Solemnity of Christ the King

TESTIFYING TO THE TRUTH

The Solemnity of Christ the King (Year B)

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

In today’s Gospel, the Solemnity of Christ the King, the culmination of the Liturgical Year of the Church, Jesus is confronted by Pilate regarding His kingship. In the end, He revealed Himself as the one who will testify to the truth. He is the King of Truth. When Jesus was hanged on the cross, Pilate placed the inscription INRI above His head. It stands for Isus Nazarenus Rex Iudareum, Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews. Maybe, for Pilate, Jesus was King of the Jews. But he was mistaken. Jesus was the King of the Universe, the King of Kings.

This shouldn’t be hard for us to believe. For us, Christians, this should be an obvious fact. Throughout this year, beginning with Advent, to Easter, and the rest of the year, Jesus has been depicted as a good prophet, priest and king. Jesus loved us, His flock, Jesus would always defend us, His people. Jesus will never forsake us, His beloved. Jesus is King.

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

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

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

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

What are the characteristics of truth? What are its distinguishing properties? What’s the truth about truth?

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

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

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

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

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

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

For us as Christians truth has been revealed in Jesus Christ. We’ve heard that truth proclaimed in the Scriptures during this liturgical year of 2021 and we’ve seen that truth lived out and embodied in the actions of Jesus. Today, Jesus tells Pilate he is not a king with armies and territories. “My kingdom is not here.” Rather Jesus is the king who reigns in the hearts of all those who see life as he saw life and who live life according to his Gospel. Truth is not relative, truth is found in Jesus Christ.

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

Not only was Jesus born to testify to the truth, so were you. Truth needs a voice. God wants to use you to speak truth. Can we stand for the truth as Jesus does? Can we belong to the truth as he does? Can we tell and keep telling the beautiful, hard, cutting, joy-filled, pain-filled, powerfully undeniable stories we know to be true about this Jesus, this Jesus whose very identity is Truth, and whose best expression of power is surrender? This is what it means to be a subject of Christ the King. This is what it means to be a citizen of the kingdom not of this world. To live in any other way is treason!

The King of Kings and Lord of Lords has created you for a very special purpose. He means to establish his reign in the throne of your heart, and from there, to rule the universe. May his kingdom come in you, and his will be done through you, until it is completed both on earth and in heaven. And may his truth set you free . . . the truth about who He is and what He taught . . . the truth about what is right and good, beautiful, moral, blameless, faultless and beyond reproach.

WHAT GOD CREATES, GOD LOVES,

AND WHAT GOD LOVES,

GOD LOVES EVERLASTINGLY

A Bereavement Service Homily

All Souls Day

“What God creates, God loves, and what God loves, God loves everlastingly.”

Today we pause to remember our loved ones who have parted from our midst in the course of the last year, as well as those whose passing occurred at an earlier time but whose loss is still so keenly felt by us as if it were just yesterday. We stop and contemplate their lives as they lived among us. And we acknowledge our pain and our need for God's grace and comfort.

“If you have ever lost someone very important to you, then you already know how it feels, and if you haven’t, you cannot possibly imagine it.” That quote is from the opening paragraph of the first book of A Series of Unfortunate Events. The author, who writes dark tales for children under the pen name “Lemony Snicket,” explains that this is how the Baudelaire children felt when they became the Baudelaire orphans after both their parents died in a house fire.

Those words of how difficult it is to convey a sense of loss fit with today’s gospel reading. Martha is hurt when she sees Jesus. She says, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Then she calls for her sister Mary who repeats that same accusation, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

If I had continued reading our Gospel further, we would have heard John tells us that, “When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, ‘Where have you laid him?’ They said to him, ‘Lord, come and see.’”

Then, in that shortest verse in the Bible, we are told that “Jesus wept.”

Jesus, the Son of God, weeps at the grave of his friend. We too weep over the graves of those we love. This evening, at this bereavement service, we remember those we love who have died. That remembrance comes with love and joy-filled memories, but it also comes with sorrow.

It is a sorrow that doesn’t go away. Real grief stays with you. In fact, not only can one not expect grief to go away completely, we also shouldn’t want it to because grief reflects our sense of commitment and love that we had for the person. And so, we pray - not for an end to the grief - but for an unbearable sense of loss to be replaced by a sorrow we can bear. And in this, we are helped by the hope of the resurrection.

Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” As we approach the death of a loved one, our faith informs and transforms our view of it. They are not gone . . . only the body dies, the spirit lives with God and goes home to be with Jesus. They have gone home, home to where they are welcomed and forgiven and loved . . . loved more than we could ever imagine. Grief is NOT a lack of trust or faith. We can and do experience profound grief and still believe deeply that our loved ones are at home with God. They are two different things. One is our response to our loss . . . the other to their gain.

As I mentioned earlier, the author of A Series of Unfortunate Events, writes, “If you have ever lost someone very important to you, then you already know how it feels, and if you haven’t, you cannot possibly imagine it.” That’s so true, but scripture tells us that in Jesus, God knows how it feels because Jesus experienced real grief. “Jesus wept.” The shortest line in Scripture, but also perhaps the most profound, because it reminds us that God can identify with our experience, that in becoming human, God was and is with us in Jesus in a way that caused him to experience the depths of human pain and loss. God can readily imagine grief because he himself has known that pain firsthand.

God is not distant and reserved. God is close, caring, and compassionate. Scripture tells us that the time is coming when God will wipe away every tear from our eyes and when even death itself will be defeated. Yet, in the here and now, there are many tragedies, personal and even national or international, which cause people to question their faith.

In all these cases one hears people ask, “Where is God?” And the answer is “with us.” God was there when the towers fell on September 11, 2001. God was there when wildfires recently torched our western states. God was there with the people of Afghanistan in the midst of their sufferings at the hands of the Taliban. God is with us as we still deal with the Covid-19 pandemic. God is there in the tragedies, large and small that have us wondering why. God is there in the midst of suffering, present with those in pain, as one who learned the depths of human suffering while living among us.

Knowing that Christ knows how it feels to experience the death of a loved one, we can hear more clearly Jesus call to put away the fear of death. Jesus calls “Come Out!” Come out from the grave. Grief is real, but that loss is not the end. Don’t let grief overwhelm you. Grab hold of the sure and certain hope of the resurrection that comes through faith in Jesus Christ.

Jesus said, “Unbind him and let him go” to those around Lazarus, and he says the same to us. We are to be unbound, set free from the power of death. For even as we find death in life, we find life in death. We know that Jesus is resurrection and life, and those of us who believe in him, even if we die, we will live.

“What God creates, God loves, and what God loves, God loves everlastingly.”

If you remember nothing else from this evening, remember that. “What God creates, God loves, and what God loves, God loves everlastingly.” I hope you will listen closely to those words, cling to them, and let them sink deeply into your life and into your heart. Let them echo through this evening and carry you into the next. They speak an eternal truth: that the love of God is a love that extends beyond the grave and transcends time and space. It is the love of the Creator who looked upon what he had created at the beginning of time and saw that it was good. It is the abundant and merciful love of the Father for his children. It is the profound love of the redeemer – the love whose depth was proven by his self-sacrifice on the cross. It is the love that now envelops our loved ones who now are embraced by the love, joy, peace, healing and mercy of the God they worshipped, loved, adored and served in this earthly life. It is the love that enfolds around each of us tonight and every night – the love of the God who hears our cries, sees our tears and knows the heartbreak in our hearts . . . the God whose goodness, kindness, love, mercy and compassion for us are without measure.

“What God creates, God loves, and what God loves, God loves everlastingly.”

 

CAN YOU DRINK THIS CUP?

The Twenty-Ninth Sunday of Ordinary Time (Year B)

Isaiah 53: 10-11; Hebrews 4:14-16; Mark 10: 35-45

For the past six weeks, our Gospel readings have focused on Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem, a journey that will ultimately lead to his death and resurrection. And the evangelist Mark has invited us along. The journey began with a question: “Who do people say I am?” And Jesus revealed that, yes, he is the longed-awaited Messiah, but not necessarily the Messiah that the people thought they were getting. Rather than the warrior king who would free Israel from the oppression of Rome, he was the savior who would free those who believed in him from the ravages of sin and death. And in the process, he would be rejected, suffer, be killed, but ultimately rise from the dead. But, as typical of Jesus, on the rest of the journey, Jesus doesn’t focus on himself, but on the Apostles . . . and on us . . . and on what it means to be a disciple of such a Messiah as he.

In the past weeks we’ve heard that discipleship means welcoming, accepting, the child, the poor, the sick, the outcast; it means avoiding sin and being examples of righteousness to others . . . that following him means not only obeying the commandments, but HIS law, which often goes above and beyond, and sometimes contradicts what is commonly accepted - the norm, the status quo. Jesus told them that discipleship involves sacrifice – it means leaving father and mother, sister and brother, personal riches, or whatever keeps you from accepting him wholeheartedly. And it means being a servant, rendering yourself to be the lowest of the low and minister to the needs of the hungry, the thirsty, the outcast, the naked, the ill.

Today, one other requirement for true discipleship is given: to drink the cup from which Jesus drinks - a cup that contains the bitter wine of suffering.

In today’s Gospel, we hear a bold request by the brothers, James and John: “Lord, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you!” It’s bold, indeed, but probably not much bolder than how you and I often pray. Don’t we find ourselves saying, “Lord, this is what I want. This is what I need. This is what I want you to do for me or for someone I love – and I’d really like you to do this for me now.”

And what were James and John asking for? To sit at the right and the left of Jesus when he enters his kingdom. In the culture of the time, to sit at the right or left hand of another meant to share in his power and prestige. And after all, didn’t they deserve it? They were faithful . . . they made the made the sacrifices . . . they left everything behind – families and careers to follow Jesus . . . FOR THREE YEARS! And they were special – they were among the three or four Apostles that saw things, heard things that Jesus didn’t reveal to the others. So, obviously, their commitment, their role as Apostles, was great, and they deserved the seats of honor and power. Right?

But Jesus knew the cost of having such a seat was great. It meant taking and drinking of the cup that he would drink – the cup of suffering. And he tells them that they really don’t know what they’re asking for. Are they willing to drink the cup of suffering that he’s about to drink? He wasn’t destined to be a powerful ruler the way earthly rulers are powerful. Rather, the cup he drinks is the cup of suffering, the cup of his blood poured out for others. The baptism with which he is baptized is his passion and death. Jesus’ cup and baptism point to the cross, the only earthly throne he will ever occupy. And having no idea in the world of what Jesus was talking about, James and John answered together, “We can!”

James and John agreed to face what Jesus was facing, to drink the cup and accept the baptism, but they hadn’t fully understood the challenges they would face. And, indeed, the prediction came true. James was martyred early in the life of the Church. John, preached the Gospel, was ultimately arrested for it, and was condemned to live a life in exile. Each, in his own way, gave up his own life to serve in obedience to God. Both drank the cup of Christ. Both chose to take the seats God prepared for them, seats of service and suffering that led to eternal life rather than the seats of honor they had sought.

Sometimes we’re like James and John. In our hearts and with our words, we freely commit ourselves to the Lord but often without a thought or a clue about the Cup - the Cup from which Jesus invites us to drink - the Cup of suffering. Although we worship every Sunday in the shadow of the Cross and eat the Bread and drink the Cup that proclaim his death until he comes again – we might still miss what James and John missed: that there is no following the Lord apart from a share in his suffering.

Discipleship is not about following the king to his castle, it’s about following him to his cross. This isn’t upward mobility. It’s downward mobility. Jesus is showing his disciples that true greatness isn’t found in climbing to the top and exercising power over others. Rather, true greatness is found in self-emptying, self-giving love. Unlike worldly rulers who lord it over others, Jesus tells his disciples, “Whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”

This is basically the Gospel in a nutshell and the spelling out of what the good news of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ means for his disciples. It’s still shocking . . . or at least it ought to be.

It’s amazing that Christians might ever imagine that somehow on account of their faith, they will escape suffering in this life – that we will experience heaven on earth. Rather, Jesus promises us just the opposite: if we would follow him and we will drink from his Cup, the Cup from which he himself prayed to be delivered on the night before he suffered and died, our lives will be lived, not in a Garden of Paradise, but, rather, in a Garden of Gethsemane

What kind of suffering is in the Cup Jesus offers us? His Cup holds more than the suffering that comes in every human life: the suffering of physical and emotional pain, the suffering disappointment, hurt, loss and grief. More than all that, the Cup Jesus offers us holds the suffering that comes: from being faithful to God’s word when that word asks more than I’m ready to give; from being faithful to God’s law of love when my beloved, my friend, offends me; from being faithful to God’s truth when a lie would be so much easier; from being faithful to God’s justice when some other deal would favor me; from being faithful to God when I think I know better, that I know more than God.

On the night before he died, Jesus gathered at table with his friends and knew the suffering that would be his on the next day and wanted to share with us the grace of the sacrifice he was about to make. He took bread, as his Body, and broke it for us. And he took wine, as his Blood, and poured it out for them and for us. The Cup of Suffering we’re invited to drink is made from the steel of the 10 commandments and the gold of Jesus’ gospel of love and mercy. The Cup of Suffering is filled with Blood of Jesus, his blood spilled on the Cross for us and given to mix and commingle with the blood of our daily lives. To drink from this Cup is to seal our Communion with the him and with one another.

"Can you drink of the cup of suffering from which I drink?" Jesus asks. Today, when you approach the altar to receive the Eucharist and do this in memory of him, your “Amen” is your “yes” to do just that.

LET YOUR LIGHT SHINE
The Diocesan Ministries Appeal
October 3, 2021

Once a pastor explained to his congregation that the church was in need of some extra money, so he asked them to consider being more than generous, offering whoever gave the most money the chance to pick three hymns.

After the collection basket was passed around the church, the pastor glanced down and noticed that someone had graciously offered up a total of $1,000. He was so excited that he immediately shared his joy with his congregation and said he’d like to personally thank the person who placed the money in the basket.

A very quiet, elderly, saintly lady in the back of the church shyly raised her hand. The pastor asked her to come to the front, so she slowly she made her way towards him.

The pastor told her how wonderful it was that she gave so much, and in thanks he told her that, as promised, she could pick out three hymns.

Her eyes brightened as she looked over the congregation and pointed: “I’ll take him and I'll take him and I'll take him.”

Sometime over the past two weeks you should have received a letter from Bishop Kevin in the mail asking you to consider giving a donation to the Diocese Paterson’s Annual Ministries Appeal. This year, the appeal is called, Let Your Light Shine.” The title is taken from a line in chapter five of Matthew’s Gospel where Jesus says, “You are the light of the world. A city set on a mountain cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and then put it under a bushel basket; it is set on a lampstand, where it gives light to all in the house. Just so, your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father”

And you do that! The light of your faith shines brightly by your attendance at Sunday mass, through your participation in the events and organizations of our parish, in your unselfish outreach to the community and through your generous weekly contributions to St. Kateri. Though other parishes struggled greatly to make ends meet as their contributions declined by tens of thousands of dollars during the pandemic, our didn’t and we were able to pay our bills, pay the salaries of the members of our parish staff, and continue to minister as we always did in happier, healthier and less fearful times thanks to you.

A lot of times, when people are asked to dig deep into their pockets and savings accounts and to contribute to this or that cause, their initial response is, “Charity begins at home and I need to take care of my own.” And that might have been your first thought after reading the bishop’s request.

But earlier in our Mass, during the Creed, we proclaimed that we believe in the ONE, HOLY, CATHOLIC and APOSTOIC Church. Did you ever stop and consider what that means?

When we say we are ONE, we are declaring that there is a unity between ourselves and with every other parishioner in every other parish within our diocese and throughout our world. We are one family, proclaiming the same God as our Father.

We are HOLY through our connection with Jesus, the Holy One, and when we follow his teachings and his way of life . . . when we follow him who said, “The Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom” and “the last shall be first and the first shall be last. The greatest among you is the one who serves.”

When declare we are CATHOLIC, we’re saying that the Church is universal and is open to all people – the rich and healthy and successful . . . and the poor and the ill and those down on their luck.

And we are APOSTOLIC through connection to the twelve Apostles, the ones Jesus commissioned to teach, to feed the hungry, to give drink to the poor, to welcome the stranger, to cloth the naked and to care for the sick in his name.

Yes, “Charity begins at home,” but we truly are members of the Church when our notion of home and family takes on a broader perspective than just the roof over our heads and the people who dwell within the same four walls.

You might ask, “What’s appealing about the Diocesan Annual Missions Appeal. If you decide to give, your contribution is far-reaching:

Pre-COVID, diocesan food pantries assisted between 5,000 to 7,000 people monthly. They are now seeing about 20,000 people come in each month as those in need continue to deal with the lingering impact of the coronavirus.

The diocese provides emergency housing and homelessness prevention, after-school mentoring and counseling programs for children, support for infants and toddlers with developmental delays, as well as support for children, from birth to 21 years of age with special health care needs.

For adults with developmental disabilities, the diocese maintains groups homes and employment training programs. For senior citizens, it provides bi-weekly groceries and in-home support for chores and minor home repairs. For veterans, the diocese provides outreach, advocacy, social work, temporary housing support, clothing and food.

The Diocese of Paterson also provides for drug and alcohol treatment: in-patient drug and alcohol detoxification, a halfway house for men, residential addiction treatment for pregnant women and support for mothers of young children struggling with addiction. Last year, the Appeal provided over $319,000 directly to Straight and Narrow to assist in their rebuilding efforts after the massive fire in August of 2019.

The Diocesan Ministries Appeal also helps fund seminarian education and supports priests’ extraordinary healthcare needs as well as Nazareth Village, our diocesan priests’ retirement residence in Chester.

Be assured that the funds raised through the Diocesan Ministries Appeal are used only for these goals. They are used for no other purpose and are never forwarded to any other local diocese or archdiocese. The funds raised in the Paterson Diocese stay in the Paterson Diocese.

St. Kateri’s goal for this year’s Diocesan Missions Appeal is $33,022. But here’s the good news - half of the amount received over our parish goal is given back to our parish. Over $900,000 was returned to parishes from last year’s Appeal – and over $3.65 million in five years. And, because of your generosity in the past, a substantial amount of money came back to our parish for our own needs.

And so I ask you to think about . . . pray about . . . making a contribution to this year’s Diocesan Ministries Appeal and Letting Your Light Shine. I can’t guarantee that Fr, Vidal will allow you to choose the him, him and him of your liking. But I can guarantee that the him, him and him and the her, her and her that you will assist will be eternally grateful.

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B)

EMBRACING THE CHILD

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B)

Wisdom 2:12, 17-20; James 3:16 – 4:3; Mark 9:30-37

I read a story a few years ago about a small jet with five passengers. While flying at thirty-thousand feet, the engine malfunctioned and the plane started to descend toward earth. The pilot came running out of the cockpit with a parachute strapped to his back and said, “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news. The bad news is that the plane is going to crash and there is nothing I can do about it. The good news is that there are several parachutes on the wall in the back of the plane. The other bad news is that there are only four of them left and there are five of you. Good luck. Have a good evening and thank you for choosing our airline. With that, he gave the stunned passengers a thumbs up, opened the door, and jumped for safety.

Immediately, a man jumped out of his seat and said, “I am the greatest brain surgeon in the world. My patients depend on me and the world is a better place because of my breakthroughs.” He grabbed a pack, strapped it to his back, and jumped.

Then a woman stood up and said, “I’m a partner in the biggest law firm in the country. We go up against big tobacco, asbestos companies, and fight for the little guy. The world is a better place with me in it.” She grabbed a pack, strapped it to her back and jumped.

Next, another man stood up and said, “I am arguably the smartest man in the world. My IQ is so great that I won’t even tell you what is, but surely you understand that the world needs me, so I simply must take a parachute.” He grabbed a pack, strapped it to his back and jumped.

That left only two people on the plane, an elderly priest and a teenage boy.

“Young man,” said the priest, “you take the last parachute. You’re young; you still have your whole life ahead of you to do great things. God bless you and safe landing.”

The teenager grinned at the priest. “Thanks Father, but there are still two parachutes left. The smartest man in the world just grabbed my backpack.”

I thought about that story this past week when I first read this Sunday’s gospel as I prepared my homily and reflected on what are the qualities that makes one great . . . at least in the eyes of Jesus.

In today’s gospel, as they’re walking down the road to Capernaum, Jesus becomes intrigued by the conversation of his Apostles, their arguments over which one of them was the greatest. You see, they were still caught up in the popular notion that the Messiah would be a great and glorious conquering hero - another King David - someone who would conquer Israel’s enemies, restore Israel to peace and prosperity, and lead Israel to a place of prominence in the world. And if that’s what the Messiah was going to be, and if Jesus was the Messiah, just think of the implications for his righthand men: power, prestige, wealth. But they just didn’t get it. They just couldn’t understand and accept that Jesus had rejected that concept of Messiah, as we heard last Sunday. The type of Messiah he had come to be was one who would establish a kingdom, not of power and riches, but of love and righteousness. He would suffer greatly, be rejected by the Jewish leaders, and be killed, but would rise three days later.

Maybe part of why the Apostles had such a difficult time with this is because they just didn’t want to accept the implications for one who would follow a Messiah such as this. And so, Jesus spells it out for them and overturns their understanding of greatness by telling them that the greatest is not the one who is A #1, top of the list, king of the hill, but the one who is servant to all. Then he took a child, hugged him and tells them, “If you want to be great, welcome one like this child, become like this child.

To understand fully what Jesus was getting at in today’s gospel, we need to avoid romanticizing about childhood and appreciate that we live in a different culture than the one of this story. In the ancient society to which Jesus belonged, children were not the center of attention they are today. It was a time of 30% infant mortality and 60% of children were dead by the age of 16. Children had little status within the family. A minor child was on par with a slave, and only after reaching maturity was one considered a free person who could inherit the family estate. Children were loved but could be severely disciplined as well. And so, for Jesus to exalt the child in front of them was to insult these status seeking disciples.

And when he placed a child in his arms and told them to welcome such a child as if they were welcoming the Messiah himself, it was because the little child stood for all who are powerless, all who are in need of being cared for, all to whom we might owe service. Seeing the poor, the outsider, the meek as especially privileged is to see them as Christ’s little ones. His followers are to have concern for those who were not seemingly important. Christ is calling each of us to servanthood and to embrace the one who stands in our midst and is in need of being fed, clothed, washed, taught, embraced, and spoken lovingly to.

This kind of living for others, living for even those people whom we have a difficult time liking, isn’t easy. But living a life of service was never supposed to be easy. It’s a difficult way to live, but it is the way of the cross . . . it is the way of Jesus. Jesus lived a life of sacrifice for others and calls you and I to such a role in our lives. We are called to be servants of God and servants to others. He is calling us to be Christ in this world, to be the light of hope, and to be the instruments of peace, love and mercy.

But children are also innocent. Children trust. Children have hope. Children love very easily. Children are spontaneous. Children find it easy to forgive. Children are accepting of people. Children are sensitive to the feelings and needs of others and give all that they are and all that they have to someone they see are in need. Therein lies true greatness in the eyes of God.

According to psychologist Carl Jung, the human personality is driven by two energies which he calls by the Latin words senex, meaning old man or senior, and puer eternis, the eternal boy or child. The senior is more wise, prudent and calculating, always looking before leaping and so ends up often not leaping at all. The child energy, on the other hand, is more venturesome, more prone to making mistakes and takes more chances. The senior is more preserving and security conscious, the child is more like easy come – easy go, more prepared to change and to let go. The senior is more geared towards competition, power and success, the child energy is more attuned to cooperation and celebration. The senior is more responsible while the child is more lighthearted. Jung tells us that to be fully human and fully alive, these two energies must find a balance, a harmony, in the personality.

I think that Jesus was telling us two thousand years ago something that modern psychology is only discovering today. When Jesus tells us that we must accept one such as the little child whom he embraced, I think he is also telling us that we need to acknowledge and accept the child within ourselves. When we celebrate the child within us, we become less calculating, less concerned about our personal dignity or shame, less afraid of failure and death, and less grabbing for power and success. With more of the child energy, we shall be more disposed to take a leap in the dark, to let go. Then, only, does believing and following Jesus become possible.

In the Aramaic language, the language that Jesus spoke, there is a word talya which can mean both "servant" or "child."  Today, let us recognize that Jesus is calling us to be both. Let us seek greatness by becoming the least and serving the needs of all who are in need or who have been marginalized. And let us also recognize and celebrate the child within each of us. Let us strive to have the simple faith of a child: to love God and one another without condition or expectation, with honesty and faithfulness. Let us strive for childlike faith that is never deterred or discouraged, never becomes cynical or jaded, and one that never ceases to be amazed and grateful for the many ways God reveals his presence in our lives.

 NOTHING IS LACKING

WHERE EVERYTHING IS GIVEN

A Homily for the Vigil of Sister Theresa Chiappa

August 23, 2021

Wisdom 3: 1-7, 9; Psalm 63; 2 Timothy 4: 1-8; Mark 10: 17-21

“Nothing is lacking where everything is given.”

I somehow stumbled upon that quote last week. It was written by the great 12th Century abbot, writer, reformer and mystic, St. Bernard of Clairvaux. And although not intended by him to be so, I think it’s probably the best one sentence definition of what it means to be a saint. I also think that it’s the statement that best summarizes the life of Sister Theresa.

“Nothing is lacking where everything is given.”

We can look at this quote in two ways and both apply to Theresa. First, “Nothing is lacking where everything is given” because God multiplies his blessings and gives us everything that is needed to live a life of holiness, to live a life of service, to live a life formed by the gospels, to live a Christ-centered life, to live a life of true happiness when we give everything over to Him – when we freely empty ourselves completely of all that the world tries to convince us is important, the things that it promises will bring success and happiness but ultimately don’t – and when we, instead, allow ourselves to become an empty vessel to be filled by and with Christ. Second, because of all of that, everything has now been given to Theresa – eternal life, unspeakably joy, immeasurable peace, total and complete healing from the pain that she endured so triumphantly in this life.

“Nothing is lacking where everything is given.”

I had a difficult time choosing the readings for this vigil service, especially the gospel because when your life so mirrors the gospels, as Theresa’s did, all of them seem to apply to her and speak of her faith.

So, should I have chosen Jesus’ invitation to the Apostles to “Come follow me” for, at an early age, Theresa heard and accepted his invitation?

Should I have chosen the passage where Jesus said, “If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple,” in recognition of the sacrifice of family she made when choosing her vocation as a sister? Or perhaps, “Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple,” acknowledging the heavy cross of pain that Theresa bore.

Or how about the Great Commandment, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind . . . and love your neighbor as you love yourself.” Or Jesus’ words to the Canaanite woman, “O woman, great is your faith.” Or the gospel of the talents where the landowner praises his industrious servant, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”

Maybe proclaiming the Beatitudes would have been appropriate for tonight’s service because Sister Theresa modeled all of them: poor in spirit – God was the only riches she ever desired; mourning – her voice was raised to weep with those who wept, and rejoice with those that rejoiced; meek – she was never weak but ever strong in patience and tolerance; hungering and thirsting for righteousness - she, like Mary, became the handmaid of the Lord and her constant “yes” to God made her holy . . . a living saint . . . and now a saint in glory; merciful – what was forgiven was also forgotten; pure of heart – she was constantly aware that she was in the holy presence of God and saw Him in everything and everyone; a peacemaker – she diffused situations of anger and hurt, and brought others together in reconciliation; and persecuted for the sake of righteousness – she united her own pain and suffering with the cross of Christ and became a suffering soul for the good of others and the salvation of the world.

The gospel that I did choose for this evening might seem to be an odd choice and is one, in all honesty, that is not usually proclaimed at a wake service or funeral mass – the story of the rich young man who came to Jesus, in sincerity, to ask what was necessary for him to have eternal life. “Follow the commandments,” Jesus tells him. “But more than that, sell everything you have and come follow me.” We know from hearing that passage over and over again, that he went away downcast, perhaps even brokenhearted, for he savored the riches of this world and couldn’t part with them. Theresa could and did.

Tomorrow, in the preface for the funeral mass, we will hear, “Lord, for your faithful people, life is changed, not ended.” Sister Theresa truly believed that - and so do we. And in spite of the tears of the past several days and the tears still to come as we miss our beloved Theresa, we rejoice. We rejoice with her and for her, for we know in our hearts, and through our faith, that her life has not ended, but merely changed. That her life is now like the gold tested by fire that we heard about in our First Reading from the Book of Wisdom. Her life, emptied of the desire for fortune or fame, for wealth and success, her only wish was to know, love and serve our Lord. Like St. Paul, in our Second Reading from the Second Letter to Timothy, she competed well; she fought the good fight, she finished the race, and now the crown of righteousness awaits her.

“Nothing is lacking where everything is given.”

Some of you might be familiar with a poem entitled, “The Beautiful Hands of a Priest.” But did you ever notice Sister Theresa’s hands?

Hers were the hands that offered her whole life to Jesus on her Profession Day.

Hers were the hands that, joined with the hands of other Sisters, created a bond of love and support in community so strong that all the Church now seeks to emulate it.

Hers were the hands that Christ chose to use to bless us and our world for the past eighty-three years.

Hers were the hands, fingerprints outlined in chalk dust, that formed and taught our little children and gave them their formal knowledge of their precious faith.

Hers were the hands that gathered our teenagers and taught them to believe in themselves - sometimes with discipline, sometimes with humor, sometimes holding them as they poured out their frustrations.

Hers were the hands that lifted up the depressed and deprived and fed the hungry . . . food for their bodies and food for their souls.

Hers were the hands that comforted the elderly and gave hope to the lonely.

Hers were the hands that healed the sick and restored the abused to sanity and to the belief in the goodness of others again.

Hers were the hands that squeezed the hands of children in the last moments of their lives and placed their hands into the hand of God.

Hers were the hands pumped up to cheer our success (and the occasional victory of the Mets); hands that held tightly to ours to give us strength; hands that dried our tears of sadness and grief.

Hers were the hands folded for hours in prayer, hands where countless beads slipped through her fingers, that our burdens might be lifted.

Hers were the hands that she placed into the nail-scarred hands of Jesus to unite the pain that wretched her body to His pain for the salvation of the world.

And today, her hands touch the face of the God she loved so much, the God she served so well, the God she gave her whole life to.

Today our hands dry the tears from our eyes . . . but tomorrow will reach out and bless the world with compassion and love, healing and mercy . . . Because her hands touched our hands.

Theresa, "May the angels lead you into paradise; may the martyrs receive you at your arrival and lead you to the holy city Jerusalem. May choirs of angels receive you and with Lazarus, once poor, may you have eternal rest."

The Nineteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time (Year B)

THE BREAD OF LIFE COME DOWN FROM HEAVEN

The Nineteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time (Year B)

1 Kings 19: 4-8; Ephesians 4: 30-5:2; John 6: 41-51

Do you ever watch soap operas? My mom did. And although she would occasionally tune in to watch such soaps as “Days of Our Lives” and “The Guiding Light,” there was one that was her favorite that she would never miss – “As the World Turns.” As you know, soap operas air five days a week so, at least back then, if an actor was ill or off shooting a movie, and the storyline needed to go on without them, another actor would be hired to temporarily replace them. The announcer for “As the World Turns” was named Dan Region, and I remember his smooth, calm voice informing the viewers that “Today the role of Lisa Miller, Hughes, Eldridge, Shea, Colman, McColl, Mitchell, Chedwyn, Grimaldi” (that’s how many times she was married!) “usually portrayed by Eileen Fulton, will be played by Betty von Furstenberg.”

I thought of “As the World Turns” this week as I was preparing my homily. And I imagined the silky voice of Dan Region emanating from the speakers here in church announcing, “The role of the evangelist, usually performed this year by Mark will today be played by John.” Yes, Mark has been given a five-week vacation by the liturgists of the Church, and in his place, the Apostle John has been brought in to share with us a key portion of his Gospel.

Because John isn’t afforded a full year dedicated to the proclamation of his Gospel the way Matthew, Mark and Luke are, it might lead some to believe that John’s Gospel isn’t as important as the other three. That couldn’t be further from the truth. And, rather than being relegated to the role of a pinch hitter, John’s Gospel is more like a bottle of fine wine that we sip in moderation and savor over the course of three years.

In fact, so important is his Gospel that, since he is writing much later than the other Evangelists, John provides us with events, miracles, teachings and dialogue not included in the other Gospels. And to that, he is able to provide one more crucial element: a theological perspective gleaned over decades of prayerful reflection on his personal relationship with Jesus and his eyewitness of the three years of Jesus’ public ministry.

For example, it might surprise you to know that, in recalling the events of the Last Supper, John doesn’t include an account of the institution of the Eucharist. Instead, John addresses the Eucharist in a different way. He does it in Chapter 6 of his Gospel, the passage that we’ve been listening to the past three weeks – the “Bread of Life Discourse.” John doesn’t recall the event of the institution of the Eucharist at the Last Supper. He doesn’t have to. That’s already been covered by the other three Evangelists. Instead, John chooses to recall Jesus’ words in the synagogue at Capernaum which undeniably and emphatically, clearly, strongly, bluntly and, yes perhaps disturbingly, reveal to the crowds, and to us, the undeniable truth about his divinity and his divine presence in the Eucharist.

Two weeks ago, we heard how the people who had eaten of the loaves and fish that Jesus multiplied were so astounded by that miracle that they were convinced he was the Prophet, the promised Messiah. And realizing that they would carry him off and declare him their king, Jesus slipped off secretly to the opposite side of the Sea of Galilee.

Last week, undaunted, the people find him in Capernaum and Jesus chides them for being more concerned about the food which is a temporary fix for the hunger in their bellies than they are with the bread he offers – the bread of eternal life.

Which brings us to today’s Gospel. In Jesus’ time, bread was a staple, something that people just could not do without, literally could not live without. But to people of the Jewish faith, bread meant even more - bread was laden with symbolic and theological meaning that made it, not just vital for physical needs, but an intricate part of their faith identity. The crowds asked Jesus for a sign, mentioning that their ancestors had been given manna - bread from heaven - when they were wandering in the wilderness. But Jesus, declares that HE is the bread from heaven. He will not show them signs - he is the sign. The crowds become upset. They know Jesus isn’t from heaven – after all, they know his parents; they know where he is from. To compare himself to something that is so important in their faith histories is insulting and heretical. "Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph," they ask? "How can he now say, 'I have come down from heaven'?" The appearances confound them. How can it be? He is familiar. How is it possible? He is commonplace. How can he be from heaven? He is flesh and blood like us.

"Don't murmur about my answers," he chastises them. "I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh." His language is precise. What he says is not cushioned in a parable or metaphor whose meaning might be subject to interpretation. He is the bread of life, and those who take this gift of grace receive that gift of bread into themselves and receive the gift of life itself. A mighty claim! God himself will be our food, our ultimate provision. God wants to inhabit our flesh. God wants to make us tabernacles.

SPOILER ALERT!!! In part four of the Bread of Life Discourse, Jesus pushes the envelope even further. He tells the people, in words which sound cannibalistic, that unless they eat his flesh and drink his blood, they cannot have life within them. But that’s the cleaned up English translation we use. The more literal version from the original Greek is, “Unless you gnaw on my flesh and guzzle my blood, you cannot have life within you.” How offensive to the ears of the Jews whose dietary laws forbade them to eat the flesh of certain animals and to drink of its blood.

The discourse will conclude with the people grumbling, “This saying is hard; who can accept it?” And they walk away. The very people who the day before wanted to carry Jesus off and crown him king, now desert him. And Jesus lets them. He doesn’t call them back. He doesn’t try to better explain. He doesn’t excuse his words by telling the people that they misunderstood and that his words were merely symbolic, only a metaphor. No, he lets them walk. Because there has been no misunderstanding. What he said was what he meant to say. What he said is the truth. He IS the bread from heaven who must be consumed to have eternal life. He then turns to the Apostles and asks, “Do you also want to leave?” Simon Peter answered him, “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God.”

For two thousand years there are those who have echoed the words of the crowd, “This saying is hard; who can accept it?” And have walked away. Many Christian groups since the time of the Protestant Reformation see in Communion, only bread and wine – only a sign, a symbol, only a representation, only blessed bread. What’s more, sadly, polls indicate that 70% of those who, like us, call themselves Catholic, believe that the Eucharist is only a symbol of Christ’s body and blood.

And then, there is us, who take Jesus at his word. That he IS the Bread of Life and that his flesh and his blood give us eternal life. That when we stand before the priest, the deacon or a Eucharistic Minister we know that what we receive is more than mere bread and wine. What we receive and take into ourselves is the fullness of Christ – his body, his blood, his soul, his divinity.

And so today, when Fr. Vidal, or I, or one of our Eucharistic Ministers holds the host before your eyes saying, “the Body of Christ,” let your “Amen” resound the words of Peter, “Yes Lord, truly, surely, certainly, I have come to believe and am convinced that you are the Holy One of God.”

Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B)

COME AWAY WITH ME

Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B)

Jeremiah 23:1-6; Ephesians 2:13-18; Mark 6:30-34

If someone accuses you of being unbalanced, it’s not likely they’re paying you a compliment. Balance is something most of us prize. To lose our balance is embarrassing. To get out of balance is to risk being seen as unstable. And that’s a terrible word to have appear on your recommendation for college or a job.

Balance . . . An engine that’s out of balance can cause some serious problems. Balance . . . it’s the secret of healthy eating. Balance . . . In business there needs to be a proper balance between your receipts and your expenditures. Balance . . . A diplomat must walk a fine line between the needs of two or more countries. An unbalanced walk leads to war. Balance is something most of us consider valuable. It’s also important for us to be balanced spiritually.

Balance is something Jesus tried to maintain in His life. Have you ever noticed when reading the Gospels how important solitude and silence with the Father was to Jesus in the midst of ministering to the people? Just in the Gospel of Mark there are nearly twenty examples when Jesus withdrew from the pressures of daily life and ministry in order to engage in quiet prayer. It’s how He began His ministry. It’s how He made important decisions. It’s how He dealt with troubling emotions like grief. It’s how He dealt with the constant demands of His ministry and cared for His soul. It’s how He prepared for important ministry events. It’s how He prepared for His death on the cross.

Case in point, today’s Gospel in which Mark describes the return of the disciples from their first ministry tour — their inauguration into apostleship. Exhilarated and exhausted, they have stories to tell Jesus — thrilling stories of healings, exorcisms, and effective evangelism campaigns. Perhaps there are darker stories in the mix as well — stories of failure and rejection. Hard stories they need to process privately with their Teacher. Whatever the case, Jesus senses that the Apostles need a break. They're tired, overstimulated, underfed, and in significant need of solitude. And so he said to them, "Come away with me to a deserted place."

And even though they found it difficult to find a place to get away from the crowds, Jesus' invitation to the disciples to rest emphasizes that we all have to rest from time to time from hectic activity. We need that time to regain our strength and renew our spirits, otherwise we soon find that we’re unable to meet the demands that life requires of us.

"Come away with me to a deserted place,” Jesus invited His Apostles.

“Come away with me,” Jesus invites us.

There’s no doubt about it – we live in a busy world. Life can be frantic, frustrating and exhausting. With all the time saving devices in our homes and workplaces, one would think that we would have so much more time to do the things we like to do. But time is something we wrestle with every day. Our lives are packed so full that the day is finished before we have accomplished half of what we wanted to do. In fact, experts tell us that we’re trying to do in one day that not so long ago took three days.

But Jesus invites us to find a place that is deserted, that is, free from distractions, so that we can truly rest. How often do we seek rest and even get away from our normal routine but fail to properly rest because we do too much and are unable to disconnect from our Ipads and cellphones.

In our Responsorial Psalm today, we prayed, “The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want. In green pastures he makes me lie down, beside still waters he restores my soul.” Do we believe that? Maybe, instead, we think we need to get all our work done before we can rest. Maybe we think having a glass of wine is the best way to relax. Work and wine are good in moderation, but neither one restores our souls. That only happens when we lie down in green pastures and beside still waters with Jesus, our Good Shepherd. It only happens when we vacation with Jesus.

The fact is there’s no real renewal of our hearts and lives without God. It’s impossible to experience deep refreshment if we exclude God from our rest and recreation. The soul, an essential part of our being, needs to be renewed as well as the body. Any time off from our labors that doesn’t seek to restore our relationship with Jesus will leave us feeling empty and remaining exhausted at the end of our time away.

So whether you plan a week or two getaway at the shore, the Bahamas, or Disney World, or instead will be having a staycation this summer visiting family and friends and enjoying the local attractions, or if your only time away will be the mere minutes you can spend in the deserted place of your parked car, in your bathroom, during an early morning walk or here in the quiet solitude of our church before the Blessed Sacrament, Jesus says to each of us, “Come away WITH ME.”

How do we do that? How do we vacation with Jesus? How do we find the peace of mind body and soul that no travel agent can guarantee but Jesus does? Here are five things that might help:

1. Don’t forget to pack your bible. The words of Scripture continue to bring wisdom, inspiration, comfort and solace to readers today as much as they ever have. Since Jesus is the WORD OF GOD, He is there in every line of Scripture offering refreshment, comfort, peace, or answers to our worries and concerns.
2. Lock spiritual time into your schedule. You schedule a lot on vacation. Add spiritual time to your calendar. How else will you guarantee that it happens? You may have good intentions. but if you don’t schedule the time, it will likely not happen. There are way too many things to do that will crowd out your time with Jesus. Make prayer a priority. If you’re not going to speak to Jesus, then have you really accepted His invitation to “Come away with me?” Or have you instead just gone off by yourself?
3. Keep your agenda open to redirection. After encouraging the disciples to come away with Him and rest for a while, Jesus doesn’t get the opportunity to do so. The crowds discover Jesus' plans. They are "like sheep without a shepherd." So, Jesus chooses to set aside His needs and the needs of the Apostles and take the time to be with the people. Christian love isn’t always convenient. Christian love is sacrificial in nature. It is in serving the needs of others, that we discover Christ.
4. Maintain your standards. The Christian principals an individual or family applies to things like modesty and entertainment are standards we should uphold at all times - even on vacation. Our behavior, conversations, and dress should reflect our Christian dignity.
5. Don’t forget to go to mass. Jesus awaits you at the altar of the church near your vacation destination. He desires to wine and dine you on spiritual food – on the bread of life, on the cup of eternal salvation. Don’t miss out.

When I was young, my mom would frequently give me prayer cards that contained beautiful prayers or inspirational poems that she wanted to impart to me. One of them contained the following - an important reminder from my mom to me . . . and now from me to you:

Take time.

Take time to think - it is the source of power.

Take time to read - it is the foundation of wisdom.

Take time to play - it is the secret of staying young.

Take time to be quiet - it is the opportunity to seek God.

Take time to be aware - it is the opportunity to help others.

Take time to love and be loved - it is God's greatest gift.

Take time to laugh - it is the music of the soul.

Take time to be friendly - it is the road to happiness.

Take time to dream - it is what the future is made of.

Take time to pray - it is the greatest power on earth.

The Twelfth Sunday of Ordinary Time (Year B)

 

I SING OF JOSEPH

- A Father’s Day Homily -

The Twelfth Sunday of Ordinary Time (Year B)

Job 38: 1, 8-11; 2 Corinthians 5:14-17; Mark 4:35-41

Heroes . . . those who are admired for their courage, outstanding achievements or noble qualities. A role model. The ideal to strive for.

Man, when I was a young boy, I had dozens of them – Roy Rogers, Robert Young on “Father Knows Best,” Mickey Mantle, John Glenn, John Kennedy. But, as I grew older, my heroes changed. Rather than fictional characters, celebrities and sports figures - individuals lauded and applauded by the world - my heroes became people who I knew personally, people whose names I’m sure you’ve probably never heard of . . . like Sister Agnes Collins, SSND; Fr. John Seidenschwang, Fr. Charles Guarino, Brother James Stoltz, FCS, and of course, Arthur Olsen, my father – Heroes unsung: those whose deeds or influence received little or no fanfare . . . those who looked for little or nothing in return for doing so much . . . those who shied away from the spotlight . . . those who were more comfortable in the shadows.

Today, on this Father’s Day, I sing of one of my unsung heroes. Today, I sing of St. Joseph – a man whose greatness isn’t measured by his words, for we have none of them; a man not recognized for the work of his hands, for he left no lasting monuments; a man whose greatness is perhaps eclipsed by his wife and his son, but whose grandeur is nonetheless evident to all those who take the time to see.

We don't know a lot about Joseph – we know that his father’s name was Jacob and that he was the husband of Mary. We know that he was a carpenter and that he lived in Nazareth. St. Matthew tells us that, after their betrothal but before they lived together, Joseph found out that Mary was pregnant and, instead of shaming her or causing scandal, he decided to divorce her quietly. The Gospel tells us that he did this because he was an upright man, a man of principle. We also know that he was a righteous man who followed the law: He followed civil law - he went to Bethlehem for the census. And he observed religious law – we know he went to Jerusalem for the Jewish festivals. We also know that Joseph had dreams and that his faith was strong enough to discern and obey the voice and will of God revealed in them.

St Joseph is the virgin father of Jesus and is a powerful reminder of what fatherhood really means and the importance of a father’s role. It was he who taught Jesus how to be a man; who defied convention in order to protect Mary; who trusted God and was, in turn, found infinitely trustworthy. There’s something strangely attractive about this quiet, self-effacing man about whom we know so little and yet, paradoxically, so much. What the gospels don’t explicitly tell us, we learn from Jesus himself, for Jesus cannot have been other than who his father had helped him become: hard-working, intelligent, humorous, tender-hearted. That final act of Jesus’ life, his death on the cross, is shot through with the love and trust he had learned from Joseph. We can safely say Joseph not only taught his son how to live but also how to die.

Chosen by God since the beginning of time to be the earthly father of the Son of God, no other saint occupies the same orbit as St. Joseph; no other saint is for all time the most fitting icon of the heavenly Father. The one who is God-made-man never called any other saint or angel “Father.” God never obeyed any saint or angel, but Jesus bent his will to the will of Joseph as his father. St. Joseph is the man Jesus would have imitated as a boy; he would have borne the cast of St. Joseph throughout his life, borne it upon the Cross, borne it into his Kingdom. St. Joseph isn’t known as the terror of demons because he was a subtle figure in the drama of Christ. He’s a warrior who discovers himself in the wonder of Mary’s motherhood. He’s the perfect spouse and perfect father who, in imitation of Christ, lays down his life for his bride and son. In doing so, he became the measure of humble discipleship, of Christian fatherhood, of spousal fidelity and of Kingdom chastity. St. Joseph is a man not of words, but, as Archbishop Fulton Sheen was fond of saying, “Words sound but actions thunder.”

As the righteous man, Saint Joseph sets an example for all Christians, as well as all people of good will. In our contemporary society, we need the example of Saint Joseph. In our contemporary society, we need men who are righteous. These are men who love God and follow his will, beginning with respecting the order of creation. These are men who treat others with respect, including women. These are men who desire to marry, who treat their wives as equals and with them bring children into the world. These are men who raise their children to know God and to be good neighbors and good citizens. These are men who help establish a just society, either by being good leaders or by supporting those who are. These are men who will stand against the evils which tear our society apart. These are men who love God and who do nothing unjust to their neighbor.

Who is to be the model for such men? SAINT JOSEPH. Being the spouse of the Mother of God, it is he who teaches us to respect all women. Being the foster father of the Son of God, it is he who teaches us to protect all children. Being most chaste, it is he who teaches us proper attitudes about sexuality. Being the model of workers, it is he who teaches us to do all for the glory of God. Being most humble and most just, it is he who he teaches us to live as brothers and sisters. Being most obedient and faithful, it is he who teaches us to discern the will of God in our lives and follow it.

In an age when fifty percent of marriages end in divorce . . . In an age where pornography overshadows the nature of true marital love . . . In an age where we teach our children to be aggressive more than we encourage them to be gentle . . . In an age when the demands of the job trump responsibility to the family . . . WE NEED ST. JOSEPH!

In an age when the allure of money and power at all cost supersedes ethics and integrity . . . In an age where time and talent are more used for building the Kingdom of Man than the Kingdom of God . . . In an age where looking out for Number One takes priority over service to the needy . . . WE NEED ST. JOSEPH!

In an age where the voice of the godless shouts louder and speaks faster than the voice of God revealed subtly in the dreams of the heart . . . In an age where self-satisfaction rules over selflessness . . . In an age where the desire for being right is stronger than the desire to be righteous . . . WE NEED ST. JOSEPH!

Let us then look to St. Joseph in the moments of our daily life . . . Moments to be virtuous as he was . . . Moments that reflect God to each person who touches our life . . . Moments of silence to hear angels speaking to us . . . Moments of discernment, being able to know God’s command and follow it among all the voices we hear . . . Moments of openness to change – to respond fully to situations that present themselves to us . . . Moments of courage to share what needs to be said or to do what needs to be done.

Yes, I sing of Joseph: Joseph, chaste and just . . . Joseph, prudent and brave . . . Joseph, obedient and loyal . . . Pattern of patience . . . Model of workers . . . Example to parents . . . Pillar of family life . . . Comfort of the troubled . . . Hope of the sick . . . Patron of the dying . . . Terror of demons . . . Protector of the Church.

Today, on this Father’s Day . . . Today in this Year of St. Joseph . . . Today and everyday throughout the entirety my life . . . I sing of Joseph . . . Won’t you too join in my song?

Easter Sunday (Year B)

JESUS CHRIST IS RISEN TODAY

Easter Sunday

The Resurrection of the Lord (Year B)

𝅘𝅥𝅯“Jesus Christ is Risen Today! Alleluia!”𝅘𝅥𝅯 

It’s one of the most popular hymns of the Easter Season. The odds are great that most Catholic and Protestant congregations will sing out this song today. The hymn perfectly fits the Easter Gospel of the Lord’s resurrection.

Those who encountered the Risen Lord that first Easter certainly proclaimed the song’s message to everyone they met. We might even picture them breaking into song. We can imagine John, who ran to the empty tomb and saw the burial clothes of Jesus, coming to believe, and then singing to himself “Jesus Christ is risen today!” as he retraced his steps.

We can imagine Mary Magdalene, whose heartbreak at the apparent theft of her Master’s body was transformed into elation when the Risen Lord spoke her name, singing with unstrained joy “Jesus Christ is risen today!”

We can imagine the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, who recognized the Risen Lord as he broke bread with them, becoming an Easter duet singing “Jesus Christ is risen today!” as they hurried back to Jerusalem.

We can imagine the group of frightened and confused disciples that Easter Sunday evening, who suddenly saw their crucified Lord standing before them, becoming a spirited choir singing out “Jesus Christ is risen today!”

Jesus Christ is risen today! Thanks be to God! That’s the good news for us this morning and every morning. Jesus Christ is risen today! We hear these words and we know that death did not win. We hear these words and we know that the time in the grave did not last.

Jesus Christ is Risen today! Rejoice! This is the day that the Lord has made! O Death, where now is your sting? O Grave, where now is your victory?

Jesus Christ is risen today! We say these words, we shout these words, we whole-heartedly lift our voices in song and in praise to sing these words, and we proclaim that Resurrection happens, continues to happen, and will continue to happen as a reality of our everyday life.

Jesus Christ is risen today! Thanks be to God! We hear these words and we find strength, we find comfort, we find hope. We know that the resurrection happened that morning all those years ago. And we know that the promise of the resurrection continues today.

Jesus Christ is risen today! We hear these words, and we find joy in knowing that the experience of the resurrection happens each and every moment of our lives because, in that moment of resurrection, we open ourselves up and encounter the healing presence of God in our lives!

Jesus Christ is risen today! Thanks be to God!

The experience of the Resurrection finds us each and every day. It finds us in the dark, hiding, hurting, grieving. It finds us in shadows - wounded and broken. It finds us in the gloom - lost and lonely. It finds us in darkness - hopeless and confused. Resurrection happens and Resurrection finds us!

What better news do we need right now? What better news does our world, our community, our nation need to hear right now? Resurrection happens! That’s the good news that we need to remember right now! Darkness did not win. Suffering did not win. Pain did not win. Darkness and death do not have the last word. Our wounds, that divide and separate us, our wounds from pandemic, poverty, pollution, racism, broken relationships, grief, anger, sorrow do not have the last word. God’s grace, God’s love, God’s hope, God’s life-giving presence have the last word. Jesus Christ is risen today. Thanks be to God!

Resurrection happens! In the light that is shining brightly on Easter morning, we see clearly and we realize that our God did not and does not intend for us to live a life of pain, to live a life of sorrow, to live a life of hurt, to live a life in the shadows. The Resurrection Light shows us that our God is loving, our God is steadfast, our God is gracious, our God is generous. Our God intends for all of His children, intends for you and me, to live a life of light, to live a life of grace, to live a life where we are made whole. Our God intends for us to live a life of peace, to live a life of hope, to live a life where we know that we are treasured, named and claimed.

Resurrection happens each and every moment of our days, each and every moment of our lives, each and every moment of our existence. Resurrection happens!

While most congregations will include "Jesus Christ is Risen Today!" among their hymns for Easter Sunday, a good number will stop singing it once today has passed. It seems that in the understanding of many, the “today” of the song refers only to the day the Lord broke the bonds of death and walked out of the tomb. However, that’s not the case nor is it the message of Easter. Easter proclaims that Jesus Christ IS risen and alive this day and every day since He appeared to Mary Magdalene, the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, and his disciples gathered in the Upper Room.

Our Easter faith that Jesus is alive and is risen makes this a “triumphant holy day” for us. It proclaims that we who have a relationship with him this day will continue to have a connection with him for days on end into eternity. Death will not have the final say in our life story.

"Jesus Christ is Risen today!" Let that be the song that you can’t get out of your head. Sing it to yourself! Find yourself humming it! Sing it out for all to hear!  It's a hymn, not just for Easter Sunday, but for every day. It proclaims that the Lord lives and that we have life everlasting through him. Alleluia! We are the people of the resurrection. May we always celebrate the gift of new life, the gift of healing, the gift of transformation on this Easter morning and all the other mornings of our lives.

𝅘𝅥𝅯“Jesus Christ is Risen Today! Alleluia!”𝅘𝅥𝅯