s remember what Jeremiah the prophet said: "Stand by the roads, and look and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is and walk in it, and find rest for your souls." Let’s be proud to speak up for our faith with pride and reverence. Be proud that you're a Catholic! And let’s pray that those millstones that Jesus talked about in today’s gospel can be cut, shaped and repurposed to become “living stones,” stones that lay the pathway toward becoming the Church, the People of God, that Jesus always intended us to be.

Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B)

VELVET GLOVES & SPIT 

Isaiah 35: 4-7a; James 2: 1-5; Mark 7: 31-37 

I know what at least some of you are thinking in hearing today’s gospel: “That’s kind of gross!” 

We’d rather just focus on yet another encounter where Jesus does something incredibly remarkable - something miraculous, beyond explanation. So much so, that even on my end of things, I tend to skip over the means Jesus employs - putting his fingers in the guys ears; touching his tongue, spitting on it . . . It seems so - no offense Lord – disgusting, doesn’t it? And it’s not like it’s necessary. How many other times does Jesus simply perform miraculous deeds by his word? When he’s on the boat with the apostles asleep and the storms are about to sink them, with simply the words Be Still, they’re still. When he stands in front of the tomb of his friend Lazarus who’s been dead three days He cries out "Lazarus come out" and He does. 

But this one is done with a touch, giving something from within himself –saliva - it’s always been some details that I tried to ignore in light of the bigger miracle that a deaf man with a speech impediment is now freed and able to hear and able to speak. 

Yet, if we know that God can do amazing feats without these actions, perhaps there’s an important lesson in that or something for us to reflect on. Namely that: He doesn’t have to use those means but He does. Just like he chooses to use things other than spit, namely you and I to work miraculous things. And he does... EVERYDAY. 

Jesus’ touch, and his spit are details that shouldn’t be dismissed. But rather they are there to remind us that the creator of the Universe likes to use the things of this earth - the everyday, the ordinary - you and I more often than he does the inexplicable, outer-worldly to perform miracles on a regular basis. Real, bonafide miracles that make the deaf hear and speak; that can bring sight to the blind, that can bring the dead back to life. It’s just that maybe, just maybe, those experiences become too common, too ordinary and sometimes we can become too forgetful of the gifts, the talents, the abilities, the potentials, the opportunities that the Lord blesses us with that make them happen.

Pope Francis a few years ago said that often times "...miracles are performed with what little we have, with what we are, with what is at hand… and many times, it is not ideal, it is not what we dreamt of, nor what "should have been". (Mass for the Families - Ecuador - July 6, 2015) May you and I be attentive to the miracles that do happen in our life every day - to see how God doesn’t have to, but so often does choose to use you and I to complete them. Quite simply because He believes there’s no better way to unleash His Love, His care to a wounded, waiting world in desperate need of His attention then to utilize some his most precious, prized, handiwork - the special miracles he has already fashioned: you.

The Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle B)

TRADITION!

Deuteronomy 4: 1-2, 6-8; James 1: 17-18, 21b-22, 27; Mark 7: 1-8, 14-15, 21-23

“A fiddler on the roof ... Sounds crazy, no? But here, in our little village of Anatevka, you might say every one of us is a fiddler on the roof. Trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple tune without breaking his neck. It isn't easy. You may ask, why do we stay up there if it's so dangerous? Well, we stay because Anatevka is our home. And how do we keep our balance? That I can tell you in one word! Tradition! Because of our traditions, we've kept our balance for many, many years. Here in Anatevka, we have traditions for everything. How to sleep. How to eat. How to work. How to wear clothes. For instance, we always keep our heads covered, and always wear a little prayer shawl. This shows our constant devotion to God. You may ask, how did this tradition get started? I'll tell you. I don't know. But it's a tradition. And because of our traditions, every one of us knows who he is and what God expects him to do.” 

So begins the 1964 Tony Award winning musical, FIDDLER ON THE ROOF. Set at the turn of the Twentieth Century in an impoverished Jewish Russian village called Anatevka at the onset of the Bolshevik Revolution, the story focuses on Tevye the dairyman and his family and neighbors who live their lives governed strictly by their age-old traditions. 

Throughout the musical, three of Tevye’s daughters marry in turn, but each match poses a challenge to Tevye’s sense of tradition and how things are meant to be done. His oldest daughter, Tzeitel, asks her father to be let out of the arranged match for her, so that she can marry the man she truly loves, Motel, the tailor. Tevye groans and complains, but finally agrees that they can marry for love. Then his second daughter, Hodel, wants to marry revolutionary Perchik. When they approach Tevye, they tell him they are not asking for permission, only for his blessing. Again, Tevye refuses at first, but finally gives in. And then finally his youngest daughter Chava falls in love with a Christian man, Fyedka. She, too, seeks to change her father’s heart about her match, but Tevye says “enough” – he has bent enough and let go of too much tradition. Near the end of the story, he does, at least, pray God’s blessing on Chava and Fyedka, even if he cannot fully come to terms with the marriage. 

As enjoyable as Fiddler is as a musical, as lighthearted as it is at times, the questions asked are serious ones, important ones. How far should you change traditions to meet the demands of an ever-changing world? How far is too far to bend? When do the traditions hold us to what is good and important, and when do they keep us from moving forward, from growing and changing in healthy ways? What traditions are based on simple habits that have extended over generations, and when to they represent the unchanging truth? 

Like Tevye, the Pharisees in ancient Israel were concerned with tradition. Like Tevye, the Pharisees knew that without Israel’s traditions life would be as shaky as a fiddler on the roof. Like Tevye, they knew the importance of knowing who they were and what God expected of them. And so in today’s our gospel, we hear a confrontation between Jesus and a group of scribes and Pharisees. The Pharisees, as you know, were the religious leaders of Israel, devout Jews, who tried very hard to follow the law of Moses carefully and interpret it for daily living. They emphasized upholding the rituals, the traditions. They insisted on using oral tradition as well as written tradition, and in that way were viewed as quite liberal by other Jewish sects. For example, they added qualifications to laws like "an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth" so that executions were less frequent. On the other hand, however, their additions to the law through oral code sometimes added many new requirements for people to follow, like around issues of observing the Sabbath, for instance. And their learning and education began to set them apart from the rest of the people, making them a kind of aristocracy. These kinds of practices, all these additional rules and looking down on those who didn’t follow them all, these were the practices of the scribes and Pharisees that Jesus most often criticized. 

So, from their perspective then, you understand why the scribes and the Pharisees were wondering why Jesus' disciples didn't wash in the prescribed manner. But Jesus in one sentence, in one breath does away with all these oral laws, for he saw in them that they were not worshiping God but the law itself. He says: "You disregard God's commandment but cling to human tradition.” Jesus saw that the law was being used to turn people away from God by being so exact, instead of it being used to bring people to God to see his love and mercy. Jesus goes on to say that it’s not what is outside of a person that makes that person unclean, but itis what is in his/her heart that matters. Jesus saw that religious tradition was being used to escape the true religion, the worship of God. The religious leaders were using the law of men to gain respect, position and wealth over the people instead of showing the people how the law can help them to find God in their lives. Jesus was freeing the people from the tyranny of the externals and giving them a freedom to live with the law of love in their hearts. 

You know that there are only two laws in the entire New Testament that Jesus tells us commands us to follow? They go together: "You should love the Lord your God with all of your heart, with all of your soul, with all of your mind, and you shall love your neighbor as yourself." Notice Jesus doesn't go beyond the broad principle of the laws, he doesn't define in exact detail how one should love God and how one should love a neighbor. But in the rest of his teachings, in the way he lives, in how he acted, he showed us how one is to love God and one's neighbor. 

But he gives us the freedom to express our love for God and our love for our neighbor in our own way, in our own unique God given way. The religious leaders of Jesus day had lost the concept of the uniqueness of the human race. God has created each of us different, and in that difference, in that uniqueness we all have different talents, different ways, different abilities to worship God and to love our neighbor. We have been given the freedom to express our uniqueness as we live our Christian life. But notice the broad principle still stands: The command is to love God with our whole being, and to love our neighbor as ourselves. That is a command. There is no freedom not to follow or live by that command. 

That is God's command to those of us who want to be his followers. It is God's command for those of us who have been called by him in love and mercy. That command is not something we might say: "Well God, today I will worship you because I don't have anything better to do, or today God l will be good to my neighbor because I feel good." NO, that command transcends all of life. That command is not something we can turn on and off, but it is a reality that the people of God must live with. But how I worship God, how I love my neighbor, is up to my own uniqueness. 

Now you see how radical Jesus' words are in our gospel lesson. 

He puts each person in an unique position to be of special importance to God. For God enjoys, I think, the way each of us use the resources he has given us to worship him and to serve him through our neighbor. In some ways, this freedom to live in the principle of the law is more difficult that living by the letter of the law. Living by the letter of the law is easier because it is all spelled out in black and white. I don't have to take any responsibility for my own actions, if I follow the law I can say it is good law, if I cannot follow the law I can say it is a bad law. 

But when I am given the freedom to express the principle of the law in my own way, then I have to take the full responsibility for my actions. I stand alone before God. I cannot blame anyone or anything for my failure to act, or for my failure for acting wrong. I have a greater responsibility, but I think it is in that very freedom to act and to fail that I am more confident of the grace of God in my life. For when I fail, I know his forgiveness is there for me, and when I succeed, I know it is by the grace of God, the love that God has for me that has seen me through. I stand alone and naked by myself in the freedom of the law to worship God in my uniqueness and the serve him by serving my neighbor. It is literary God and I in the world together.