When I first started teaching, I taught elementary school. Every year in August, I would spend a considerable amount of time decorating my classroom, hoping that what I placed on the bulletin boards and walls would both reinforce the lessons that I would be teaching that year, but also would inspire my students. In hindsight, I realize now that some of the inspirational sayings that I placed there were probably too deep for seventh and eighth graders and undoubtedly went right over their heads. One of those sayings was this: Sometimes what you do speaks so loud I can’t hear what you’re saying.
Today, March 19th, is the Solemnity of St. Joseph, Spouse of Mary. It is one of the two feasts in the Church calendar given to the honor of St. Joseph. However, as you know, Pope Francis calls us to reflect on the virtues of great saint in this Year of St. Joseph. In thinking about it recently, I don’t think there was anyone who modeled that saying that adorned my classroom bulletin board better than St. Joseph, because even though not a word of his is recorded, his actions have so much to say. Here are a few:
Saint Joseph was obedient. He was obedient to God’s will throughout his life. Joseph listened to the angel of the Lord explain the virgin birth in a dream and then took Mary as his wife (Matthew 1:20-24). He was obedient when he led his family to Egypt to escape Herod’s infanticide in Bethlehem (Matthew 2:13-15). Joseph obeyed the angel’s later commands to return to Israel (Matthew 2:19-20) and settle in Nazareth with Mary and Jesus (Matthew 2:22-23).
St. Joseph was a man of faith. Not only did he actively strive to hear the voice of God and implement God’s will in his life, Joseph also was a good Jew. This is evident in the events that surrounded the birth of Jesus and his obedience of Jewish law and custom – Jesus’ circumcision, naming and presentation in the Temple. In addition, Joseph brings his family to Jerusalem for the celebration of the Jewish feasts.
Saint Joseph was selfless. In the limited knowledge we have about Joseph, we see a man who only thought of serving Mary and Jesus, never himself. What many may see as sacrifices on his part, were actually acts of selfless love.
Saint Joseph led by example. Even though none of his words are recorded in Scripture, we can clearly see by his actions that he was a just, loving and faithful man. We often think that we primarily influence others by what we say, when so often we influence by our actions. Every recorded decision and action made by this great saint is the standard for us to follow today.
Saint Joseph was a worker. He was a simple craftsman who served his neighbors through his handiwork. He taught his foster son Jesus the value of hard work. It is likely that the humility Joseph exhibited in recorded Scripture spilled over into the simple approach he took to his work and providing for the Holy Family. We can all learn a great lesson from Saint Joseph, who is also the Patron Saint of Workers, on the value of our daily work and how it should exist to glorify God, support our families and contribute to society.
Joseph was a man for whom his vocation is more important than his career. When he was warned by an angel in a dream to leave Bethlehem and travel to Egypt so that Jesus and Mary would safely escape the jealous wrath of King Herod, Joseph may well have had much to lose in that flight. Back in Nazareth he had a career. But Joseph was a father and husband before he was a businessman. When his child was threatened, his first obligation was to Jesus and Mary. His vocation outweighed his career. In a culture like ours where too many parents make their careers and livelihoods paramount, Joseph points the way for parents: vocation should have priority over career.
Joseph was a teacher. We learn from Scripture that Jesus too was a carpenter (Mk 6:3). It is obvious that it was Joseph who taught this trade to Jesus. It is not enough for a father to provide for his children, he must also prepare them for life. He does this through modeling and teaching Jewish law and tradition, moral values, discipline, moderation, hard work, self-control and many other life skills.
Sometimes what you do speaks so loud I can’t hear what you’re saying.
It seems to me that, for someone for whom not one uttered syllable is found in Scripture, Joseph was, indeed, very noisy.
Hail Joseph Son of David, God is with you! Blessed are you amongst men and blessed is Our Lord Jesus Christ! Holy Joseph, Guardian of the Redeemer, pray for us, and be with us, now and as we sigh our last breath. + Amen.
East of Jerusalem, on the road to Jericho and the Dead Sea, lies the desolate Judaean desert wilderness. The warm Mediterranean air flows this way, but lingers in the rolling hilltops to the west, dropping its moisture before pouring down into this narrow strip of land parched by dry winds. You can find water here, but you must go down to get it. Steep canyons drop into the earth, and to find refreshment, you would have to descend, and the way is perilous. If you came this way in springtime, the sparse seasonal dew gives way to stubbly grasses. It’s good for grazing sheep, but never enough to satisfy their hunger. And if you wait too long, the heat of the day is withering. On the other side, should you make it through, you’d find the Jordan River Valley, green and full of life. But this is the wilderness.
The wilderness is a place of preparation, a place for intercession, a place to wait on God. After crossing the waters of the Red Sea, God led Moses and the Hebrew people into the wilderness and to the mountain, where Moses fasted for forty days and forty nights prior to receiving the tablets of the law. After the profound experiences of Passover and the miraculous bread from heaven, the wilderness is where the Israelites provoked God’s patience and fell into idolatry. After the Israelites sinned, Moses went up the mountain again and fasted forty days and forty nights to intercede between God and the people, after which God relented from His anger.
Roughly four hundred years later, King David fled to the wilderness to fast and wait on God for deliverance after his lapse into adultery and while his own son hunted him in open rebellion. Finally, Elijah fled for his life to the wilderness after shattering the religion of Baal, where he fell to the ground in a refusal of his calling, and yet where he was comforted, sustained, and renewed before he also undertook a forty day fast on the road to meet with God.
This is the land of John the Baptist, subsisting on locusts and preaching repentance. This is the land where we find Jesus, walking from the Jordan where He was baptized toward Jerusalem where He would be crucified.
The wilderness is where the identity of God’s people is revealed, and it is for this reason that Jesus chooses the wilderness as the setting for His battle with the devil. He becomes an icon for all of God’s people, taking on His shoulders their history and their destiny. But where the people of Israel had failed their own wilderness test, where even Moses, David, and Elijah faltered in their own callings through disobedience, infidelity, or exhaustion, Jesus proves His obedience, faithfulness, and strength. His victory over the devil was a victory to fulfill Israel’s calling through perfect faithfulness to the word of God.
In the wilderness:
No hunger could stop Him.
No power could pervert Him.
No temptation could compromise Him.
No taunt could unnerve Him.
No thing could defeat Him.
No death could stop Him.
Instead, emerging triumphantly from the wilderness,
He would bring fullness to those who are hungry.
He would bring judgment to those who pervert power.
He would bring strength against our temptations.
He would bring courage to our battles.
He would bring victory and life through humiliation and death.
He would bring unstoppable, unending life.
Lent is our own forty-day trek into the wilderness. The Spirit drives us there, as it drove Jesus, so we can deal with the things that would seduce us away from God or identify and do battle with the things that are destroying us – those things that cripple or limit our lives. God drives us into the wilderness for our own good because it is there, in the wilderness, that we come to know ourselves, our strengths and weaknesses, and our divine calling. And there, in the silence and recollection of the wilderness, we come to terms with ourselves as we really are.
But, if we’re honest with ourselves, we try our best to avoid the wilderness. During this Lenten season of fasting and focus, of praying and preparing, we’re tempted to simply go through the motions. We’re tempted to skirt the wilderness, to turn away from encountering the wild places in our lives and in our world. We’re tempted to turn away from the mirror reality that reveals things we would prefer not to see, our imperfections and the things that need change. But if we are to follow Jesus, if we are to be renewed for new possibilities and prepared to hope once more, we must face the wild. And, if we’re truly honest with ourselves, we know deep down inside that we need the wilderness. We know in our bones and deep within our souls that the wilderness calls, cajoles, and compels us even when we resist. God has work for us to do and that work begins, like it did with Jesus, when we are driven to the wild places of discovery.
And so, this Lent, go to the wilderness:
Go to the wilderness to discover anew the joy of being beloved.
Go to the wilderness to learn once more what it means to be and live as God's beloved son or daughter.
Go to the wilderness to listen for the voice of God calling you once again.
Go to the wilderness to see Christ more clearly in the world around you.
Go to the wilderness because that is where God is encountered.
Go to the wilderness because you can no longer be as you have always been.
No doubt about it, the wilderness will cost you more than any vacation get-a-way does. For more than money, it demands payment in prayer and introspection and sacrifice and acts of charity and, the costliest of all, a repentant heart. But the price is well worth it. For I can guarantee you that, if you endure the wilderness for the next forty days, you will emerge from it with a clearer head, a bigger heart and a deeper soul.
Jesus went into the wilderness and fought temptation. We face temptation too. But, maybe, the biggest temptation we face this morning is to not enter the wilderness at all. Let’s not give into it. Let’s make this Lent different, special, our best Lent ever. “This is the time of fulfillment, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent and believe in the good news.”
Readings: Leviticus 13:1-2, 44-46; 1 Corinthians 10:31-11:1; Mark 1:40-45
Let me ask you a question . . . Has anyone here ever seen the Broadway musical "Drat the Cat?" Has anyone even heard of the musical "Drat the Cat?" Probably not, because "Drat the Cat" was one of the biggest flops in the history of musical theater. The show opened on Broadway on October 10, 1965 and closed on October 16, 1965 - only eight performances. And probably this musical would today be completely forgotten except for one song that was in its score that had the good fortune to have been recorded by Barbra Streisand and became one of the biggest hits in her early career. The song is called “He Touched Me,” and I found that I was singing this song to myself this week because, if they were ever to produce a musical version of today’s gospel, I think it would be a perfect song for the leper to sing after he had been cured by Jesus. If you’re not familiar with the song, part of the lyrics go like this:
He touched me, he put his hand near mine
And then he touched me
I felt a sudden tingle when he touched me
A sparkle, a glow
He knew it...it wasn’t accidental, no, he knew it
He smiled and seem to tell me so all through it
He touched me . . . he touched me . . .
And suddenly nothing is the same!
Touch. There's something about it that draws us in close to someone, gets us involved, even with strangers. But there can also be something frightening about touch. It can make us uncomfortable, and we can be threatened by it because it prevents us from keeping a safe physical and emotional distance from another person. We take a chance when we reach across to grasp another's hand. It's like we're reaching through this safe barrier, and we're putting ourselves at risk. We could be rejected or, worse still, we could catch something.
When Jesus touches the leper in our Gospel story today, he places himself at great risk. His touch seems very reckless, because to touch a leper was to pay a big price. It was to become like one of them, to take the disease on yourself - to be contaminated physically, socially, and even spiritually. Jesus didn't have to touch him. He could have cured him in many other ways, with only words. But he didn't play it safe. He touched him. Jesus took this unclean man, and made him clean, while he himself became unclean. Jesus took this outcast, this pitiful and rejected person, and made him accepted, while he himself became rejected. He knew all the consequences, but it didn't stop him.
Leprosy was a catch-all for all kinds of diseases of the skin - from the very deadly and highly contagious, to the very harmless. It didn't make any difference. In the ancient world, as we learn from the Book of Leviticus, those who suffered from these diseases were all treated the same. They became outcasts, and forced out of society, from whatever ways of life they had, from whatever wealth they had accumulated, from their families, from everyone, except from others who suffered as they did. They were isolated in camps on the outskirts of the cities; they had to wear torn clothing, to shave their heads, and cry out "unclean, unclean", or sound a bell to warn others that they were approaching. They could come no closer to you than fifty paces. It was like they were already dead. To be a leper was to suffer the worst stigma of society - not only was it a physical disease, it was a terrible social disease robbing its victims of everything of value.
When the leper approaches Jesus, he comes begging on his knees. No calling out "unclean, unclean", no sounding of the warning bell, no standing at fifty paces. He crawls to the feet of Jesus, and in a profound statement of faith, says to him, "If you want to, you can make me clean." He doesn't ask for healing, he asks for cleanliness; to be restored to society, to what he once was, to be accepted, to come home, to be normal again. And the Gospel tells us that Jesus was moved with pity. But his reaction was much more than that. Some translations say that he was angry, maybe even filled with rage - not at the leper, but at the disease, and at what had happened to this man, at the way he was being treated.
And what does Jesus do? He touches him - he reaches down, and touches him. He who was feared by all, he who was on the very bottom of society, he who was treated as if he was already dead, he who was untouchable, was touched by Jesus. What an incredible encounter!
We don’t hear much about leprosy today, but our society has its lepers. Oh, we don't call them by that name, but we treat them as if they were. They don't necessarily wear torn clothes, or carry a bell around their necks, or cry out "unclean, unclean" - but they're all around us. We isolate them; we keep them at a safe distance. Anyone with a disease we fear or a lifestyle we disapprove of. Anyone we judge for something they've done or a choice they've made. The obese, the unattractive, those with terrible acne, the disabled, those who suffer from addictions or from diseases we're afraid of; those who are of a different race, different ethnicity, different religion, different sexual orientation; those we only see through the eyes of ignorance, fear, and contempt. Maybe the lepers are even members of our own families - our children, our brothers and sisters who have gotten into trouble and brought attention or shame to us. The lepers are there, many more than we think - all the untouchables, all those we're afraid to touch.
And there are some of us who feel like lepers at times. Some of us are scarred with pain, the pain of being left behind, forgotten. Some of us bear enormous weights on our shoulders from excess emotional and spiritual "baggage" that has been accumulating for years. Some of us feel we have been shut out of family circles, communities of faith, and places where we once belonged. Some of us are so lonely and angry and depressed we're sure life isn't worth living. And some of us are so tired that we can hardly move. In a world that seeks intimacy, we feel neglected and overwhelmed.
The man afflicted with leprosy in today’s gospel needed Jesus' touch, and that is exactly what Jesus gave him. Christ is willing to meet whatever need we have as well. The man with leprosy came to Jesus and begged him on his knees, "If you will it, you can make me clean." Filled with compassion, Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. "I do will it!" he said. "Be clean!"
“I do will it!” What powerful words they are. In fact, I doubt we can ever fully understand the depth of those words. And like the leper in today’s gospel, our loving God says to us, “I do will it.”
I do will to fill you with faith if you open your heart to me.
I do will to cleanse your soul and relieve the burden of sin that you carry, if you only turn to me.
I do will to lead you and guide, comfort you and strengthen you for whatever life brings your way, if you will only trust in me.
I do will to bless you abundantly everyday with everything good, holy, beautiful, true, loving, and life-giving, if you but ask for it in faith.
I do will to stretch out my hands on the cross and die, even though it is for your sins that I die.
Powerful words, "I do will it." Christ is willing to heal our every hurt. Christ is willing to take away every sin. Christ is willing to grant us new life, if only we ask. We must be as confident as the leper bringing our fears and failings to Christ, and with the same words as his: “If you will it, you can heal me.” And Christ’s answer will be for us as it was then: “Of course I will. Be healed."
And when we allow that to happen, then the song from the musical "Drat the Cat" becomes our anthem as well. For when we allow Jesus to touch us, “suddenly nothing is the same.”
Readings: Job 7:1-4. 6-7; 1 Corinthians 9:16-19, 22-23; Mark 1:29-39
I heard a story this week. It’s about a man who suffered a serious heart attack and was taken to a Catholic hospital run by nuns to have emergency bypass surgery. The surgery went well, and as the man regained consciousness, he was reassured by one of the nuns waiting by his bedside. "Mr. Smith, you're going to be just fine," the nun said while patting his hand. "But we do have to know, however, how you intend to pay for your stay here. Are you covered by insurance?"
"No, I'm not," the man whispered hoarsely.
"Well then, can you pay in cash?"
"I'm afraid I can't, Sister."
The nun asked, "Well then, do you have any close relatives who could help you?" "
"I only have a spinster sister, who, like you, is a nun." the man replied.
The nun got a little indignant and announced loudly, "Nuns are not spinsters, Mr. Smith! Nuns are married to God."
”All right,” the patient replied, "Send the bill to my brother-in-law!"
In today’s gospel, we hear about another “in-law”, Peter’s mother-in-law, and how Jesus cured her of fever. But this event is just one of many that Mark presents to us in the first chapter of his gospel, which could probably best be titled, “A Day in the Life of Jesus Christ.” The day begins in the bright sunshine of a Galilean morning when Jesus walks out alongside the lake and invites Peter and Andrew, James and John to come follow him, and moves into a mid-morning visit to a synagogue in Capernaum (for this was a Sabbath day), where Jesus leaves the people wide-eyed and mouths agape over his teaching and the exorcism of a demon that possessed a man. The day takes in an afternoon visit some hours later at the home of Peter and Andrew, where Jesus cures Peter’s mother-in-law and traces the events of a busy evening in that city, as thousands gathered to be ministered to by Jesus. And the day finally concludes with a solitary prayer vigil in the hills during the lonely hours of the early morning. Thus a full twenty-four hours is given to us in this account. This seems to be a pretty typical day – a day of healing, counseling, teaching, preaching and caring. Mark is a gospel of action, and Jesus has a full calendar.
In this “Day in the Life of Jesus Christ” Mark depicts Jesus as . . . well, much like you and me: busy, working hard, putting in long hours. Yet unlike us much of the time, Jesus demonstrates a balance in his life. Yes, there were times he made himself completely available to the crowds who came seeking healing, help and wisdom. But in the midst of the busy-ness of his ministry and because of that busy-ness, Jesus went out to a deserted place, a place of solitude, a place to be alone, and He prayed. He spent time with His Father. He spent time rejuvenating His Spirit. He spent time reconnecting and communicating with the ultimate source of power in His life and ministry.
This time of silence and solitude, alone with his Father, was much more important and productive than the extra hour's sleep that his body needed. He was deliberate in his choices of place and time for prayer. He knew that this was a special time when he could rest in the arms of his Father without external demands. One-on-one time. A time to receive his daily direction, to inhale trust and to exhale all things that desired to divert him from what he was to do.
What about you and me? We live in a hi-tech, fast pace, workaholic world where no one rests. We're constantly on the road, running errands, going places. We stuff ourselves with "fast food," overbook our lives with a myriad of things to do, and at the end of the day we're totally exhausted. We're controlled by the need to do.
One of the great gifts of God-Among-Us, is that Jesus truly knows our tiredness as we try to walk in His footsteps. He understands what it's like to have days that are emotionally draining from broken hearts, as well as the "good kind of tired" from days of great joy. Our days are familiar to Jesus. But oh, what He must not understand about us is that we make time for anything and everything else during our day, to the point of exhaustion, and yet often push that time that He cherishes so much – that time of solitude and silence - completely out of our schedules.
Yes, we do lead busy lives. And yes, there are many things vying for our efforts and attention. But in the hectic pace of our daily schedules, we need to build in personal prayer time, time to relax, time to "get away" so that God can refresh us and empower us. This is necessary and essential. Jesus needed it and so do we. We need to lose ourselves in the deserted places of our lives. The ones who have to have our attention, who need to be healed, who need our guidance, who need our help, will find us. Just like they found Jesus. But we must be wise like Jesus, take time to listen to God. And to be listened to.
Sometimes God comes and finds us. Sometimes we go and find God. There are moments, even amidst our busyness, when the distractions all fall away and God shows up in a powerful, sometimes even dramatic, way. But the rest of the time, even though God is always there, we have to make time to notice by finding our own deserted and quiet place. And, sometimes in our busy, fast-paced life we have to be creative and persistent to find it. Our deserted place can be a New York City subway or bus. It can be in our car or in a waiting room. It could even be a garage or a bathroom. Wherever we can find even those few moments of quiet, we have found a holy place. There can be a lot of other stuff taking place. We just have to recognize that the peace of prayer is not about what's around us; it's a matter of what is within us. If we are too busy to pray, we are simply too busy. As much as a meal or an appointment, prayer and quiet have to a part of life. Those times are usually there, even if unexpected. They just need to be highlighted and given attention.
In the gospel of Mark, five times Jesus took a boat trip to get away or just went down to the sea. Two times He went into the hills. One time He took a walk through the grain fields, and another time we find Him high up a mountain. On two occasions He goes where he wants to be "unknown;” another time He simply, "went home" Still another time we find Him "going beyond the Jordan." His final time to Himself is climaxed with time alone and in prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane. In the mornings, in the evenings, Jesus kneels. At a time when the options are far from easy, Jesus kneels. In solitude, with intention, Jesus kneels. Jesus kneels and prays to be perfectly in tune with his Father's will.
Discipleship means following . . . following Jesus and matching footprint for footprint. - His way becomes our way of life, Hs teachings become our lessons, His love, His gentleness, His compassion, His mercy, His unconditional love, His ethics, His selflessness, His total dedication to His Father, become the pattern for our lives.
And if this is true, then discipleship also means, like Jesus, finding our own deserted place . . . our solitary space . . . finding our kneeling place.
1 Samuel 3: 3b-10, 19; 1 Corinthians 6: 13c-15a, 17-20; John 1: 35-42
Have you been paying attention? How astute a listener are you? So, let me ask you a question: When was the last time we heard the voice of Jesus in our Sunday Gospels? When was the last time we heard him speak? Well, believe it or not, we would have to go all the way back to November 29th, the First Sunday of Advent, for the answer to that question. Certainly, Jesus has been and is always the focal point of the Gospels. And over the past month and a half, we’ve focused on the preaching of John the Baptist and how he prepared the people for Jesus’ coming. We’ve heard the stories surrounding Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem . . . the announcement of his birth to the shepherds by an angel, the adoration of the Magi and the gifts they presented, his circumcision, naming and presentation in the Temple, and last week, his baptism in the Jordan by John the Baptist. But all through the past seven weeks, the voice of Jesus has been silent.
So, the words of Jesus in today’s Gospel are significant. Not only do they represent the first time in a month and a half that we’ve heard the voice of Jesus speak to us, but even more importantly, what we heard in today’s gospel are the very first words of Jesus found in John’s Gospel. And adding to that significance, they are the first words that Jesus speaks to us in our new year of 2021.
First words can be important and memorable. I bet those of you who are married can recall the first words you said to the one who would ultimately become your spouse or the first words that he or she said to you. Those of you who are parents, I bet you can recall the first words that your child said, whether it be “Mama,” “Dada,” “yes” or “no.” And the first words of a politician when he throws his hat in the ring to launch his campaign, or the words of his inaugural address, become the words that set the tone and are the words on which he will be judged throughout his term in office.
“What are you looking for?” Those are the first words that the evangelist John records of Jesus. Words, that on the surface might seem insignificant, perhaps strange, maybe even rude or abrupt. They come as the result of two of the disciples of John the Baptist following Jesus after John says of Jesus, “Behold, the Lamb of God.” Their response to Jesus’ question seems even more strange, and certainly not very profound: “Rabbi, where are you staying?” To which Jesus invites them, “Come and you will see.”
At face value, a very strange dialogue. But, as with most things in the Gospels, I don’t think we’re just meant to take it on face value. We’re encouraged to, not only delve deeper, but to place ourselves into the Gospel and hear Jesus’ words, not just directed to Andrew and his companion, but also to us.
And so, today, January 17th, as we begin the third week of our New Year, Jesus asks you and he asks me, “What are you looking for?’
Lord, someone I love so much has just died. I’m so heartbroken. My life is filled with grief. I’m looking for consolation. Rabbi, where do you stay?
Lord, I’m ill . . . I’m tired . . . I live in pain. I’m looking for health. Rabbi, where do you stay?
Lord, I lost my job. My unemployment insurance has run out. It’s been months, years, since I received a paycheck. I’m looking for a way to make ends meet. Rabbi, where do you stay?
Lord, my parents are splitting up. I'm hurting. I’m looking for the strength to deal with this calmly and not with anger. Rabbi, where do you stay?
Lord, I’m dealing with an addiction that I just can’t seem to break. I’m looking for help. Rabbi, where do you stay?
Lord, I'm different. No one seems to get me. I just don't seem to fit in. I’m looking for acceptance. Rabbi, where do you stay?
Lord, I’m so depressed that sometimes I don’t know how I’m going to get out of bed in the morning, and sometimes feel like ending it all. I’m looking for hope. Rabbi, where do you stay?
Lord, my problems and the pressures of life are so overwhelming me, I just can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. I’m looking for peace. Rabbi, where do you stay?
Lord, there is so much anger, turmoil and division in my house, a place where there used to be love and harmony. I’m looking for wisdom to say and do the right thing to transform my house back into a home. Rabbi, where do you stay?
Lord, I’m tired of living in fear. Tired of living life behind a mask and at a safe social distance from family, and friends and strangers. I’m looking for patience. Rabbi, where do you stay?
Lord, I’m upset about the political divisions in our country which seem to tear at the very fabric of our flag. I’m looking for reconciliation. Rabbi, where do you stay?
Lord, I cry out to you day and night. I pray and pray and pray. Yet you seem so distant, so very far from me. I’m looking for YOU. Rabbi, where do you stay?
And Jesus replies to us, “Come and you will see.”
Come and you will see me in the words of Sacred Scripture. I am the Word made Flesh. I am the Way, the Truth and the Life. I have the words of everlasting life.
Come and you will see me in prayer. In your prayer LISTEN. If all you do is talk, all you will discover is yourself. If you listen, you will find ME. If you listen to me as the small, still voice within, you will be given wisdom, knowledge and understanding, fortitude and counsel, reverence and piety.
Come and you will see me in the Eucharist. I am the Bread of Life, the Cup of Eternal Salvation. I will nourish you. I will fill you. I will satisfy you.
Come and you will see me in the teachings of the Church. Don’t forget the promise I gave you, “I will be with you always, yes, even to the end of the age.” The Church is my Body, my presence, in the world today. Look to her in your confusion for wisdom and guidance.
Come and you will see me here, in this sacred space. Seek me, not in the din of the world but in the peace and silence you find here. “Be still and know that I am God.” “Come to me all who are weary and heavy burdened and I will give you rest.” Speak no words. Just cherish the intimacy of my presence.
Come and you will see me in the heart of your neighbor. “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there in the midst of them.” Seek me, too, in the hungry and the thirsty, in the stranger and the naked, in the sick and the prisoner. For in them you will find me.
Come and you will see me in yourself. If you strive to become poor in spirit, to mourn and be meek, if you desire righteousness and purity of heart, if you are a peacemaker or are persecuted for me or the sake of the Gospel, you are one with me.
All of these is where I stay. Come and you will see.
“What are you looking for?” Jesus asked Andrew. “What are you looking for?” He asks you. “What are you looking for?” He asks me. No matter who or what you’re desiring at this time in your life, there is no one and nothing that will satisfy you like your relationship with Christ. Everything we need is ready and waiting for us in Jesus Christ – love, faith, wisdom, grace, patience, joy, peace, understanding, and all the other unsearchable riches He holds. In Jesus, we have everything we need right now for perfect happiness and fulfillment. So live as if every day is the best day of your life – because in Christ – it is!
2 Samuel 7: 1-5; 8b-12, 14a; Romans 16:25-27; Luke 1: 26-38
One simple, three letter, one syllable word – “YES.” And despite it being a simple, three letter, one syllable word, “YES” is one of the most powerful words in our vocabulary. “YES” can make things happen. “YES” can change lives.
A man and woman say "YES" to their marriage vows and the two become one. A man and woman say "YES" to life and they become a father and mother and their lives are never the same. Elected officials vote "YES" and war is declared or peace is established. A man says "YES" on the day of his ordination, and then, by his words, simple bread and wine are able to be transformed into the true presence of Christ. "YES” – simple, three letters, one syllable, but oh so powerful!
Across the heavens an angel races to Nazareth. “Do not be afraid . . . All things are possible with God,” he announces to a virgin. And sweeter than the song of an angel is her response: “YES . . . Let it be.” And this “YES,” uttered by a girl no older than fourteen years of age, living in a nondescript village in Galilee, was one of the most powerful words ever spoken in all of history. Her “YES” brought forth something truly marvelous. So marvelous, in fact, that we have been celebrating what happened because of her "YES" for more than 2,000 years. Her “YES”- more than a word that was powerful . . . her “YES” – more than just a word that caused something marvelous . . . her “YES” – so powerful . . . so marvelous . . . that it brought about a miracle! Mary of Nazareth changed the world forever when she offered her simple “YES” to the angel Gabriel and agreed to give birth to the Son of God. Because of her “YES,” God entered our world, died for our sins, and opened wide the gates of heaven.
Mary said “YES” at such a tender age. She said “YES” to having God’s son, not knowing the heartache that could occur. She said “YES, trusting in the Lord’s love and yet having no idea what that could look like. How could she know that saying “YES to God included a pierced heart and unspeakable sorrow, and at the same time, saying “YES” meant such tender love for a child so dear?
Today, God asks for our assent to many things. He asks us to be people of faith and people of conviction who live out the truth of what we believe. He asks us to take up our cross daily and follow him. He asks us to love one another as He has loved us. And he asks us to forgive one another seventy times seven times. But God asks something even greater of us. He asks for our “YES” to do the same thing he asked of Mary: to give birth to Jesus to our world today.
For we are all meant to be mothers of God. What good is it if this eternal birth of the divine Son of God took place two thousand years ago, but does not take place within ourselves? And, what good is it for Mary to give birth to the Son of God if we do not also give birth to him in our time and our culture? Incarnation is an ongoing and steady process, not just an historic event. But, like Mary, we are given the gift of choice. We can say yes to a creative, generative, transformative calling or we can shrink in self-doubt, discouragement or fear.
How can this miracle take place in us? It can only when we follow Mary’s example:
First, we need to be silent . . . We need to wait . . . We need to be attentive . . . We need to listen. We need to be persons of prayer who are aware that prayer is not a one-way monologue (ours), but that we need to carve out a time and a place in our daily lives to break away from the din of our noisy world and our all too busy lives - to listen . . . to hear the messages of angels that reveal God’s Word and Will.
Second, we need faith. We need to trust that God’s in charge . . . that he knows what He’s doing . . . that His will for goodness WILL be done. We need to believe that our lives have purpose and that, despite our lowliness, God sees something good in each one of us and that He can use us to make His Son alive in our world through our testimony and through our example that proclaim that His kingdom is at hand . . . right here . . . right now
Third, we need humility. We need to acknowledge that it’s not just about us . . . our wants . . . our plans . . . our success. There’s something greater, and sometimes we need to abandon our plans, our dreams, our desires to put God and His purposes first. We need, like Mary, to acknowledge that we are mere handmaids of the Lord.
And fourth, we need to strive to be blameless. We can’t be sinLESS, as Mary was, but we can all strive to be less sinFULL. Purity of mind, heart and soul become the fitting womb for Jesus to grow and be nurtured in. They become the manger where others - shepherds, kings and all who travel long and winding roads to Bethlehem can find our new-born Savior.
We are called to incarnate Christ in our lives, to clothe our lives with him, so that people can see him in us, touch him in us, recognize him in us. We can and do become bearers of the Son of God when we are:
Bearers of Love - when it’s so much easier to put a wall of indifference around ourselves to protect us from being hurt.
Bearers of Mercy - when it’s so much easier to harbor grudges.
Bearers of Peace - when revenge is oh so satisfying.
Bearers of the Light of Truth – when we’re counter-cultural and live the values of the Gospel, when it’s so much easier just to go with the flow.
Bearers of Compassion – when we feed the hungry and thirsty, clothe the naked, welcome the stranger, and look after the needs of the ill, when it is so much easier to look out for our own self-interests.
Saying “YES”, consenting for the Son of God to be born in us and through us to an often self-center world that seeks pleasure in things, believes that might makes right and is content with “truth” that is relative, may be hard, uncomfortable and risky. But it was to an adolescent virgin two thousand years ago too.
BUT if we say “YES” to what God asks of us, then good things happen. God’s kingdom grows a little bit more visible in our world. God’s compassion and love touch the hurting. Jesus Christ takes on flesh in us and continues to walk this earth.
Our “YES” to God in things both big and small makes good things happen. Our “YES” to God, makes Christmas happen today. It allows us to share Mary’s vocation in bringing to birth Emmanuel, “God with us.” Our “YES” allows Jesus to be born into our world anew, not for one moment in history, but every day and for all time.
Once there was a man named Bo who was beloved by God. God blessed Bo abundantly with a loving family, good health, close friends, multiple talents, a successful career. And in turn, Bo loved God and responded to all God had given him through his abiding faith, consistent hope, and pervading love. Bo was gentle, humble, simple, ever-cheerful, witty and wise. He was a teacher and possessed eloquence in speech and had the ability to make the most complex of concepts uncomplicated and understandable.
One day, Bo told his students that they need not fear Satan nor be enamored by his power, for only God is the all-powerful One and, in fact, Satan possesses no power, except that which we give him. Satan heard what Bo had said and became outraged. He said to God, “Did you hear what he said? How dare him!! He thinks I have no power? Let me teach him a lesson. Let me show him the power that I possess. Let me destroy him by taking away all that you have blessed him with. Then he will kneel before me in terror at the awesome command and control I wield over him and all mortal creatures.” And God responded, “Let it be as you request. Tempt him, torment him, attack him if you wish. But you may not take his life.”
And so, Satan unleashed his fury on Bo. He took away his family. He destroyed his career. His good name and reputation were stripped from him. His body became distorted and grotesque. His legs were infested with painful oozing, foul-smelling wounds and became crippled. He felt totally alone in the world, abandoned by his friends, alienated from his students. But never from God. God sent him a prophet who told Bo that he was a raging river that had flowed into a desert. And when a river flows into a desert it needs to choose whether to dry up or rise above the desert and be transformed.
Satan’s attack was relentless and lasted not days, nor weeks, nor months, but years. Finally, Satan appeared to Bo and said, “I have destroyed you. I have taken away from you everything that was important to you, everything you valued in your life. You have nothing. You are nothing. What have you to say about my power now? Have you learned?”
Bo responded, “Yes, I have learned indeed. I have learned how fleeting things like worldly happiness and riches are, and so I seek instead the riches of the Kingdom of God. I have learned the value of a true friend from having none. I have learned that, though in the eyes of the world I may be nothing, I am a child of God and THAT is what gives my life value and meaning. From my body being crippled and filled with pain, I have learned compassion for others. From being stripped of my reputation, I have learned to depend solely on Him who was stripped of his clothing at the cross on Calvary. From carrying my cross, I have learned that my only strength comes from Him who bore His cross. From my life being destroyed, I have learned greater love and appreciation for Him whose life was destroyed for me. And I have learned to rise above the desert from Him who rose from the tomb. Yes, I have learned, but perhaps not the lesson you intended.”
Then the voice of God was heard, “Get away from him, Satan, for you have lost your battle. For through your trickery and deceptions you may have taken away what the world views as treasure, you have not been able to take away from him what in my eyes is gold. His faith has not diminished but grown stronger. His hope, though shaken at times, was never lost, and he has never ceased loving Me or loving others, even to the point of having mercy on those who turned their back on him.” And turning to Bo he said, “My Son, your faith has saved you! Be healed!! Behold, I make all things new!!!”
What I’ve just read to you is a parable. A parable is a short story, drawn from everyday life, to teach a religious truth or a moral principal. The “everyday life” this parable was taken from . . . is mine . . . I, Bruce Olsen, am BO.
Rise above the desert and be transformed! . . . It’s tough! Why? Because it means, as much as you would want to, you can’t do it alone. You’ve got to LET GO & LET GOD!
The first time I ever heard that expression was in a book entitled, The Gift of Hope by Cardinal Joseph Bernadine that I brought with me to pass the hours as I sat in the waiting room of Sloan Kettering Hospital where my Mom was to have a tumor removed from her pancreas. Her surgeon had told my father and me that the operation should take five hours and, afterwards, he would come out to the waiting room to let us know how the surgery went. But if we see should see him in less time than that, the news would not be good.
As I read, I came to the part of the book where Cardinal Bernadine talked about his own battle with pancreatic cancer and that the hardest lesson he had to learn was to “Let go and let God.” When I read that, it touched me and I closed my eyes and repeated over and over to myself, “Let go and let God . . . Let go and let God . . . Let go and let God.” When I opened my eyes, the first sight I saw was the doctor walking towards me, only an hour and a half after the surgery began.
Let go and let God . . . It’s a lesson I learned again in 2010 when, within the span of three short months, I had lost my father, my job at Bergen Catholic and my health.
"Let go and let God" were the words I repeated to myself this past August 2nd as I lie in the ER at Hackettstown Medical Center and was told that I had a sepsis infection, that my blood pressure was dangerously low and that when the blood pressure is that low, the organs in the body begin to shut down. “Am I going to die,” I asked? I didn’t get a “yes” or “no” answer. All the doctor would say was, “I’m so glad you came to the hospital today.” . . . Let go and let God!
What does LETTING GO & LETTING GOD mean? It means following God's lead without knowing where he's sending you; It means waiting for God's timing without knowing when it will come; It means expecting a miracle without knowing how God will accomplish it; It means trusting God's purpose without understanding the circumstances. It means giving up what is beyond your control to embrace what you yourself cannot change.
Why is it difficult to let go? Because letting go equals surrender. The definition of surrender is “to yield to the power, control, or possession of another.” In other words, you stop fighting a battle you can’t win and turn it over to the One who can. You yield to God’s power and control and stop attempting those things by yourself. But surrender is not defeat. Surrender can bring about victory. If you have any doubts about that, just look at the cross.
Letting go and letting God involves trust - trusting that God is in the midst of every situation, and all is well; trusting God to work things out, in his own perfect time, in his own perfect way what we can’t accomplish with our own hands, desires, plans or worries; trusting that “God’s got this.”
Today is the Feast of Christ the King. Today we acknowledge and acclaim that our King is supreme, eternal, all-powerful, all-knowing, ever-present. Our King - loving, kind, good, beneficent, merciful!
If we truly believe this, how can we not let go and let Him? How can we not put our struggles, our worries, our pain, our losses, our hurts, OUR FUTURE into his hands. How can we not trust Him – He who made the blind see, the deaf hear, cripples walk and lepers clean . . . He who cast out the demons in people’s lives and raised the dead to life . . . He who not only calmed the storms on the Sea of Galilee, but also those in the lives of all who believed in Him . . . He who took care of the physical needs of the five thousand who came to hear Him by doing the seemingly impossible by multiplying a scant number of loaves and fish . . . He who forgave the woman caught in adultery and even those who crucified Him . . . He who demonstrated his deep, eternal and unconditional love by dying for us . . . He who gives us His sacred Body and Blood to be intimately one with us - to hear us, to look kindly, lovingly, mercifully, generously upon us, and to hold us in the palm of his nail-scarred but mighty hands and transform our lives, turn sadness to joy, worry to confidence, tragedy to success, doubt to assurance, hopelessness to victory. Yes, if we are the people of faith that we hope to be, how can we not, LET GO AND LET GOD!
And so, once again I hear the voice within telling me to let go and let God. To let go of that which is familiar, comfortable and deeply loved by me, to move on and become a “stranger in a strange land” and transfer to St. Kateri in Sparta. It was a difficult decision. And, as I look out at all of you, it’s more incredibly difficult than I ever could have imagined. It’s hard to leave the place that’s been my spiritual home for 44 years and you – who are more than just parishioners . . . more than just friends . . . but are my family. But all through my life, I’ve tried to do what God has asked me to do, to follow our King wherever He leads me, wherever He wants me to go, even when I don’t clearly understand the “wheres and the whys.”
So, thank you. Thank you for who you are. Thank you for all you have done for me. Thank you for supporting me. Thank you for giving so much to me, loving me, shaping me to be the man, the person of faith, the deacon I am today. Although I leave, you will never be far from me, for you will always be as close to me as my heart.
Nineteen and a half years ago I first stood in this sanctuary as your deacon. On that day, I asked Robin to sing a song whose words said everything that I hoped I would accomplish in my ministry:
May I be His love for you
May I lift your eyes towards heaven
May I call to you and lead you to His heart
May I cry His tears for you
May I be the place that you can run to
Where you'll hear His voice
And see Him with your eyes
All your life
May I be His love.
I can only hope and pray that I was. God bless you.
Monday, September 14, 2020
A REFLECTION WHILE WALKING
As I continue rehabbing at home, everyday Raphael and I (I've named my walker) take a stroll up and down the four houses that make up the cluster of homes attached to my townhouse. Sometimes Raphael and I spend the time engaged in conversation; sometimes I pray; sometimes I use the time to reflect. Today was a reflection day. Here's what I came up with:
It's a struggle to go uphill; it's a lot easier going downhill or along level ground. Isn't that true also of life? It's really tough when we face the uphill moments in our life. Like me during my walk, we often wonder if we will ever reach where we want to go or where life is taking us. We sweat out those moments - our hearts race; we get weary. But the thing I've learned during my walks is that every hill is followed by a stretch of level ground or even a downhill slope that is refreshing and allows me to breath easier, relax my muscles and appreciate where I'm at. The uphill struggle was worth it - It made me stronger; it made me more appreciative; it gave me a sense of accomplishment. Same thing with the uphill struggles of life, don't you think?
When I walk, I look down - I don't look up at how far I still have to go. Sometimes I'll even stop and look back. In not looking up, I don't get discouraged at how far I still have to go. In looking down, I appreciate where I'm at. And in looking back, I celebrate how far I've come. I find this is also true about my rehabilitation. I can't look up, because sadly, I still have a long way to go. So many people have asked me the question that I ask myself everyday. When can I return to church - to the ministry . . . to the parishioners I love. The answer is, I don't know yet, and I've learned that to look up the hill that I'm climbing and to see how far I still have to go in my rehabilitation is discouraging. It's not where I want to be . . . It's not where I thought I would be. So, I've learned to look down and back. Looking down, I appreciate where I'm at in my rehabilitation; looking back I'm excited about how far I've come. Even though I'm not where I would hope to be, everyday I'm feeling better, getting stronger, and have more stamina.
Perhaps the walk that Raphael and I took today and the truth I discovered for myself might have meaning for you too. What are your uphill struggles? Discouraged by how far you still have to go before you're at where you want to be . . . who you want to be? Is the walk that you're now walking tiring, perhaps even painful - physically, emotionally, financially, spiritually? Don't look up. Don't look at how far you are from where you want to be - free from your problem, your pain, so far from the goal you've set for yourself, the success you desire. Instead, look down and look back. Appreciate where you're at right now and celebrate how far you've come.
I am so appreciative of all the prayers you've said for me and I humbly ask that you continue to pray for me. Likewise, your comments and messages 0n Facebook and the texts and cards you’ve sent mean so much to me and give me the motivation to continue as I pick up my cross daily and strive to follow in the footsteps of our Lord. God bless you!
I was suppose to preach today but I've been under the weather for the past few days. But I wanted to share with you just a thought which would have been the basis for my homily. In the First Reading from the First Book of Kings, God tells King Solomon to ask for anything and it will be granted to him. Solomon asks for an understanding heart. What would you ask for?
In our Gospel from Matthew, Jesus gives us the Parable of the Pearl of Great Price. A man finds this buried treasure, hides it again and sells everything he has to buy the field so that the pearl will be his. What is your pearl of great price? What would you be willing to stake everything you have to possess?
When I was younger, I guess things like fame, success, wealth and health, a loving wife and a happy home with lots of kids would have been pearls that caught my eye, the things I would have cashed it all in to possess. But maybe, like Solomon, with age somehow I got what he got, an understanding heart - a heart which finally understands what really matters in life.
I came across this song this week. It simply, beautifully and emphatically conveys how I would answer our Lord if today he asked me the question he asked Solomon . . . what to me is the one thing I would stake everything on . . . what to me is the pearl of great price.
Wisdom 12:13, 16-19; Romans 8:26-27; Matthew 13:24-43
Everybody loves a good story, and summertime is a great time for “spinning a yarn” We make them up as we go along on a road trip. We share scary stories around a campfire. We tell humorous and sometimes embarrassing stories during family reunions. Jesus was a master storyteller. Today, we find ourselves in the middle of a three-week cycle where Jesus presents us with stories for a summer Sunday. But his stories weren’t meant to be just cute little stories that entertained his disciples on a hot afternoon. These are parables, meant to teach, to enrich, to confound, and to challenge the disciples . . . and us . . . to grow.
Today we hear the parable of the wheat and the tares. Tares were a poisonous weed called the "bearded darnel." In the early stages of growth, the tares so closely resembled wheat that it wasn’t possible to distinguish one from the other. By the time they were distinguishable, the roots of the wheat and tares were so entangled that it wasn’t possible to weed out the tares without uprooting the wheat. It was essential to let them both grow together and then separate them at harvest time because darnel is quite bitter and mildly toxic.
In the parable, a farmer sowed good seed in his field, but in the night an enemy came and sowed tares with the wheat. When the crop began to mature, it became obvious that the noxious weed had been sown with the wheat. The servants offered to pull up the tares, but the wise farmer said: "No, let them both grow together until harvest time. Then we will separate the tares from the wheat."
The parable raises some important questions concerning the existence of evil - questions I’m sure you’ve asked at some time or another, and if you’re like me, questions you might currently be trying to come to grips with. Questions like: if all God created was good, how did evil enter the world? Why does good and evil exist side by side in the world? Why is it very difficult sometimes to distinguish evil from good? Will there ever be an end of evil? Can evil be prevented?
And the answers that it gives us might not exactly be the ones we wanted to hear: that we live in an imperfect world where evil is present as an unavoidable part of life; that there are evil persons and evil situations which we cannot change; and that there’s an evil force in the world which is beyond our power to fix. But that all of these will be properly handled in the end by God who alone has the wisdom, the power, and the right to judge.
How very often, we are like the servants in today’s gospel. To us there’s no room for the weeds; there’s no room for those whose sexual conduct is embarrassing or whose ethics are questionable; there’s no room for those who treat people unkindly or who have committed shameful sins. Something has to be done immediately! Yank the weeds and cut the losses!
But the sower of the good seed has a different course of action in mind - "Do nothing," he says. Nothing! Leave both grow together until harvest time. It’s shocking to consider that God lets evil people damage our world and damage our Church. And what’s more, God seems to do nothing to stop the actions of murderers, rapists, robbers, abusers, liars, cheats, embezzlers, adulterers, racists, bigots and criminals of every sort. They often prosper and frequently avoid human punishment.
Whereas the servants in today’s parable, and we, are preoccupied with weeds, the sower is preoccupied with wheat. The sower is not so much interested in condemnation as he is in transformation. Most of us would want to weed out a liar, cheat and a thief, but if did, we would weed out Jacob, the son of Isaac and the father of the 12 tribes of Israel. Most would want to eliminate an adulterer and murderer, but if we did, we would get rid of King David. Most would want to weed out a corrupt young carouser whose drinking and womanizing caused great heartache for his mother. But if such a man were weeded out, we would have eliminated St. Augustine. Unlike God, we cannot know people’s hearts; where their lives might take them, or their potential for good. We are sinners living among sinners and we cannot judge too harshly and condemn too quickly. All the evidence isn’t in and the game is far from over.
There’s a danger in today’s parable and that danger lies in taking an “us” and “them” attitude: to identifies ourselves as the wheat and those guilty of serious sins or horrific crimes as the weeds. But we need to realize that every act of ours, every thought, word and deed of ours - is a seed. Our minds and hearts, our words and deeds are the seed bag from which we sow ourselves in the lives of those around us, in the world around us and in our own lives, too.
If your seed bag is anything like mine, it holds seeds for a good harvest and it holds seeds for weeds. It holds the seeds of my good will, my good intentions and my desire to lives as I know God calls me to live. And my seed bag also holds the seeds of my jealousy, my anger, and my selfishness. Jesus calls each of us to take great care in what we sow, lest we plant weeds that choke and cut short the growth and life of all around us. So we need to ask ourselves, in the week just past, how many seeds have I planted: how many seeds that hurt, how many seeds that heal? And in the week ahead how many seeds will I plant: how many seeds that hurt, how many seeds that heal?
Jesus allowed himself to be the seed that dies that others might have life. He allowed himself to be, sown, planted in the earth that he might raise up in a harvest of God’s grace and peace, for us. And that harvest is what he shares with us at the altar in the Eucharist: the harvest of wheat, become bread, become his Body for us; the harvest of grapes, become wine, become his Blood for us.
May the seeds of grace Jesus plants in our minds and hearts today yield a harvest of grace, a garden of blessings, leading each of us to sow the seeds of life and to reap the harvest the Lord desires.
Isaiah 55: 10-11; Romans 8: 18-23; Matthew 13: 1-23
The power that simple words have in our lives! Our whole lives can be radically changed, in an instant, by the words we hear . . . words like:
“I love you.”
“The news isn’t good.”
“I forgive you.”
"Will you marry me?"
“You’re safe now.”
“You got the job.”
“Mom, Dad, I’m gay”
“You’re pregnant.”
"I have good news.” “I have bad news.”
“I’m sorry.”
"Are you ok?"'
"Just go away."
"Let me help you."
“She’s gone. He’s gone.”
“It’s a boy.” “It’s a girl.” “It’s twins.”
"I want a divorce."
“You’re beautiful.”
“It’s cancer.”
“I will."
“I won’t.”
“I did."
“I didn’t.”
“Can we talk?”
“I need you.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Not now, not yet.”
“Good-bye.”
None of those phrases was more than four words in length but each of them can make a lifetime of difference. Perhaps the only thing more powerful than the words we hear is their absence . . . silence . . . especially that silence in which we wait and hunger and hope for a word to be spoken.
God knows so well how important and powerful are words in our lives. And so God spoke his Word to us in Jesus, the Word of God become flesh. The parable of the sower and the seed is all about hearing and rooting one’s life in the power of God’s Word, and of allowing the seed of God’s Word to take root and flourish in our lives. Believers listen for God’s Word and seek to live by it. So the question the parable poses for us is: Are we believers? Are you? Am I?
Do I believe in the word of God? Do I listen for God’s word? Do I believe God speaks to me? Do I believe God speaks to his people through the Church? Do I believe that people in my life who truly love me and care about me speak God’s word to me?
And when God seems to be silent, do I wait? Do I wait to hear God’s voice, God’s word? Do I want to hear the word God speaks to me? Do I invite the seed of God’s word to take root in my heart?
Am I careful to weed and prune the garden of my life lest the seeds of God’s Word be choked or carried away by my own desires and distractions, by my own word?
Do I hope for, do I pray for, do I look for a fruitful harvest of God’s Word in my life?
I began my homily with a number of powerful words that might change our lives, words we speak to each other. Every word God speaks to us is even more powerful and it might be helpful to remember some of the words that God speaks to every single one of us . . . words like:
“I created you.”
“I love you.”
“I call you by name.”
“You are mine.”
“I am yours.”
“I desire your happiness.”
“I forgive you.”
"Come to me."
“Do not be afraid.”
“Do what is good.”
"Avoid what is evil."
“Love what is just.”
“Come follow me."
"I will give you rest."
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Not now. Not yet.”
“I am with you, always.”
God speaks all of these words in the lives of all of us and God is faithful to every Word that comes from his lips. Remember the Lord’s word in the First Reading this morning: “The word that goes forth from my mouth shall not return to me void - but shall do my will, achieving the end for which I sent it” . . . God’s word is effective: but often on God’s schedule, not ours.
And God calls us. God calls each of us to be ever so careful and gentle and strong and compelling in the words we speak to one another, mindful of how powerful can be the words that spill from our mouths, from yours and from mine
The Lord has spoken to us today in the Word of Sacred Scripture and now we go to the altar of sacrifice, to remember there the words he spoke to us on the night before he died. To this very day, some 2,000 years later, the words of Jesus have power to change our simple gifts of bread and wine and make of them his Body and Blood.
And his words have power, to this very day, to change us, to change our lives and to make of us a rich harvest of the truth of the word he has planted . . . within us and among us.
Zechariah 9: 9-10; Romans 8: 9. 11-13; Matthew 11: 25-30
My father was born in 1917, part of what has become known as “The Greatest Generation.” He lived through the Great Depression and fought in World War II. I think those two events played a significant role in shaping my father’s personality. He was a patriot, politically conservative and financially frugal. Similarly, I guess me growing up in the 1960’s and 1970’s has influenced my personality and the optimistic and idealistic lens through which I view life. Where he was a realist, I am very much a dreamer.
My dad was the wisest person I have ever known. Not only “book smart,” he had a tremendous dose of common-sense mixed in. As is true with most dad’s, he was great at giving advice, whether asked for or not. I remember him telling me, more than once, that there are no guarantees in life, and if something seems too good to be true, then it’s too good to be true. Naturally, as is typical of most fathers and sons, we sometimes didn’t see eye to eye about things. And in looking back, I have to admit, there isn’t one argument that I ever recall winning. His intelligence, common sense and realism gave him a wisdom that I didn’t have then and probably still don’t possess. Father really did Know Best . . . Until today.
In our gospel this morning, we hear what could be the most loving, reassuring, uplifting thing Jesus ever said that’s been recorded in Sacred Scripture: “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.” That’s a guarantee you can take to the bank! That’s something that may seem too good to be true, but it is true!
Are you worn out physically? Maybe you’re carrying in your body a devastating illness or suffering aches and pains or broken bones. Or are you just plain tired? Jesus’ invitation is for you.
Do you feel burdened or weary in a relationship? Perhaps a friendship has been severed or maybe really rocky and you don’t know if things will ever be the same between you and someone you really trusted and whose company you enjoyed. Jesus’ invitation is for you.
Are you grieving . . . grieving the death of someone you loved very much? Or maybe feel the loss of someone who moved away, physically or emotionally? Do you grieve the loss of a home or a job or that life just isn’t the same as it used to be? Jesus’ invitation is for you.
Are you carrying the burden of someone else’s pain - someone you’re caring for, or someone you are praying for? Or do you feel the sadness of the world’s sufferings? Jesus’ invitation is for you.
Are you stressed out? Burned out? Do you feel like there’s not enough time in the day and that you’re being stretched to the limits, that balancing work and home and family isn’t just tricky, it’s also taxing? Jesus’ invitation is for you.
Are you feeling a sense of hopelessness that, despite lockdowns, quarantines, social distancing, and hiding our faces behind masks, the coronavirus just doesn’t seem to be going away? The loss of jobs and livelihoods is devastating. Is the inability to meet face to face, to congregate, to embrace, to comfort, and to console in person a deep, aching loss in your life? Has the shutting down of so much and the staying inside so long become a burden that you don’t know how much longer you can carry? Is the political and social unrest in our country adding to the already heavy burden you carry? Jesus’ invitation is for you.
“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.”
To come to Jesus and find to find rest is to find a place of healing and wholeness, and the assurance that God will not abandon us. But, in order to receive rest, inner harmony, contentment - peace within ourselves and peace with the world around us - there’s one catch . . . We need to remember to come . . . to seek Jesus . . . to unburden ourselves in him. And the awesome and amazing thing is that we don’t have to come before him as people who are somehow spotless and perfect. No, we come as we are. Just as we are. Jesus welcomes our vulnerability.
In Jesus Christ, we are truly at rest, truly at peace. The vacation places we might travel this summer to get away from it all to achieve a sense of peace within ourselves might be hours and miles away. But Jesus, the true source of peace, is always near, not offering us the temporary fix, the momentary relief of our burdens and struggles for a week or two, as vacations do until we return to life as usual, but true, abundant and lasting peace. On vacations we pack suitcase upon suitcase of all the things we think we will need. In coming to Jesus, there’s only one thing we need to bring – trust . . . trust in his love . . . trust that he is who he claims to be . . . trust that he can do what he has promised to do.
When someone dies, we often pray that they “rest in peace.” What are we really saying when we pray for someone to “rest in peace?” It is our prayer, our wish, our hope, that, for all eternity, they may be relieved of the burdens that beset them in this life simply by being in the presence of God, God who himself is peace. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we sought that peace, not just at the end of life, but in the midst of life? We can, you know. It’s available to us. And the way we achieve it is the same way it’s achieved at the end of life – by putting ourselves into the presence of God – totally, completely, without reserve in the here and now. Peace is an attribute of God, as is love and joy. And when we place ourselves in the presence of God, when we unburden ourselves and rest within his presence, we can’t help but feel that of which is God – his love, his joy, his peace.
Just as death is a handing over to God that which is beyond our control, to achieve the rest that Jesus offers us similarly involves surrender. Come to Jesus and unburden yourself from trying to going it all alone, doing it all by yourself. You can’t. He can. Take on the easy yoke of his way. In place of the expectations that you place upon yourself and those that society places on you - to be this . . . to achieve that . . . to do what everyone else is doing . . . to measure up to its ever-changing standards – come to him for his burden is light.
Come to him . . . take upon yourself the yoke of his Word, the example of his life, the teachings of the Church. Come to him in prayer, through the sacraments, in Eucharistic Adoration and he will be found – the God of peace - who offers himself, and offers his peace, to all who enter his presence and allow him to touch them with his loving embrace that heals, forgives and unburdens.
He offers us hope in his words. He shows us forgiveness in the Sacrament of Reconciliation and proclaims that we are not defined by our past. He unites us with himself and his Church as we share at his table. He affirms and supports us through our fellow Christians. He reveals the attitude and approach we should take to living. He teaches us how to be in a life-giving relationship with God and with others.
“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.”
There are no guarantees in life? If something seems too good to be true then it’s too good to be true? Sorry dad. This is one argument you’re not going to win.
