Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle C)

The Kingdom of God Has Come Near

Isaiah 66:10-14c; Galatians 6:14-18; Luke 10:1-12, 17-20 or 10:1-9

This is no way to gain a following, Jesus. This is no locker room pep-talk, no inspirational speech for sending out followers into a plentiful harvest. Sheep in the midst of wolves! Who wants to play that role?

And that is not all the bad news for these first Christian missionaries. They are commanded to go empty-handed, without even the most basic provisions necessary for the road. No purse, no bag, no sandals. Sheep in the midst of wolves. Jesus was acutely aware of how perilous the work of the gospel would be, and yet he allowed them to take no precautions as he sent them out.

As the seventy-two disappear two-by-two into the dusty roads before them, Luke tells us that they are empowered to share in the work of Jesus. No longer safe on the sidelines, these followers are now sent out, to share peace and fellowship, to cure the sick, to proclaim the kingdom of God. In short, they were called to live out and practice the faith that they had professed. And it is in the doing that the seventy are transformed from bystanders to active participants in the work of God.

Go empty-handed, Jesus commands them, something that in our modern world, we have a difficult time relating to. When we travel, whether that be on a vacation, business trip, or family visit, we like to be prepared. We carry extra clothing, equipment and other necessities because we don’t appreciate being uncomfortable. One of the latest trends in automobile travel is to have a DVD player installed in the family van in order to entertain the children. I read recently that 60% of the people who fly carry a lap-top computer. Ipod, ipad, iphone (i – yi- yi – yi – yi!) Now you can go anywhere and never have to be fearful of being in touch, knowing what the stock market is doing, or not having music to listen to. Traveling has literally become the art of taking everything on the road. We now have all the comforts of home with us on the road. We just don’t like to be without.

But these disciples are to carry with them no money or swords to display power, no food or supplies, no sandals for their feet. They must leave all of these comforts and necessities at home. The seventy-two are armed with only a message: the kingdom of God has come near. They are to speak these words to those who offer them hospitality and to those who do not. They are to be ambassadors for Christ; they are to live into God's vision for the world. They are to practice peace, do justice, live out the faith. After seeing what they had seen, after witnessing so much pain and so many miraculous moments, these followers were sent out to be doers of the word, to be kingdom carriers.

We might be tempted to disagree with Jesus in so strongly asserting that the kingdom has come near. All you and I have to do is open the morning newspaper and scan the headlines to come to the conclusion that we do not live in such a kingdom. Wars rage on with little sign of stopping. Poverty and hunger claim the lives of so many while others live in comfort with more than enough. Many are unsafe even in their own homes, while others enjoy the security of gates and fences. These are not the signs of the kingdom that we would expect. In fact, if the kingdom itself knocked on our door with no sandals, no food, and no money-we might be tempted to ask it to leave us alone and lock the door tight.

If the kingdom has indeed come near, what are the signs of its coming? Many Christians in our own time have begun to speak of the kingdom of God as a metaphorical and idyllic symbol of life as it will never be. But let's look again at the instructions Jesus gives to the seventy-two missionaries: they are to enter a town, and where welcomed they are to stay-that's Christian hospitality. They are to eat what is given to them-that's table fellowship. Then they are to cure the sick-that's compassion and care. Finally, they are to proclaim that the kingdom of God has come near. Could it be that in the faithful and loving ministry of the disciples the kingdom of God in fact comes near?

Have you felt the presence of the kingdom in your own life? Have you had those experiences when the thin veneer of ordinary human existence is broken and the glory of God shines through? There is something about the Christian faith that must be lived in order to be understood. There are some gospel truths that only make sense in the homeless shelter, or on the steps of the capitol, or at a hospital bed, or in any one of the great number of places in the world where people cry out for mercy, for bread, for justice, for compassion. Perhaps this is why Jesus sends his followers into the mission field carrying only the message that the kingdom has come. It was all they needed.

We can use our theology as a bludgeon with which to beat others who cannot muster the faith we have. We can shout louder, speak longer, or preach harder than anyone else. We can be absolutely sure of our right answers. We can stay in our comfort zones, safely hovering above any real engagement with the issues of faith that call out to us and challenge us. But if we do, if we refuse to get our hands dirty and our hearts changed-than we risk missing the kingdom of God that has already come near in Jesus Christ. We risk missing the terrifying and empowering journey that requires nothing but faith in God to sustain us, and trust in fellow travelers to support us.

Did you notice in today’s gospel that Jesus didn’t just send out the Apostles to proclaim the message of the Kingdom? No, he didn’t just send out the twelve, but six times that number, because the responsibility of spreading the Good News of the Kingdom of God was not something reserved only to the Apostles, but to all Jesus’ disciples. And so it is today. The Awesome responsibility and obligation is not something that is solely the work of our bishops, priests, and deacons, but something that must be undertaken by all those who are baptized. Jesus is sending US out into a complex and hostile world, like sheep in the midst of wolves. The good news is, the message is quite simple: the Kingdom of God has come near. But the challenge that Jesus gave to the seventy-two, the challenge he gives to us, is not merely to proclaim the messages, but to BE the message. The Kingdom of God has come near THROUGH US!

Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle C)

Kicking the “Buts” Out Of Christianity

1 Kings 19:16b, 19-21; Galatians 5:1, 13-18; Luke 9:51-62

In the English language there is a word that is very small, yet very powerful. It’s only three letters and its power lies in its ability to negate everything that has preceded it. The word is: “BUT.” You know what I mean:

“I’d like to spend more time with the family BUT I’m just much too busy at work.”

“I know you can get cancer from smoking cigarettes, BUT you have to die sometime.”

“We’d really love to hire you, BUT we found another person who seems a better match for our needs.”

“I’d like to go out with you, BUT I just don’t think you’re my type.”

“Yea, I know I smoke too much, drink too much, eat too much, BUT I’ve been really stressed lately.”

And here’s one of my favorites: “I’d love to go on a diet, BUT I just can’t lose weight . . . It’s a genetic thing.”

Good intentions. We always want to say the right thing . . . do the right thing. But sometimes the realization of what it will take to make our good intentions realities, smacks us in the face and stops us dead in our tracks.

In today’s gospel, Luke tells of a time when Jesus hears that small yet powerful word “but” from three potential followers. The first man’s “but” is unspoken, yet implied, after Jesus tells him the implications of being one of his disciples. Jesus invites a second man to follow him, and the man replies, “I will, but first let me go and bury my father.” And a third says, “Lord, I will follow you, but first let me say farewell to those at home.”

Today’s gospel is one of those few passages where we like to think that Jesus must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed that morning. His words seem stern, harsh, blunt, and unreasonable: “Foxes have their dens. The birds of the sky have their nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to rest his head.” “Let the dead bury the dead.” “No one who sets a hand to the plow and looks to what was left behind is fit for the kingdom of God.” These are the “hard sayings” of Jesus – the things that seem so out of character from the loving, gentle, compassionate Jesus that we’re used to. The things that just don’t seem to make it onto needlepoint pillows, posters, and bumper stickers.

But, to really understand today’s gospel, we have to remove ourselves from our own culture and language and enter into the world of Jesus. For you see, in Jesus’ day, the Jews often referred to gentile nations as "birds of the air" and "fox" was a name by which they referred to King Herod. And so, for Jesus’ listeners, the birds were the Romans. The fox was their king. What Jesus is trying to get across is, “Discipleship involves risk. It might mean putting yourself at odds with the political and religious elite. If you just want to go with the flow, follow them. But be aware of the cost of following me.”

And the phrase "to bury one’s father" was a traditional phrase referring to the sacred duty of a son to remain at home and care for his parents until they were laid to rest respectfully. Then, and only then, can he consider other options. But what Jesus is saying is, “Me first! If you want to be my disciple, traditional family and societal expectations cannot come before me.”

In addition, our English translation of Luke 9 reads: “I will follow you, Lord, but first let me say farewell to my family.” But an ancient Syriac translation reads this way, "Let me first explain my case to those in my house." What Jesus is trying to say is, “If you’re looking for the approval of the world – forget it.” “Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you and utter every kind of evil against you falsely because of me. Your reward will be great in heaven.”

So the good news is that Jesus’ words in today’s gospel aren’t as harsh as they first appear to be on the surface. But the bad news is that you can’t water down what Jesus is letting us know are the harsh realities of following him. We got a taste of that in last Sunday’s gospel when he said: “If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it.”

And Jesus’ realistic and straightforward exposé of what true discipleship means, continues today. In the beginning of today’s gospel, we hear that Jesus was “resolutely determined to journey to Jerusalem.” The implication is clear – he is aware of and accepts all that that journey to Jerusalem will entail: rejection, suffering, and death. And if that’s what being on the journey means for the Master, then if you want to follow him, you must necessarily open yourself up to the same possibilities. Discipleship involves sacrifice. And Jesus makes it utterly clear that following him does not mean that we live in a rose garden, exempt from the harsh realities of life. What it does mean is, that at times, our lives will be lived more in a Garden of Gethsemane, where, we too, will also have to face rejection, suffering, and death.

Are we “would-be followers” of Jesus? Are we like the first person in today’s gospel, willing to follow Jesus…as long as there are no risks? Are we like the second man, willing to follow Jesus…as soon as our other obligations and goals in life are fulfilled? Are we like the third person, willing to follow Jesus…as long as what we believe, what we say, and what we do is the recognizably acceptable ways of our society?

“I’d like to go to Mass every Sunday, BUT my kids have soccer games every Sunday morning.”

“Gee, I’d like to pray more, BUT I just don’t have the time . . . I’m much too busy.”

“I want to follow what Jesus taught. BUT this thing about chastity . . . get real - this is the 21st century!”

“Turn the other cheek? . . . Yea, I’ll forgive BUT I’ll never forget.”

“I love my neighbor like Jesus said. BUT I hate those Muslims . . . They’re all terrorists anyway.”

But . . . But . . . But! Well, here’s another “but” for you: BUT Jesus is honest, upfront and painfully blunt about the cost of discipleship. He laid it on the line for his Apostles. He laid it on the line for the three would-be disciples in today’s gospel. He lays it on the line for us: Discipleship is not a half-hearted thing. It’s an all or nothing at all proposition. There’s no compromise. There can be no strings attached if we say “yes” to Jesus.

What about us? Do we have what it takes? Are we really committed to Jesus? Or are we just nice people - long on good intentions, short on resolve. So what do you say? Let’s kick some “but” today, huh? Let’s kick the “buts” out of our faith life and commit ourselves totally and wholeheartedly to following Jesus.

Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle C)

Who Do YOU Say I Am?

Zechariah 12:10-11, 13:1; Galatians 3:26-29; Luke 9:18-24

Opinions—all of us have them. Offering an opinion is an easy thing to do. It’s what we do when we’re looking to contribute to a conversation—we give an opinion and we have them about most anything. We do it several times a day without doing much thinking. You usually hear them in casual conversations. We sit around with a cold glass of lemonade, beer or a gin and tonic on a hot summer’s afternoon and simply talk about whatever’s on our minds, and . . . offer opinions. Some even make their living by giving opinions—harsh, critical, sharp-edged and even sensational opinions. Just listen to talk-radio and you can get inundated with opinions.

Sometimes offering an opinion can spark a debate or even a heated argument. Whether it be politics or religion, global warming, Obama-Care, gay marriage or whether or not the Yankees should get rid of A-Rod, sometimes there’s no such thing as an innocent and uncharged opinion. Recently, I added a “Friend” on Facebook who posted some very strong critical opinions about the contemporary Church. I bit my tongue when he remarked that rather than considering Blessed John XXIII for sainthood, the Church should have burned him at the stake for heresy for convening the Second Vatican Council. I gritted my teeth at his negative and pessimistic comments about Pope Francis, not thirty minutes after his election. But I finally lost it when he wrote: “I guess everyone in the Church realizes by now that Vatican II was a colossal and miserable failure.”

Unfortunately, I didn’t listen to the voice of restraint, common sense and good judgment that said, “Bruce, just leave it alone. DO NOT REPLY!” And I posted this comment: “Well I’m in the Church and I think that Vatican II was a tremendous and glorious success, and demonstrates the wisdom and abiding presence of the Holy Spirit, moving and guiding the Church - which obviously ain’t happening with YOU!” Well! That opened a Pandora’s Box of a barrage of comments and opinions by him on such topics as the Latin mass, papal infallibility, heresy, sin, the Virgin birth, and proper priestly attire. After enduring this diatribe for an hour, I finally wrote back and said, “You know what, I’m tiring of this debate. Let’s just agree to disagree.” . . . Then I deleted him from my Facebook Friends!

It had been only a few weeks since Jesus sent them out on their own. All of the healings that he had done that were drawing people to him from every walk of life, they were now doing. And here they were all back together again sharing stories about everything that had happened. They were filled with excitement as each reported the miracles they had worked.

Jesus, who had been off on his own, joined the conversation. It is then that he posed a question, “Who do people say that I am?” There were lots of answers—they gave him the public opinion and passed on what they had heard, what others were saying. A safe and harmless question; one that was easy to answer. They had nothing at stake—simply passing on the opinions of others.

But then he asks a more loaded question—the one big question of all questions. “It’s all well and good what others are saying, but you, who do you say that I am?” Now Jesus is pressing them at a more personal level and far more is hanging on their answer. This time he wasn’t leaving them any wiggle room. This time he’s not interested in the general popular consensus or the prevailing public opinion. This time he’s not interested in what Google will come up with on the Internet when “Jesus Christ” is typed into the search engine.

You can just imagine the disciples standing around, looking at each other, hemming and hawing, trying to figure out what to say. And it’s Peter who impulsively speaks for all the others, and . . . and he gets it right: “The Christ of God! The One promised by God and sent by God!” And with the correct answer, Jesus then tells them what God expects of him and what he expects of them. He says, “If this is what you believe, what are you going to do about it?” Jesus was looking for more than a verbal response—he was looking for a life response.

It seems that giving the right answer to this question comes with consequences. There’s this business of the cross and making a choice to freely pick it up or put it down, and being willing to take it up each day when we wake up in the morning and rethink how we’ll respond to Jesus today. When Jesus was forced to carry his own cross on that Friday morning, it meant one thing and one thing only: death by the most painful and humiliating means possible. It wasn’t simply a symbol of the burdens we must all carry—strained relationships, thankless jobs, failures in school and in our careers, downturns in our investments, and physical illness. Taking up our crosses and following Jesus means how we live our lives and see ourselves in relation to Christ and how we treat others. The cost of accepting Jesus’ invitation is to pay the price in daily installments as we bear the hardships of being cross bearers.

Who do you say that I am, Jesus asks? Do you see hims as Good Shepherd? Savior? Redeemer? Master Teacher? Miracle Worker? Friend? Maybe you think of Jesus as your Beloved, one closer to you than even your spouse or child, father or mother. Perhaps you see Jesus as a somewhat naïve dreamer, someone whose teachings are nice, but which, in the real world, just can never be lived. Or maybe you see him as the “Push-over Savior,” and that you can do whatever you please because, in the end, you can rely on his love and forgiveness to get you into heaven no matter how sinful, or how undeserving, or how unrepentant you may be.

Who do you say that I am, Jesus asks? Not just intellectually, not just when you stand up in church on Sunday and recite the Creed, not just when you’re enjoying quiet moments of prayer. Who do you say that Jesus is, in those places where your lives are lived? In your home, in your workplace, when we’re with your friends who aren’t Christian, or for whom the teaching of Jesus and the church seem to matter very little?

And that question leads us to another series of questions. What difference does Jesus make in my life? What is it about my way of being and doing that would not be, could not be, if it were not for having Jesus in my life? Or are there areas where I am holding out, where my life is not noticeably different from the lives of those who see Jesus as an irrelevant relic of past superstition?

So, Jesus turns to us—“You! You there! Yes, you . . . Who do YOU say that I am?” The question hangs in the air—it won’t go away. We do our own hemming and hawing, and perhaps we hope others will answer for us. And Jesus says, “I’m not interested in opinions; I want to know what you think.” He has come into our lives and rearranged our worlds, so why can’t we come up with our definitive answer? We carry this question in our hearts throughout our lives—it is asked of us over and over. It’s a deeply personal question and it may be the most important question we’ll ever have to answer.

How are we going to answer? If we’re ready to take up our cross, it may not mean that have to risk our lives, but what about our friendships and having people talk about us behind our backs? What about alienation from our families? What about the loss of our jobs when we speak out against what’s wrong?

There comes a time when we have to answer this question and make our own confessions, just like Peter. Jesus is here with us right now, present in this gathering as he always is—the walking, talking, living presence of God in our lives. And in a few moments, he’ll be on this Table. When we process to communion, when we extend our hands, when we eat and drink, will we be able to give him our final answer—no opinions, just the testimony of our lives?

“Who do YOU say that I am?”

Father's Day

Sometimes What You Do Speaks So Loud 

I Can’t Hear What You’re Saying

A Father’s Day Homily

June 16, 2013 

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 . . . sometimes what you do speaks so loud I can’t hear what you’re saying. I don’t think there was anyone who modeled that better than St. Joseph.

I remember once being amused to hear that a certain Franciscan Theologian from the 19th Century (whose name I can’t remember) wrote a six volume “Life of St. Joseph.” Six volumes?! How could one possibly get enough material? We know so little of Joseph from Scripture. All we are left with is a shadowy figure that generally hovers in the background in paintings of the Holy Family, where he stands, anonymous and silent, faithful to his God-given job of protecting Jesus and Mary. But even though not a word of his is recorded, his actions have much to say, especially to men. And so, on this Father’s Day, we do well to reflect on eight qualities that make St. Joseph a model for manhood, for husbands and for fathers:

1. Saint Joseph was obedient. Joseph 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). How often does our pride and willfulness get in the way of our obedience to God?

2. 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. His devotion to his family is a model for fathers today who may be allowing disordered attachments to the things of this world distort their focus and hinder their vocations.

3. Saint Joseph led by example. None of his words are written in Scripture, but 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 are watched for our actions. Every recorded decision and action made by this great saint is the standard for men to follow today.

4. 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.

5. Joseph was a man whose 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. His child was threatened and 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 has priority over career. For fathers especially Joseph shows that a man is a husband and father before he is a businessman.

6. 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 discipline, moderation, hard work, self-control, and many other life skills. In our times it is more rare for fathers to teach a trade to their sons or other children. But in the end it’s more important that a man prepares his children for life.

7. Joseph was a protector. Joseph also models a protective instinct that parents should have. Our children, like Jesus was, are exposed to many dangers. Our American scene does not feature a lot of physical dangers but moral dangers surely abound. Fathers, what are your children watching on TV? What are their Internet habits? Who are their friends? What do your children think about important moral issues? Are you preparing them to face the moral challenges and temptations of life? Are you teaching them the faith along with your wife? Or are you just a passive father, uninvolved in the raising of your children? A man protects his children from harm, physical, moral and spiritual. Joseph shows forth this aspect of manhood.

8. Saint Joseph was a leader. But, not in the way we may view leadership today. He led as a loving husband when he improvised to find a stable for Mary to give birth to Jesus, after being turned away from the Bethlehem inn. He led as a man of faith when he obeyed God in all things, took the pregnant Mary as his wife and later brought the Holy Family safely to Egypt. He led as the family provider by working long hours in his workshop to make sure they had enough to eat and a roof over their heads. He led as a teacher by teaching Jesus his trade and how to live and work as a man.

I recently read a story that I think beautifully conveys the qualities that God desires fathers to possess . . qualities so evident in St. Joseph. It’s called, “When God Created Fathers”:

When the good Lord was creating Fathers he started with a tall frame. And an angel nearby said, "What kind of Father is that? If you're going to make children so close to the ground, why have you put fathers up so high? He won't be able to shoot marbles without kneeling, tuck a child in bed without bending, or even kiss a child without a lot of stooping." And God smiled and said, "Yes, he needs to kneel and be humble and besides if I make him child size, who would children have to look up to?"

And when God made a Father's hands, they were large and sinewy. And the angel shook her head sadly and said, "Do you know what you're doing? Large hands are clumsy. They can't manage diaper pins, small buttons, rubber bands on pony tails or even remove splinters caused by baseball bats." And God smiled and said, "I know, but they're large enough to hold everything a small boy empties from his pockets at the end of a day...yet small enough to cup a child's face in his hands."

And then God molded long, slim legs and broad shoulders. And the angel nearly had a heart attack. "Boy, this is the end of the week, all right," she clucked. "Do you realize you just made a Father without a lap? How is he going to pull a child close to him without the kid falling between his legs?" And God smiled and said, "Yes, I'll give him a lap, for both a dad and a mom need a lap big enough for holding. But a dad can also use strong shoulders to pull a sled, balance a boy on a bicycle, and hold a sleepy head on the way home from the circus."

God was in the middle of creating two of the largest feet anyone had ever seen when the angel could contain herself no longer. "That's not fair. Do you honestly think those large boats are going to dig out of bed early in the morning when the baby cries? Or walk through a small birthday party without crushing at least three of the guests?" And God smiled and said, "They'll work. You'll see. They'll support a small child who wants to ride a horse, or scare off mice at the summer cabin, or display shoes that will be a challenge to fill."

God worked throughout the night, giving the Father few words, but a firm authoritative voice; eyes that saw everything, but remained calm and tolerant. Finally, almost as an afterthought, he added tears. Then he turned to the angel and said, "Now, there's a dad!"

As Catholic men, we have a responsibility to be strong fathers and husbands, leaders in our parishes, good stewards in the community and humble followers of Christ. Let’s look to the inspiring example of Saint Joseph, patron saint of fathers, workers and the Universal Church for his obedience, humility, selflessness, courage and the love he showed to Mary and Jesus. If we can emulate St. Joseph even a little each day, we will be that much closer to becoming the men we are called to be.

Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ

Receiving What We Believe

Becoming What We Receive 

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

There’s a story about a religious man who stood on top of a roof during a great flood. A man came by in a boat and said "Get in, get in!" But the religious man replied, " No I have faith in God. He will grant me a miracle."

Later the water was up to the man’s waist and another boat comes by and the man was told once again to get in. But once again he responded that he had faith in God and that God will give him a miracle. Later, with the water now at about chest high, another boat comes to rescue him, and a third time he turns down the offer, again because he believes God will grant him a miracle.

Finally, with the water chin high, a helicopter throws down a ladder and from the helicopter someone yells for him to hop on. But, true to form, now mumbling with the water in his mouth, he again turns down the offer of help for the faith of God.

Well, the man dies and arrives at the gates of heaven with broken faith and says to St. Peter, “I thought God would grand me a miracle and I was let down." St. Peter chuckles and responds, "I don't know what you're complaining about, we sent you three boats and a helicopter!"

Miracles! When we recognize the miracles around us, we are acknowledging a mystery so profound that it is totally beyond human understanding, and it is a reality so wonderful that words can never even come close to explaining it. And so, there comes a point at which reason, speculation and theological discussion must necessarily come to an end, leaving one to simply stand in wonder.

Today we celebrate a miracle, a wonder that cannot be explained, dissected, categorized or disproved by the world of science, because it exists in the realm of faith. As a matter of fact, it is one of the chief doctrines of our faith: the true presence of Christ in the Eucharist - body, blood, soul and divinity. Not just a sign, not a mere symbol, not a representation, not simply a meal of fellowship. It is nothing less than the presence of the same Christ who was born in Bethlehem, the same Christ who walked along the Sea of Galilee and taught the Apostles, the same Christ who died for our sins on the cross. A Protestant Minister once remarked, “If I believed what you Catholics do about the Eucharist, I wouldn’t simply kneel, I would fall flat on my face.”

Today’s feast of Corpus Christi celebrates and reminds us that Jesus Christ is truly present to His people under the guise of bread and wine. In our first reading today, St. Paul recalls for us the words that Jesus spoke at the Last Supper. There surrounded by His Apostles, He took the bread, gave thanks, broke it, and gave it to them, saying: "This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me." In the same way also the cup, after supper, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me."

Since that moment almost 2000 years ago, believers have gathered around the altar to speak His words - "This is my Body. This is my Blood." These words spoken over gifts of bread and wine become a reality. For Jesus is truly and really present each time we celebrate the Eucharist, each time we gather to proclaim his death and rising until he comes again.

But the emphasis that we place in the Eucharist must not solely be on the transformation of the elements of bread and wine but also on the transformation of the people who receive it. He wants to make us humble as he was humble in the manger, fill us with power as he was filled at his Baptism, transform us as he was transformed on Mt. Tabor, help us bear suffering as he did on the cross, and unite us with one another as we will all be united at the second coming. We are called to be the hands and feet, the mouth and the heart of Christ in our world today. We are invited to make Him present to the world in the same way He makes Himself present to us in Eucharist. As St. Augustine once said: Believe what you receive. Receive what you believe. Become what you receive.

For we, His People, are the Body of Christ in the world today. We continue His mission in our world. It is not enough to gaze upon the Body of Christ. It is not enough to receive the Body of Christ; we are invited to become the Body of Christ. For what He did with bread, Jesus also does with our lives: He took the bread, blessed the bread, broke the bread, and gave the bread.

And Jesus takes us – He claims us as His own in Baptism.
Jesus blesses us – Just start counting your blessings and you’ll soon see what I mean.
Jesus breaks us – The trials, the sufferings, the school of hard knocks form us.
And Jesus gives us – He gives us to one another that we might love and serve.

Saint Thérèse, the Little Flower, our patroness, once said these beautiful words: "Our Lord does not come down from heaven every day just to remain in the tabernacle. He looks for another tabernacle, the tabernacle of our souls." As I look out from the ambo this evening, I see the Church. Yes, I see our newly renovated sanctuary, the beauty of our altar and Baptismal font, the stained glass windows and statues. But I also see you. For the Church is not just a beautiful building, but you, God's beautiful people. You need to know that before many people will ever walk into the physical building we call our church, they walk into your lived Christian lives, lives nourished on the Eucharist. When they do, will they find the fruit of the Bread of Life, or just the stale bread of the world? The Eucharist should make us like the Christ whom we receive: patient, kind, loving, sacrificial, and desiring to live our lives doing the will of our heavenly Father. That is why we first receive Him in the Church, and then take Him out into the world, to do what He did, to heal, to nourish, to forgive, to heal.

"Body of Christ. Amen." "Blood of Christ. Amen." As we approach the altar during Communion we will hear these words repeated again and again. But these are more than just words. They speak reality to us. The Body of Christ; the Blood of Christ are food and drink for us. They are nourishment and strength for the journey. They speak of our unity with Jesus and our unity with one another. They speak the reality of Him whom we receive - the Body of Christ; and also of whom we are - the Body of Christ.

I don’t pretend to understand this gift of the body and blood of Christ any more than I understand how God is three in one. I don’t understand it, I simply accept it and welcome this hidden God, this marvelous gift, with awe and delight and wonder. I wonder at the goodness of God in giving me this gift. I wonder at his mercy when he can offer his body and blood to a sinner. I wonder at his power in making himself present daily on the altar to millions of Christians in every country throughout the world. But most of all, I stand in wonder because the Eucharist is proof that God never wants to leave us alone. The Eucharist is Christ within us, nourishing us; Christ closer to us than our own skin; Christ feeling our joy and our sorrow; Christ knowing our needs before we can express them; Christ building up our faith life, our spiritual life, our eternal life; Christ, on the Cross, offering himself up for each one of us. To paraphrase Ignatius of Antioch, in the Eucharist we not only put our arms around Jesus, but more importantly, He squeezes us with a hug. He just about takes our breath away. And isn’t that truly something to wonder at!

Bereavement Service

Just Beyond the Rainbow's End

June 1, 2013

“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 in the first of a collection of thirteen books entitled, 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.’” And then, in the shortest verse in all of Scripture, 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. Today, 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.” Our faith informs and transforms our understanding of death and tempers our grief. For through faith we know that our loved ones that we remember today are not gone…only their body has died; their spirit lives with God and has gone home to be with Jesus. They are home, home to where they have been welcomed and forgiven and loved…loved more than we could ever imagine. And so, grief is NOT a lack of trust or faith. We can experience profound grief and yet 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 is a response to their gain.

“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 people ask, “Where is God?” And the answer is: “with us.” God was there when the flood waters rose during Super Storm Sandy. God was there grieving with the parents who lost their children to the violence on that December day in Newtown, CT. God is with the people of Oklahoma amidst the tragedy of the loss of life and property caused by the recent tornado there. 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 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 and the hold that grief can have upon us. Grief is real, but the loss we experience 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.

I recently came across a song by Irish singer, Daniel O’Donnell. I think it beautifully conveys what our loved ones would want to tell us if they could this morning. The song is called, “At the Rainbow’s End”:

I have gone from sight but I am waiting . . . 

Waiting just beyond the rainbow's end.

I'm happy in this place that I have come to

Because I'm here with my forever friend.

Now all your thoughts of me, let them be joyful . . . 

Of things we've done and happy times we shared.

So don't be sad dear ones because I've left you . . . 

Please laugh and talk of me as if I'm there.

Just look up in the sky: I am the sunshine . . . 

I'm the mist that rises on the summer morn . . . 

I'm the gentle breeze that cools the autumn evening . . .

When the birds sing in the trees I'm their song.

This journey I've made one day you'll make it -

You too will be with my forever friend.

It's there once more that we'll be together . . . 

I'll meet you just beyond the rainbow's end.

It's there once more that we'll be together . . . 

I'll meet you just beyond the rainbow's end.

Yes, I'm waiting just beyond the rainbow's end.

Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity

Reflections of the Mystery

Exodus 34:4b-6, 8-9; 2 Corinthians 13:11-13; John 3:16-18 

Have you ever been at a loss for words? Has an experience ever left you speechless? Or has an emotion run so deep that words cannot express its meaning? As much as words communicate, so much more is left within the heart. As we go through life we all at some time come to the realization of just how limiting words can be. There are just some realities, some experiences, some emotions that words cannot do justice to. The words are too limiting, too confining to adequately express what we want to convey. This is one of the key mysteries of life. To this mystery, add the revelation of God.

Today we celebrate the Feast of the Holy Trinity. The Catechism of the Catholic Church calls the mystery of the Holy Trinity the central mystery of Christian faith and life. It is the mystery of God in Himself. It is the truth into which we were all baptized, the belief we affirm every time we make the sign of the cross at the beginning of prayer, and the doctrine of faith that we will declare once again in a few minutes when we proclaim our creed. Theologian Hans Kung relates the story of a Bavarian priest who announced to his congregation on the Feast of the Holy Trinity that this was so great a mystery, of which he understood nothing, that therefore there would be no sermon that Sunday. Well my friends, you’re not going to get off that easy with me this morning! As another priest once told his congregation, “The problem with the Trinity is that if you don’t believe it, you risk losing your soul. But if you try to explain it, you risk losing your mind!” Well, according to Fr. Marc, I lost my mind years ago! So then I guess it’s fairly safe for me to proceed.

I suppose there is no truth of the faith more aptly described as mystery, than is that on which the liturgy asks us to reflect this morning. Three Persons in One God, One Divine Nature . . . Father, Son and Holy Spirit. St. Patrick used the shamrock to explain the Trinity. St. Ignatius Loyola used the example of a musical chord, three notes played simultaneously to produce one sound. But no matter what image we use, it will always be lacking and ultimately will leave us unsatisfied because God cannot be pinned down, investigated, dissected, or analyzed. We shall never be able to capture God; to put God in a neat package of our own making. We believe in a God who is beyond naming or defining, a God who shall always remain more than our words and doctrines. He will always be “more” and “other” than our images of him. There is a mystery about God which is so tremendous, awesome and overwhelming, we are unable to grasp it.

But a mystery is not something that cannot be known. Rather it is something that cannot be known just by the mind, just by reason. It requires a willingness to listen, a willingness to trust what is heard, and a readiness to use what is heard as a motive for acting. Bind all these together with perseverance, and that reality is what we call faith. We can understand only some fragments, some grains of truth. But faith collects in itself all of the fragments of the mystery which surpass our understanding, and thus, it is this very same faith which allows us to catch a glimpse of the truth which surpasses us.

And it is through our faith that we have come to know a Trinity of three persons, each of whom is a partial reflection of the “Fullness of God.” And so, Father is the Creative Reflection of God. In the Father, God perfectly manifests the qualities of power, of life-giving creativity, of majesty and transcendence.

And in the Son, we see the Redemptive Reflection of God, who wrapped himself in flesh and blood to become one of us and walk where we walk, and live as we live. And in the person of Jesus, we see reflected the One who is perfect and sinless, who not only took on human flesh, but also clothed himself in our sin and died so to redeem us.

And the Holy Spirit is the Sustaining Reflection of God. The Spirit sustains and strengthens us in difficult times and reminds us of our calling. It reminds us of who we are and Whose we are. The presence of God’s Holy Spirit is simply God with us every day, in every way.

Having explained that, we could all utter a loud collective, “So what?” What difference does all this theologizing make. Well it should and does and must make a difference. Why? Because, just like the Trinity, WE ARE CALLED to be reflections of God.

I’m sure that many of you have seen the movie “The Lion King.” It is the story of a young lion who ran away from home, permanently, after he had been tricked into believing that he had killed his father, who was the king of the jungle. The one who tricked him was his evil, conniving uncle, who seized the throne for himself. The movie deals with this young lion’s struggle to remember his heritage as the king of the jungle and then enter into a struggle with his evil uncle to claim that heritage as the rightful king.

The most poignant scene of the movie occurred when the young lion, now grown to adulthood, was bidden to look at his reflection in a pool of water. He had been longing for his father’s wisdom and wished to have a bit of that wisdom as he struggled with the decision to return home and seize the throne. He looked into the pool and saw the face of his father. To his astonishment, he had grown into the very image of his father. Not only did he have his father’s physical features, but he discovered that he carried his father’s wisdom and regal bearing within himself. He would go and seize the throne because he was his father’s son and he chose to be the king he was destined to be.

In the Creation Account in the Book of Genesis, we are told that we have been created in the image and likeness of God. And so, my friends, we are called to be daily reflections of the One who created us, redeemed us and sustains us. We are like mirrors designed to reflect the very face and heart of God in our daily lives. The Christian life is about making and remaking ourselves until we are perfect reflections of our God.

And how do we reflect God?

First, we are reflections of God when we honor creation. God created everything and called it good. We too must respect what God has created. In the Garden of Eden, God made us not only masters over what he had created, but caretakers of it as well. In our respect for our environment and all living things, we reflect the pride that the Creator himself shows in his handiwork.

Second, we must recognize and utilize our intelligence and the many gifts and talents that God has bestowed upon us. Through the development and positive use of our creativity, the work of our intellect and of our hands reflects the Creator of all that is good.

Third, we reflect the Trinity when we live life as Jesus himself lived it. We must be faithful, unhesitatingly forgiving . . . we too must persevere as servants of one another, without exception or compromise, because that is the example that God the Redeemer gave us. We must strive to ground and polish the imperfections from ourselves and overcome our tendency toward sin and evil. And when we do, we reflect our perfect and sinless Redeemer.

And finally, we reflect God when we are people of love. Because God is Love. And when we abide in the spirit of His love and reflect his care for all people, we are never more like God Himself.

The mystery of the Blessed Trinity . . . the central mystery of the Christian faith. A God that is One, yet a God that is Three. A God that is here, yet a God that is everywhere. A God who is mighty, yet a God that is tender. A God who is just, yet a God who shows mercy. A God who is Spirit, yet a God that takes on flesh. A God who is in Christ, and yet a Christ who is in us. A God who is Spirit and blows where it wills; yet a Spirit who abides in our hearts. But along with this great mystery of faith stands perhaps a greater mystery. And that mystery is how we could ever turn away from such a God as our God by choosing sin over Him, how we could possibly reject his love and how we could possibly turn down the invitation to be a reflection of this great and awesome Trinity!

Pentecost Sunday

Come Holy Spirit

Acts 2: 1-11; Corinthians 12: 3b-7, 12-13; John 20: 19-23 

Have you ever asked yourself the question, “What is God like?” If you have, and have seriously reflected upon it, you ultimately come up with the answer that “God is love.” That answer is clearly evident in his incarnation – his becoming Man and living among us and as one of us. It is seen in his miracles, in his compassion for our needs, in the blessings he sends our way, in the prayers he answers. It is seen in the passion, death and resurrection of his Son: suffering and dying in atonement for our sins, resurrection so that we may be one with him for all eternity in the Kingdom of Heaven. “God is Love” and that is what all the fuss is about on Pentecost. That is what we’re celebrating - the fact that God is love and that God’s love is poured into us, warms our hearts and fires us up to do good things in this world.

What a cast of characters they were, those disciples gathered in that upper room fifty days after Jesus had returned to them after his Resurrection, ten days after he left them again after his Ascension. They were variously described as weak, timid, shallow, and lacking in conviction and courage - hardly the ideal choice for the foundation of a new church and a new religion. But he had chosen each of them and their lives had changed in ways that they could never have imagined. They had left their homes and families and witnessed him do incredible things. They had spent days and nights with Jesus watching, listening, and seeing the unbelievable happen over and over. But all of that had cruelly changed and he had left them for the first time and their hopes and aspirations had died with him. But he did what he had promised; he had returned, risen and they were restored in hope. But now, he had left them again. But he left them with another promise: to send them his Holy Spirit.

Something amazing happened to those disciples that first day of the week. They were sitting around, behind locked doors, feeling alone and sorry for themselves, saying, “Ain’t it awful. How are we going to get along without him? How are we possibly going to do what he asked us to do?!” And then suddenly, they were all swept up in a “holy hurricane” that sent sparks flying around the room like a 4th of July fireworks display until tongues of flame came to rest over the heads of each of them. There was nothing understated about what happened. In an instant they were radically changed as the Holy Spirit filled them. It surged through their beings warming, energizing, and purging them; and they were given “courage, insight, and eloquence.” And just as God had made His presence felt in history through wind and fire, the Holy Spirit came rushing in and through the disciples as a gale force wind and fire. The mighty wind cleansed the disciples hearts and the fire burnt-up their unregenerate desires like they were straw. And Jesus who had never given up on them despite their own failings, doubts and darkness, kept his promise once again.

God is love and we celebrate God’s gift of love to us on this Pentecost Sunday. Today we celebrate a promise fulfilled. A promise to never leave us alone; a promise to be with us always, even until the end of time; a promise to send us his abiding Spirit, the Paraclete, the Advocate, who would teach us and remind us of all that he taught us. He is with us now. His being with us means joy and love, wind in our sails, fire in our bellies, warmth in our hearts. It means commitment and conviction poured into the very depths of our being. Christ’s being with us means forgiveness of our sins and our stupidity. Christ’s being with us means that each of us has at hand a generous supply of the confirmation gifts he offered his original disciples, the gift of the Holy Spirit who, in turn, brings gifts of wisdom, understanding, knowledge, counsel (or right judgment), fortitude (which is the courage all of us need), piety (understood as a mature and proper reverence), and fear of the Lord (a sense of wonder and awe). These are the gifts of Pentecost, confirmation gifts bestowed on the confirmandi, these are the gifts we celebrate today. These gifts enable us to work along with God in our own day for the salvation of our world. These gifts are the outpouring of God’s love.

The Holy Spirit is the mystery of God’s love in our world. Of all the persons of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit is the most abstract—God the Father, the Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, and Jesus Christ, the only Son of God. The Holy Spirit is more difficult to describe—who proceeds from the Father and the Son and with the Father and Son is worshiped and glorified. Yet on that day, that first Pentecost, the Spirit’s impact was undeniable. The disciples became different people in a new kind of community with gifts and capabilities they never had—barriers were broken, fear vanquished, and new beginnings started. The once weak, timid, and shallow were transformed into the bold and wise and all were proclaiming Jesus while all around them exclaimed, “Who are these people?” They became a different people. And so must we.

Today we are gathered in one place, as diverse a group as the disciples in that upper room, bringing with us our own challenges, fears and joys. Many of us are panting and even gasping to find our breath, struggling to cope with all that is happening—excited and worried as our children move on from grade school to high school to college, to new careers and lives; afraid about unresolved health issues that grow more complicated with each passing day; and a host of countless other anxieties and depressions about growing older while grieving the things we once did with ease and now can no longer do. And for one hour we acknowledge our needs, let down our guards, and with outstretched arms we wait for Holy Spirit to descend upon us because we know we can’t do it on our own. But most of us are skeptics and we sell the Holy Spirit short unsure and unconvinced that the Spirit still acts in that same dramatic and profound way as he did on that first Pentecost morning. We want to feel the Spirit blowing through our lives; we want to be infused with new faith and conviction with tongues of fire hanging over our heads; we want our own Pentecost experience. But we wonder and we doubt and convince ourselves that it may be easier to just remain behind locked doors.

The Holy Spirit still breathes upon us. The Holy Spirit is here revamping and rearranging our lives, just as Jesus promised, inspiring us to do what we cannot do on our own—taking risks we thought we did not have the courage to take; speaking up when we could not find the right words to say; stepping forward to minister and help convinced our gifts were inadequate and our capabilities insufficient; reaching out to help when it would be so much easier just to take care of our own problems; trusting that if we turn it over to the Holy Spirit that we’ll get what we need and what we’re asking for.

In John’s gospel account, after giving them the Spirit and expressing his wish that peace be with them, Jesus said to his disciples, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” Consider yourselves sent – sent out with a smile, with fire in your heart, with the wind of God’s love at your back – consider yourself sent to bring the Spirit of Pentecost to the world beneath your feet, to a world in need of hope and help, peace and reconciliation, joy and love. The Holy Spirit is like a wind . . . like a flame. Like a strong wind or a gentle breeze, the Spirit can be present to you. Like fire, the Spirit can bring you light and warmth. Each one of you today, all of us together, can be filled with the Holy Spirit. We can be fired up and ready to renew the face of the earth. Or at least we can be fired up to renew our small portion of the earth with love. And so we pray . . .

Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful and kindle in them the fire of your love. Send forth your Spirit and we shall be re-created. And You shall renew the face of the earth.

Seventh Sunday of Easter (Cycle C)

Jesus' Dream

Acts 7:55-60; Rev. 22: 12-14, 16-17, 20; John 17: 20-26

I'd like to wish all of you who are mothers a very happy Mother's Day! I guess it's only natural that this past week, as the days drew closer to today's celebration, so many beautiful memories of my own mother rushed to remembrance. As I refected on today's gospel and began preparing my homily, a certain memory of her came to mind:

It’s Sunday morning, and Mom and I walk into the church of my childhood. I was only about six or seven at the time, but I was old enough to know what awaited me. Namely, an hour of staring, squirming, and daydreaming, and just waiting for that hour to pass in order for freedom to return. And so the question naturally sprung into mind. "Mom," I asked, "why do we have to come here?" Without batting an eye she responded, "Because God lives here." (Moms have built-in catechisms that are made for situations like this.) Her response didn’t exactly thrill me, but it did make me content - after all, it’s hard to argue about coming to see God. So we enter the side-door of the church, where I begin another hour-long session of staring, squirming, and daydreaming. Perhaps your experience was the same as mine when you were a child. Maybe you still stare and squirm and daydream!

Turns out, though, we’re not the only ones who daydream in church. God’s pretty good at it too! There in that Upper Room, that first church where the Eucharist was celebrated; there with his first congregation - the Apostles, Jesus dreams. And what a beautiful dream it is. And the best part about it is, it’s about us!

His dream finds expression, as sometimes our dreams do, expressed in a prayer. First Jesus prays for those who will come to believe through the preaching of the apostles and their successors. That means us. We are those who inherit the faith of the apostles, the fruits of their preaching. He is praying for us.

Then Jesus says the most remarkable thing: "Father may they be one in us, as you are in me and I am in you" Could the dream get any better than that? Jesus is praying that the very love which the Father shares with the Son may be part of the life of Christian people. We are swept up into that loving relationship which is at the heart of eternity. Indeed, Jesus goes on to pray "that the love with which you loved me may be in them".

But, as we look at the history of Christianity, it is pretty clear that we have failed to live out that dream that Jesus has for us. “That they may all be one?” In the United States alone, there are more than one thousand Christian denominations. In the two thousand years of Church history, Christians have argued about everything from the authority of the Pope, indulgences, the role of Mary, to how to baptize (to immerse or just pour water over someone). Even within the Catholic Church itself, we often divide people into categories: conservative, liberal, orthodox, traditional, progressive. Somehow I don’t think this was part of Jesus’ dream.

In one of my favorite Peanuts cartoons, Lucy demands that Linus change TV channels and then threatens him with her fist if he doesn't. “What makes you think you can walk right in here and take over?” asks Linus. “These five fingers,” says Lucy. “Individually they're nothing, but when I curl them together like this into a single unit, they form a weapon that is terrible to behold.'' Which channel do you want?' asks Linus. Turning away, he looks at his fingers and says, “Why can't you guys get organized like that?”

And I think Jesus might say the same thing to us. “Why can’t you guys get organized like that?” Because, like Lucy observed, individually we are nothing, but just like there is power in a hand that curls its fingers together in a fist, there is power when people join together and put aside their arguments and petty differences, and come together in Christ’s name. It is nothing less than the power to transform the world: to build the Kingdom of God. To change hatred into love, and war and violence into peace. It is the power of forgiveness. It is the power of compassion. It is the power to feed the hungry and give drink to the thirsty. The power to clothe the naked, shelter the homeless, and minister to the sick.

God’s dream is no eight-hour snooze. It’s a living reality. As a people of faith, we are called to do our daydreaming wide-awake. It’s the dream God shares with us, and for good reason. We need this dream. We see headlines about war and terror, about sickness and scandal. We wonder if we’re living more in a nightmare than a daydream. But God is faithful to us, and he has given us everything we need to fulfill this dream.

Next week, we celebrate the Feast of Pentecost, the “birthday of the Church,” the day on which, in that very upper room where Jesus dreamed his dream, he gives his disciples the means of accomplishing that dream – the Holy Spirit. And it is through the gifts of the Holy Spirit that we receive at Confirmation (the gift of Wisdom, Understanding, Counsel, Fortitude, Knowledge, Piety, and Fear of the Lord) that we can create a world in which the fruits of the Spirit are evident: love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, friendliness, gentleness, and self-control. In essence, through the Holy Spirit, we have the power to transform our world into a holy place, a sanctuary, a church without walls.

And so, we await the fulfillment of the dream. We yearn for the day when church capacity will match city capacity, and today’s headlines will melt into tomorrow’s footnotes. And someday, when a little boy asks, “Why do we have to go to church?” we will say that we don’t. One day we won’t have to go to church. We’ll already be there.

If only my Mom could have told me that!

In Memory of Doug Smith

Doug Smith

July 1, 1955 - May 7, 2013

Hey, old friend

Are you okay, old friend?

What do you say, old friend

Are we or are we unique?

Time goes by, everything else keeps changing

You and I we get continued next week.

Most friends fade

Or they don't make the grade

New ones are quickly made

And in a pinch, sure, they'll do

But us old friend what's to discuss old friend?

Here's to us,

Who's like us?

Damn few.

Those lyrics were written by Steven Sondheim for a musical called, "Merrily We Roll Along." Somehow, I've always felt that they were the theme song of Doug's and my friendship.

There are no pictures of Doug and I from our days at Pius. Times were different then. There were no cell phones with cameras to chronicle our lives. But you know what? We didn't need them. I have a million beautiful images in my mind of our friendship: painting scenery with Schwang, sitting together in chapel everyday for mass, Fiddler and Dolly, our mutual love for Martin & Lewis, strange words like "Whooha" that we made up and how we would laugh hysterically when either one of us said them, how Doug wrote down every "diddle deedle diddle do" in "If I Were a Rich Man" from the cast album of "Fiddler on the Roof" just so I would get it right. Pictures? Who needs them? I've got memories! I know that many years went by between high school and when Doug and I reconnected on Facebook. But I think we were always in each others hearts, at least Doug was in mine, so those years really just seemed like days instead. Doug was my best friend and my brother. With Doug's passing, I feel that something inside of me has died. I will never forget you, my brother. Pictures can fade but those beautiful images of you will live in my heart forever!

So, old friend

Fill me in slow, old friend

Start from hello, old friend,

I want the when, where and how.

Old friends do

Tend to become old habit 

Never knew

How much I missed you till now.

Most friends fade

Or they don't make the grade.

New ones are quickly made,

Some of them worth something, too.

But us, old friend 

What's to discuss, old friend?

Here's to us,

Who's like us?

Damn few.

Ordination Homily

Today is the twelfth anniversary of my ordination to the permanent diaconate. Rather than posting a homily for the Sixth Sunday of Easter, I thought I'd share with you my homily for my first mass. In reading over my own words, I only hope and pray that I've lived up to the great privilege and responsibility that God called me to. I still struggle to hear his whispers. And I still delight in discerning another clause in the incomplete sentences of his will for my life. 

Whispers and Incomplete Sentences 

A Homily for My First Mass 

May 6, 2001 

1 Samuel 3:1-10; 2 Corinthians 4:1-2, 5-7; John 13:1-15 

I’d like to begin my homily today by telling you a story about our pastor. For those of you who are not parishioners of St. Therese, a little bit of explanation on the history of our parish might be in order. As you walked into our church this morning, you might have noticed that, as the cornerstone of our church indicates, it was built in 1985. In 1986, Fr. Davis became pastor. And in 1987 . . . the roof of the church collapsed! Now, if there is any connection between those events, I’ll leave that for you to decide!

Of course, when the roof collapsed, Fr. Davis not only oversaw the necessary repairs to the church, but also made sure that the entire structure was safe and secure so that the same thing wouldn’t happen again. And so, scaffolding was erected all over the church to install crossbeams to brace the existing beams that support the roof of our church. Now, Fr. Davis, wanted to make sure the job was done and done correctly. So frequently, after the workers had finished for the day, he would climb up the scaffolds to inspect their work.

One day while he was up there, he heard the church door open, and into the church walked one of our parishioners, Anna DePasquale, a short, rather rotund, elderly Italian woman. Fr. Davis heard the clicking of her heals as she made her way down the center aisle of the church, clutching her over-sized handbag in one hand and a shopping bag in the other, completely oblivious to Fr. Davis being up on the scaffolding. As she reached her favorite pew here in the front of the church, Anna knelt down, took out her rosaries and started to pray. Well, Fr Davis couldn’t resist the temptation to have some fun with his parishioner, so he laid face down on the scaffolding, cupped his hands around his mouth and quietly said, “Anna DePasquale, this is Jesus!” But, much to his chagrin, Anna gave no reaction. And even though perched high above her, he could see her still mouthing the words to the “Hail Mary” and the beads of her rosary slipping through her fingers.

Thinking that perhaps Anna didn’t hear him, Fr. Davis tried it again, only this time a bit louder: “Anna Depasquale, this is Jesus!” But, once again, no reaction. And like the first time, he looked down, and saw Anna intensely mouthing “Hail Mary, Mother of God” fingering the beads as she did.

Fr. Davis couldn’t understand why Anna still didn't respond, so he tried a third time. Only this time, he shouted: “ANNA DePASQUALE, THIS IS JESUS!” Well, this time Anna gave a sharp glance above her, shook the hand that held her rosary beads, and responded in her thick Italian accent: “Jesus, would you stop interrupting! Can’t you see I’m talking with your mother!”

Would that it was as easy as Anna DePasquale thought to hear the voice of our Lord calling out our name. Our first reading today from the First Book of Samuel, should be one that gives us great joy, because it speaks of a God who knows who we are, knows our name . . . speaks it, calls it out to us. At the heart of Christian revelation is the conviction that God speaks to His people, reveals Himself and His designs for our lives. A powerful notion! But how much more powerful is this revelation when God speaks, and He calls us by name; not as anonymous members of a multitude, but rather to each one of us, as individuals, individuals who are unique: uniquely known, uniquely loved. How awesome! In a society in which we are often de-personalized and de-humanized and become only a number on a driver’s license, a social security card,  credit card, library card, insurance card, the Creator of the Universe knows us by name and calls it out to us.

The Good News is that we are, each one of us, completely known to Christ. All the virtues, the strengths, the temptations resisted, the challenges met, the good deeds done that somehow seem to go unnoticed and un-respected by the people around us, are seen and named and known by Christ. And yes, the weaknesses too, all the things we try to keep hidden because we are afraid they will destroy our dignity, our loveableness. They too are known. But the great truth is that Christ calls by name weak and foolish and fearful people. Christ has no disdain, or contempt, or even impatience with our faults. He knows us all too well for that.

But the fact of the matter is, our God is a God who whispers. His voice must be discerned amidst the noise of a world which is hostile to his values, the noise we make out of our own self-importance and self-seeking, and worst of all, the indifference which can make us deaf to his call. He is also a God who speaks in incomplete sentences, reveals part of His will, only to move us to a point where we will be more receptive to His overall plan for our lives.

So how, or where, do we hear His voice calling us by name? We recognize Him in His own Word, the Bible, when we receive insights into the meaning of the texts and when we try to answer the questions posed by the Lord; questions like: “Who do people say that I am?” “What profit is there for one to gain the who world but lose his life in the process?” “Who by worrying can add a measure to his life?” We need to hear the constant urging of the psalmist: “Oh that today you would hear his voice: Harden not your hearts” (Ps 95[94]:7-8).

We also hear the voice of Jesus in the affirmation of others who are significant in our lives: a parent, spouse, child, colleague, close friend. Someone whom we love, admire or respect has the capability of uplifting us and helping us find self-worth. And sometimes even honest criticism is the voice of the Lord, helping us to discover our failings and shortcomings.

Finally, we hear the voice of Jesus in prayer when we receive the inspiration to make peace and reconcile ourselves with others whom we dislike, to begin some worthy project, to follow a good resolution or to turn away from sin.

Today, I stand among you as one who has heard my voice being called and has heard a whisper beckoning me to serve.

I stand in your presence as someone who is totally humbled that the God of the Universe knows my name and finds something of worth in me. But, as our Second Reading pointed out, it’s really not all about me, is it? It’s all about HIM, for I do not preach myself, but Christ Jesus as Lord. And despite my faults and my shortcomings, “I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”

I come before you this afternoon as one who has received a challenge to live in Christ’s example of service. As I frequently tell my students, one of the great things about Christ is that he never asks us to do anything more or anything other than what he himself did. Could that be any more clear than in today’s gospel: “You call me Master and Teacher and rightly so, for indeed I am. If I, therefore, the Master and Teacher have washed your feet, you ought to wash each other’s feet. I have given you an example to follow, that as I have done, so must you do.”

And finally, I stand in your midst as one who is overwhelmingly honored to have been chosen by God to do something that human pride and ego would normally find repulsive and reprehensible: to be used . . . to be utilized . . . to be a mere instrument through which He will act. And so, to you: my family, my fellow parishioners, my friends, my colleagues and my students, I say to you: I am His and I am yours. I am in your midst as one who serves. May I be His eyes that looks compassion on you, His heart that pulsates love for you, His arms stretched out in service to you, and His feet which guides you on your way toward Him.

And to the God who whispers and speaks in incomplete sentences, I humbly say: “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening . . . Here I am, Lord, I come to do your will.”


I chose this song as the meditation song for my first mass as a deacon. It beautifully said all that I wanted to be and all that I wanted to do. Hopefully I'm somewhere on the path to becoming that deacon.

Fifth Sunday of Easter (Cycle C)

Loving as Jesus Loved 

Acts 14: 21-27; Rev. 21:1-5a; John 13: 31-33a, 31-35 

Sometimes, as we get older and look back on our life, we tend to do so through rose-colored glasses. We often look back and see events as we wish they had happened and not as they actually did, and we view ourselves, not necessarily as the person we were, but as the person we would like to have been. That being said, when I look back at my younger self, I think I can honestly say I was a good kid. I loved my parents, had lots of acquaintances and a few really good friends. I did relatively well in school,  respected my teachers and had a good relationship with all of them. That is, until my freshman year in college.

For some reason which defies logic, after taking four years of Latin and three years of French in high school, I decided to now take up the challenge to tackle Spanish. My professor was an elderly Italian priest by the name of Fr. Minelli. Fr. Minelli hated me, and, as hard as I tried, nothing I did could please him or change his opinion of me. You see, I had the misfortune of sitting next to Pete Cavanaugh in class. Pete didn’t pay attention, constantly talked, and made fun of Fr. Minelli’s accent, the gimp when he walked, and his right eye, which seemed it might be searching the skies for enemy aircraft as his left eyes stared directly at you. It was a case of guilt by association. Because Pete sat next to me, Fr. Minelli assumed that I was in on it, and in his eyes (or at least the one that wasn’t focused skyward) I was just as guilty as Pete. He even had a name for us – “The Collaborators.”

One day, the class was assigned a particularly difficult and lengthy passage to translate for homework. I spent hours preparing it because I knew . . . I just knew that I was going to be the “chosen one” who would have the misfortune of being singled out to read and translate it in front of everyone during the next class. Sure enough, my worst nightmare became reality. But despite all my preparation, I delivered, shall I say, a less than stellar performance. And after struggling, stammering and shuffling for what seemed like an eternity, Fr. Minelli had this assessment of my performance: “Senor Olsen, your grammar is not good; your pronunciation is not good; your translation is not good; you are not a good student. I hope you are a good lover!”

That was my last day in Spanish class. A knowledge of Spanish might not have sunk in, but common sense had, and I realized I was in a no win situation with Fr. Minelli. And so, I decided to return to "parlez vous-ing my Francais."

But Fr. Minelli’s humiliating words to me that day in class are Jesus prayer for each one us: “I hope you are a good lover.”

Many times the last thing a person says before he or she is dying takes on a very special significance. It is as if the very essence of that individual is somehow summed up and compacted into a single message. I imagine this is how the earliest disciples felt about the words that are in our gospel today. They were all at table with Jesus, and the impending crisis that would take his life loomed ahead of them inescapably. And then came those final, poignant words, his last will and testament, "A new commandment I give to you; love one another. As I have loved you, you are to love one another." This will become your unique signature in the world, the way people will sense your true identity, your essence. This will be your ultimate reason for being.

There is actually nothing original or brand new in these words. The commandment to love one another goes back much, much further than Jesus himself. It is one of the themes that is cited again and again all through the Old Testament. And Jesus had certainly repeated those words again and again as he walked the ways of the earth during the days of his flesh. What, then, was the unique nuance that made this final mandate so special and so memorable, as it is, right down to this very moment?

I believe that it was the fact that when Jesus gave his last will and testament, he gave it as a commandment. He didn’t say, “This is my suggestion; here is an idea that you may want to consider; here’s something to think about.” No, he said, “Here is my new commandment.” And he goes one step further. He qualifies it. Jesus will be dead in less than 24 hours and he proclaims, “Love one another as I have loved you.” There’s the remarkable difference—loving like he loves; as he will love; as he loved.

In other words, the unique way that Jesus had incarnated that ancient ideal was to become the pattern of how the disciples, and that includes us, were to love one another. Here is one of those places where the famous imitation of Christ's ideal got its origin, and it raises the seminal question, "Exactly how did this one, who became what we are so we could understand more fully who God is, actually and realistically love?"

St. Augustine has given us two clues to answer this question. He once observed that Jesus loved each one he had ever met as if there were none other in all the world to love. In other words, Jesus radically individualized the affection he acted out toward others. He didn’t just love everyone, but loved every ONE. Instead of never seeing the trees for the forest, as the old adage goes, Jesus reversed that process and never failed to focus on the particular and the unique in each human being. This represents an extraordinary commitment and discipline, especially because, even in Jesus' day, he came in contact with so many people and, therefore, must have found it tempting to lump people together into categories, into classes, and to allow the forest mentality to blind him to the genuine uniqueness of each human being. And even though such an ideal to individualize our loving energies is difficult, it is within the possibility of each and every one of us. Let’s never forget that we're made in the image of that extraordinary love. And doing what Jesus did in loving each one he ever met as if there were none other in all the world is the ideal toward which we can reach. Jesus would not have given us this new commandment if it had not been possible.

The second clue St. Augustine offers is that Jesus loved all as he loved each. The way he loved was not only individualized, but it was also incredibly universal. He didn’t play favorites. His love wasn’t just extended to the priests, and the Pharisees, and the rich. It was all-inclusive and was extended in the same measure to tax collectors, lepers, prostitutes, and the poor. His love was unconditional. His love, his mercy, his concern, his compassion was extended to saint and sinner alike. Those eyes out of which he looked when he lived upon this earth were never filled with contempt or disdain. Even when the words Jesus spoke assumed a note of harshness, it was because of a concern that he felt for those whom he addressed. They were never words of hatred. We must never forget that the opposite of love is not anger or hostility but indifference. There is not one example in all of the gospels of Jesus ever turning away from another as if what happened to that one made no difference to him. I find St. Augustine's words to be a wonderful description of that unique way that Jesus loved and invites us now to love also. He loved each one he ever met as if there were none other in all the world to love, and he loved all as he loved each. I don’t know which of these qualities is more amazing, but, once again, Augustine’s description remains true to the memories that we're given of Jesus in all four of the gospels.

“Love you.” It’s a phrase which seems commonplace and overused in our society. It can mean everything and mean little. It can roll-off our tongues effortlessly—“love ya.” It’s the last thing we say to someone when we part company; it’s how we end a phone call; it’s the way we sign-off a letter or an email. It can be void of all meaning when we tell someone we love them when we barely know them. Sometimes it just seems like the only thing to say. “Love you."

But Jesus’ command to love is radical. He is demanding that the love we have for those closest to us—our spouses, our children, our grandchildren, our dearest and closest friends—that love is what we are to have for everyone. For sinners, for people we hardly know, for those we’ll never meet, for those we cannot stomach, even for those we despise and hate, for those who are our enemies, and for all of those unworthy of love. Just as he loved us, “while we were still sinners,” we also are to love others. This is his last will and testament. This is what he really wants us to do. Nothing could be clearer; nothing more challenging. To love as Jesus has loved us is the most difficult demand of Christianity. But it is the easiest path to human perfection.

How do we measure up? Can we ever hope to love like that? Today, when we receive Jesus in the Eucharist, perhaps we can tell him that we accept his bequest; that we promise to try and love better; that we will go back to those we have failed to love; that we will heal what has been hurt and broken; that we will let go of anger and hate, and that we will strive to love as he loves.

“I hope you are a good lover.” And if we’re not, we only have to look at the example of how Jesus loved to become one.