Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle C)

FINDING THE GOOD IN THE GOOD NEWS 

Malachi 3:19-20a; 2 Thessalonians 3:7-12; Luke 21:5-19 

Good News! Glad Tidings! That’s what the word gospel literally means. And Matthew, Mark, Luke and John certainly provide us a lot of that. Good News! “God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” Good News! “Come to me all you who are weary and heavy burdened, and I will give you rest." Good News! Our God is like a Good Shepherd who searches for us when we’re lost or have strayed from him. And, like a lamb, he lovingly places us on his shoulders and carries us back to green pastures and to the safety of his love. Good News! Jesus said, “No one has greater love than this, than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” And that’s exactly the love he showed for us on the cross. Good News! 

But where is the “good” in the Good News that we heard proclaimed in our gospel tonight? Stones thrown down; votive offerings overturned; nation rising up against nation; earthquakes, famine and plagues . . . I’m sure that’s not the message you came to church tonight expecting to hear. Good News? No . . . words like chaotic, frightening and depressing seem more like it. But just maybe there’s more to tonight’s gospel than what there seems to be on face value (as there usually is). 

Tonight’s gospel begins with the disciples marveling at the glory of the Temple in Jerusalem. The Temple they looked at was one of the wonders of the world. It was made of carved blocks of greenish white marble, 67.5 feet long, 7.5 feet high and 9 feet thick. It was an impressive structure whose Eastern side was completely gold plated and precious gems were imbedded in the interior walls. It took over 40 years to build and its magnificence was hardly without equal. It was truly the house of God! No one could imagine anything damaging this building. It spoke of a strong God and a strong people. 

But forty years later, what Jesus warned would happen actually came to pass. In 70 A.D. not only the temple, but the whole city of Jerusalem was destroyed by the Roman army. 

And nine years after that, Mount Vesuvius erupted in Italy, and the whole city of Pompeii was destroyed. The eruption created dreadful signs in the sky with huge clouds of dust and noxious fumes. Fiery ash dropped from heaven on the people below. Within days of the eruption there was widespread pestilence and famine. 

And as if all of this wasn’t bad enough, the time of Christian persecution had now begun. People were under great threat merely for being Christians. They were arrested, tortured and put to death because of their unwavering faith in Jesus. 

And so, for the people of that time, they now walked among the rubble of a world and of a life that had once given them joy, and security, and a sense of identity. The world had changed and their lives would never be the same again. 

What about us? We may not like it – we may resist it, but the reality is, things do change. Sometimes changes are welcome. But there are days when change brings loss or the fear of loss. There are days when our life is forever changed, the world is different, and nothing is like it used to be. 

You and I know those days. We could each tell stories about those days. They’re stories about the death of a loved one; they’re stories of a dire health diagnosis; they’re stories about our parent’s divorce; they’re stories of the day you didn’t make the team; they’re the stories about the day you realized the person you trusted wasn’t the person you thought they were; they’re stories about the day a relationship ended. 

In the language of our tonight’s Gospel, the things we look to for stability can be referred to as our “temples”. Sometimes our temples are people, places, values, beliefs, or institutions. And, in that sense, temples are the things that we think give structure and order to our lives, give meaning and identity, provide security. At least we think they do, until they don’t anymore. And where does that leave us? What do we do when our temple falls, when our world crumbles and it seems there’s nothing for us to hold on to, and the only thing around us is the rubble of the life we loved and felt secure in? 

To just these situations in our lives, Jesus has four things to say, four gems embedded in this gospel as were those precious stones in the walls of the temple. 

He says: 

Don’t be deceived… 

Don’t be afraid… 

I’ll give you a wisdom…. 

By your perseverance you will secure your lives… 

In whatever confusion or conflict, whatever depression or disaster we find ourselves, Jesus says, “Don’t be deceived! Many will come promising what only I can give. And you’ll be tempted to think I’ve abandoned you, forgotten you. You’ll wonder what you did to deserve such suffering. But don’t be deceived. I am never the source of your suffering. I come to you only with healing and strength and mercy; I come to be with you, to take your hand, and to lead you through the darkest of your days.” 

And to us in our fears, Jesus says, “Don’t be terrified! Don’t be afraid! There’s nothing you can’t face if you stand with me, and I’ll stand by you in everything that comes your way. I’ll be your courage when you are frightened. I’ll be your strength when yours is exhausted. I’ll be your guide when you’re lost, your guard when you’re alone.” 

And in our confusion Jesus tells us, “I’ll give you wisdom . . . I’ll help you understand. When you are conflicted, I’ll give you my counsel. When you don’t know what to do, I’ll lead you to the truth. When nothing makes sense, when everything’s too complex, come to me and in the simplicity of my heart’s love and mercy and peace, find a place to rest.” 

And in our hopelessness, Jesus says, “By your perseverance, you will secure your lives . . . You’re never alone, I’m always at your side. When you’ve run out of hope for tomorrow, trust in me for today. When the future seems impossible, trust that it’s in my hands. Hold fast my hand in yours and, together, we’ll walk on, one day at a time, one hour at a time. Stay with me and I will stay with you: by your perseverance, you will secure your life.” 

And isn’t THAT the good in the Good News tonight . . . that God is always with us – in the changes and chaos of life; in the pain, loss, and disappointment; in the destruction of our temples. Stone by stone He rebuilds our life. Stone by stone God restores the beauty of our life and world. Stone by stone a new temple arises from the rubble. 

So whatever burdens you came to Mass with tonight, now is the time to lay them down at the foot of the Cross and at the table of the Lord, where he gives us, in the sacrifice, in the sacrament of the Eucharist the building blocks for a new temple - the companionship, the courage, the wisdom and the hope to live, one day at a time, in his mercy, in his peace and in his love 

And that REALLY is GOOD NEWS!

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C)

JESUS MEEK & HUMBLE OF HEART, 

MAKE MY HEART LIKE UNTO THINE 

Sirach 35: 12-14, 16-18; 2 Timothy 4: 6-8, 16-18; Luke 18: 9-14 

Oh Lord it’s hard to be humble when you’re perfect in every way. 

I can’t wait to look in the mirror `cause I get better looking each day. 

To know me is to love me; I must be a hell of a man. 

Oh Lord it’s hard to be humble but I’m doing the best that I can. 

Singer and songwriter Mac Davis wrote those words in 1980 when he tried to figure out why he was constantly waking up alone in the “star suite” of the hotels in the various cities where he was performing when he and all his fans thought he was perfect “in every way”. 

“Oh Lord, it’s hard to be humble.” We might laugh, but it’s true: it IS hard to be humble. Maybe it has always been so, but it is especially today. Through social media flatforms like Facebook, we become instant celebrities. Every moment and movement in our lives is chronicled. Even something as mundane as the food we’re about to put in our mouths we somehow feel is somehow newsworthy enough that we need to take a picture of it. And would the day be complete without taking a few selfies and posting them on Instagram? "I can’t wait to look in the mirror ‘cause I get better looking each day.” 

But in our Gospel today, Jesus says, “Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and the one who humbles himself will be exalted.” And it is the prayer of the sinful, yet humble, tax collector that is heard and the prayer of the righteous, yet arrogant, pharisee that is ignored. 

The virtue of humility is certainly something we hear a lot about in Scripture, as a matter of fact, 96 times, to be exact. We’re told that, as God’s Chosen People, holy and dearly loved, we should clothe ourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. (Colossians 3: 12); that we should be completely humble and gentle; patient and bearing with one another in love (Ephesians 4: 2); that God opposes the proud but shows favor to the humble (James 4: 6); and that if we humble ourselves before the Lord, he will lift us up. (James 4: 10). And Jesus himself said, “Whoever humbles himself like a child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven” (Matt 18: 4).  Jesus very life is an example of humility: born in a stable not a palace, clothed in swaddling clothes not silk, a Messiah who came to serve, not be served; a Master who stooped to wash the dirty, smelly feet of his disciples at the Last Supper. 

Most people believe that being humble means being weak or passive, groveling in front of others, thinking others are superior to themselves. But that’s not what biblical humility is. St. Augustine said in one of his letters, “The way to Christ is first through humility, second through humility, third through humility” (Letters 118:22). St. Thomas Aquinas defined it this way: “Humility means seeing ourselves as God sees us: knowing every good we have comes from Him as pure gift” (Summa Q161). Humility is recognizing that you need God’s help, knowing you can’t truly succeed by your own strength. It’s thanking God for your talents and gifts and giving him credit for your accomplishments. 

There are three ingredients of humility: Self-awareness, self-honesty and self-acceptance. Contemporary Catholic author, Fr. Richard Rohr wrote that “To be humble is to fully know yourself, to joyfully accept your limitations,” and to acknowledge your dependence on the strength of God. When you’re humble, you’re free from pride and arrogance, and comfortable with who you are in Christ and therefore you don’t feel threatened by putting others first, by building them up, not yourself. You can’t be humble until you learn to love yourself, be yourself, give yourself. 

Humility is tough. I think to be humble is the most difficult of all human traits. Why? Because, humility isn’t a normal human feeling. Humility doesn’t exist in the natural world, a world where pride, greed and power come more naturally. The power of humility is subtle, non-boisterous and non-aggressive. Compared to being humble, it’s easier to be aggressive, mean, opinionated and arrogant. 

Humility is tough. Why? Because, to be humble is to be more like Jesus Christ. It’s impossible to embrace biblical humility unless Jesus is fully entrenched in your heart and in your soul. Humbleness means to be like Jesus. That’s it. There’s no other way to be humble than to let go as a human being and to accept the almightiness of God. It might seem strange to us, but there is actual power in humility - power in letting go to God and putting Him in control. 

And so, we need to look to Jesus, to his heart, if we really desire to become humble in the eyes of God. We need to strive . . . 

• To have a worshipping heart: All that Jesus did glorified his Heavenly Father. We need to do the same. The motivations behind our accomplishments shouldn’t be to put the spotlight on ourselves, to win the praise of other or to pat ourselves on the back, but to give God glory through the talents and abilities He has given us and the opportunities He has placed in our lives. 
• To have a grateful heart: A grateful heart changes the atmosphere around us. It carries a heavenly fragrance, the fragrance of appreciation and thanksgiving. It moves our eyes off of our self and esteems God. 
• To have a surrendering heart: Jesus was totally dependent on the Holy Spirit and completely surrendered himself to His Father’s will. We need to do the same and empty ourselves – our successes, our needs, all that we have and all that we are into the hands of God. 
• To have an obedient heart: Jesus was obedient even to death on a cross. His prayer should be our prayer: Not my will, Father, but yours – Thy will be done. 
• To have a servant’s heart: Jesus desired no glory for himself but instead embraced the lowliness of a servant. Similarly, we should desire to make our greatest accomplishment in life be the good we can do for others.
• And we need to have a considerate heart: Jesus wasn’t self-absorbed or self-preoccupied but focused totally on the good of others. That should be our example – to consider the needs of others before our own in thought, in action, and in prayer. 

Oh Lord it’s hard to be humble when you’re perfect in every way. 

But . . . I’m not perfect . . . in any way. 

Jesus, Meek and Humble of Heart, make my heart like unto Thine.

On the First Day of School

ON THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL 

An Open Letter to School Administrators, Teachers and Students 

September 3, 2019 

I felt the air of excitement, dressed in a new shirt and freshly ironed slacks this morning. It was an air of excitement that I've felt many, many times in the beginning of September. It's an air of excitement and anticipation, mixed with just a touch of nervousness. But it's a fresh air that fills my lungs and it energizes and youthens me. But this air of excitement exhaled with a rush when I realized that my car wasn't taking me to a school this morning, but rather, along the same mundane, ordinary paths it travels everyday. 

Teachers, cherish the role you play in helping to form minds and bodies and hearts and spirits and souls. Cherish those who will sit in front of you for the next 180 days, whether they be intelligent or don't get it the first time (or maybe even the second or third time), shy or off the wall, cooperative or challenging, whether their feet hardly reach the floor while sitting in their desks, or whether your neck aches at the end of the day from straining to look up at them. Cherish who you are and who they are - all God's children - loved and gifted for some special purpose that right now is God's secret. 

And students, let the same excitement and newness you feel today stay with you everyday throughout the school year. Remember, you are not just learning facts, equations and concepts to pass a test. You are learning lessons that no book can contain, that no teacher can explain, that no PowerPoint can make clearer. You are learning lessons for a lifetime . . . no - so much more than that - lessons that reach far beyond this lifetime and into eternity. 

So administrators, teachers and students, realize how lucky . . . no - how blessed you are. Perhaps through the fatigue, disappointment, hard work, challenges, successes and failures you might face this year you won't appreciate it all, but someday you will. Like I do. You're SO lucky and I am SO envious.

The Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C)

THE NARROW GATE 

Isaiah 66: 18-21; Hebrews 12: 5-7, 11-13; Luke 13: 22-30

This past week, as I was preparing my homily, a memory came to mind of when I was seven years old and in First Grade at St. Raphael School in East Meadow, NY.  My teacher was an elderly nun named Sister Irenese, a member of the School Sisters of Notre Dame. Now many have horror stories about the experiences they had at the hands of the nuns who taught them while they were students in Catholic schools, but I have to tell you that I have nothing but high praise and fond memories of the School Sisters of Notre Dame. To me, they were saintly and devoted educators, and their discipline was firm but gentle.  For instance, when Sister Irenese had reason to reprimand a disruptive student, she generally would pinch his cheek, with the reproach, “You’re a bold little boy!” . . .  which of course NEVER was ME.

One day, she instructed my class to stand in the back of the classroom.  And there, Sister Irenese stood in front of each of us and asked us, one by one, to recount a line from Scripture.  “Let there be light,” the first child said, and Sister nodded and moved to the next child.  “I am the Good Shepherd,” said the next student, winning Sister’s approving smile. “Adam and Eve were naked and yet felt no shame,” another student proudly blurted out . . . and Sister Irenese shook her head, frowned and moved on to the next student.  This went on with all fifty of us, and in the midst of the familiar “God is love,” “Thou shalt not steal” and “Jesus wept,” a “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” and “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country” also somehow slipped in.

All the while, as I stood near the end of the line, I kept nervous hope that no one would give the quote that I planned. Finally, it was my turn and Sister Irenese stood in front of me, visibly weary and frustrated at hearing many of the same biblical quotes and misquotes repeated over and over again.  “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do,” I proclaimed. Sister’s eyes widened in amazement and her clenched jaw dropped.  “That’s beautiful!  Say it again,” she commanded, “loudly so the whole class can hear.” “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.” A tiny smile forced the corners of the lips on her wrinkled face upward. Behind her wire rimmed glasses, Sister’s approving eyes met mine, and brimmed with both tears and wonder, now convinced that they were gazing upon someone who was one day destined to become a priest, or a bishop, or maybe even pope!

Boy have I turned out to be a big disappoint!  . . . Sorry, Sister Irenese!

But I can guarantee you, that of all the quotes given that day so many years ago by my First Grade classmates, not one of them came from the Scripture passage that we just heard.  “Enter through the narrow gate?” . . .  “I do not know where you are from?” . . . “Depart from me, you evil doers?” . . .  “There will be wailing and grinding of teeth?” . . . “Some are last who will be first and some are first will who will be last?” - Certainly not on anyone’s list of memorable quotes.  As a matter of fact, most people would like to forget that Jesus even said them. 

And the whole topic of today’s gospel - the afterlife . . . eternity . . . salvation . . . heaven . . .  where it is . . . what it’s like . . . who’s there . . . how may are there – seems to be irrelevant to many in society today.  Why?  Because most people today feel that no matter what, no matter how they’ve lived their life, heaven will be their ultimate destination.  We live at a time where there is an increasing sense of entitlement in society. People believe they are entitled to food, housing, public education from pre-Kindergarten through college, health care, prescription drugs, a job, family leave, retirement income, unemployment benefits, disability payments, legal representation, phone service, connection to the Internet, and more. If individuals cannot provide those things for themselves, then they expect the government to supply them.

This sense of entitlement carries over into religion.  Many Christians simply feel they are entitled to salvation and a place in the kingdom of heaven. They do not have to do anything. If God loves us, if God is all good, if God is merciful, then God will not condemn anyone. What a person does or does not do ultimately makes little difference. How convenient!  Jesus did all the work and we don’t have to do any.  But this attitude is certainly contrary to what Jesus tells us in today’s gospel. Jesus tells the disciple who asks, “Lord, will only a few be saved?” that the path to salvation is only accomplished by entering through the “narrow gate.” 

What does it mean to enter through the narrow gate?

Yesterday I saw a post on Facebook from a religious site that contained this quote:

Just be a good person,

Love who you can,

Help where you can,

Give what you can.

Sounds nice, right?  Beautiful?  Inspirational?  Motivational? NO!!! Jesus certainly calls us to do more than this:

He calls us to not just be a good person, but to "be perfect as your Heavenly Father is perfect."

He commands us to not just love who we can, but to "love one another as I have loved you" . . . your neighbor as yourself . . . even your enemies.

He calls us to do more than just help where we can, but he washed his disciples feet at the Last Supper as a model for us to follow . . . to serve tirelessly as he served . . . to minister to the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick, the prisoner, the least of our brothers.

And he challenged us to give more than what we can, but to "sell everything you have and then come follow me."

THIS is what Jesus means by entering through the narrow gate!  Not to live life in a safe, convenient, easy, wishy-washy way.  But to live our lives in a radical way – HIS way . . . a way in which we pick up our cross daily; in which we forgive seventy times seven times; in which we become the greatest in HIS Kingdom because we diminish ourselves to being the least in THIS kingdom by rendering ourselves servants to all.

HIS way – in which HE becomes the top priority in our lives because we love him with all our heart, with all our mind, with all our soul, with our entire being; in which we love one another as he has loved us . . . totally and unconditionally.  

HIS way, through the narrow gate, because he said, “whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and that of the gospel will save it.”

The gate to heaven is narrow because it is precisely in the shape of Jesus himself. It looks like him, it’s shaped like him, it is precisely the size of him because Jesus himself IS the gate you get into heaven through. Jesus is the way - the way to the Father, the way to Life, the way to salvation. Jesus lived on earth to show us the way. To follow him on this way means that we are to walk as he walked, to follow in his footsteps, to live as he lived. A way indicates progression. When we follow him, we come to where he is now.

“Lord, will only a few people be saved?” Perhaps Jesus’ response to the disciple in today’s Gospel was really meant to say, “You know what, that’s none of your business and it’s not even the right question. The real question you should be concerned with is, “Lord, will I be saved?” And my response to that is, “What are you doing this day to make that happen?” 

And so, as for me, maybe I ought to lose some weight. Maybe I need to shed the pounds of sin, of harbored grudges, of stinginess, of selfishness, and of self-obsession. Maybe I need to stick with an exercise program of daily walks, where I walk in the way of Jesus. I need to trim the excess in my life, because apparently, the Pearly Gates are a tight squeeze.

The Seventeenth Sunday of Ordinary Time

FATHER-GOD 

Genesis 18: 20-32; Colossians 2: 12-14; Luke 11: 1-13 

Do you watch much television? I’ll admit to you that I don’t . . . well except from April to September when most nights you’ll find me in my recliner watching the Mets. And, to make it clear, I only watch the Mets because it helps my spiritual life. It’s true! Watching the Mets teaches me to be patient, to be humble, to not lose my temper, and has given me more suffering than any soul would ever experience in Purgatory! 

But besides the Mets, most of the time when I do watch TV, I like to watch the reruns of the classic game shows, police dramas and situation comedies like, for example, The King of Queens. There’s one episode that I particularly enjoy watching over and over again entitled “Holy Mackerel,” about Doug and Carrie’s major misconceptions about prayer. In the episode, begrudgingly, one Saturday evening, Carrie accompanies Doug to Mass. During the Prayer of the Faithful, the priest encourages the congregation to pray in silence for their own intentions. And after initially not knowing what to pray for, a smile comes across Carrie’s face as she lifts her head and prays for a raise. No sooner than the "Amen" concludes her prayer, she receives a text from her boss telling her that she will be getting an additional $100 more in her weekly paycheck. Bolstered by this initial success, Carrie prays for some of the other REALLY important things, like that a pair of designer shoes will go on sale . . . which they do. Doug gets sucked into the success of God’s seeming generosity and on the following Sunday afternoon prays that the Jets somehow can pull off a victory in the last seconds of a game he’s bet on. And guess what . . . the Jets’ quarterback throws a "Hail Mary" and they win the game. However, after finding out that their parish priest contracted food poisoning after they prayed that he wouldn’t buy the last two pieces of mahi-mahi that they wanted and he chose another fish instead, Doug tells Carrie, “We should leave prayer to the professionals, we don’t know what we’re doing. We’re like the Bonnie and Clyde of prayer; we’re on a praying spree taking down everyone in our path!” 

Like Doug and Carrie, sometimes we can have misconceptions about what prayer is. If I asked you to define prayer, I imagine most of you would say that prayer is talking to God. Well, it is, but it’s so much more: 

Prayer is a relationship with God himself. Prayer is a personal contact with God. Prayer is a matter of continuous intercourse with God. Prayer is a constant dialogue with the Spirit of God in our hearts. 

It is our spirit and God's spirit working together, as St. Paul says to, “cry Abba Father.” It is a relationship between two beings who want to get to know each other better. As I engage in prayer, I come to know God better and he comes to know me as I am with my failures, my hurts, my joys, my excitement, all that is me. 

Prayer is trusting that God will deal with me as He has come to reveal himself through his son Jesus Christ. It is my communicating to God about my personal self, and then letting his mercy, his love, his compassion act upon my life, So prayer then becomes a dialogue between two friends, a dialogue between two beings who care for each other, an exchange between two individuals who trust in each other to respond in a caring, loving compassionate way. 

Today’s Gospel is so rich. It begins with a simple request from Jesus’ disciples for him to teach them to pray as John the Baptist had taught his disciples to pray. Jesus does that by giving them a glance into his own prayer life – his dependency on his Father for everything, and his complete and utter surrender of everything he is and everything he has into his Father’s hands. Through the words he gives them, the words of the Lord’s Prayer, he tells them that God is their Father and he deserves to be praised and thanked simply because he is God . . . just for who He is, probably more than what He does. He instructs them that they should pray that God’s will should be sought above their own and that God’s rule, God’s justice and God’s mercy may transform the world. Their prayer should acknowledge that God is the giver of all good things and they are totally dependent upon Him. To pray for mercy, but only to the extent that they themselves are willing to forgive. And they should pray for the strength to keep out of harm’s way by avoiding the near-occasion of sin so to always walk in the path of righteousness. 

But Jesus doesn’t just stop there. He gives them a glimpse into the nature of the relationship that is prayer, a glimpse into the heart of God and a glimpse into what should be in their own heart when they pray. 

He gives them (and us) an infallible guarantee that God is a God who answers when we ask, who gently leads when we seek, who answers when we knock. He is not a “Trickster-God” but a “Father-God,” a Father-God who gives good things to his children - not a stone instead of a piece of bread, not a snake instead of a fish, not a scorpion instead of an egg. Rather he gives what is good, beneficial and loving, not what is bad, useless or harmful. He is a Father-God who can be trusted. 

So much can He be trusted that Jesus, in the Parable of the Neighbor at Midnight, says that we ought to approach our Father-God with relentless persistence. We should ask and ask and ask until it is given. We should seek and seek and seek until it is found. And we should knock, pound, kick on his door until it opens. And likewise, when we ask, seek and knock, we should do so with confidence, optimism and expectation. He is a Father-God who CAN deliver and WILL deliver, for He is a Father-God who will not be outdone in generosity. 

In doing research for today’s homily I found out something that I didn’t know: That much of the sayings that Jesus spoke in Aramaic seem to be a two-four beat of rhythm and rhyming. This was a device of good oratory that assisted listeners in remembering what was said. Also, because of its poetic nature, the Aramaic Language has (like the Hebrew and Arabic) different levels of meaning. The words are organized and defined by a poetical system where different meanings of every word are possible. So, every line of the Lord’s Prayer could be translated into English in many different versions. Here’s one version that I found from the original Aramaic that I think it beautiful. I don’t offer it as a substitution for the traditional version that we have come to accept and recite. Nor am I saying it’s a more beautiful or a more accurate translation. I simply offer it to you today as an opportunity for you to hear the Lord’s Prayer with new ears and to react to it the way the disciples must have on that day, so long ago, when our Lord first responded to their plea to teach them to pray. 

Oh Thou, from whom the breath of life comes, 

Who fills all realms of sound, light and vibration. 

May Your light be experienced in its utmost holiest. 

Your Heavenly Domain approaches. 

Let Your will come true - in the universe just as on earth. 

Give us wisdom, understanding and assistance for our daily need, 

Detach the fetters of faults that bind us, 

Like we let go the guilt of others. 

Let us not be lost in superficial things: materialism and common temptations, 

But let us be freed from that what keeps us off from our true purpose. 

Sealed in trust, faith and love, I confirm all of this with my entire being.

The Solemnity of the Most Holy Body & Blood of Christ

BELIEVE WHAT YOU SEE, SEE WHAT YOU BELIEVE, BECOME WHAT YOU ARE 

The Solemnity of the Most Holy Body & Blood of Christ 

Genesis 14: 18-20; 1 Corinthians 11: 23-26; Luke 9: 11B-17 

Scripture never ceases to amaze me. You can read the same story 100 times, and on the 101st time, you notice something you never did before. It shifts your attention, gives you deeper insight into the passage, and a more profound appreciation and love for our Lord. Case in point, Luke’s retelling of the “Feeding of the Five Thousand”, the “Multiplication of the Loaves and Fish” that we just heard. 

So, in the past when I read this passage or preached on it, my focus was on two aspects of the story. First, the compassion and sensitivity of Jesus. Sometimes, because we hear little chucks of the gospels each week, we lose an appreciation for what had transpired immediately before and so it’s difficult to connect the dots. And on hearing this story, we forget that this great miracle happens right after Jesus has received word of the death of John the Baptist. So, despite his own personal grief, Jesus is still moved with concern and compassion for the crowd who gathered that day, all day, to hear him preach. They’re hungry. He has fed their minds, hearts and souls with his word, now he takes care of their physical needs and fills their bellies. 

Second, when I’ve read this story in the past, of course my focus was on the magnitude of the miracle itself. Jesus takes the meager supply of five loaves of bread and two fish and multiplies them to feed a crowd of five thousand, not counting women and children. In John’s account of the event, we’re told that they were two small fish. Do you know what type of fish they could have been? Sardines! There are three kinds of fish that inhabit the waters of the Sea of Galilee: carp, tilapia and sardines. And only one of those three fits the description of being a small fish – sardines! It’s mindboggling to think of a crowd of five thousand plus being fed with only two fish; but just think how many SARDINES would have to be multiplied for each to not only have their fill, but for there to be twelve wicker baskets overflowing with the leftovers. A good lesson for us, that when we intercede to God, he never shortchanges us, he always blesses us with more than we have asked for. 

But earlier in the week, when I read today’s gospel as I started to prepare my homily, two things jumped off the page at me that I really never paid much attention to in the past. One was Jesus’ his instructions to the Apostles after they alert him to the need of the crowd: “Give them some food yourselves.” And the second was the description of Jesus’ gestures as he performed the miracle: “Taking the five loaves and the two fish, and looking up to heaven, he said the blessing over them, broke them, and gave them to the disciples.” Does the latter sound familiar? It should, for they are the same four actions of Jesus at the Last Supper that we recall at every mass: he TOOK the bread, BLESSED it, BROKE it and GAVE it to his disciples. Hence the connection between the multiplication of the loaves and fish and the institution of the Eucharist at the Last Supper is explicit. 

Listen to what St. Augustine said in a homily he preached sometime in the 4th or 5th century on the Eucharist: Here is “one of the deep truths of Christian faith: through our participation in the sacraments (particularly baptism and Eucharist), we are transformed into the Body of Christ, given for the world.” St. Augustine went on to say, "Believe what you see, see what you believe and become what you are: the Body of Christ." When we say "Amen", we are saying "Yes! I believe this is the Body and Blood of Christ and yes I will be the Body of Christ to others." 

And so, what did Jesus mean when he told his Apostles to “give them some food yourselves?" That we who have eaten must become what we have partaken of; we must BECOME Eucharist. And how do we do that? We do that when we allow ourselves to become bread; bread that has been chosen, blessed, broken and given. 

Jesus took the bread. At our baptism, we were taken, chosen, called by name. In the Old Testament, God, speaking through the prophet Jeremiah said, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart, a prophet to the nations I appointed you.” And at the Last Supper, Jesus reminded his Apostles, “It was not you who have chosen me; it is I who have chosen you.” The same is true for us. As Christ took the bread, we are taken by God. That means we are chosen and are precious in God’s eyes - Chosen by God and selected for a unique role to play in God's Kingdom. 

He took the bread and blessed it. We are blessed by God. We have all been blessed in some way or another, to some degree or another. Some have been blessed with great families and friends, good jobs, keen intelligence, incredibly good looks, good health, fantastic personalities. But beyond these, we have been blessed with generous hearts, personal warmth, intense compassion, merciful spirits, and deep faith. All of these blessings and more have been given not to be hoarded, but to be shared. 

Jesus took the bread, blessed and broke it. We are all broken people. We are broken in so many ways, in our bodies and in our hearts, in our homes and in our world. We might feel like our brokenness is a sign that we are cursed, but when we listen to the voice that calls us “beloved” it becomes possible to see our brokenness as an opportunity to grow and learn and to deepen the blessing that God has given us. In other words, as we begin to allow the blessing to touch our brokenness we realize that what was once intolerable is now a challenge, what was once rejection becomes a way to deeper communion, and what seemed like punishment is simply a gentle pruning. And by coping through our brokenness, we can become more sensitive, more compassionate, to the brokenness of others. 

Christ took bread, blessed it, broke it and gave it to his disciples. We are given. If we truly know and live our lives as people who are chosen by God, blessed, and broken, then we can give of ourselves. Jesus said, “I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit”. When we bear fruit, we are helping others bear fruit. Each of our lives is a gift to those close to us: family, friends, those we serve, as well as to people we will never know. God has given us—each one of us—as a sacred gift to the world. 

BELIEVE WHAT YOU SEE, SEE WHAT YOU BELIEVE, BECOME WHAT YOU ARE!!! In other words: Our deepest reality is Christ. Christ is our truest identity. You and Christ . . . One and the same . . . One holy communion. formed when you become Eucharist and have allowed yourself to be chosen, blessed, broken and given with Him and for Him, or as St. Augustine would say: when you put your life on the altar. 

I guess St. Teresa of Avila said it best when she wrote. “Christ has no body but yours. No hands, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes with which he looks with compassion on this world. Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good. Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.” 

Ever wonder why, after the five thousand were fed, there were twelve wicker baskets full of leftovers? Maybe for each of the twelve Apostles to take a basket and to do what Jesus commanded, “Give them some food yourselves.” And that basket has not become empty in two thousand years. 

The basket has now been passed to you. “Give them some food yourselves.”

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.”