Graduation Homily for the Class of 2019

DROPS THAT SPARKLE 

A Graduation Homily for the Class of 2019 

St. Therese School, Succasunna, NJ 

June 6, 2019 

Joshua 1: 7-9; 1 Corinthians 1: 4-9; Matthew 28: 16-20

Look what I found when I was cleaning out my basement a few weeks ago! It’s a sword that I bought in England when I was there in my Senior year of high school. I haven’t seen this sword in many years, but as soon as I did, it brought me back . . . back not just to more years than I like to admit, to when I was in high school, but it brought me back to the Age of Chivalry – to knights, and armor, to courtly manners, to a religious, moral and social code that included values like courage, honor, courtesy, justice, and a readiness to help the weak. But it also reminded me of something else . . . a few weeks ago, as part of your class trip, you went to see the Broadway musical KING KONG. When I saw this sword, another musical and another king came to my mind – CAMELOT and King Arthur. 

CAMELOT tells the story of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Written by Alan Jay Lerner and Fredrick Lowe, it opened on Broadway in 1960 and starred Richard Burton, Julie Andrews and Robert Goulet (I’m sure none of whom our graduates have ever heard of!) The movie version was produced by Warner Brothers in 1967 and starred the likes of Richard Harris, Venessa Redgrave and Franco Nero . . . also names that I’m sure our graduates have also never heard of. 

In the final scene of this classic musical, Arthur stands on a hilltop overlooking what once was his glorious kingdom of Camelot. The kingdom now stands in ruins. So too in ruins are his dreams, his vision, the very principles on which he built Camelot. 

As Arthur surveys what remains of his kingdom, he hears a sound and orders whoever is hiding to make himself seen. From the darkness steps a boy of about twelve years of age. His name is Tom of the province of Warwick, and he announces to King Arthur that he has run away from home to become a member of the Knights of the Round Table. Amused, Arthur asks him why he wants to be a knight. Is it because his village was protected by knights or did his father serve a knight? Tom replies, “No.” He simply wants to become a knight because of the stories people tell of the knights. He then recites what amounts to a litany of the principles for which the knights and Camelot itself have stood: truth, honor, justice, a new order of chivalry: not might is right, but might for right. 

Arthur, filled with emotion that these principles have made such an impression on the boy, tells Tom that, as his king, he orders him not to fight in the battle that evening, but to return to England, to grow up and grow old. But in so doing, Arthur gives the boy a mission. In song, he tells him: 

“Each evening, from December to December, 

Before you drift to sleep upon your cot, 

Think back on all the tales that you remember 

Of Camelot. 

Ask every person if he’s heard the story 

And tell it strong and clear if he has not, 

That once there was a fleeting wisp of glory 

Called Camelot. 

Where once it never rained till after sundown; 

By 8am the morning fog had flown. 

Don’t let it be forgot 

That once there was a spot 

For one brief shining moment 

That was known as Camelot!” 

Arthur tells Tom to kneel, and then with his sword Excalibur, he bestows knighthood on him. Arthur’s friend, King Pellinore, startled at the sight of Arthur bestowing knighthood on such a young boy, interrupts Arthur and asks, “What are you doing? You have a battle to fight!” Arthur, pointing to the boy, exclaims: “I’ve fought my battle! I’ve won my battle! Here is my victory! What we have done will be remembered!” He then turns to Tom and bids him to return home behind the lines to become the keeper of the dream, the teller of the story. As the boy runs off, Pellinore, still confused asks, “Who was that, Arthur?” And King Arthur replies, “One of what we all are, Pellie - less than a drop in the great blue motion of the sunlit sea. But it seems that some of the drops sparkle, Pellie! Some of them do sparkle!” 

This morning, in our Gospel from Matthew, Jesus, like King Arthur, stands on a hill (actually a mountain – Mount Olivet) near the city of Jerusalem. We’re not told in these readings whether or not Jesus surveyed the city, but we’re told elsewhere in the Gospels that at other times he did. So it’s not a stretch of the imagination that he might have done so this time as well. And if he did, as he looked down on Jerusalem, what did he see? A city that had rejected him . . . the message that he came to bring . . . the kingdom he came to establish . . . the principles that were to be its hallmark - things like: “love your enemies; pray for those who persecute you,” “forgive seventy times seven times,” “the greatest is the one who serves.” 

Like King Arthur, Jesus probably felt like a failure; he had been rejected and crucified by the very people he loved, the very ones he came to save. But also like Arthur, he is not alone on that mountain. With him are his Apostles. And in them he sees the future of the Church. In them he sees the drops that will sparkle on the sunlit sea. And as King Arthur bid Tom of Warwick to go and tell the story, so does Jesus. He entrusts his vision and dreams to them, and tells them, “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.” 

Like the Apostles, Jesus calls us up the mountain. And there, he sees in us the same thing that King Arthur saw in Tom, the same thing he saw in his Apostles: Hope. Energy. Passion. Commitment. It is us, like the Apostles that Jesus sends out: to remember . . . to tell his story . . . to live his story . . . to make a difference . . . to bring about change . . . to re-create the world in his image . . . to establish, not the kingdom of Camelot, but the Kingdom of God. 

And this is especially true of you, the Class of 2019 who today leave the mountain called “St. Therese’s” and begin their journey to the distant lands of Morris Catholic, Pope John XXIII, Oratory Prep, Roxbury and Morris Hills High Schools, and Morris County Vocational School. You are the drops that Jesus calls to sparkle on the sunlit sea of the future. You are the ones He commissions to “teach all nations” by your word and most especially by your example. You are the ones that He sends out to baptize others - with your love and compassion, with your mercy and generosity, with your hope and sincerity. 

Do you have what it takes? Fr. Marc, Mr. Dunnigan, your teachers, your parents and I think that you do. Over the course of your years at St. Therese, you have learned more lessons than what the diploma you will receive this evening represents. You have achieved more than what the honors and awards you will receive in a few minutes indicate. For somewhere along the line, whether in the school across the parking lot or in your homes there are values that you have accepted which distinguish you, sets you apart, from so many others in our world today. Those values are the values that Jesus says you are truly “blessed” if you possess them. They are the values of the Beatitudes. All of you have clearly demonstrated each of those eight values, but some truly shine in you and make you “drops that sparkle on the sunlit sea.” 

And so, David and Andrew, you are what Jesus called, "Poor in Spirit."  As I explained to you on the class retreat on Monday, that virtue is better understood as possessing the “spirit of being poor.” You have emptied yourselves of all that really doesn’t matter in life, and have made God you #1 priority. 

Sara and Lisa, you are blessed and have blessed all of us because you "mourn." Although we might at first be taken back when we hear Jesus say, “Blessed are they who mourn,” what he really meant is that YOU are blessed because you feel for others, you’re sensitive, you’re empathetic, you wear compassion like a garment and lose yourselves in another’s hurts and needs. 

Dominic, Kaitlyn and Kyle, you’re what our Lord call’s "meek." You focus more on others than on yourselves, you’re humble - you recognize, not just yourselves, but all people as God’s gifts to the world. You treat all with the dignity and respect that they deserve. 

And Brianna and Jillian, you “hunger and thirst for righteousness.” Righteousness is an attribute of God. It is pure goodness. You have your priorities in the right places, you place God’s values above the values of the world. You take into yourself goodness and positive attitudes. And you have become what you have made your steady diet. 

Madisyn A and Joseph, Jesus has said, “Blessed are the merciful,” and so the two of you are so blessed! Mercy, forgiveness, is a virtue that the world struggles with . . . you do not. You consistently demonstrate a willingness to forgive and thus demonstrate patience and compassion for the faults of others. You give of yourselves to others with no strings attached. 

Rishab, Madison T and Roman, you are “pure of heart.” They say that on a clear day you can see forever, because the fog and the smog don’t obstruct the view. You see God and are constantly aware of his presence in you, around you, and in other, because your heart is free and simple; you seek honesty and truth, and maintain a consistent positive attitude. 

Kira, Jesus said, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for the will be called children of God.” And you, clearly, are a child of God. Why? Because peace is what God is. And since you are a peacemaker, you are just like your Heavenly Father. You build bridges that unite, you bring people together in reconciliation. You are so faith-filled. 

And Sean and Ben, you demonstrate both the willingness and the ability to be “persecuted for the sake of righteousness.” The two of you never just go with the flow. You stand on your own two feet for what is right and virtuous, even if that sets you apart from the crowd. You possess courage, strength and integrity, and live your faith out loud, no matter what the cost or pain. 

You all received your class cross at your retreat on Monday. I ask you to look at it now. As you can see, there’s no body of Jesus on the cross. Where the body would be is empty, with just his outline on the cross. Jesus’ body has been cut out of the cross. Graduates, don’t let Christ be cut out of your lives. Become the body of Christ, his image, to all those you will encounter in the high schools to which you are heading and to the world. When the see you, let them see Jesus. Christ has no body on earth now but YOURS! Let your eyes look his compassion on the world, your feet move to wherever and whomever there is the need to serve, your hands bless the world with love, kindness, sensitivity, warmth and gentleness. 

There’s one other thing that Jesus told his Apostles on that mountain. It was a promise: “Behold, I am with you always, even to the end of time.” That promise He also makes to all of you today. You never have to feel afraid. Never have to feel lonely. Never have to feel like you go it alone. Never have to feel that you’re not good enough. Never have to feel that you can’t get past your mistakes and failures. Because Jesus is here . . . With you . . . Always . . . Loving you . . . Guiding you . . . Forgiving you . . . Blessing you. Class of 2019, be his drops that sparkle on the sunlit sea!

The Sixth Sunday of Easter (Year C)

PEACE I LEAVE WITH YOU; MY PEACE I GIVE TO YOU 

Acts 15: 1-2, 22-29; Revelation 21: 10-14, 22-23; John 14: 23-29 

PEACE . . . We hear a lot about it in the gospels, don’t we? The angels sang, “Glory to God in the highest and peace on earth to men of good will” at Jesus’ birth. His constant admonition during his public ministry was, “Fear not . . . Do not worry . . . Be not afraid . . . Go in peace your sins are forgiven . . . Blessed are the peacemakers.” When he sent his disciples out to preach, he told them: “When you enter a house say, ‘Peace be to this house.’” In his last discourse he told his disciples, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.” And after he had risen from the dead his constant greeting was, “Peace be with you.” 

Peace . . . peace . . . peace. Are you at peace? I have to admit to you, I’m not. The news isn’t good lately: more school shootings, more terrorist attacks aimed at Catholic churches, the seal of the confessional being threatened in the state of California, New Jersey passing a “Right to Die” law, the ongoing battle between Democrats and Republicans, the scandals in the Church. All of that coupled with changes in our parish, changes in my own life. “Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid,” Jesus said. But my heart IS troubled. Is yours? 

Today’s gospel passage from John is a portion of what we call the “Farewell Discourses.” In the upper room, in the midst of the Last Supper, Jesus bestows his farewell gift, “My peace I give to you,” a gift that is unlike, greater, more beautiful and more powerful than anything they had ever experienced. HIS peace – a peace that the world cannot give nor take away. HIS peace – enduring, pervasive. But what exactly is Jesus offering? What does Jesus mean by HIS peace? 

The word used to express Jesus’ ideal of peace is the Hebrew word “shalom.” Simply put, it means “to be whole, to be complete.” Complete health. Complete prosperity. Complete justice. Complete faithfulness in one’s relationship to God and to the people God has given us to love. Shalom also means to be at peace with oneself, complete well-being in all dimensions of life and living. When Jesus says, “Peace be with you,” it’s more than just a cliché. It’s a pronouncement of peace over a person’s whole being. 

The root understanding of shalom is that it is a blessing, a gift of God - total, full, complete, perfect, not dependent on anyone or anything but Him. The “peace that surpasses all understanding” is unlike the peace of the world. Shalom peace doesn’t come through treaties, nor by spending a week at the Jersey shore. It’s not escapism and isn’t dependent on conformity or compromise. It’s dependent on one thing alone – God himself. 

God’s peace is anchored upon a RELATIONSHIP because God himself IS peace. That’s why Jesus says in the Beatitudes, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be CHILDREN OF GOD.” Because if you have peace within yourself to give, you’re just like pop . . . you’re a chip off the old block. Therefore, peace comes about by being in a personal, intimate, committed relationship with Christ, who the Father’s Holy Peace flowed like a river through his veins and heart. That’s why Jesus speaks of peace as ‘MY peace.” Peace is in his hands and only he can dispense it because of his own unique, intimate relationship to the Father. Hence, that is why he is the “Prince of Peace.” 

And so, how do we get this peace that Jesus promises? What do we need to do? What are the steps we need to take? You know, I spent hours on the internet trying to find the answer to that one. And I couldn’t find it. But I think I did find it somewhere else: in the experience of my own childhood. For in the midst of all the customary childhood fears - fear of the dark, fear of being lost, fear of strangers, fear of monsters and ghosts, looking back, I – like many of you – would have to admit that childhood was the time in my life when I was most at peace. Jesus said, “Unless you become like a child, you cannot enter the kingdom of God.” I wonder if his words also might apply to attaining peace. So, what can we learn from how a child conquers his fears and apply it to our own quest for peace? 

First, a child who is upset wants to be with his or her parents. No words need to be spoken. Presence is everything. The mere presence of a mom or dad reassures the child that he or she is safe, is loved, and that no matter what, everything is going to be okay. Sometimes children need not even say what’s wrong; their parents will instinctively know. And a look, a hug, a touch, a smile, a wink is all that is needed to bring a sense of calm, contentment and peace to the child. 

How about us? Do we come to Dad when our fears, our problems, our disappointments overwhelm us? Whether it be in the silence of our room, in the splendor of a walk around Horseshoe Lake, or in the solitude of an afternoon visit to church, do we enter into the presence of our Heavenly Father, into the presence of the one who is peace itself? Peace is an experience, a state of the mind, the heart and the soul. No words need to be spoken; he knows our need. Our presence in His presence is everything. 

Second, children want the light left on. Darkness scares them. They sense that what they can’t see can harm them - monsters under the bed, ghosts hiding in the closet, criminals sneaking in the window. Darkness is the playground of the imagination that fuels the fears of the young. But in the light there is peace; in the light there is truth. They see what is real and what was hidden by the darkness . . . that they have nothing to be afraid of. The light brings them courage. They feel what they can see is in their control. 

Jesus is the Light of the World. In his light there is truth and life. When we encounter Jesus in Sacred Scripture and immerse ourselves in his word, we flick on the light switch to what is true, beautiful, loving, and lifegiving. We dispel the darkness of our fears, of our anxieties, and of all that can cause us spiritual harm. Basking in the Light of the World gives peace, enlightenment, inspiration, consolation and motivation to our troubled minds, hearts and souls. 

Third, sometimes a meal can bring a sense of peace to a troubled heart. When I was growing up, there didn’t seem to be any problem that couldn’t be resolved, any hurt feelings that couldn’t be soothed, or any fear that couldn’t be conquered at the kitchen table with a sleeve of Oreos and a quart of milk. (Can’t you tell???)    

And it’s at this table, the altar, where we are fed a meal which brings peace. The early Church understood the mystery of the Eucharist as underlying the expression ‘peace’. “Peace’ very quickly became one of the names for the Eucharistic sacrament, for it is there that God comes to meet us, that He sets us free, takes us into His arms and gives His own self to us. The Eucharist is peace from the Lord. That’s why, soon after our Lord becomes present on our altar, we are able to extend a sign of peace to one another, to be a sign of the peace we will possess after partaking of the Eucharistic meal. 

Fourth, sometimes kids claim to have an invisible friend who serves as a companion in the face of trouble. We too have an invisible friend. He’s the one that Jesus promised to send us in today’s gospel – the Advocate, the Holy Spirit. We don’t talk much about them anymore, but do you remember what the fruits of the Holy Spirit are? Love, joy, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control and PEACE. But like any fruit, the fruit of peace starts from a seed and that seed contains everything for the plant to begin and produce more fruit. In order for a tree to yield fruit, it goes through a cycle where it must be planted in good soil, it must be nurtured, it must have a light source; it must be watered until it reaches maturity. The fruit of peace is initially a seed, then a seedling, then a sprout, until it’s a fruit ripe for picking! 

Finally, carrying around a security blanket, a pacifier or a stuffed toy brings a sense of peace to a child. To merely have it close, to be able to touch it, is often the first recourse that calms a crying child. The same thing can be said when we reach for the rosary beads in our pocket or the cross or miraculous medal around our neck. These things have no power in and of themselves. They are not an amulet, a good luck charm, or a talisman. But to simply hold on to them is often a great substitute for holding the hand of God and connecting ourselves to the one who is the source of peace. 

You know, at times it’s humbling to stand at this ambo and preach to you, for many times the message of my homily is not just for you; I need to be reminded of it too. And today is certainly one of those times. So today, whatever you and I are feeling, wherever we might be at with regard to the fears, disappointments, troubles and worries that we face, let us remember that what Jesus wished for his disciples, what Jesus offered them, is what he desires and offers us - His peace. It is his gift to us. Let us not accept any cheap and easy alternatives that the world might offer. Let us seek it, find it, unwrap it and use it so that ultimately it can be regifted for us to share. 

Peace be with you!

Feast of St. Joseph the Worker

GO TO JOSEPH 

A Reflection on the Feast of St. Joseph the Worker 

Do you believe in coincidence? I don’t. I believe that coincidence is when God performs a miracle and chooses to remain anonymous. Others call coincidences “God-instances” or “God Winks.” This became clear to me, perhaps for the first time, in October of 1983. 

In August of 1982 I was let go from Xerox Corporation, where I was employed for three years, when the division I worked for downsized. Like most people when they are laid off, I was angry but resolved. “I’ll show them,” I thought. “In a matter of weeks I’ll have a better job, with a better company, for a better salary!” It didn’t quite work out that way. And the weeks turned into months, and the months turned into over a year. 

It was during that time that I developed a strong devotion to St. Joseph. Throughout my life, I had always been drawn to St. Joseph. I even felt sorry for him. To me, for such an important person in the life of Jesus and Mary, he was the forgotten saint. And although I had always admired St. Joseph, I never felt inspired to pray to him. 

That changed as I endured the long months of unemployment. As today’s feast indicates, St. Joseph is the patron saint of workers, so what better saint to intercede, to plead my case, to God on my behalf. “Please, St. Joseph, PLEASE help my find a job. But more than a job, help me find a career . . . something that I would be good at . . . something which would allow me to use whatever talents God might have given me for his glory and in the service of his people.” 

Every day, for literally hours on end, I prayed through the intercession of St. Joseph. Finally, after fourteen months, after sending out hundreds of resumes and receiving back only polite responses that “my resume would be kept on file,” (if even that) I decided I needed something . . . anything, to alleviate my boredom and depression. One of my neighbors was a teacher at St. Mary’s School in Wharton, NJ and I inquired of her if her school ever needed substitute teachers. She told me no, but she would but she would mention me to her principal. 

A few days later, around noon, I got a call. It was my neighbor asking me if I was still interested in substituting. I responded, “YES! Is something available in your school?” She replied no, but that a friend of her principal, a member of the same religious order of sisters, was principal in another school and was in need of a long-term substitute for the seventh-grade. She apologized that she didn’t know the name of the school, but the name of the principal was Sister Mary Ripp and gave me her phone number. 

Immediately . . . nervously . . . hopefully . . . anticipatingly . . . I called the number. A quick prayer to St. Joseph . . . One ring . . . Two rings . . . Three rings . . . Finally, a cheerful voice answered . . . “Hello, ST. JOSEPH’S. May I help you?”

Coincidence? Maybe. But not to me. St. Joseph had heard my prayer! . . . He had interceded for me! . . . He was calling me to himself! . . . My prayer was being answered! 

Thus began my career as a Catholic educator.

GO TO JOSEPH! St. Joseph as been my “go to guy” ever since. He has, at times, demonstrated his love and presence in my life in dramatic and miraculous ways. And so, on this Feast of St. Joseph the Worker, I sing of Joseph! I sing songs of praise, of admiration, of love, of thanksgiving to him, the silent one, who spoke not a word in Scripture, but speaks volumes through his example, to him who proves “actions speak louder than words.”

Do you have a motto for your life? Here’s mine:

ALL FOR JESUS;

ALL THROUGH MARY;

ALL IN IMITATION OF JOSEPH!

This shall be my motto in life and in death.

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?”