Acts 10: 34A, 37-43; Colossians 3: 1-4; Matthew 28: 1-10
Be not afraid . . . Lord, that is the first message that your angel proclaimed to Mary when she was asked to be the mother of your Son. And it is the first message that your angel proclaimed to the women at your empty tomb on the morning of your Resurrection . . .
Be not afraid . . .
Are those words also meant for me on this Easter morning? Because, Lord, I AM AFRAID! And sometimes, Lord, I'm not even sure I know what I fear but I know when I'm afraid because I know how fear feels - and I know when I feel it . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
Sometimes I'm afraid of things in my past, things that don't even exist anymore: the ghosts of things long gone . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
And sometimes I'm afraid of what doesn't yet exist: I fear what's next, or what might be, or what could be . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
Sometimes, Lord, I'm afraid of people . . . people who are strangers . . . people who I know wield power over me . . . people who have it in for me . . . even people who love and care for me – fear that they just don't "get me" . . . fear that I will disappoint them . . . fear that they will disappoint me . . . fear of losing their love . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
Sometimes, Lord, I'm afraid of myself, of who I am and what I've done or what I might do or fail to do . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
Sometimes, Lord, I'm afraid of you. Sometimes I'm afraid of what you know about me, what you think about me, what you ask of me, what you expect of me. And sometimes, Lord, I'm afraid that you don't hear me or see me or love me . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
And now, Lord, I’m afraid. I’m afraid to leave my home. I’m afraid of living life in the way that I always have. I’m afraid of social contact that is too close. I’m afraid of germs and illness and death. I’m afraid so, I hide behind masks and gloves and locked doors. And perhaps most of all, Lord, I’m afraid of the future. I’m afraid because I can’t see it. I'm afraid that I have lost control of it. I’m afraid to make plans that might ultimately need to be cancelled in the uncertain future. I’m afraid because I can’t see when this pandemic will end. I’m afraid that this new way of life might never end and that it is the new normal. What will it take, Lord, what must I do, to step out of my fear, beyond my fear, to trust in you, to walk with you with confidence that you are my strength, my safety and my shield?
And you tell me again and again: Fear not . . . have no fear . . . be not afraid . . .
Lord, on this Easter Sunday, do not let my fear blind me to the truth that is revealed in faith. You are RISEN! You are RISEN INDEED! O Risen Lord . . .
Do not let my fear take away my joy – YOU LIVE!
Do not let my fear take away my hope – DEATH, DEPRESSION, DEFEAT, DISAPPOINTMENT ARE NOT THE END OF THE STORY, AS THE CROSS WAS NOT THE END OF YOURS!
Do not let my fear paralyze me – LET ME RUN AND AWAIT YOU IN WHEREVER GALILEE IS IN MY LIFE WHERE YOU WILL TURN MY FEAR TO CONFIDENCE; MY HOPELESSNESS TO TRUST, MY GRIEF TO JOY; MY CONFUSION TO UNDERSTANDING, MY DEPRESSION TO SERENITY, MY LOSS TO FULFILLMENT AND MY DEFEAT TO VICTORY!
You tell me again, Lord: Be not afraid . . .
Take me by the hand, Lord, put your hand on my shoulder: guide, lead and push me where I need to go and let me know you're by my side, that I am never alone. Encourage me to trust you, to believe that you are with me always; to see that you are greater than anything I fear, than anyone I fear; that in your company, I have nothing to fear and I need not be afraid.
Lord, on this Easter day when the seemingly impossible happened and death gave way to life, and darkness gave way to light, and fear gave way to hope nudge me just a step beyond my doubts and fears to a point where I can look back and see: that much of what I'd feared had no real power over me; that much of what I feared I'd meet was really nothing to fear after all; that in taking that one small step I found that you are at my side, that you are my strength, my safety, my shield; that you are with me and I am not alone . . .
You tell me again, Lord: Be not afraid . . .
And I need to hear your words, again and again, until my faith is stronger than my doubt, my trust is stronger than my worries and my joy greater than my fear . . . Help me believe, Lord, that with your help I can walk out of my fear, beyond my fear, to joy. Fill my heart with your presence and be with me everywhere I go, every step of the way . . .
Did you see the narrow streets already crowded with pilgrims and visitors mingling with the merchants from the villages and the shepherds coming down from the hills? There were men and women carrying burdens – baskets of vegetables, casks of wine, jugs of water – tradesmen with their tools, the aged - stooped with years, the children playing – calling to each other in shrill voices. Here a donkey stood sleepily beneath his burden in the sunlight. There, under a narrow canopy, a merchant shouted his wares in a street-side stall.
Did you see the procession of Roman Legionnaires as they forced their way through the throng, pushing pilgrim and merchant, the aged and the child aside to the fringes of the street with curses and careless blows? And between them staggered three condemned men, each carrying a heavy wooden cross on which he was to be executed.
The crosses were heavy, and the first of the victims, the man called Jesus of Nazareth, was at the point of collapse, having been scourged, lashed with a leather whip in the thongs of which had been inserted rough pieces of lead. Blood trickled down from wounds in His brow from the twig of long-thorned briar twisted around in the shape of a crown that had been pushed down on His forehead. Slowly, they all moved forward from the courtyard of Pilate's palace and made for one of the gates leading out of the city.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Did you hear the whispers in the crowd? A group of women went with the procession sobbing aloud, others moaning in that deep grief that knows not what to say or do. There were men too. Their lips were moving in prayers and their hearts were heavy - they wanted to help but there was nothing they could do. The deaf he had cured covered their ears to the to the shouts and insults directed at Jesus. Those to whom he had restored sight were blind once again, but this time blinded by tears. And the crippled that he had healed, limped along to accompany Jesus as the procession inched slowly forward.
Did you hear the shouts that grew louder and louder, to a beat, a rhythm, a chant: “crucify, crucify, crucify!” Simon of Cyrene did, as he entered the city gates and found himself jostled and shoved along by the unrelenting crowd. Suddenly, the Man with the cross stumbled and the soldiers, moved more by impatience than by pity, seeing that the Nazarene was almost too exhausted to go any farther, laid hands on Simon and forced him to take the cross. Just a few minutes before, he was a lonely pilgrim quietly approaching the Holy City. Now he is a beast of burden, his shoulders stooped under the weight of a cross on which this Man was soon to die.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there at the place called Golgotha? It was where two great highways converged upon the city, and the valley below was a place of stench, a place of horror, a place of ugliness where garbage always burned and the evil smelling smoke curled up and was wafted over the brow of the scull-shaped hill. This was the place of public execution - Calvary - and here the procession stopped. And there on that hilltop, did you hear as the sounds of shouting were interrupted by the sound of shrieks of pain as nails were driven through human flesh . . . a sound that echoed across the Kidron valley with each hammer blow.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Did you see the faces of those who witnessed the spectacle? There were some who had followed Him once, who had been attracted by the charm of the wonder-worker. Some had accepted loaves and fishes at His hands. Now they shouted taunts at Him. They remembered what He had said and now they hurled His words back at Him - barbed arrows of hate and malice, promises He had made, predictions and eternal truth that had come from His lips. They shouted until they went hoarse. The noise was so great that only a few of them standing near the cross heard what Jesus said when His lips moved in prayer: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."
Where you there when the crucified my Lord?
Did it seem like time oozed out like the blood that dripped from the cross when a thunderstorm was blowing up from the mountains and it was becoming strangely dark? People looked at the ominous sky and became frightened. Women took little children by the hand and hurried back to the city before the storm would break. Yet His mother stayed . . . did you see the grief that pierced her heart?
And were you there when suddenly Jesus opened His eyes and gave a loud cry. The gladness in his voice startled all who heard it for it sounded like a shout of victory. "It is finished. Father into your hands I commend My spirit." And with that cry, He died.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
No . . . you weren’t there . . . and neither was I.
But . . . is it not I who dips my hand in the dish with him? Is it not I who leaves the table and goes out into the night and betrays him with every lie I tell, with the gossip I spread, with the cruel and hurtful things I say? Do I not also sell him out for thirty pieces of silver every time I seek vainglory or sell my soul to achieve the riches of this world? Do I not betray Him with a kiss each time I use my affections to satisfy my own selfish and sinful desires rather than for it to express love?
Do I not run away from Him every time I turn away my face and abandon the need of one of His “least ones?” Do I not desert Him when sometimes He is too slow to answer my prayer, or even, perhaps, when everything in my life is going well and I no longer have need of Him? Is it not my voice that boasts, "Lord, even though I should have to die with you, I will not deny you!” while my actions and example scream, “I do not know Him?”
Is it not my lips that cry out, “Crucify Him!” each time I sit in judgement of another? Do I not shout out the name “Barabbas” each and every time I choose condemnation instead of mercy, revenge instead of justice, violence in place of peace, selfishness over service, retribution instead of turning the other cheek?
Do I not scourge His back when I abuse, or even tolerate, the physical, sexual or emotional abuse of another, or abuse my own body with drugs and alcohol? Do I not press a crown of thorns on His head when I play mind games with another and use my intelligence, my wit or my sarcasm to harm someone’s self-esteem? Is it not me who pounds hammer upon nail into His hands and feet every time I sin and thrust a spear into His side through my cold heartedness and indifference to the plight of the poor, the aged, the lonely, the homebound, the outcast, those deprived of the right to life?
Yet, O my Jesus, I hear the words you say from the pulpit of your cross: “Father, forgive them; they know not what they do.” Me, Lord? Forgive me? Even after I have done all this to you . . . you whose only crime is that you love such a one as me for all eternity?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Yes . . . yes . . . I WAS THERE when they crucified my Lord.
The cross. To many, a sign of violence, death, and defeat. To us, it is the most sacred, the most cherished of all images. For us it represents Christ’s suffering and victory: a sign of love, life, and triumph. Today, through the Stations of the Cross, in our hearts and through our imaginations we stand on the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem and retrace the footsteps of Jesus from the Fortress Antonia, where he was condemned to death, to Golgatha, where he was crucified.
What would we see if we were there when Jesus was crucified? Far from the ornate crosses that decorate our churches and homes, we would see a stark cross of rugged wood. Our eyes would see a crucified man dying slowly, his body wrenched by pain. A sight not easy to look at. What would we hear if we were there when Jesus was crucified? The harsh thud of nails driven through wood and flesh, the moaning of the dying, the insults shouted to the cross, the mockery of his enemies to his claim of divinity, the few gasping words of Jesus himself. Sounds not pleasant to the human ear.
It is through the Stations of the Cross that we are invited to experience the sights and sounds of that day by spiritually accompanying our Lord on his sorrowful journey to Calvary, meditating at each scene of his Passion and death.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Rejected by his own people, tormented by his accusers, tortured by his persecutors mocked by the Roman officials. Jesus, the King of Kings, is forced to wear the distorted trappings of kingship: a crown, not of gold but of thorns; a robe, not of royal splendor, but a cloak soaked with blood that irritates his scourged body. The King of both heaven and earth receives the judgment of a mere puppet of the Roman government. Pilate is convinced of Jesus’ innocence, but bows to the pressure of the crowd and condemns Jesus to death. The implementation of the sentence, begins. Christ draws near to the cross, his body already atrociously bruised and lacerated, blood trickling down his face from his head crowned with thorns. Ecce homo. Behold the man.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, how often I am so very much like Pilate. How often I sit in the seat of judgment and condemn others without cause. How often I too yield to the pressure of the crowd and give up my own will just because it’s safer to agree with everyone else. Yet in your tortured appearance, Jesus, I receive my strength. Despite all obstacles, you remained true to yourself, true to your convictions. Forgive me, Lord, when I bow to the pressures of others rather than following your way. Forgive me when I become more concerned with what people think of me than what I know is right. Forgive me the times when my words, my deeds, or my silence condemned others. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Wood. A material very familiar to Jesus. As a boy, he watched Joseph cut, shape, and mold this raw material into products of beauty. And as Jesus grew into manhood, he too accepted the trade of a carpenter and came to depend on the wood as a way of life. But now, the wood has become his way of death. That wood, which had been such an instrument of joy and livelihood, becomes the very instrument of his suffering and death. Yet Jesus accepts the cross as he accepts the will of his Father: freely . . . no questions asked. And yet, it is not his cross that he bears; it is ours.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, I accept your cross, but with much hesitation. Why do I choose to leave my comfortable world and allow hardship and pain into my life? I bear it that others may know you more fully through me. Be at my side as I begin my journey. Give me strength. Give me courage. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
"I am a worm, not a man, scorned by all, the laughing-stock of the mob": the words of the psalmist-prophet come wholly true in these steep, narrow little streets of Jerusalem in the last hours before the Passover. The cross weighs heavily upon his shoulders, and he falls. And he wills all this; he wills fulfillment of the prophecy. He falls in accordance with his own will, so that "the scriptures may be fulfilled": "I am a worm, not a man.” When it would have been so easy for him to give up, he staggers to his feet once more. He continues on toward his tragic destination.
Let us pray . . .
All: Lord, in my life, there are so many times that I stumble and fall. So often I just want to lie there and give up, make people feel sorry for me. But I know that there is no cross too heavy for me because you are always there to share the weight of my burden, to pick me up and set me back on the right path again. Yet, sometimes you are the last one that I remember to call on when I need help. Lord, help me to remember that I am totally dependent on you.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Innocence meets innocence in the face of injustice. Mary looks upon her son, burdened by the cross, crowned in thorns, mangled and bleeding. Tears run down her face, her arms outstretched to embrace her beloved son. Jesus looks up and sees his mother before him. Their eyes meet – hers full of tears, his full of pain and confusion. Marys’ lips move, “I love you” they say. Knowing he is doing his Father’s will and secure in his mother’s love, Jesus finds the courage and strength to meet his own death.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, forgive me the many times our eyes have met and I turned mine away. Forgive me the times things did not go my way and I let everyone know about it. Forgive me the times I brooded over little inconveniences or became discouraged and did not heed your call to courage. Yes, our eyes have met many times, but fruitlessly. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Just passing by. Just minding his own business. Perhaps visiting Jerusalem for the Passover feast. Perhaps intrigued by the commotion of what was going on. A perfect stranger, in wrong place at the wrong time. Simon of Cyrene is summoned, perhaps compelled, by the soldiers to relieve Jesus’ burden and carry the cross, if only for a short time. When the condemned man's shoulders became too weak, he lends him his shoulders. What was Simon’s reaction? Did he accept the cross freely, as Jesus did or did he try to get out of carrying it even the short distance that he did?
Let us pray . . .
Lord, often I do not wish to help others when they (or you) call upon me. Often I say, “Hey it’s not my problem!” Or I agree to help out, but only begrudgingly. Other times, I have offered my hand to help other people, but when it became too much, too inconvenient, too demanding of my time, I left them, making excuses for myself. Help me to relieve the pain and misery of those around me with the strength and love that I receive from you. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Jesus’ face is bathed in sweat, spit and blood. Moved with pity and compassion, a woman from the crowd, Veronica by name, unconcerned with what others may be thinking, pushes forward from the crowd and wipes Jesus’ face. As a gift for her courage and unselfish caring, Jesus leaves his image imprinted on her veil.
Let us pray . . .
Lord Jesus, perhaps the reason you chose to leave your image upon Veronica’s veil was because in her faith, in her compassion, and in her love, Veronica was the image of you. So many opportunities arise everyday for me to give to you by giving to others. But so very often, I pass them by. Help me to give all I have to you by giving all I have to others. Let me be your image for others. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
No sleep, nothing to eat or drink since supper the eve before, the interrogations, the scourging, the mockery - they have all taken their toll. Jesus falls again to the dust and grime of the crowded street of Jerusalem amidst the noise of weeping and heckling with even greater force than the first time. Yet, despite the pain that he is in, despite the humiliation he must be feeling, despite the weight of the cross, despite the jeering crowd, despite the whips from the soldiers, Jesus struggles to his feet once more to continue on his way to Calvary.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, I've slipped, I've stumbled, I've fallen many times in life. But the weight of my cross is nothing compared to your cross, O Jesus. Sometimes I fall because of weakness; other times I fall because I lack the incentive or the courage to keep trying. Sometimes it is just so much easier to lie there and give up trying to do your will, trying to become the person you call me to be. Give me the strength and perseverance I need as I struggle on my way back to you.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Pain . . . exhaustion . . . the realization of what lies ahead, and still Jesus finds compassion in his heart to console the women who stand on the side of the road weeping. He speaks words of comfort to them, even though it is difficult for him even to speak. When few in the crowd have compassion in their heart for Jesus, he, in his sufferings, still finds compassion in his heart for others.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, Sometimes my heart is touched by the suffering of others, but not moved. Not moved to speak out against injustice. Not moved to act to end their hurt, their pain, their grief, their loneliness, their hunger, their poverty. But tears are not enough. Tears cannot stop evil from happening. Tears cannot stop agony. Tears cannot heal. Tears cannot bring peace. Move my tears beyond weeping and into action. Let my words, my deeds, or perhaps just my presence, comfort those whose lives are filled with hurt. Amen.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Face first, Jesus crashes onto the pavement once more. Every fiber of his body cries out to give up. But every element of his will insists that he continue on. Jesus falls under the weight of the cross. Once he said: "Do you think that I cannot pray to my Father, who would at once send me more than twelve legions of angels?" But he does not ask for that. Having accepted the cup from his Father's hands, he is resolved to drink it to the end. He wills it no other way.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, it’s tough being a Christian. You call me to pick up my cross daily and follow you. But your way is difficult and is often the unpopular way. It requires me to be different from everyone else, and I crave the acceptance of others. Yet, I also long for your acceptance of me. Sure my every step. Give me strength. Help me to realize that you are all I need. Amen.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Publicly stripped of his dignity, of his self-esteem, and now of his clothes. The utter humiliation he must have felt. He has lost so much in just one day’s time: his friends, his popularity, his reputation, and now his clothes – the last material possession he has. He has but one thing left to give, and that is his very life. With every wound, every spasm of pain, every wrenched muscle, every trickle of blood, with all the exhaustion in its arms, all the bruises and lacerations on its back and shoulders, this unclothed body is carrying out the will of both the Father and the Son.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, in my own way, I too have stripped you. I have taken away the good name of another by foolish talk, and have stripped people of human dignity by my prejudice. Jesus, there are so many ways I have offended you through the hurt I caused others. Help me to see you in all people. Amen.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Roughly, contemptuously, the soldiers thrust Jesus down onto his cross. Holding him down, they pound the nails through his hands and feet. The ringing of hammer upon nail must have been deafening. The echo of the shrieks of his excruciating pain must have been ear-piercing. Yet the persecutors are dauntless, the onlookers unmoved by pity. All around Jesus are the mockers and those who take delight in human misery. Does no one remember his loving message? Does no one remember the healings? Does anyone remember anything good at all about him? “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
Let us pray . . .
Lord, I too sometimes seem to get pleasure out of making others suffer. The gossip I spread, the lies I tell, the games I play in relationships, the guilt trips I lay on others, the revenge I seek for the hurt others have caused me, are all my subtle, yet torturous ways that I inflict pain on others. Jesus, what your persecutors and tormentors did to you appalls me; how then can I treat others in this way? Give me insight into the ways I hurt others and help me to exchange these hurtful ways with ways of healing. Amen.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
On his journey as the One sent by the Father, he preached the breadth of his love, which overlooks no one; the length of his love, which is faithful in every generation; the height of his love, a hope that triumphs over death itself; and the depth of his love, which sent him to call not the righteous, but sinners. Once he told others, “No greater love does any man have than to lay down his life for those he loves.” And here it is – the total gift of self – the perfect gift of love. Total. Complete. Free. Uncompromising. Selfless. For you. For me. Sinners. Unrighteous. The nightmare of pain and suffering, the agony of betrayal and loneliness come to an end. After three mercifully brief hours on the cross, suspended between earth and sky, Jesus dies. Choking on the hyssop dipped in wine he gasps out the words, "It is finished." He bows his head and gives up his spirit.
Let us pray . . .
My Jesus, have mercy on me for what my sins have done to you and to others. I thank you for your great act of love. Teach me to live my life for others, and not fail you again. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Jesus’ lifeless body is taken down from the cross. Once again Jesus is in the arms that once held him in the stable in Bethlehem. Mary holds Jesus’ body close to hers. She kisses his head. Her tears mingle with his blood. The crowd has gone. The noise has stopped. The show is over. The passion has ended. Or has it? There is still injustice, still pain, still the sufferings of mankind.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, you have said, “Whatever you do to one of my least ones, you do to me.” There was nothing that I could do to stop your crucifixion two thousand years ago. I was not there. But I am here now! Help me to make a difference in this world by helping to end your pain and suffering in the person of my fellow brothers and sisters. Amen.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
He was born in a borrowed place, a stable. And now, his lifeless body is placed in another borrowed place, the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea. End of story? Not quite. What appears to end in utter failure becomes the ultimate triumph. Three days after his death, he destroys death by rising to new life. Jesus lives! Death has no hold on him! What an utter contradiction of the way it’s “supposed” to be!
Let us pray . . .
Lord Jesus, help me to show the world that you do live – in me! Let me be your eyes that look compassion on the world; your heart that pulsates with love for all; your arms stretched out in service to the needs of others; and your feet which guide others on their way back to you. Amen.
CLOSING PRAYER
Lord Jesus, for how many ages have you remained imprisoned upon your cross, and still we pass you by, ignoring you? How often have we overlooked your tender presence in our lives, paying little attention to your great sorrow, your pain, your power to love.? How often have we, by indifference, added to your sorrow, deepened your pain, and refused your love?
You constantly stretch forth your hands to re-create us, to touch us with your love, and still we close our eyes to your presence and force you to remain imprisoned upon your cross.
Yet our names are written in your heart forever, and you will not allow us to ignore you or run from you. You have loved us with an everlasting love, and we continue to place obstacles in your path.
Your cross shows us, however, the power of your love, that is stronger than our fear, that it can overcome our need to run from you. Lord, let the love that flows from your cross surround us, break down the walls of our fear, and fill our hearts.
Lord Jesus Christ crucified, teach us how to love one another, as you have loved us, even to the cross. Amen.
Something unusual happened this month . . . well A LOT of unusual things have happened this month! But I’m not referring to what you probably think I’m referring to. Usually, at the end of the month or the very beginning of a new month, the priests and deacons receive their schedule – who is assigned to what mass on a particular Sunday. But whereas this month’s schedule listed the priests’ assignments . . . Fr. Rick would say this Mass, Fr. Dulibber that Mass, Fr. Jorge one of the others . . . the deacons weren’t assigned to any! Of course I’m still trying to figure out if this was a mistake, or if Fr. Rick was not-so-subtly trying to tell Deacon Joe and I something, or if somehow the secretaries in the rectory had prior knowledge of the coming pandemic that the rest of us didn’t have. But the really strange thing is that Deacon Joe and I were assign to one weekend – this one – to preach. Reflecting on that the other day, I kind of started wondering if maybe God’s hand is somewhere in that . . . that, despite the pandemic and despite the fact that I’m not in church right now standing at the pulpit, there’s something important that God wants me to say and something important that he wants you to hear.
One of three things usually happens when I first read over the Scripture passages I’m scheduled to preach on. Sometimes – VERY RARELY – I’ll read the readings and I’ll run, (well actually I haven’t run since 1991 . . . so maybe rush is a better word) to my computer and the homily practically writes itself. I somehow miraculously, and with little effort or deep reflection, know exactly what I want to say and how I want to say it. But more often then not, I’ll read the Scripture, scratch my head and say, “Now what exactly am I supposed to say about this!” And I’ll spend many painful hours praying and reflecting until somehow – again perhaps miraculously – God clues me in with the message he wants me to hear, the one he wants you to hear as well. But sometimes, I’ll read the Gospel passage and it’s so rich, there’s just so much in there, I’m confronted with another altogether different dilemma: of all that God has revealed in that particular passage, what’s the one element he wants me to focus on.
That was my struggle this weekend. There’s just SO MUCH in John’s narrative of the raising of Lazarus. There are so many elements that make this story so compelling - not the least of which is that Jesus brought a dead man back to life!
But the story also reveals that Jesus, who loved everyone, also had some best friends. St. John points out clearly that Jesus had a special love for, and a particular relationship with, Martha and Mary and Lazarus.
There’s also the revelation of Jesus’ humanity, captured in the shortest verse in the whole Bible, just three words: And Jesus wept. (John 11:35)
This gospel also tells us, not once but twice, that Jesus was perturbed. This is a one-word translation of the three Greek words ἐνεβριμήσατο τῷ πνεύματι, which would be better translated: “he was deeply moved and shuddered in his spirit.” This was clearly an emotional moment in the life and ministry of Jesus.
And yet, the element, the verse, the words in this story that caught my greatest attention are these: “he remained in the place where he was for two days.” His special friends, Martha and Mary, had sent word to him that his beloved Lazarus was dying, yet “he remained in the place where he was for two days.” And both Mary and Martha ultimately let Jesus know exactly how they felt about this delay. Both said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
But Jesus waited two days before setting out for Bethany and when he finally got there, Lazarus had already died. Perhaps Jesus’ delay tested the faith of Martha and Mary - at least I’m sure that his delay stretched and deepened their faith. For even after her dead brother had been buried, Martha said, “Even now, Lord, I believe God will give you what you ask for.” Not even the death and burial of her brother shook her faith in God.
Of course, this story has a happy and miraculous ending: Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. But we can’t forget that later, we don’t know exactly when, Lazarus died a second time and that time Jesus didn’t come to open up a tomb. Jesus gave him the gift of that life which is forever . . . eternal . . . one of indescribable joy . . . one of inexplicable peace . . . one of ultimate and profound love.
The fact that Jesus delayed going to Bethany for two days strikes me because I’ve known that same delay in my own life and I’m sure you have known it in your life as well. How many times have we wanted, needed something good to happen; wanted, needed for Jesus to get on the road and come to our home, our family, our hearts. How many times have we wondered, have we prayed, have we cried: “JESUS, WHERE ARE YOU?” How many times have we asked, “JESUS, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” “JESUS, GET A MOVE ON!” “JESUS, WON’T YOU PLEASE DO SOMETHING?”
Are you, like Martha and Mary, waiting for Jesus to come? Have you been waiting two days? Two weeks? Two months? Two years? Or twenty-two years or more? Because I don’t know, I can’t tell you why he delays in coming. But I can assure you, that he knows you’re waiting . . . waiting for something good to happen . . . and that he WILL, finally, come, and that ALL shall be well . . . that all shall be well and that all manner of things shall be well . . . And that as the saying goes: “Everything will be all right in the end. If it’s not all right, it is not yet the end of the story.”
And today, we are not in church together. You’re not in your usual pew and I’m not now standing at the ambo. You’re in your home and I’m in mine – separated . . . fearful . . . keeping safe social distancing from each other. You’re in your home and I’m in mine – having to be content watching Mass on our televisions, or our computers or our phones. You’re in your home and I’m in mine – watching FOX or CNN, listening to the so-called experts offer us conflicting predictions of when this will all end . . . when safety will once again come to our town . . . to our country . . . to our world. You’re in your home and I’m in mine – and we, like Mary and Martha cry out, “LORD, WHERE ARE YOU?” “LORD, WHY ARE YOU DELAYED?” “WHEN WILL YOU ARRIVE, LORD?” “WHEN WILL YOU BESTOW YOUR LOVING, HEALING TOUCH TO OUR LIVES AND TO OUR WORLD” “LORD, WHEN WILL THE STONE OF THE CORONAVIRUS BE ROLLED BACK AND WE WILL HEAR YOUR CALM, STRONG, REASSURING VOICE BIDDING US TO COME OUT OF OUR TOMBS, THAT ALL IS WELL?” “WHEN, LORD, WHEN? WE HAVE WAITED MORE THEN TWO DAYS . . . WE HAVE WAITED MORE THAN TWO WEEKS. WHEN, O LORD, WILL YOU ARRIVE?
Only God can answer those questions that are in your heart and are in mine. But we have his word . . . we have his eternal promise, “I will be with you always, yes even to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20). We have the assurance from Him that God has never abandoned his people, that He is a God of power and might, that He is a God of goodness and love, that He is a God who hears AND ANSWERS his people. And maybe, like Martha and Mary, in our wait, we are being called to stretch and deepen our faith.
So many times during the season of Lent, we hear the words of the prophet Isaiah recalled for us, words which speak of the coming Messiah as the Suffering Servant of God. So in the midst of our suffering, let us recall that Jesus knows well our sufferings, for he too suffered, and he too, on the cross, felt abandoned. But let us also be reminded of something else Isaiah said, and let it console us in these times as we wait:
The Third Week of Lent . . . halfway through our journey to the cross and to the tomb. And what a strange journey it has been so far – a Lent like no other we’ve ever experienced in our lifetime – one of fear and paranoia, of pandemonium and pandemics. Who could have imagined on Ash Wednesday, three weeks ago, that words like “social distancing,” “curfew,” “quarantine,” and “lockdown” would become part of our day-to-day vocabulary. Who could have imagined three weeks ago that schools would be closed, shopping malls would be shut down, shelves in supermarkets would be empty and things like toilet paper and bottled water would be hoarded? And three weeks ago, who ever would have envisioned in their worst nightmare that something as beloved to us as the celebration of the Mass, the Sacraments and cherished traditions like the Stations of the Cross would be suspended. Yes, a Lent like we’ve never known. BUT maybe, in the midst of the Lent like we’ve never known, perhaps . . . just maybe . . . perchance . . . we are being called to experience the BEST LENT EVER. Perhaps, this year, our Lord wants something more of us. Just maybe he doesn’t want the easy, well-scheduled, pre-packaged Lents of the past passively received in our hands from Father or Deacon or by Mother Church herself. Perchance this Lent we are being called to a sacrifice that costs us more, to a prayer that is more sincere and fervent, to a love that struggles and is more demanding. A DIFFERENT KIND OF LENT . . . more creative, more spiritual, more powerful, more transformational.
The three pillars of Lent are prayer, fasting (sacrifice), and almsgiving (charity). Let’s relook at each of these in light of the situation we find ourselves in this Lent:
Prayer
Reach Out and Touch: This is not a time when we should be “social distancing” ourselves from God. Rather we should be using this time as an opportunity to draw closer to our Lord, and to do the very thing we’ve been told to avoid doing to each other: to touch him . . . to place ourselves more and more into his hands and, conversely, to open our hands to receive him in our lives - to allow him to touch us, to have a union with him that is deep and intimate.
Boredom: Is boredom one of the consequences you’re feeling because of the inflicted or self-imposed lockdown? Can’t escape to the mall, no play dates, no school, no dance or sporting activities for the kids, no romantic meals in a favorite restaurant, no get-a-way vacations. STUCK - surrounded by the same four walls day in and day out, week after week – BORED! You know, I’ve often viewed boredom as a gift. I think sometimes God gifts us boredom as an opportunity to have a relationship with him. God knows human nature better than we do and God knows how busy we are. And so, he gives us boredom as time to fit Him into our lives. In our twenty-first century society, we’ve invented lots of ways to deal with boredom. We call it social media: Facebook, Instagram, Tik Tok, texting, etc. Bored? Just reach for your cell phone – there’s an app for that! But how about transforming boredom into sacred time instead? How about using it as the time we lift our minds, our hearts, our souls, our words to God in prayer? And rather than technology running interference with our relationship with God, maybe it can now enhance our relationship with Him. There’s lots of apps out there that we can use to help us pray the Rosary or the Divine Mercy Chaplet, to read scripture, to meditate, or even to set the mood in prayer with reflective music. May I recommend to you the Relevant Radio app and also Dr. Edward Sri’s weekly podcast, All Things Catholic (https://edwardsri.com/all-things-catholic/) and Bishop Robert Baron’s meditations on the Stations of the Cross (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pJNjtA-Awb4 )
The Domestic Church: In the early Church, in the face of persecutions by the Roman government and Jewish leaders, house churches were places where the early Christians gathered in safety for the “breaking of the bread” (the Eucharist). After Emperor Constantine legalized Christianity with the Edict of Milan in 313 AD, Christians no longer needed to celebrate the Eucharist in the secret security of their homes and now were free to venture out in safety and erect church buildings to worship in, such as we have today. In our present situation, when the celebration of the Mass in our parish churches has been suspended, a wonderful opportunity has been presented to us - a gift: to transform our homes into house churches, sacred spaces to praise God, to listen to his Word, and to become united with our Lord through a Spiritual Communion. And so, I encourage you to worship at mass through the masses broadcast on television, radio and the internet. Many parishes, including our own, have begun to livestream the celebration of the Eucharist. The website: www.mass-online.org lists all the televised Masses that are available and allows you to simply click a link to watch them. But let’s be careful with our attitudes about these Masses . . . Let’s not just watch as if it were an entertainment. Let’s participate in the Mass by praying the responses out loud, by sitting and kneeling and standing just as we would if we attending Mass in church. And, deprived of receiving the physical Eucharist, let’s not forget to offer the prayer of Spiritual Communion:
My Jesus,
I believe that You
are present in the Most Holy Sacrament.
I love You above all things,
and I desire to receive You into my soul.
Since I cannot at this moment
receive You sacramentally,
come at least spiritually into my heart. I embrace You as if You were already there and unite myself wholly to You. Never permit me to be separated from You.
Amen.
Perhaps after the Mass suspension is lifted, we will return to our church with a greater appreciation and a greater love for that of which we have been deprived.
“The Family that Prays Together Stays Together.” That was a popular saying when I was growing up, coined by Fr. Patrick Peyton, the “Rosary Priest,” the founder of the Family Rosary Crusade. Saints, popes, and the Blessed Virgin Mary herself, at Fatima, stressed both the importance and the benefits of praying the Rosary. Next to the Mass itself, the Rosary is the most powerful prayer we have. If you currently don’t, why not start praying it? What have you got to lose except maybe twenty minutes of your time? And why not pray it as a family? If you do, you will be giving your children a powerful tool, a wonderful tradition and a beautiful memory that they will cherish for the rest of their lives.
Sacrifice
“Offer It Up!”How many times I heard that as a kid by my mom and by the nuns who taught me in school! Offer it up! Offer up the headache, the cold, the inconveniences, the heartaches, the disappoints as a sacrifice. Uniting our sacrifices with that of Jesus’ on the cross has great spiritual benefit. Offer it up! It’s a notion that, sadly, is lost in our world today. In a world of pleasure and immediate gratification, I doubt very much our children have ever heard it, much less know what it means. Lent is a time of sacrifice, and this year it seems we’re being called upon to sacrifice a lot more than cookies, candy and chips, wine before dinner and meat on Fridays. What we are being asked to sacrifice is great: social interaction, school, social engagements, the freedom to be where we want when we want, the foods we crave but are now sold out at ShopRite. And perhaps the greatest sacrifice of the all – attendance at mass and participation in the Sacraments. We’re being called to sacrifice more than we want, more than we ever had to before. But let’s make these things more than just sacrifices; let’s make them offerings. Let’s offer them up for our health, the health of those who have contracted the virus, for the doctors and nurses who selflessly treat them, for those who are feeling more alone than ever, for the people we love, for the things that we need, for the person we said we would pray for but never did, for the Church, for our priests (and maybe even for a certain deacon you know). Let our sacrifices ascend to the throne of God like burning incense and be united with the cross of Christ and have the power to transform us and the whole world.
“For you do not desire sacrifice or I would give it;
a burnt offering you would not accept.
My sacrifice, O God, is a contrite spirit;
a contrite, humbled heart, O God, you will not scorn.” (Psalm 51: 19-19)
Almsgiving
“Charity Begins at Home.” With quarantines, lockdowns and curfews being put into effect, we may be temporarily prohibited from practicing the almsgiving, the acts of charity, that we had planned to: bringing Communion to the sick, visiting the elderly and homebound, serving in a soup kitchen, volunteering at Roxbury Social Services, etc. And along with quarantines, lockdowns and curfews comes forced family time, which to some may be a blessing and to others may be a curse. Being realistic, the stress that we’re all experiencing, and all that “togetherness,” may result in short fuses, hot heads, sharp tongues, icy glares and fiery stares. Through it all, let’s remember that charity begins at home. And so, this Lent, maybe our Lord is asking us to practice having generous spirits, the patience of a saint, a little more understanding, a lot more love and a heap of compassion, with a bit of empathy thrown in. Jesus said, “This is how all will know that you are my disciples, by the love you have for one another.” (John 13:35). In these difficult times, let this be true in how we treat each other, and, especially, how we treat the members of our own family.
Finally, a warning: I have heard some people say that all that we are going through, especially being deprived of the Mass, the Eucharist and the Sacrament of Reconciliation, is the work of Satan. DON’T! Please STOP! To do so impowers Satan by giving him the credit (or the blame). It credits him with being more powerful than he is. Whereas I’m sure Satan is reveling in the fact that we are now deprived of receiving the Eucharist and going to Confession, he isn’t the cause of it. Did Satan create the corona virus? Nope, Satan doesn’t have that ability. He’s not a creator, only a destroyer. Are our bishops now evil collaborators with Satan that they now deny us access to the Mass and Sacraments? Nope, just good shepherds who care for the health of their flock, who, like a parent, have been called upon to make difficult and perhaps unpopular decisions out of love. The will of Man is temporary . . . the will of God is eternal. Let’s not let fear or disappointment blind us to the truth: God is in control; only He is the All Powerful One, not Satan. And NOTHING “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8: 38-39).
And so, yes . . . A DIFFERENT KIND OF LENT. Maybe nature itself mirrors this. On Monday, driving to work, I noticed the forsythia in bloom. Never can I remember them in bloom this early! Forsythia, for me, is always the first sign of spring. SPRING . . . from death NEW LIFE! And isn’t that what Lent and Easter are really all about?
Today is the First Sunday of Lent. During the next six weeks we will devote special attention to the saving mysteries of our faith, especially to the supreme sacrifice that Christ Our Lord made to set us free. The next six weeks are like a musical composition. On a piece of sheet music, in the upper left-hand corner above the notes, the composer writes a word. This word tells the musician or singer what speed the music should be. If it says "presto," that means, "sing it fast." But if the composer writes the word "LENTO" it means to “slow down. Take this slowly." Our word "Lent" has the same root. It means, SLOW DOWN, and take life more slowly.
In today’s gospel we read that after he was baptized Jesus was "led by the Spirit into the desert for forty days.” And just as Jesus went out into the desert, away from the busy-ness of the crowds and daily life, to be alone with his Father and to do battle with Satan, Jesus calls us to do the same. He invites us to take a few short weeks out of our daily routine and to slow down - to spend more "quality-time" with God in prayer and reflection; to take a personal, honest and searching inventory of our lives. What patterns of good are there? What patterns in my life -- the obvious ones and those that are more subtle -- make me less than loving and faithful in my relationship with God and others?
So, whether it be in the private disciplines of fasting and prayer or attendance at the quiet reflective rituals of Stations of the Cross or Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament; whether it be in devoting time to some volunteer work in the community or here at church, or in making time to read some biblical, devotional, inspirational literature - Lent is the time for our own personal desert experience. We cannot all afford to buy a camel and head off for the desert. But we can all create a desert space in our overcrowded lives. We can set aside a place and time to be alone daily with God, a time to distance ourselves from the many noises and voices that bombard our lives every day, a time to hear God’s word, a time to rediscover who we are before God, a time to say yes to God and no to Satan as Jesus did.
And so, let's slow down a little for the next several weeks. Jesus spent forty days in the desert. The same length of time is offered to us to step back from the noise and clamoring and despair of civilization and life, and focus instead on God, to choose what is right and good and just and loving. If we take the time to look honestly at our lives, and to take note of our blessings and our shortcomings, with God's help we will be better for that effort. We will be better able to remember and celebrate at the end of our forty-day desert experience the great things the Father has done for us through the death and resurrection of his Son.
And so . . . Welcome to Lent! Welcome to the desert!
Joel 2: 12-18; 2 Corinthians 5: 20-6:2; Matthew 6: 1-6, 16-18
Well, here we are on the first day of Lent. Lent always seems to sneak up on us and catch us by surprise, doesn’t it? No matter if Ash Wednesday is early or late, we always seem to have the same reaction: “Oh my goodness! I can’t believe it’s Lent already!” While Christmas is something that we eagerly anticipate, I can’t ever remember hearing anyone saying: “Oh man, I can’t wait for Lent! Prayer, fasting, abstinence, sacrifice, mortification of the body! YES!!!”
The word lent comes from the Latin word lento, which means “slow down.” And maybe that word fits most, or at least some of us this morning. We’ve slowed down, perhaps even come to a standstill. Physically, because of the cold, less sunlight, our lives have become more sedentary, less active. We don’t want to go out and face the cold so we stay in. And all the activities that we normally enjoy - outdoor sports like golf, tennis, soccer, baseball, and even some of the work that we enjoy, like gardening, go on a temporary hiatus until the warmth of the spring and summer sudden tell us it’s safe to come out of our winter hibernation. Even our social lives take a hit, as we prefer a quiet night by the fireplace than the cold trek through the frozen tundra to visit relatives and friends.
And unfortunately, our spiritual lives can also slow down or come to a standstill as well, not just in winter but in any season of our lives. The fervor that coincided with the reception of a Sacrament, a retreat experience, a moving homily or a prayer answered can quickly be cooled off by the problems and tragedies that confront us, or simply (and most often) through lack of effort – we simply become too busy, too tired, too overwhelmed, too distracted, too bored to do what’s necessary to maintain our spiritual lives (or more importantly, for it to grow deeper). And so, our spiritual lives slow down, get stuck.
I know what to do when my computer slows down, freezes or gets stuck. It needs to reboot. And I know I can do that by hitting three keys on my computer simultaneously: CTRL + ALT + DELETE. And maybe Lent is the time for us to do the same thing - not with our computers but with our lives.
What do I mean? During Lent, we’re asked to CONTROL . . . to control ourselves, to control our appetites, to control our habits, to control the things we over-indulge in, to control those things that we like and which give us some degree of pleasure. And so, Lent is a time of SACRIFICE, of giving up . . . as a Church, giving up meat on Fridays . . . but as individuals, giving up those things that might cost us a little bit – not money, but pleasure: the cookies, the candy, the chips, the soda, Facebook or Instagram, online gaming, the alcohol, the cigarettes, the drugs, the gossip, the foul language, the porno. By its nature, a sacrifice is not meant to be easy; it hurts a little bit. Why sacrifice? Well we only need to look at the cross for the answer to that one. Jesus sacrificed his life for us. It wasn’t easy. It hurt a lot. And anything that we sacrifice, and any pain or inconvenience associated with it, is far less than the supreme sacrifice Jesus made FOR US on the cross.
Lent is also the time when we should hit the ALT key in our lives . . . to ALTERNATE, to shake things up, to change what we normally do, to live life a little bit differently. And so during Lent we’re invited to add something to our daily routine, something that will put demands on us – something that demands our time and something that demands our effort. Maybe it means spending more time with your family . . . or . . . more time with God. Maybe it means daily prayer if that’s not your routine . . . or more time in prayer if it is . . . maybe praying the Rosary every day and reciting the Sorrowful Mysteries, since all of them focus on the suffering and death of our Lord. Maybe it means coming to Mass every Sunday if you don’t . . . or coming to daily Mass if you already do. Maybe it means attending the Stations of the Cross every Friday during Lent. Maybe it means finding the copy of the Bible that’s somewhere in your house, dusting it off, and reading a little bit of it every day so that you complete one book over the course of the forty days of Lent. (Maybe the Gospel of Matthew; one that’s proclaimed on the Sunday’s of our current liturgical year). Or maybe it means performing one not so random, but deliberate and well thought out, act of kindness every day.
And so, during Lent we’re called to DELETE . . . to repent, to recognize and get rid of our sinful ways. Perhaps to focus on our most serious sin, or the one we find ourselves most frequently committing, and working on it, conquering it, allowing it to no longer have a hold on us . . . deleting it from our minds, our hearts, our words, our actions, our souls, our lives. And the perfect way for us to DELETE is to go to Confession . . . to not only be forgiven by God but reconciled to God . . . to have our status as his sons and daughters restored – fully, totally, nothing held back, no lingering feelings of ill will on the part of God.
So here we are, on the threshold of the season of Lent. During this season we’re challenged to CTRL + ALT + DELETE – three keys when pressed simultaneously on our computers allows it to reboot, to get unstuck, to perform better - the way that it’s meant to. Same thing for us. During these forty days, sacrificing, devoting ourselves more to our spiritual lives, and repenting are the three keys which, when pressed simultaneously will reboot our lives, give us a fresh start, and allow us to be the people God created us to be.
CTRL + ALT + DELETE . . . Sounds like enough to keep us busy this Lent. Sounds like enough to keep us busy for a lifetime!
“If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other; love your enemies, pray for those who persecute you.” I wonder what our response is when we hear these words of Jesus. I wonder whether any of us actually takes these words seriously. I wonder whether we even think that these words apply to us; that we should or actually can follow these words. I wonder.
You see, in the world in which we live, the rules of life are clear and well defined. And these words don’t seem to bear any relationship to this world's rules of life. Our world, we’re told, is a dog eat dog world. This world is about the survival of the fittest. This is a world in which might is right. These are the rules we understand and practice in our world.
So when we hear these words of Jesus, we typically react in disbelief and shock: “Love my enemies, turn my cheek, pray for those who persecute me? Who me? That isn’t for me. I’m nobody’s idiot! God can't really expect this of me - after all, I’m only human!"
Sadly, even though we know that these are Jesus’ instructions to his followers, and even though we as Catholic Christians claim to be followers of Jesus, very few of us actually pay any attention to these commands of his. Very few of us take these commands seriously. But I can’t believe that Jesus was joking when he preached this form of behavior to his earliest followers.
And as if loving your enemy, praying for those who persecute you and turning the other cheek isn’t hard enough, Jesus adds one more seemingly impossible expectation: “Be PERFECT just as your heavenly Father is PERFECT” – not just perfect before God, perfect with God, perfect towards God, as were expressions we find in the Old Testament, but perfect as God. And although God is perfect in all ways, when Jesus commands us to “Be PERFECT just as your heavenly Father is PERFECT,” he is referring to God’s goodness, his holiness.
I believe that in our heart of hearts, each of us has a desire to be good: to be a good person and to do good things. And, of course - that's good! But in the gospel passage that we just heard, Jesus calls us to something greater than goodness, he calls us to holiness. I’m not sure that even those among us who most want to be good have also a desire to be holy. How many of us would feel comfortable being identified, known, as a holy person?
Often, holiness is something we admire in other people (Jesus, Mother Teresa, or our grandmother who goes to Mass and prays the Rosary every day) but holiness isn’t something we strive for ourselves. And insofar as we think of it as something too pious, spiritually over the top, even odd or quirky, holiness might even be something we don’t want.
But the holiness that Jesus calls us to isn’t something odd or quirky, quaint or pious. It’s not something weak or submissive. To the contrary, it’s challenging, demanding and strong. Holiness here calls us to provide no room in our hearts for hatred. Most of us don’t have hate-filled hearts but many of us keep in our otherwise “good” hearts a little corner reserved for our less-than-loving thoughts and feelings: for this one or that one; for that group or this; for that political party or that church authority; for that person in my past; for my ex-; for my co-worker; for my neighbor . . . Even a good heart should make no room for such feelings - no more than a farmer would keep a corner of his field for growing weeds: the weeds drain the goodness from the soil and eventually spread, laying waste to the field and its crop.
A holy heart makes no room for weeds but rather keeps vigil lest ill-will, grudges, resentments and revenge take root there and yield a harvest of hate.
A holy heart seeks, always, what is good and wastes no time planning for retaliation (an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth).
A holy heart does not oppose evil with evil - no matter how satisfying that may be - but rather stands tall in the face of evil, willing to bear and suffer the consequences of fidelity even when they take their toll on ease and comfort.
While a good heart gives to someone in need, a holy heart gives until the giver has a share in the want of the one whose needs are being served.
A holy heart gives until it makes a difference for the giver as well as for the one who receives.
In other words: being good isn’t good enough for Christians, for followers of Jesus - we are called to something more. People of holiness have a greater, deeper, stronger love to offer: they love those who do not or cannot or will not love in return; they love even their enemies; and to those who make their daily lives miserable, they open their hearts in prayer. In the gospel here Jesus calls us to love - as God loves: not sparingly, not grudgingly - but fully, deeply, robustly; not with strings attached and looking for something in return, but freely, selflessly and generously; not with hidden pockets of anger and resentment but with peace, mercy and forgiveness. God loves each of us with a heart of holiness and calls us to love one another, even our enemies, with the same heart. It was someone with more than just a good heart who gave his life for us on the Cross: the heart of Jesus is, indeed, the holiest of all hearts whose life, whose body and blood, we share at this altar.
“Be PERFECT just as your heavenly Father is PERFECT.” To say that the words of our Gospel are challenging is an understatement. They should shake us to our bones because it’s a call to complete transformation. We are to live our lives differently because we live our lives in Jesus Christ.
They say "practice makes perfect." So, I’d like to suggest a way for us to practice. It’s called LENT and it starts this Wednesday. Lent is the time to practice those things that the Church recommends to us to help make us holy: prayer, fasting, sacrifice, acts of charity, and availing ourselves to the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Need some practical help on how to do that? Here are a few suggestions:
Give up cynicism . . . or jealousy . . . or backstabbing. Give up gossip. Give up regrets for choices you never made or paths your never took.
Give up fighting God’s will for you. Mean what you say when you pray “Thy will be done.”
Give up whatever fear or anxiety is keeping you from going to confession, and just go. Give up being too busy to pray or being too worried to hope.
Give up looking at other people's worst points. Instead, concentrate on their BEST points for a change.
Give up speaking unkindly. Instead, let your speech be generous and understanding.
Give up your worries and anxieties! Instead, trust God with them.
Give up television, the internet or your cell phone one evening a week! Instead, visit someone who is lonely or isolated by illness or age, read the Bible or pray the Rosary.
Give up buying anything but essentials for yourself! Instead, give the money to a worthwhile cause. God calls us to be cheerful givers, not consumers.
I can’t promise that if you practice all those things that, at the end of forty days, you’re going to be perfect. For our God - who always was, always will be and always remains the same - perfection is his eternal, natural state of being. It’s not ours. For us, perfection requires transformation. And if we truly desire to be PERFECT, just as our heavenly Father is PERFECT, we’ve got to start sometime. Why not this Lent?
I'm probably dating myself, but today I'm remembering the simpliciety, innocence and beauty of the Valentine's Days of my youth. When I was a student at St. Raphael School in East Meadow, NY, as Valentine's Day approached, I would ask my mom to buy me a box of Mickey Mouse Valentine cards - enough for every student in the class. No one was left out. In those days, your heart was bursting with so much love and you just wanted everyone to feel it - girl, boy, the girl you had a crush on, the kid who the day before had made fun of you, the best student, the worst student, the class clown, your best friend, your mortal enemy, the social butterfly, the one who you weren't really sure what their voice sounded like because they were so painfully shy. Why we (and I) ever stopped that, I'll never know. Maybe life became too busy to take the time to write out so many cards. Maybe we became too self-conscious to let people know how much they really mean to us. Maybe we became too cool, too politically correct to say "I love you." Maybe we became too vulnerable and afraid that our "I love you" wouldn't be returned. This year, I want to get back something that sadly was lost in the much too hyped state that we call "maturity." I want each of you to know just how special you are to me . . . just how much you mean to me . . . just how much your presense in my life has made a difference in mine. So today, please accept this Valentine from me. Yes, today, I want to say I LOVE YOU to each and every one of you. HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY.
