Ascension of the Lord

Drops That Sparkle 

Acts 1:1-11; Ephesians 1:17-23; Matthew 28:16-20 

Two weeks ago, I had the pleasure and the privilege of accompanying our Eighth Graders on their class trip to New York City to see the Broadway musical, Aladdin. I love Broadway musicals. One of my favorites is called Camelot. It tells the story of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. In the final scene of this classic musical, Arthur stands on a hilltop overlooking what once was his glorious kingdom of Camelot. The kingdom now stands in ruins. So too in ruins are his dreams, his vision, the very principles on which he built Camelot. 

As Arthur surveys what remains of his kingdom, he hears a sound and orders whoever is hiding to make himself seen. From the darkness steps a boy of about twelve years of age. His name is Tom of the province of Warwick, and he announces to King Arthur that he has run away from home to become a member of the Knights of the Round Table. Amused, Arthur asks him why he wants to be a knight. Is it because his village was protected by knights or did his father serve a knight? Tom replies, “No.” He simply wants to become a knight because of the stories people tell of the knights. He then recites what amounts to a litany of the principles for which the knights and Camelot itself have stood: truth, honor, justice, a new order of chivalry: not might is right, but might for right. 

Arthur, filled with emotion that these principles have made such an impression on the boy, tells Tom that, as his king, he orders him not to fight in the battle that evening, but to return to England, to grow up and grow old. But in so doing, Arthur gives the boy a mission. In song, he tells him: 

“Each evening, from December to December,

Before you drift to sleep upon your cot,

Think back on all the tales that you remember

Of Camelot.

Ask every person if he’s heard the story

And tell it strong and clear if he has not, 

That once there was a fleeting wisp of glory 

Called Camelot. 

Where once it never rained till after sundown; 

By 8am the morning fog had flown.

Don’t let it be forgot

That once there was a spot

For one brief shining moment

That was known as Camelot!”

Arthur tells Tom to kneel, and then with his sword Excalibur, he bestows knighthood on him. Arthur’s friend, King Pellinore, startled at the sight of Arthur bestowing knighthood on such a young boy, interrupts Arthur and asks, “What are you doing? You have a battle to fight!” Arthur, pointing to the boy, exclaims: “I’ve fought my battle! I’ve won my battle! Here is my victory! What we have done will be remembered!” He then turns to Tom and bids him to return home behind the lines to become the keeper of the dream, the teller of the story. As the boy runs off, Pellinore, still confused asks, “Who was that, Arthur?” And King Arthur replies, “One of what we all are, Pellie - less than a drop in the great blue motion of the sunlit sea. But it seems that some of the drops sparkle, Pellie! Some of them do sparkle!”

This morning, in our first reading from the Acts of the Apostles and our Gospel from Matthew, Jesus, like King Arthur, stands on a hill (actually a mountain – Mount Olivet) near the city of Jerusalem. We’re not told in these readings whether or not Jesus surveyed the city, but we’re told elsewhere in the Gospels that at other times he did. So it’s not a stretch of the imagination that he might have done so this time as well. And if he did, as he looked down on Jerusalem, what did he see? A city that had rejected him . . . the message that he came to bring . . . the kingdom he came to establish . . . the principles that were to be its hallmark - things like: “love your enemies; pray for those who persecute you,” “forgive seventy times seven times,” “the greatest is the one who serves.”

Like King Arthur, Jesus probably felt like a failure; he had been rejected and crucified by the very people he loved, the very ones he came to save. But also like Arthur, he is not alone on that mountain. With him are his Apostles. And in them he sees the future of the Church. In them he sees the drops that will sparkle on the sunlit sea. And as King Arthur bid Tom of Warwick to go and tell the story, so does Jesus. He entrusts his vision and dreams to them, and tells them, “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.”

Like the Apostles, Jesus calls us up the mountain. And there, he sees in us the same thing that King Arthur saw in Tom, the same thing he saw in his Apostles: Hope. Energy. Passion. Commitment. It is us, like the Apostles that Jesus sends out: to remember . . . to tell his story . . . to live his story . . . to make a difference . . . to bring about change . . . to re-create the world in his image . . . to establish, not Camelot, but the Kingdom of God. 

This is especially true of our eighth graders who, in two weeks, will leave the mountain called “St. Therese’s” and begin their journey to the distant lands of Morris Catholic, Pope John XXIII, Seton Hall Prep, Villa Walsh, Sussex Vo Tech, and Roxbury, Randolph, Mount Olive, and Lenape Valley High Schools. You are the drops that Jesus calls to sparkle on the sunlit sea of the future. You are the ones He commissions to “teach all nations” by your word and most especially by your example. You are the ones that He sends out to baptize others - with your love and compassion, with your mercy and generosity, with your hope and sincerity, all of which find their source and origin in His Most Sacred Heart. 

There’s one other thing that Jesus told his Apostles on that mountain. It was a promise: “Behold, I am with you always, even to the end of time.” That promise He also makes to all of us today. We never have to feel afraid. Never have to feel lonely. Never have to feel like we go it alone. Never have to feel that we’re not good enough. Never have to feel that we can’t get past our mistakes and failures. Because Jesus is here . . . With us . . . Always . . . Loving us . . . Guiding us . . . Forgiving us. 

And so, like Tom of Warwick and like the Apostles, let us come down off our mountains. Let us run safely behind the lines . . . behind the lines of Sacred Scripture. Let us be true to ourselves . . . Let us be true to who God created us to be . . . Let us be true to the mission that He has given us - to be the keeper of His Dream, the teller of His Story. 

God wants us to sparkle!

Sixth Sunday of Easter (Cycle A)

You in Me - I in You

Acts 8:5-8, 14-17; 1Peter 3:15-18; John 14:15-21 

"Where is God?"

If you were to ask that question of a little child, he or she might point upward and say "God is up in heaven."

If you were to ask an older child that same question, and you happened to be driving along Main Street, that boy or girl might point here, to this building, and say "God is there, in church, that's God's house."

If you were to ask an adult that question, that person might answer that God can be found in the scriptures, in the sacraments, and in other people.

Each one of those answers is correct. God is in heaven, in church, in the scriptures, in the sacraments, and in other people. We can point to those things and people as places where God may be found. But I doubt any of us if we were asked "Where is God?" would point to ourselves and say "God is right here, in me." Yet this Sunday's Gospel might lead us to give that very answer.

There Jesus says, the Father will give us "the Spirit of truth . . . you know him, because he remains with you, and will be in you." Then Jesus goes on to say, "I will come to you . . . you will realize that I am in my Father and you are in me and I in you." Those words in the Gospel indicate that God dwells within us. That is something that begins with the Sacrament of Baptism by which we become children of God, members of the Body of Christ, and dwelling places of the Holy Spirit. We are reminded that God is in us each time we receive the Eucharist. We are united with Christ in one "holy communion" as he comes to us in consecrated bread and wine.

God dwells within us, and God's presence becomes more and more apparent the more we love God and keep the commandments that Jesus Christ has given us. As he says "Whoever has my commandments and observes them is the one who loves me." And what are his commandments? To love as he loved, to forgive as he forgave, to serve as he served. The more we do those things the more the presence of God shines forth from us.

“You in Me – I in You.” This is Jesus message of good news for us today.
“You in Me – I in You.” No matter what the future holds, we will never be alone.
“You in Me – I in You.” We have purpose and meaning to life because we are loved by God.
“You in Me – I in You.” We have purpose and meaning to life because God loves us and the natural

                                      outcome of that is that we love God and love one another.
“You in Me – I in You.” “If you love me you will keep my commandments.”

What is it for Jesus to be "In" us, or us to be "In" Jesus? We can get some idea of it from a popular phrase we use today. We speak of people really "getting into" something. She really "gets into" her job as doctor, for example. That means, she gives her heart and soul to the work; it consumes her energy and becomes a great passion; she gives it everything she’s got. If we say, "He’s really into football," we know that his wife had better watch out come Sundays from September to February because everything else goes on the back burner. To get into something is to make it your own, to intertwine your deepest self with it, to - in a way - ingest it.

Now Jesus promises that kind of closeness with the coming of the Spirit. Jesus being "In" the Father; Jesus being "In" us; and we - through the presence, working, guiding, prodding, teaching, leading, caring and protecting of the Spirit -- becoming "In" God.

Think of it - God "getting into" you! We're not just talking about a vague influence. We're not speaking about some hazy inspirational strength that one would gain from the memory of Christ and his example on earth. It’s far deeper. Far closer. Far more mysterious. And far more intimate than that.

Jesus, through the words of our Gospel, is meeting us this morning with a message of a Person, a divine Person, who will be by our sides . . . to be our strength in all weakness, our Peace in all trouble, our Wisdom in all darkness, our Guide in all confusion, our Comforter, our source of Righteousness when sin is strong, the Giver of Victory over temptation, our Companion and Friend in moments of great loneliness.

We're talking about a Divine Spirit-Being, God the Holy Spirit, coming so close to believers that he touches their very hearts, a heart-to-heart relationship, sharing in the most intimate, deepest manner possible. “You in Me – In in You.”

In Matthew’s Gospel, in the account of his conception, we are reminded that Jesus is Emmanuel, “God with us.” We proclaim that in song each week during the Advent season. But here, in today’s Gospel, Jesus reveals that the Good News is even better than that. He is not only, “God WITH us;” he is “God IN us,” a presence so intimate that his Holy Spirit empowers, enlivens, energizes, inspires and sends us out, just as Jesus himself was sent to make the Father known. It can be frightening and seem an insurmountable task. But Jesus assures that we will not be left orphaned.

“You in Me – I in You”. Let that be our mantra. Let it run constantly through our minds this week. In our work and in our leisure . . . in moments of grace and occasions of temptation . . . in our struggles with sadness, loneliness, failure and fatigue . . . in our experiences of joy, acceptance, success and energy . . . in times when we worry about our health or when we take it for granted . . . when we appreciate our blessings, or when we pray for our needs . . . as we take the presence of God to the people who enrich our lives, and to those that challenge our patience. “I in You – You in Me.”

"Where is God?" To answer that question we can point to heaven. We can point to the church and to others. But just as surely, if we’re keeping God's word, we can point to ourselves! Perhaps St. Patrick said it best in this prayer attributed to him:

Christ with me. Christ before me. Christ behind me. Christ in me. 

Christ beneath me. Christ above me. Christ on my right. Christ on my left.
Christ when I lie down. Christ when I sit down. Christ when I arise.
Christ in the heart who thinks of me. Christ in the mouth that speaks of me. 
Christ in the eye that sees me. Christ in the ear that hears me.

Where is God? Closer than we ever realized.

Third Sunday of Easter (Cycle A)

The Jesus Who Stays

Acts 2:14, 22-33; 1 Peter 1:17-21; Luke 14:13-35

It was the same road, the same people — but the experience changed their direction and destination. It was the same road, the same seven miles between Jerusalem and Emmaus — but the speed of their return was different. It was the same road, the same two disciples — but there was something new and different about them.

On the way to Emmaus, they experienced sadness, disappointment and hopelessness. They whispered the hopes that had filled their hearts that maybe this Jesus was the Messiah that faithful Jews had been waiting for so long. They had hoped, and so they had followed. Then, paralyzed by terror, they had seen Jesus arrested; driven through the streets like a common criminal; crucified… along with all their hopes and dreams for the people Israel. Even the report of the women that Christ’s tomb was empty didn’t raise their spirits; it only confused them even more. And so, on that first day of the week, reeling from all that had happened, there was nothing left to do but go home. Those seven miles never seemed so long.

But the situation was different on their return to Jerusalem. The two felt overwhelming joy and hope. They had a clear focus and determination to tell what they had experienced. The two felt an urgency. There was no time to waste. And those seven miles were never traveled in such a short time.

What happened on that road? An apparent stranger accompanied them along the way. And he turned out to be their risen Lord, Jesus Christ. And Jesus transformed these two disheartened people into "burning hearts."

In today’s gospel, we are told the name of one of the Emmaus-bound travelers – Cleopas. And the other? Well, the other is you. Or me. Luke left a blank space for us to fill in our own names because today’s Gospel is meant to remind us that we too are on a journey, a journey on which we often carry disappointments, dashed hopes, crumbled plans, insecurities, sufferings and sorrows. And on that journey, Jesus also comes to meet us, walks with us, and stays with us. He is there, but he is not recognized. He is there, but we do not see him. In good times and bad, in wakeful awareness and sleepy dreams, in moments of defeat, in the thrill of victory, in the dark night of the soul and the mountaintop experience, in the everyday, ordinary, mundane, run-of-the-mill, and in the knock-your-socks-off, spectacular, momentous, takes-your-breath-away moments of our lives, God is here, in our midst. God is a present God, an immanent God, a mysterious God who lives simultaneously beyond us, around us, and within us.

But that’s the problem isn’t it? That which is always and everywhere present quickly slips beyond our awareness and just becomes the taken-for-granted background that we ignore as we live our lives. And so, Christ walks with us on the road or sits with us at the table, and we fail to recognize him.

How often are we are like those Emmaus-bound travelers? How often have we failed to recognize Christ when he knocks on our door or comes to us in his many different disguises? How often have we rejected his message because it seems too improbable or demanding? How often have we failed to see his hand at work in the events of our daily lives? How often have we willfully chosen to ignore his will for us? How often have we missed him because we failed to look beyond appearance, and failed to see his presence in bread and wine?

Our Gospel today presents to us four ways that we are called to recognize the Lord. The first way that God is present to the disciples in today's Gospel was in the community of believers. Our Gospel begins with the two disciples walking along the road. But they are not alone. Jesus once said, “When two or three are gathered in my name, I will be there with them.” And He was with them, and He is with us. God is present with us when we come together a thousand strong in this Church as well as when two or three of us get together to pray together. God is present when you help your children say their bedtime prayers. He is present when a family says grace before meals. He is present when a husband and wife say prayers together.

The second way that God is present to the disciples on the road to Emmaus was in the proclamation of scripture. Jesus explained to them the meaning of scripture. The Bible is the Word of God. Yet, the Word has become flesh in Jesus Christ. The thing that makes the Bible a mystical book is the presence of Jesus, the Word of God, presenting the truth of God in the hearts of those open to his word. All of us should have a Bible, place it in positions of honor within our homes, and should read from it often. It should be read with reverence, allowing the power beneath the words to enter our lives, to transform us, to pierce our hearts like that two edged sword that the author of the Letter to the Hebrews spoke of when he wrote: "Indeed, the word of God is living and effective, sharper than any two-edged sword, penetrating even between soul and spirit, joints and marrow, and able to discern reflections and thoughts of the heart."

The third way that the disciples on the road to Emmaus met the Lord was when they shared the breaking of the bread with him. Using the same words as the Last Supper, Jesus broke the bread, gave it to them to eat, and they recognized his presence. We receive communion weekly, some even daily. Through our faith, we recognize Jesus present in this sacrament, strengthening us to proclaim his presence to the world just as the disciples at Emmaus were strengthened to run to Jerusalem and tell the disciples, "We have seen the Lord." There is no way that we could ever fathom the power of the Eucharist to help us to proclaim with our lives that Jesus is alive, risen from the dead, alive in our hearts.

And lastly, Jesus came to the two disciplines on the road to Emmaus as a stranger. Christ is found in the midst of everyday life. The sacred moments, the moments of miracle, are often everyday moments, the moments we often chalk up to "coincidence." But for the pure of heart, coincidence is merely when God chooses to remain anonymous.  In every moment, God is here, loving us, shaping us, sanctifying us. Jesus often comes at the times, in the places, and in the guises which we least expect.  He might appear to us in a friend who comes in the midst of our pain, and sits and listens; He might be the one who believes in us. He might be the person who offers the help or advice that we have been seeking. And he is in the hungry, the thirsty, the naked, the sick, the prisoner, and all those who society tosses aside and considers the "least ones."

Easter is the reminder that Jesus stays, and Emmaus is the reminder that we miss it! He was with the disciples on the road, but they didn’t know it! It was only when they invited Jesus to stay that they began to see his presence in a new way. They made room in their lives for him to be recognized, to be more than a once-upon-a-time memory. They invited Jesus to stay with them. And that’s what we need to do, too! We need to do it every day! Do you see him?

Second Sunday of Easter

Known By The Scars

Acts 5:12-16; Revelation 1:9-11a, 12-13, 17-19; John 20:19-31 

It’s a story we’re all familiar with. We’ve heard it so many times before. As a matter of fact, like today, we hear it every year on the Second Sunday of Easter. Thomas, absent on Easter Sunday, demands to see the scars . . . the nail marks in the hands, the wound in the side . . . before he will believe the joy-filled proclamation of his fellow apostles that the Master, the Teacher, the Rabbi, the Miracle-Worker, the Crucified-One is now the Risen-One. And so, the following week, huddled in the safety and security of the Upper Room, Thomas’s doubts are vanquished. “Thomas, hear . . . see . . . touch . . . believe.” And falling to his knees, Thomas gives voice to what even those who heard and saw and touched the previous week didn’t - a proclamation of faith: “My Lord and my God!” And then, Jesus admonition: “Thomas, you believed because you have seen. Happy are those who have not seen and believed.”

For two thousand years, this Apostle has been stuck with a bad rap. For two thousand years we have labeled him as the “Doubting Thomas.” For two thousand years, we have patted ourselves on the back because, after all, aren’t we the ones who have not seen, yet we have believed? Hmmmm . . . maybe.

The evangelist John, the author of today’s Gospel passage, gives us a bit of information that none of the evangelists do. He defines Thomas’ name. I’ve gone back and searched through the pages of John’s Gospel and this is the only time he translates the meaning of a person’s name. Oh he defines words and the names of places. When we heard the Passion during Holy Week we heard that Jesus was lead from Gabbatha, the “place of the stone pavement” to Golgotha, the “place of the skull.” But this is the only time John tells us the meaning of a name: Thomas . . . Didymus . . . the twin.

Have you ever wondered who Thomas’ twin was? I have. And I finally know who it is. But that knowledge didn’t come by scrupulously looking through Scripture, or by hours of research online, or through extensive examination of historical documents. I found Thomas’ twin by simply looking in the mirror. And if you’re honest, maybe you’ve seen him in your mirror too. For we are all like Thomas. We are creatures who demand proof: hearing, seeing, touching. We need to dissect, analyze, compare. And in this age, when we have abandoned mystery, it becomes harder and harder to believe.

Why did Thomas need to probe the scars of Jesus’ body in order to believe? Perhaps it was because Thomas himself was scarred. Thomas bore the scars of grief - the pain of loss, the struggle with the emptiness that death brings. He bore the scars of cowardice and guilt because he ran away and abandoned a friend, someone he claimed to love. And he bore the scars of disappointment that something and someone that he had pinned his hopes on for three years was all for nothing. His dreams came crashing down around him. So what does he do now? And who is he, if not a follower of Jesus? So because of his scarred-ness, Thomas needs the assurance of seeing the scars of one who endured it all, and didn’t just survive, but RESURRECTED - undefeated, triumphant, glorious!

I too bear scars: Physical scars on my legs from the large painful ulcers that I suffered with for over five years; psychological scars from being dismissed from my job three years ago that has left its mark of the feelings of hurt and rejection, humiliation and embarrassment, guilt and inadequacy; and I bear emotional scars of grief and loneliness from the death of my parents.

What are the scars that you bear? We all have them . . . every one of us: Scars on our bodies. Scars on our souls. Scars on our hearts. Scars on our relationships. Scars of illness, of tragedy, of brokenness, of death. Scars of hate, bitterness, fear, anxiety, pain, sadness, guilt, resentment. Some of the scars are the result of our battle against God. Some of the scars have come in our battle standing with God. Some of the scars come from the wounds fighting love. Some scars come from the wounds in the defense of love.

And so, in the midst of the trials of life that confront us and leave their scars upon us, we, like Thomas, want the assurance that our faith hasn’t been in vain. We question whether God is real, if He has heard our prayer, if he is absent or distant, if he is really with us. We seek signs and miracles and visions and divine revelation. We desire to hear, to see, to touch. We too seek to probe the wounds of Jesus.

Why are those scars so important that they serve as distinguishing marks of Jesus for Thomas and for us? Well, the simple answer is that scars tell you a little about the life of the person who received those scars. And Jesus’ scars prove to us that Jesus chose to be actively involved with all aspects of human life, holding fast to the truth about God and about what makes for an enriching, abundant life, even when upholding that truth came at the cost of his own life. His scars prove that Jesus is one of us - someone injured and scarred on our behalf. We have a God who has suffered for us and who has the scars to prove it. He can understand the pains of human life on an intimate level. And he came back to life, not to exact revenge, but to offer his peace and forgiveness to any who would receive it. Jesus has demonstrated an ability to understand us and empathize with us even when we can't always - or when we choose not to - understand him. Jesus scars had meaning. His suffering was not in vain. And if his suffering wasn’t in vain, than just maybe the scars that are the marks of our suffering also have meaning if we unite ours with his. It is through Jesus’ scars that I’ve come to realize that a scar is a badge of victory. It’s an Olympic gold medal that proclaims to the world, and more importantly reminds ourselves, that we are winners. We’ve made it. We’ve survived. We’re healed. And we’re stronger.

But frequently we ask, where is Jesus now? Where is He - that I may touch Him? Where is He that I may see His face, and feel His wounded side? Where is Jesus now, so that I can feel His arms once again surrounding me, holding me in His love? Where is Jesus now, that I may know His healing touch? Where is He now - now when I need Him so badly, when I feel like an orphan in the world? Where is He now?

He is there - right there - sitting beside you this morning! And so you folks on the other side don't feel left out - He is also right there, sitting next to you. And He is there, in the back. And here, in the front. He is beside you. And in front of you. And behind you. And in you. And wherever the least one is among us. And wherever two or more of us gather to offer one another hope and strength and love for His sake. And He is here (Book of the Gospels), and here (sermon notes), and in our words of comfort to one another. And in a few minutes he will be here on our altar in the bread and the wine that have become His true presence – his Body and His Blood, the Eucharist. He is here! He is alive! He is risen! And you CAN put your arms around Him. And you CAN touch His wounded places. And you CAN hear Him again - and always - speaking His words - clear words - of comfort and hope to you!

It’s a story we’re all familiar with. We’ve heard it so many times before. For, it is the story of our lives: Thomas . . . Didymus . . . The Twin . . . Me . . . You. We have heard. We have seen. We have touched. And because we have, we too, with Thomas, can proclaim, “My Lord and my God!” Look! The cross in which the nails of our sins is abloom! From death, there is life! For Jesus Christ is risen! He is risen, indeed!

Easter Sunday

Everything Is Different Now

Acts 10:34A; 37-43; Colossians 3:1-4 John 20:1-18 

In the early gray light of morning, when the sun is not quite up; in that period when it is difficult to distinguish reality from shadow, a woman makes her way through the streets of Jerusalem. Her step is slow but purposeful. She pauses at the gate of the city for a moment, looks up toward a hill outside the city wall where, shrouded still in darkness, three empty crosses stand. She dries tears from her eyes, then moves on, as if carrying on her shoulders an unseen burden. Slipping along the outer wall of the city, finally she comes to a small garden – to a tomb in the garden where, some thirty-six hours before, her master, her teacher, her friend, Jesus of Nazareth, had been hastily buried.

What sort of woman ventures out at night to weep in a graveyard? One stricken by love, or grief – or both. Surely that is Mary’s story.

In the quiet of the garden, she has come to be alone with her thoughts, her memories, her grief, her love – knowing full well that she will never again behold her beloved carpenter-messiah.

She sits for a while in the garden, in the dark, alone with her memories, trying to gather the courage to visit the grave. She sits, and she remembers. She remembered the day Jesus came along, and that remembrance brings a smile. A rabbi – a religious man – but not like the disapproving ones of her home town. Rather than condemning, he revealed God’s love for her. It was as if he held up a mirror to her in which, instead of seeing what she had become, revealed what God had created her to be. And it was beautiful - in the love of this rabbi, she found God’s love, reaching down to her, through this man of God. Through the compassion of this healer of bodies and mender of souls she was cured of the demons that alienated her from others, from God and from her true self. And so she left everything behind, and followed him – free, happy and whole, touched by his love . . . challenged by his teachings.

Then came Good Friday, and everything fell apart. Jesus was arrested, beaten, vilified, and hung on a cross to die. She couldn’t understand how it could happen to someone so loving, so gentle. She shuddered. Was it the chill of the morning air, or the thought – that it might be for her sake that he died?

The shadows slowly receded as dawn broke over the garden. It was interesting, she noted, that she was the only one to come. Was it their grief or their fear that kept them away? It didn’t matter to her anyway – she had already lost the only thing important in her life – the only thing that made life worth living.

In the early morning rose of dawn, as she sat in the garden with her memories, she turned to watch the sun break over the tomb. It was then that she noticed that the stone was rolled away. A gasp escaped her lips. It wasn’t enough that they killed Jesus – even in death, they would not let him be! Her weak knees could barely carry her to the tomb, only to find it empty! Not only had someone robbed the tomb, but they had carried off his body! She ran to tell the others, but only Peter and John would come. Then they, too, retreated behind locked doors, trembling and fearful.

Only Mary remained in the garden, her watch of love shattered, dissolving into despair. Then, in the midst of her abject misery and hopelessness, she hears a familiar voice call out her name: "Mary!" And suddenly, everything is changed. Everything became different. Everything became new. Where there was death, now there is life. Where there was despair, there is hope. Where there was overwhelming sorrow, there is endless joy. Where there was only a tomb, there is new life.

Yes something changed that Easter morning nearly 2000 years ago. Something altered the reality of everyone involved in this story. Something wonderful! Something that turned a woman in mourning into a joyful witness. Something that turned cowards into preachers. Something that turned persecutors into believers. Something so wonderful that has swept time and space so that today we are sitting and standing in this building and telling that same story again.

In a few moments we will be declaring that something. We will declare what we believe: In a world of doubt and rejection…of idols and secularism: We believe in God, the Father All Mighty.

In a world that claims to honor intelligence and calls itself modern and belittles the supernatural, we believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was born of the Virgin Mary was crucified, died, and was buried, rose from the dead, and is now seated at the right hand of the Father.

In a world that honors selfishness and materialism and wallows in negativity and apathy, we believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy Catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting.

Today, Christians around the world celebrate that life has meaning. We celebrate that life is redeemed. We celebrate that to be human is to be good because when we are most ourselves, when we are most fully human, it is then that we recognize God.

Today's celebration challenges us to move from FEAR to FREEDOM. We are challenged to move from a relationship of fear to a free, life-giving relationship of love. We are asked to believe that even in spite of sin, evil and darkness, the world is better off because now we have a God who comes to look for us.

Today's feast invites us to move from the past to the present, from winter to spring, from death to life. Jesus invites you and me to come out of our own tombs into the light of His life.

In the end, all of this is fairly simple: nothing can separate us from the love of God - not time, not space, not even death. Since God was faithful to Christ, God will be faithful to us.

What does Easter mean for you today? G. K. Chesterton once said: "A Christian will do two things: dance out of the sheer sense of joy, and fight out of the sheer sense of victory." Is that where you are today? This morning, did you go to the tomb and graveyard of your life, and find them empty? Did you discover that the shadow over your life is not the shadow of the tomb, but merely the morning shadows of a new day? Did you get up this morning, full of the sense of possibility – that anything can happen – that ours is the God of new possibilities, of resurrection faith? Has the acceptance and love ignited by Jesus in you given you a new and different sense of who you are, and of what your life is about? Has it led you to a life of laughter, of love, of generosity of the heart? Do you hear Jesus calling your name, confirming for you that his love for you will never die?

In the early gray dawn, a woman sits alone, weeping in the garden, when the voice of her teacher, her healer, and now her Redeemer calls to her: "Don’t weep, Mary. Do not fear. Do not cling to something that is dead and gone - an old remembrance, an old hope. Go back to my brothers and sisters now and share the good news. Go back to life – to new life, resurrected life. Because now I am with you – and forever I will be with you. Everything has changed. Everything is different now. See, I make all things new.”

Good Friday

This is a narrative meditation of what perhaps Mary pondered as she reflected on the words she heard her son, Jesus, speak from the cross.

It is Accomplished

I suppose I must look a little different than you anticipated I would. Tonight you see me, not as the young madonna arrayed in a pale blue mantle, but as a woman shrouded in the black of mourning.

He said it would be this way, you know. For thirty three years I have kept in my memory what that old, wise, devout man named Simeon had said the day Joseph and I brought Jesus to be presented at the Temple. “And your soul a sword too will pierce” , he predicted. So many times I thought I understood what Simeon’s words meant, as I felt the prick of that sword as I bore some of the crosses that God has asked me to carry. But today, the sword has pierced me through. The sword has pierced me through just as surely as the centurian’s lance pierced the side of my son as his lifeless body hung limply from the cross.

What can I say this night as I reflect on the events of this past day. Can anything I say to you adequately convey the grief that I feel? There are just some things that there are no words for. As I stood beneath his cross, I recalled the words from the Book of Lamentations. Perhaps they express my feelings better than anything else could. “Come, all who pass by the way, look and see whether there is any suffering like my suffering.”

As I replay the day’s events in my mind, I try to make sense out of it all. I try to understand how this all happened . . . why this all happened? Why did such violence and hatred have to be inflicted on my son, a man whose words and actions spoke nothing but love and peace and forgiveness. I wish my husband Joseph was alive to help me deal with these things. He had such an extraordinary knack of being able to see God’s will in things. How I wish I could call upon his strength and wisdom now.

Of all the things that have happened today, which has led to such pain in my heart and such confusion in my mind, one thing keeps resurfacing. It was something that Jesus said just before he died. Raising his eyes toward heaven, my son said “It is acomplished.” What could he possibly have meant by that? Perhaps if I could only understand what he meant by those words, I could possibly make sense of the horrible events of the day.

So many images are beginning to come back to me in a rush now; so many things my son said and did during his lifetime. So many memories that I have kept treasured in my heart. Why do they suddenly come back to me now?

I think back to the beginning now. As I recall the words of the angel Gabriel, suddenly I understand them as perhaps I never did before. I do not speak of when the angel came to me, but when he came to Joseph in a dream to tell him that the child I was carrying was conceived through the Holy Spirit and that I had not been unfaithful to him. The angel told him to name the child “Jesus,” because he would save his people from their sins. The name itself means “savior.” And now I see. Today my son has fulfilled his destiny, the mission that began so long ago. Today, it has been accomplished.

My own words to my cousin Elizabeth now come back to me. “He has dispersed the arrogant of mind and heart. He has thrown down the rulers from their thrones but lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, but the rich he has sent away empty. He has helped Israel his servant, remembering his mercy, according to his promise to our fathers, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.” Everything we and our forefathers have waited for, everything we have been promised has been accomplished in my son. Truly today, the prophesy of Elizabeth’s husband Zechariah find their meaning, for through my son, God has visited and ransomed his people. It has all been accomplished.

I remember too my sons words to me when he was twelve years of age and Joseph and I found him with the elders of the Temple, after searching for him for days. Upon questioning him about the worry that he caused us, Jesus said, “Don’t you know I must be about my father’s business?” How strange those words seemed then. But today, I know that this is what today has been about. His father’s business. And now - it has been accomplished.

And then, that time we attended the wedding in Cana. I informed him that the bride’s family had run out of wine. He replied to me, “Woman, my hour has not yet come.” What strange words I thought then. But now I realize that today, on the cross, his hour has finally come. He once said, “Unless you eat of the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you.” That whoever eats his flesh and drinks his blood has eternal life. He said that whoever eats his flesh and drinks his blood remains in him and he in them. Today, he has become our sacrificial lamb. As his body was slaughtered and his blood shed upon the cross, his flesh has become true food and his blood true drink. Yes son, today your hour has come. It is accomplished.

I recall when John the Baptist sent his disciples to asked him if he was the Messiah. Jesus said, “Go tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind regain their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have the good news proclaimed to them.” Yes, all this, too, has been accomplished.

In the Garden of Gethsamane last night, I am told that while facing with sheer human terror what he obviously knew was his obvious destiny, he prayed, “Father, not as I will, but your will be done.” He has spread his Father’s word; he has done his Father’s will. And now his Father’s will has been accomplished.

I remember that once he said, “No great love has anyone but this, than to lay down one’s life for those he loves. That is what today has been all about, hasn’t it? He has proved the magnitude of his love. It has been accomplished.

My friends, before I depart from you tonight, I must ask you, has it really all been accomplished? Has it truly been accomplished in you? He accomplished it FOR you; have you let it be accomplished IN you? Do the things Jesus said and did really make a difference in your life? My son once said, “If you make my words your home, you will indeed be my disciples; you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” Have you allowed his words to find a homewithin you? O my friends, open yourself up to him. Allow him to move you, to shape you, to love you, to transform you. Let his life have meaning to you; let his death have a purpose for you. And if it has been accomplished in you, won’t you take up your cross and follow him? There is still hunger, there is still hatred, there is still injustice in the world. Let him again accomplish it. Let it be accomplished through you!

Palm Sunday (Cycle A)

The Palm and the Cross

Isaiah 5:4-7; Philippians 2:6-11; Matthew 26:14- 27:66 

The journey into Jerusalem began with the glorious spectacle of waving palms and adoring crowds. As Jesus entered the holy city, some people ran ahead, alerting friends and neighbors, while others threw their cloaks upon the road, crying, “Blessed is the King! “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” At that triumphant moment, there was nothing the crowd would have denied him. Nothing they would begrudge him. Nothing they would have withheld. Power . . . Riches . . . A throne . . . It was all within his grasp.

Or so it seemed.

But the rowdy crowd was as eager to “get” as to give. They were hungry — hungry for whatever Jesus could give them. Some were hungry for political status, and waved their palms for a King who would restore the Jewish state. Some were starving for power, and threw their cloaks before a Warrior who would crush the Roman army. Some were hungry for comfort, and shouted for a Hero who could fill their bellies and dry their tears. The crowd was hungry and it was all within their grasp…or so it seemed.

But God had a different plan. You see, this warrior, this ruler, this king rode into Jerusalem on a humble donkey, not a pure-bred stallion. He wore homespun, not polished armor. He spoke about sin and redemption, not national sovereignty or imperial might.

The jubilant crowd that lined the road to Jerusalem knew they were seeing a “winner”, but they completely misunderstood God’s vision of success. They didn’t realize that Jesus had come to conquer not just Rome, but the world. They didn’t understand that Jesus came to the holy city, not to deal death or to sidestep death, but to meet death head-on. He would conquer the world and death itself…by dying. The crowds that ripped branches from trees and screamed with excitement, didn’t understand that their hunger would be eased and their emptiness filled, not by conquest or power or wealth, but by the challenge of the cross.

No scripture study or theology class can explain the cross completely. No homily or lecture fully outlines its meaning. Yet, all of us who follow Jesus will eventually find ourselves walking that dusty, lonely path to Calvary, and standing before the cross.

Jesus said, “whoever wishes to come after me must deny themselves, take up their cross and follow me.” From a marketing standpoint, this message is a disaster. Just imagine how many followers Jesus might have if he had avoided the cross — if he said:
“Lay down your cross and follow me.”
“Ignore your burdens and I will make them disappear.”
“I will not suffer, and if you believe in me, you will never suffer, either.”
That’s a message designed to keep the palm branches waving!

But the cross teaches us that suffering can be redemptive, that burdens can be shared, that sins can be forgiven, and that darkness can be dispelled, transformed by the power of a loving God. The cross dares us to believe that life is more powerful than death and that love is more enduring than hate. It stands as a reminder that our views of “success” and “defeat” might differ from God’s, and that sometimes, God has a different plan.

This week, we too have come to the city gate, palm branches waving, agendas in hand, our want lists ready. As we welcome the King into Jerusalem, what are we hungering for?

Fifth Sunday of Lent (Cycle A)

“Lazarus, Come Forth!”

Readings: Ezekiel 37:12-14; Romans 8:8-11; John 11:1-45

He’s dead. She has died. Those are the words we dread to hear. They are especially painful when someone close to us, someone who has meant a lot to us has died. How are we expected to cope with the hurt that accompanies the death of a loved one? How can we deal with the pain, the emptiness, the questioning, the helplessness, and the yearning for things to be different?

I’m sure that Mary and Martha must have experienced something like this when their brother Lazarus died. And there is a tinge of rebuke and regret in Martha’s words, "If you had been here, Lord, my brother would not have died!" To her, Jesus seems uncharacteristically indifferent, seemingly uncaring about the death of somebody who was supposed to be a very close friend. He deliberately delayed going to Bethany after he had received word that Lazarus was ill. So by the time he gets arrives, Lazarus had already died, in fact the funeral has already taken place and the body of Lazarus is in the grave for four days.

Jesus sees their tears and feels their grief, and he weeps with them. He weeps not because he loves Lazarus - not because Lazarus has died – for he knows what he is about to do -- he weeps because Mary and Martha weep. He weeps because he is sharing the heartache of the sisters - because he sympathizes with them in their pain. His tears are tears of compassion. He knows what pain and sense of loss death brings. He’s saddened at the power that death has and the terrible suffering it causes.

But just maybe he is also saddened by a lack of trust on the part of Martha and Mary. Yes, they believed he could heal the sick, the blind and the paralyzed, but death – that was another thing. Death is so final. Yes, Martha did confess that Jesus was the Messiah, the Son of God, but she had no idea that Jesus had such power even over death. As far as those gathered at the grave that day were concerned, death is death. When it comes, it is final, absolute, the end.

For Jesus, however, death does not have the last word. There is no obstacle large enough to prevent the power of God from setting anyone free. "Lazarus will rise again," he states. He then goes to the tomb, and tells them to roll away the stone that blocks the entrance.

Traditional Jewish belief had it that the soul of a dead person somehow remains with the body for three days. After three days the soul departs finally from the body never to return, and that is when corruption sets in. When Martha objects to the opening of the tomb and says, "Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days”, she is expressing the common view that this is now a hopeless situation. Is that why Jesus delayed coming to the funeral, to let the situation become "impossible" before acting on it? G.K. Chesterton once said, "Hope means hoping when things are hopeless, or it is no virtue at all." In traditional Jewish mentality bringing back to life a person who is already four days dead and decaying is as unthinkable as Ezekiel vision of gray, dry bones are restored to life.

After praying to his Father, Jesus cries in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out.” and a dead man – a once dead man emerges totally wrapped in the burial shrouds.

Straight after this incidence at Bethany, Jesus will go to Jerusalem where he himself will experience death and three days later rise to new and eternal life. Jesus rises to new and eternal life, never to die again. Unlike Lazarus who walks out of the tomb with his burial wrappings, Jesus leaves behind the burial wrappings. He will not need them again. He will never die again. Lazarus will.

Jesus comes to give life that cannot be touched by death. Jesus’ resurrection was an announcement to the whole world that death has been swallowed up in victory. There is now nothing to be afraid of. Now, on the other side of death, there is the glorious hope of life, eternal life, life in heaven, a blissful life, a perfect life. This life is something to look forward to, not with fear, but with confidence.

Death is a very powerful force in our world and in our lives. When it strikes close to us, its dreadful power is felt to the very core of our being. But as powerful as death might be, there is one who is even more powerful – the risen Jesus. One day he will call to us as he called out to Lazarus, and we will walk out of the tomb. Lazarus was raised but he would eventually die again, but we shall be raised to life forever. This will be a new life, a life without the present hurts and hindrances, a life with all those saints who have gone before us.

But the story of the raising of Lazarus is more than a pointer to the resurrection of Jesus. This miracle is a challenge to never give up hope even in the hopeless situations in which we find ourselves as individuals, as a church or as a nation, for it is never too late for God to revive and revitalize us.

Many of us are held in tombs of our own making, and like Lazarus, Jesus bids us to come forth, to be unshackled and be set free.

“Lazarus, come forth!” he calls out to us. “Walk from the burial chamber built from all of the possessions that you surround yourself with, things that can offer you only fleeting happiness and contentment.”

“Lazarus, come forth! Forsake the career crypt where frenetic ambition leaves you no time for family, prayer or contrition.”

“Lazarus, come forth! Break out of the captivity of sin - of false pride, selfishness, hatred and revengeful desires - and experience the true freedom of the children of God.”

"Lazarus, come forth!" Come out of your tomb-like lives no longer filled with joy or hope or meaning or possibilities. Come and live again joined to the one who offers you forgiveness and life. Come into communion with the one who has a place and a purpose for you.”

The story of Lazarus illustrates that there is nothing that can hold us back. No tomb is strong enough. Like Lazarus, we must hear the voice of God calling us away from whatever imprisons us. God’s voice calls us from the past and calls us to the present. It calls us from our old habits and invites us to try new ones. It calls us from apathy and indifference to caring. It calls us from despair to hope. It calls us from darkness to light. It calls us from loneliness to community. It calls us from captivity to freedom.

To respond to that call can be scary because it means change. It means stepping into the unknown. Imagine how fearful it must have been for Lazarus to step out of that dark cave and into the light. But the voice of God was one that he knew and trusted and therefore he responded.

Scripture tells us that like Lazarus, we have a friend waiting for us. A friend who can roll aside the stone that keeps us entombed. A friend who can loosen the bonds of whatever it is that keeps us separated from God. A friend who can set us free. A friend who wants to give us new life. A friend who calls each of us by name and wants us to experience the grace and love and forgiveness a relationship with Him offers. That friend, of course, is Jesus. He wants to breathe new life into our old bones. He wants to set us free. This morning, let’s “do a Lazarus.” Let’s hear His voice. Let us “Come forth!”

Third Sunday of Lent (Cycle A)

For What Do You Thirst?

Exodus 17:3-7; Romans 5:1-2, 5-8; John 4:5-42 

Poland Spring, Perrier, Deer Park, Dasani, Evian, Aqua Fina. If you recognize those brands, you might be among the millions of Americans who drink bottled water. Last year, Americans spent over ten billion dollars on bottled water and sales are rising.

It seems that many Americans aren’t satisfied with the water that flows from their taps at a cost of less than half a penny per gallon. Instead they seek out bottled water at a cost of one to four dollars per gallon. To get that water they have to go to the "well." They have to go to ShopRite, Weiss, Wal-Mart, Costco, Target, or their local convenience store. Or they have to arrange to have the "well" come to them by having bottled water delivered to their home.

In today’s gospel we hear about a woman who came to a real well seeking to have her thirst quenched. What she got was more than she could ever have imagined.

The scene begins as Jesus arrives, tired and thirsty, at Jacob’s well located in Sychar in the heart of Samaria. It’s noon—the hottest, most sun-scorched time of the day. And there at the well is a Samaritan woman, going about her daily routine of drawing water. She went alone at noon, not the usual time for seeking water. But the woman was not the usual kind of woman one would find in the village. She had been married five times and was now living with a man who would not give her the benefit of a marriage ceremony. This Shady Lady of Sychar was rejected by men and shunned by women.

Driven by thirst she comes to the well. There she encounters Jesus, not the usual Jew she was used to meeting. This Jewish man breaks the taboos of his day by addressing a Samaritan and by publicly speaking with a woman.

It’s a bizarre conversation that they have. At first it seems that they’re having two different and disconnected conversations. He speaks of living water and she thinks of physical water. He tells her that if she has this water it will quench her thirst forever. Jesus is talking about her soul, her spiritual life, and she’s thinking of her body. And of all people—a woman, an enemy despised by the Jews, an adulteress—of all people to her Jesus gives that living water. This journey of faith, which began with an innocent and harmless request for a drink of water, radically changed the woman’s life. Jesus goes from asking her for a drink, to offering her living water, the living water of acceptance and a relationship with God—things for which this scorned woman had been thirsting.

For what do you thirst? For what do you really yearn in our culture of such great excess and unmeasured need? What, down deep in Your heart and soul, do you really want?

For what do you thirst? Jesus said, “Blessed are they that hunger and thirst for righteousness. They will be satisfied” What is the liquid diet that you feed yourself on? If you drink in love and truth, mercy and compassion, gentleness and sincerity, honesty and charity, humility and simplicity, we have Jesus’ pledge that we will have our fill.

For what do you thirst? Did you ever realize that just thinking about being thirsty can make you thirsty? For all too many, the choice is to satisfy thirst by drinking from the sugary fountains of the world around us. We dip our 16 ounce cups into the streams of modern life – we try to quench our thirst with pleasure, power, prestige, possessions, popularity, pornography, and perversion. Well as they say, you are what you eat, (or in this case, what you drink).

For what do you thirst? In today’s gospel, Jesus says, “I am the living water. Whoever drinks the water I shall give will never thirst.” Each of us has the choice to draw only H2O from the well every day or to also accept the living water that Jesus offers us. What is this living water? Put simply we could describe this living water as the very life and love of God, poured into us—grace. As the water we drink becomes one with our bodies, so God becomes one with us. This water never goes dry. This water is never withheld from those who seek. This water cannot be constrained. But if we don’t receive this living water from Jesus every day, we will look for satisfaction in ways that will never please, never satisfy, never nourish.

Lent is a special season of grace in the Church each year to enable us to drink more and more of this living water that Jesus offers us. And so, this Lent, let us draw from the WELL OF PRAYER. The Living Water which we are invited to drink at this well is one that quenches. It satisfies; for through prayer we deepen our relationship with the God who will never disappoint, the God who knows us better than we know ourselves, the God who accepts us as we are, but encourages us to be more than we are. Only this water can satisfy our thirsting, longing, craving, to get to know him better. The water from the well of prayer is a water that nourishes. It makes us stronger to face all that the world throws our way.

This Lent, let us also draw from the WELL OF FASTING, SACRIFICE & PENANCE. Through imbibing in its life-giving water, we will find ourselves satisfied and full, for it disciplines our bodies from the desire for the carbonated soft drinks of self-indulgence and lust that leave us with empty calories that are ultimately both unsatisfying and unhealthy. And through its purity, we will be cleansed, reconciled and made worthy recipients of the salvation won for us through Jesus’ passion, death and resurrection.

And this Lent, let us draw water from the WELL OF CHARITY & ALMSGIVING. Through it, we will be satiated with the love of Christ, inebriated by a sense of service to those who are in need, giddy by the opportunity to give all in his name. We who have tasted of this lively water must in turn become an abundant, excessive, overflowing fountain to others. As we hear Jesus say in the Gospel of John, three chapters after today’s gospel passage, “Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.” (John 7:38)

Streams of living water... That’s what the Son of God offered the Samaritan woman at the well and that’s what he offers us as well: life giving, life renewing, life refreshing water that can satisfy those who drink so that we will never thirst again—Living water that satisfies our longings in life. Living water that nourishes our innermost selves. Living water that promises to give life to our faith. Living water that supplies us with an endless source of strength and encouragement no matter what we face in life. Living waters! That’s what we need and that’s what Jesus offers us this morning. That’s what Jesus invites us to drink – right here and always.

The Parable of the Prodigal Son 3

The Prodigal Brother

Now the older son had been out in the field and, on his way back, as he neared the house, he heard the sound of music and dancing. He called one of the servants and asked what this might mean. The servant said to him, ‘Your brother has returned and your father has slaughtered the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’ He became angry, and when he refused to enter the house, his father came out and pleaded with him. He said to his father in reply, ‘Look, all these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders; yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends. But when your son returns who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him you slaughter the fattened calf.’ He said to him, ‘My son, you are here with me always; everything I have is yours. But now we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.’ (Luke 15:25-30)

I don’t understand! It isn’t fair! I was there when he asked my father for his inheritance. He so much as disowned himself from us. He no longer wanted to be called son. All he cared about were the riches my father worked so hard to gain.

I saw the tears in my father’s eyes when he took those riches and started out the gate. I felt the pain in his heart as he watched him continue down the path. He never once turned and looked back! He was proud of the dishonor he bestowed upon my father’s house.

This thoughtless son humiliated our good name. The embarrassment I felt when I went back into the fields with the other workers! They knew what happened. I had to endure their stares and gossip; and I had done nothing wrong! There I would sweat under the burning sun from morning till night, listening to the workers tell me stories of my brother’s sins in faraway towns. The mockery continued until I pretended I no longer cared.

And that was hard in the beginning, because I did care. I hoped then that my brother would come to his senses and return to us. But each time I heard another story about his life of scandal, I began to care less and less. Finally, my pain turned to anger, and my anger to disgust. In my mind, he was gone forever, and no longer my brother – just as he wanted. I could bear no longer to hear the stories about him and demanded the workers keep quiet about such things. In time, my brother became a distant memory, one I had hoped to forget about once and for all.

And then today, after breaking my back in the field, my hands and fingers ingrained with the very soil this lost son had spat upon, instead of coming home to find rest, I find singing and dancing, for the sinner had returned!

I don’t understand it. He dishonored my father. He lived an adulterous life. He gave his money to gambling, and drink, and sin. I was the one who stayed behind! I did everything that was asked of me! I did what was right and noble and good! Yet my brother receives the reward. Everything has been restored to him!

There is something that I do understand, though. My father has compassion, forgiveness and love far greater than mine. And it was he who suffered the greater pain, yet he still forgives. I have respected my father for all he has taught me, and I respect him now. I will surrender my pride and bury my anger. And, while I don’t fully understand, for my father’s sake, I will show my brother compassion. For my father has taught me how to forgive, and so . . . I too will forgive.

The Parable of the Prodigal Son 2

The Forgiving Father

While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him. His son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you; I no longer deserve to be called your son.’ But his father ordered his servants, ‘Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Take the fattened calf and slaughter it. Then let us celebrate with a feast, because this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found.’ Then the celebration began. ( Luke 15:20-24)

What would you have done? Perhaps you think me foolish. Perhaps I am, but they say love makes fools of us all. And I do love my two sons more than anything else in the world.

A great fortune I intended to leave him. Everything that I had worked so hard for I wanted to be his so that his future would be secure. In life I shared with him all that I was; in death I wanted to share all that I had. What a legacy I had hoped to bequeath him! My fortune, yes, but more . . . a family name: honored and respected. A name that stood for something. And values . . . like kindness and generosity, a love of what is right and good and decent, and a wisdom that finds its origin more in the heart than in the mind. All this I had hoped he would be heir to. I prayed that these things would have an even greater value to him than gold and silver.

Sure I was devastated that day when he came to me and demanded his share of the inheritance. It wasn’t so much the money, but the fact that he wanted to leave, to separate himself from me . . . that’s what hurt the most. He was going to get the money eventually anyway; couldn’t he wait? It was as if he were saying that my fortune was more important to him than I was to him. Since he was going to inherit it at my death anyway, it was as if he was telling me that my life and my love did not have value to him, only my money.

I guess I could have said no. I could have refused to give him the inheritance. In my heart, I knew he wasn’t quite ready for the responsibility that comes with such great wealth. But how could I hold him back? Sometimes you just have to let go. My heart was to the point of breaking as I saw him pass from my sight as he went off to pursue his own pleasure. As he left, my prayer was with him: “May you be as rich in virtue and wisdom, my son, as you are in gold and silver. And when there is nothing else, know that you will always be rich in my love.”

Oh I heard the reports: the gambling . . . the drinking . . . the prostitutes. I heard it all. It wasn’t so much the squandering of his life’s fortune that hurt so much, it was the absolute rejection of everything I hold dear, the values that I tried to impart to him throughout his life. How could he reject everything I have stood for all my life? I was so deeply hurt, but I thought how much he must be hurting now after hitting rock bottom. How humiliating it must have been for him to be tending swine on that farm, an animal considered so low, so dirty, so despicable by my people that, under our law, we are forbidden to eat of its flesh.

What should I do, I wondered. Should I forget him as if he were dead to me? Should I perhaps go to him and force him to come home? No, I believed in him. All I could do was hope that he believed in me. I had faith in him that he would somehow see the error of his ways and would reject the sinful lifestyle that he had taken on. At the same time, I prayed that he would feel secure enough in my love for him to know that my forgiveness was his for the asking. And so, I climbed a high hill top every evening. With every sunset, I hoped to catch a glimpse of my returning son. I waited. And I waited. And I waited.

Nothing could have prepared me for our reunion. I had played the scene over and over in my mind. What would he say? What would I say? Although I had played the scene over and over, time and time again in my imagination, I never imagined I would react as I actually did. When I caught sight of him a long way off, I was so overcome with emotion that I totally lost myself and ran to him. I was moved to tears when I drew closer. Words choked in my throat and I could say nothing. The well-rehearsed speeches were gone from my mind. Nothing I could possible say to him anyway could possibly convey my joy. And so, I let my tears and my embrace do the talking for me.

Finally, he broke from my embrace and through his tears said, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. O no longer deserve to be called your son. Treat me as you would one of your servants.” How difficult it must have been for him to admit to himself he was wrong – how much harder it must have been for him to admit it to me! It must have been difficult for him to say, “I’m sorry.” How much easier for me to say, “You’re forgiven.” As my riches were his, so too my love and my forgiveness was his.

I called to one of my servants, “Sandals on his feet!” – only slaves are barefoot and he is not my slave but my son! . . . “A ring for his finger!” - a signet ring with the family seal, for he has come home and is once again a member of my family! . . . “Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him! Take the fatted calf and slaughter it! Let us celebrate with a feast, for this son of mine was dead, and has back to life; he was lost and now he has been found!”

Perhaps you think me foolish . . . perhaps just a sentimental old man. Perhaps you think I should have reacted differently . . . with anger . . . with resentment? Should I have held back my love and forgiveness till I had made him sweat a little? Forgive, you say . . . but never forget. I am who I am, and I must be true to myself. And so, my forgiveness is not halfhearted; it is total . . . complete . . . unconditional. After all, he is my son and I love him. What else could I do? What would you do?

The Parable of the Prodigal Son 1

The Prodigal

Then Jesus said, “A man had two sons, and the younger son said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of your estate that should come to me.’ So the father divided the property between them. After a few days, the younger son collected all his belongings and set off to a distant country where he squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation. When he had freely spent everything, a severe famine struck that country, and he found himself in dire need. So he hired himself out to one of the local citizens who sent him to his farm to tend the swine. And he longed to eat his fill of the pods on which the swine fed, but nobody gave him any. Coming to his senses he thought, ‘How many of my father’s hired workers have more than enough food to eat, but here am I, dying from hunger. I shall get up and go to my father and I shall say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as you would treat one of your hired workers.”’ So he got up and went back to his father. (Luke 15:11-20)

The call me the “prodigal,” and I guess that name suits me better than any other, for indeed that’s what I am: reckless . . . wasteful. And I guess there are a few other names you could add to the list, like black sheep of the family . . . ingrate . . . drunkard . . . sinner. But there is one name, though, that I never appreciated and one I fear I’ve lost forever. That name is “son.”

I’m not going to bore you with all the sordid details; I’m sure you are familiar with them all too well. I guess that comes with the territory when your life is as infamous as mine.

I’ll admit to you that I’ve always been headstrong. I’ve always been selfish and self-centered. That always seems to be the root of it, doesn’t it? I’ve always had to have things go my own way. I’ve always had to have what I wanted, when I wanted it, in the way I wanted it. So I guess it’s not all too surprising that I did what I did. A lot of people in my predicament would point a finger, blame others. But I have no one to blame but myself. I have been travelling a road toward self-destruction practically my whole life.

I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. There’s nothing much else to do while tending swine all day but think. There’s nothing like rolling around in the mud with a bunch of pigs to set your priorities right. The thing is, I had it all and now I have nothing. I sunk about as low as one person can sink. But it’s not the money. And it’s not that I’m hungry. It’s a lot more, for you see, I didn’t just squander my inheritance; I squandered my father’s love and trust. Money somehow I can recoup; food I can always scrounge for. But my father’s love . . . I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get that back.

Yes, I hunger. I do long to fill my stomach with the pods on which the swine are fed. But I hunger much more for my father . . . for his love and forgiveness . . . for him to make things right again like he used to when I was young. Yet I know that I am the one that has to make things right this time.

And so, I go back to my father. Perhaps I have a chance at his forgiveness. If he won’t take me back as his son, perhaps at least he’ll have me as his servant. I know that my father is tender and compassionate. He is slow to anger and rich in kindness and faithfulness. He is known to forgive faults and transgressions and sins. Today I will test where my father’s real wealth lies. Today I will see just how rich my father truly is!

Believe me, I’m not here looking for your sympathy, but neither do I want your judgment. For look within yourselves, my friends, and perhaps you’ll find a little bit of the prodigal there too. Some of you out there, are you really so much different from me? Yes, I squandered my inheritance, but are there gifts that you too waste? Gifts misused? Gifts unused? Gifts not even recognized? Yes, I was a drunk. But are some of you perhaps inebriated with a sense of your own self-importance or with power? Yes, I went to prostitutes. But what are the false loves that you chase after? Money? Possessions? Prestige? Look within yourselves, my friends, and perhaps you will find a bit of me. Perhaps the road home is a journey we both need to take.

And so, I’m off. Wish me luck. I don’t know how all of this is going to turn out. The journey is a long one. But it’s worth it when you have a father like mine!

Ash Wednesday

Things to Give Up for Lent

• Taking those you love for granted 
• Feeling sorry for yourself 
• Promising more than you can deliver 
• Thinking of greener pastures 
• Losing your temper
• Denying your gifts 
• Trying to please everyone
• Doubting you can change 
• Trying to get everything perfect
• Never saying you’re sorry 
• Blaming yourself 
• Doing the right thing for the wrong reasons 
• Believing only in the possible
• Justifying your anger 
• Doubting your goodness 
• Thinking about money
• Looking for easy answers 
• Lying to God
• Listening only to yourself 
• Expecting others to solve your problems 
• Wanting to be in control
• Looking the other way
• Needing to be effective
• Doing what everyone else does
• Having to be right
• Being Bored
• Patronizing people 
• Carrying a chip on your shoulder
• Complaining 
• Cursing the darkness
• Carrying grudges 
• Denying your obsessions 
• Denying your limitations 
• Making snap judgments 
• Blocking out what you don't want to hear
• Denying that you are loved

Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle A)

Agapan 

Isaiah 49:14-15; 1 Corinthians 4:1-5; Matthew 6:24-34 

Today’s Gospel begins as so many Gospel readings do: with the words, “Jesus said to his disciples.” Those words invite us to get into that audience; to think of ourselves as disciples, as students, as followers of Jesus; and his words invite us to put ourselves into an attentive mode, a listening mode, so that we can pay attention to what the Master wants to say to us; to listen to what our Teacher wants to teach; to benefit from what our Friend, our Brother, has to share with us. We can always count on wisdom being associated with what Jesus has to say. We can always count on what he has to say being in some way relevant to our daily lives. 

Today’s Gospel is a continuation of the one we heard last week. It should sound familiar. It uses the same device, the same pattern that we heard last week. “You have heard it said . . . But I say to you . . .”

“You’ve heard it said….” And they had heard it said — over and over — in the synagogue, in their homes or wherever they found themselves. They had been born and raised on things said to them in the commands and prescriptions of the law. For the people of Judah, the law was their faith. From the greatest to the smallest, the law would be their reverence, their honor, and their devotion to the God of Israel.

“But I say to you…” Something new is happening. More than interpretation, or added information, Jesus’ saving word would reveal new life, new hope, and a new springtime in the history of salvation.

“You have heard it said . . . But I say to you . . .” His listeners in Palestine heard one thing, but the question for us is: what do we hear? Is it a message of mercy, of undying faithfulness, and boundless compassion – or is it simply rhetoric?

In today’s Gospel, Jesus says to his disciples, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you . . . Give to the one who asks of you . . . Be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect” Well that should have gotten their attention! . . . As indeed it should get ours today. 

Of all of the teachings of Jesus, the mandate to love our enemies is the one most far reaching and difficult to live. Jesus gives us a commandment, not a suggestion. Love for our enemies is not an ideal but rather a way of life. We cannot consider ourselves authentic disciples of Jesus unless we truly live out this commandment.

As you probably know, the four Gospels were originally written in Greek. The Greek language has different words for our English word love. Each of the Greek words defines a particular meaning and nuance for our word love. In today’s Gospel passage, the Greek word agapan is used to describe the kind of love that Jesus is commanding us to live.

Agapan means that no matter what others do to us, we will never allow ourselves to desire anything but their greatest good. Agapan tells us that we will actively go out of our way to be kind to those who are our enemies. The commandment to love our enemies goes deep into our hearts. Jesus commands us to live a totally different way of life, because agapan necessitates forgiveness.

Jesus turns the law of “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,” the law of revenge, on its ear—in fact, he obliterates it. There is to be no retaliation of any kind, not even measured or proportionate. When someone harms you or tries to take advantage of you, return it with a blessing. Instead of physical retribution to someone who slaps you on the cheek with the back of their hand, offer them the other cheek so that they can strike you with the full force of an open hand. We are to go beyond what is minimally asked of us and generously go further and do more and give more. And we are to love our neighbor. And by neighbor Jesus is not talking about the people who live down the street. He means our families, our friends, our fellow citizens, the strangers, the illegal immigrants, the panhandlers, those we can’t bear to look at or be with, and . . . yes our enemies. All of them. 

Author Lewis Smedes wrote, “Forgiveness is the most difficult chord to play in the human concerto.” Yet when we play it, even if we don't play it well, it is the most beautiful chord in the concerto of life. As you know, a musical chord consists of three notes played simultaneously. The first note of the forgiveness chord is letting go of our right to hurt back, refusing to exact payment, rejecting the impulse to get revenge on the person who has hurt us. Forgiveness is the flip side of revenge. Forgiveness is complete when we become the instruments of God's blessings in the life of the one who has betrayed us, when we love our enemies and bless those who persecute us.

The second note of the forgiveness chord is seeing the one who has wronged us as a whole person with bad, but also with good qualities, refusing to define that person by what they have done to us. Forgiveness is more than reactive, it is proactive. It is more than simply not moving toward the person in such a way as to hurt them. It is more than simply keeping your distance. It is moving toward them in such a way as to bring them blessings, even though they have done the opposite to us.

And the third note in the forgiveness chord is praying for, earnestly desiring blessings, even being a blessing to the person who has hurt you. Forgiveness is taking the hand that hurt you, and as you hold it in yours, praying that its owner might receive God's full blessing of eternal life, even though that hand scarred you for life.

Jesus calls us to the level of love and to the degree of forgiveness that is God-like, “Be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.” It is a call to holiness. Few of us think of ourselves as being holy. Oh, we strive for holiness, pray for holiness, and occasionally do holy things. But to be holy? 

We can’t simply convince ourselves that Jesus has gone too far and is asking the impossible. To behave as he is asking, is to reveal not only something of God, but also what it means to be truly human. We can all do better; we can all do more. It means that we will be more compassionate; more forgiving. It means going beyond justice and standing not on rights but responsibility; it means giving more, maybe even so much that it hurts; it means walking away from confrontation even when the blame is someone else’s; it means responding in silence when to utter even a single word would be to escalate an argument; it means not having to win; not having to get the better of another in any circumstance; and it means re-thinking our basic attitudes about who is our neighbor. It is all about being holy.

“Be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.” It is a call to the perfect love and forgiveness that Jesus demonstrated on the cross when he said, “Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.” Some of us shrug off perfect love and forgives as something possible for Jesus, yet impossible for us mere mortals. Yet it is the love and forgiveness that Assunta Goretti demonstrated at the canonization of her daughter Maria to the man who sat next to her, Alessandro Serenelli, who had mercilessly bludgeoned the twelve year old girl to death after she rejected his sexual advances; the kind that Pope John Paul II offered his would-be assassin; the kind that Nelson Mandela extended to those who imprisoned him for twenty-seven years.

Impossible, beyond our abilities?—No! Holy and Christ-like?—YES! Christ is calling us to this change in behavior as disciples, as Christians, as citizens of this country, as inhabitants of planet Earth. It has to start with us. It’s important, it’s difficult and it’s risky. And we can’t do it without his help.

We have plenty of evidence of the effects of life lived according to the eye for an eye law in our personal lives and on the world stage.

Tell me . . . who’s winning?