Palm Sunday (Cycle C)

TWO CROWDS – ONE VOICE

Isaiah 5:4-7; Philippians 2:6-11; Luke 22:14-23:56 

One of the more remarkable aspects of the gospel we just heard is the WAY in which we heard it. This week is the only time that the gospel is proclaimed by someone besides a priest or deacon – every individual in this church takes part. It’s a great privilege. And it – literally — gives us a role in Christ’s passion. We are the CROWD. 

Palm Sunday is a tale of two crowds. One waves palm branches at the city gates and shouts “Hosannas” in welcome and homage to their prophet, their warrior, their hero. The other shakes their fists in Pilate’s courtyard and shouts, “Crucify him!” in condemnation of the one accused of being a criminal, a blasphemer, a traitor. Two crowds – one voice: OURS. We are the CROWD and how easily we turn. How quickly we pivot from faithful to faithless … from belief to doubt … from being disciples, to being betrayers. 

But we are also part of a third crowd, and that crowd is the Church, a Church who, as we journey forward this Holy Week, looks upon the cross and sees neither a criminal nor a warrior. What we do see is the self-offering love of God who eschews hatred and revenge, who knows only mercy and faithfulness, and whose only desire is to be with us in all of life. We are a Church who longs for next Sunday, when we will shout a new cry, “ALLELUIA! HE IS RISEN!” not to a prophet, warrior or hero, nor to a criminal, blasphemer or traitor. But to the one who is Savior and Lord.

Second Sunday of Lent (Cycle C)

WHEN THE ORDINARY BECOMES THE EXTRAORDINARY

Genesis 15: 5-12, 17-18; Philippians 3: 17-4:1; Luke 9:28B-36 

It was an ordinary day, an ordinary Saturday in November of 1967. It began in the normal ordinary Saturday way with hard seeded rolls, jelly donuts and crumb buns for breakfast. That ordinary Saturday was also my father’s 50th birthday. And amidst the ordinary table conversation and birthday wishes, I suddenly sat speechless and wide-eyed when my father began to cry. It was the first time in the eleven years of my life that I had ever seen my father cry. He even surprised himself, for he was not one to give in to emotion. Through the tears, his voice choked, “I don’t know why I’m crying!” I wouldn’t see my father cry again for another forty-one years, until the day my mother died. But after that, I saw him cry frequently. I remember that Saturday over forty-eight years ago, because on that day, the ordinary became extraordinary, as the strong, wise, ever-placid, seemingly dauntless, deeply loved, deservingly respected hero of mine, became even more worthy of my love and admiration and hero-worship For on that day, before my eyes, my father revealed the sensitive, emotional, sentimental man that he, up till then, kept hidden. On that day, amidst the ordinary, the extraordinary was revealed.

That memory came to mind this week as I reflected on today’s Gospel. For it had been an ordinary day two thousand years ago when Jesus took a stroll up a mountain with Peter, James and John. An ordinary occurrence – so ordinary that Scripture doesn’t even reveal what mountain it was. An ordinary day in the life of three apostles, retreating up a mountain to pray with Jesus before a busy day of ministry . . . of anxious crowds, of preaching, of healing. But on that day, the ordinary became the extraordinary for during that trek up the mountain, Jesus becomes transfigured. His appearance becomes glorified. Blinding light emanates from him. Moses and the prophet Elijah, two of the greatest figures from the Hebrew Scriptures, are there in his presence. And a voice announces, “This is my Beloved Son. Listen to him!” Yes, on that ordinary day, before the eyes of Peter, James and John, the rabbi, the healer, the prophet revealed that there was so much more to him than what met the eye. Eight days earlier he had revealed to them that he was the messiah. But today he demonstrates that he is not just messiah, but infinitely more . . . the Son of God. Amidst the ordinary, the extraordinary was revealed.

And that’s the way life is. Sometimes in the midst of the ordinary, the everyday, the common, the usual, the routine, the monotonous - the extraordinary is revealed. Christ is transfigured . . . BEFORE OUR VERY EYES . . . Do we notice it? Are we even looking for it? Sadly, we often miss it. The God-moments in our lives become lost amidst a flurry of activity, the din of noise, the responsibilities and obligations we have, the priorities we set. 

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we had a permanent awareness of God with us in our lives? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we woke up every morning and there was an angel sitting on the edge of the bed and we could see the Holy Spirit and hear God speak to us in a clear, audible voice? That really would make being a Christian much easier. But life isn’t like that, is it?

The reality is that, as the Bible tells us, we walk by faith not by sight. Moments of absolute clarity about the presence of God with us are few and far between. If you’ve been fortunate enough to experience that profound awareness of the presence of God in your life here at church, or on a retreat, or even in nature, you know that the moment fades just as quickly as it arose and all we’re left with is a warm afterglow and a beautiful memory of that special experience of God. And it leaves us longing for more. 

That’s how Peter, James and John felt. They wanted to stay atop the mountain in order to prolong the extraordinary experience that had given them peace and joy and spiritual clarity. They wanted to pitch their tents, to bottle up the spiritual high to preserve it forever. 

But while the moment of Transfiguration was an incredible moment of blessing, Jesus didn’t want his disciples to rest there. Because the reality of Christian discipleship is that we’re called not to bottle the incredible moments of deep intimacy with God. We can’t live, at least in this life, on the mountaintop of spiritual highs. Instead, we are to find God in the ordinary and in the everyday moments of life: in the commute to work, on the bus ride to school, in the run of the mill routine of life, with all its joys and sorrow, excitement and boredom. And if the ordinary is where we live, then we need to learn to find God there.

Author and professor, Fr. Michael Downy has said, “Human life—all of it—is the precinct of epiphany: of God’s showing, of God’s constant speaking and breathing. God shows up. We should not be surprised. We should expect him.” But how do we do that? Here’s five suggestions:

1. SLOW DOWN. We’re now in the season of Lent. The word LENT is derived from the Latin word lento, which means “slow down.” We need to slow down, to simplify our lives, to clear our schedules, and to turn down the noise. If your life is too cluttered, too busy, too noisy, your world is too stuck in the ordinary to ever notice the extraordinary.

2. CHANGE YOUR SENSE OF CONSCIOUSNESS: When I taught at Paramus Catholic, I was introduced to how the De LaSalle Christian Brothers begin prayer. Before they prayed at the beginning of class they would take a few seconds to pause and reflect after saying, “Let us remember that we are in the holy presence of God.” I was told that originally, that wasn’t just done before prayer, but that their daily routine would be interrupted several times a day to reflect on that awesome reality: We are in the holy presence of God! ALWAYS! We need to change our sense of consciousness to constantly remind ourselves of that.

3. STOP TALKING AND START LISTENING: Remember what God the Father said in response to Peter’s offer to build the three tents: “This is my Beloved Son, LISTEN TO HIM!” We need to listen, to be attentive to God’s voice: in Scripture, in the teachings of the Church, when he speaks through other people, and especially when he speaks to us in prayer. Prayer should never be a monologue. It’s meant to be a dialogue. Plain and simple - relationship can’t happen if the only voice your listening to is your own. 

4. PUT YOURSELF IN THE RIGHT PLACES WITH THE RIGHT PEOPLE: God doesn’t tolerate evil. He can’t – he’s pure goodness. If we want to become more aware of God’s presence in the ordinary, we have to avoid the places where he isn’t. We need to avoid those harmful places, whether they be physical or cyber, as well as those toxic people that are near occasions of sin. 

5. HOUSECLEAN YOUR LIFE – YOUR MIND, YOUR HEART AND YOUR SOUL: In the Beatitudes, Jesus said, “Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God.” We need purify ourselves and get rid of the cobwebs, dust, dirt, fog and smog that obstruct God’s presence in our lives. And the best way to begin that is to go to the Sacrament of Reconciliation. 

In a half hour or so, you’ll all be leaving church to return home, to go shopping, to go visiting, to engage in some weekend plans you’ve made, or simply to rest up for the grueling week ahead. But as you go, remember that you do not leave God’s presence behind. Remember that amidst the ordinary is the extraordinary. Go and find it, so that no matter where life takes you, you, like Peter, can say, “Lord, it’s good for us to be here.”

Ash Wednesday

PLEASE BE PATIENT . . .

GOD ISN'T FINISHED WITH ME YET

Joel 2: 12-18; 2 Corinthians 5:20 – 6:2; Matthew 6: 1-6, 16-18 

When I was in high school, I had a Latin teacher by the name of Dr. Leitner. He was steely-eyed, strict, condescending, and arrogant. I spent most of high school being terrified of him. But all that changed one day, when he came into class wearing a big button on his lapel. Forty-two years later, I don’t remember much of what he taught us about, except how to conjugate a few Latin verbs. But I do remember that button. It said: “Please be patient. God isn’t finished with me yet.”

Whether we realize it or not, today we proclaim that same message. We won’t do it with a button on a lapel…but with ashes on our brow. Receiving these ashes serves a number of purposes. First, it proclaims to the world that we are Catholic Christians. It tells others that we are preparing for Easter, embarking on this 40-day journey of fasting and prayer and almsgiving. And, significantly, it announces that the light of Christ burning within us is not as bright as it should be—it has been darkened by dust. We need to bring forth the light, to be ready for the great feast of Easter. But most of all, the ashes we wear announce to the world this plain fact: we’re sinners. They tell all who see us that we are beginning 40 days of prayer, and repentance, and sacrifice — that we are Catholic Christians seeking somehow to reconcile ourselves with God.

One of the things I love about our faith is that our God is a God of second chances, fresh starts, and new beginnings. In the Bible we read these epic tales of the incredible ways that God transformed people and their lives: Moses, Noah, Jonah, Jeremiah, David, Joseph, Mary, Peter, James, Matthew, Zacchaeus, Paul, Lydia, Mary Magdalene, the woman at the well, and so many others whose names we don’t know. Why not you and me? Why not now?

What’s happening in your life right now? What’s not working in your life? What great question are you grappling with in your heart? Do you need a fresh start too? Welcome to Lent! 

These ashes say that we’re works in progress. They say: please be patient. God isn’t finished with me yet. He isn’t finished with any of us. That’s the great wonder and consolation of Lent.

I’ve been reading a lot on Facebook today about people giving something up for Lent. Several have said their Facebook “goodbyes,” because they’ll be giving up Facebook itself. Thousands (millions?) will be giving up chocolate, French fries, coffee, swearing, late-night snacks, food during the day, or some such thing.

But if you truly want to give up something, don’t just settle for chocolate or hamburgers or cheesecake – though right about now, I think, we’d all like to lose that weight we gained over Christmas. Go further. Go deeper. Try giving up something really hard, something that costs, not money, but something of yourself.

Give up cynicism. Or jealousy. Or backstabbing. Give up gossip. Give up regrets for choices you never made or paths your never took. 

Give up fighting God’s will for you. Give up always forgetting that the most famous prayer in the world doesn’t include the phrase “MY will be done,” but “THY will be done.” 

Give up whatever fear or anxiety is keeping you from going to confession, and just go. Give up being too busy to pray or being too worried to hope. 

Because in giving up one of these things we acknowledge that God isn’t finished with us yet and that we’re open to cooperating with him towards becoming the finished product, the masterpiece, he calls us to be. 

And so . . . 

Here we are on this Ash Wednesday, such as we are . . . 

Imperfect.

Confessing.

Repentant.

Hopeful.

Listening.

Here we are, such as we are. . . 

Willing to be melted

And molded.

Wanting a newly created 

Pure heart.

Here we are, such as we are . . . 

Branded with a mark . . . 

Christ’s unmistakable mark . . .
The sign of His cross.

Our prayer, our hope, our deepest yearning is that He leads us . . . 

That He walks with us these 40 days . . . 

That He walks with us always.

And as we embark on that journey, and begin this 40 day adventure, remember one more thing. Be patient. With yourselves. And with everyone else. Because God isn’t finished with any of us yet.

Third Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle C)

TODAY!

Nehemiah 8:2-4A, 5-6, 8-10; 1 Corinthians 12:12-30; Luke 1:1-4; 4:14-21

There’s a story about a certain man, very late in years, who was a devout Christian. More than anything, he longed for the Lord to come again. He wanted so much to be reunited with his wife Katherine who had died the year before. She had been the love of his life for 60-something years. He was also anxious to move beyond all the aches and pains of his own old age, and to be young and strong again. And he wanted the world to be made right. Each day when he sat alone at the kitchen table, dipping bread into his soup for lunch, he would pray the Lord’s Prayer and linger over the part that says, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Then, he would take his prayer journal and write in flowing letters, “Perhaps tomorrow!”

The man’s son, who loved him very much and came by the house to visit his dad every afternoon after work, would sometimes leaf through the pages of his dad’s journal. There, before his eyes, was the story of his father’s life – page after page of the day’s experiences contained in a stack of journals covering many years. Stories about his marriage…the birth of children…career experiences…his life as a Christian. And at the end of every day’s entry was written, in flowing letters, “Perhaps tomorrow!”

One afternoon in the late autumn, the son came by his father’s house and immediately knew something was different. There was a kind of empty silence unlike anything he had ever heard before. And then he saw his dad, lying silently on the old sofa. He had died as he took his afternoon nap.

Well, the son took care of all the things you need to take care of in times like these – made all the phone calls, retrieved all the necessary paperwork, talked quietly with the people from the funeral home who came to get the body.

And then he was left alone in the old house, full of his parents’ humble treasures – the figurines, and furniture and fine things gathered over a lifetime…and, the journal on the kitchen table. The son sat down, sweeping away the few crumbs of bread left from the last noontime meal his father had eaten. He opened the journal, page after page completed with his father’s handwritten hope: “Perhaps tomorrow!” The son smiled. And then he turned to the last page. It was dated that very day. Surprisingly, there was only one word written there, penned in his father’s beautiful handwritten scroll. It simply said, “TODAY!”

One day, in the town of Nazareth, a group of people just like you and me went to the synagogue. Like us – and like the old man in the story – they were looking for the coming of God’s kingdom. – the day their lives, their nation, and their world would be made right – the day they’d be rescued from their frail humanity, set free from all the oppressive powers of the world, and gathered under the protective and life-giving presence of God Himself. These citizens of Nazareth gathered every Sabbath to pray and to hear read the promise of God to bring them a new day of Jubilee. And they would leave the synagogue afterwards renewed in hope and thinking, “Perhaps tomorrow!”

But then, one Sabbath something amazing happened. A man named Jesus returned home to Nazareth where he had been raised, and he joined the crowd in the synagogue. As was the custom, he was invited to read the lectionary for the day, which happened to be a portion of Isaiah 61 that refers to this great Day of Jubilee:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners, and recovery of sight for the blind, to set free the oppressed, and to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

It was a passage the people had heard many times over. It was one of their favorites because it spoke of the day the Lord’s Messiah would come and inaugurate God’s kingdom on earth. Oh, what a day it will be! Perhaps tomorrow!

And then Jesus rolled up the scroll and gave it to the attendant. Then he sat down to teach. And this is what Jesus said: “TODAY!” . . . TODAY! Not tomorrow, out there in the future. Not yesterday, back there in the past. But TODAY! “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing!”

“Today” is the first word of Jesus’ public teaching. He neither reminisces about the past nor forecasts the future. He comes to his people in the very circumstances of their lives. It’s not about what happened yesterday or what might happen tomorrow. It’s about today. It’s not about nostalgia for the past, nor a fantasy of the future. It’s not centered in memory or anticipation: next year I’ll do this; in the old days we did that, someday God will set things right. “TODAY this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing,” Today he brings good news to the poor. Today he proclaims release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind. Today he lets the oppressed go free. Today he proclaims the year of the Lord’s favor. TODAY!

But TODAY is a dangerous place when you live your life with one foot in the past and one foot in the future because today insists that you lay aside both the comfort of your memories and the hope of your dreams to embrace fully the moment of now. And so the people reject both the messenger and the message. Their one foot is firmly planted in the past: They know this man Jesus! They saw him grow up! They visited his carpenter show! He - the Messiah? The Chosen One? The Anointed One? The Holy One of Israel? Impossible! And their other foot . . . that’s dug deeply into the sands of the future. Because if it is today, that puts responsibility and accountability on them. And they weren’t ready to accept either. 

What about us? Are we like those neighbors of Nazareth? With one foot in the past and one in the future, do we straddle and completely miss the present. Do we become captive to what was, fearful of what might be, and blind to what is? Are we stuck in the past and blind to the power of God in the here and now, oblivious to the God-moments in our lives? Do we obsess on the future and chalk up to coincidence or pure luck the miracles that are happening all around us? 

The bible is the LIVING Word of God, which means that it is never out of date; its lessons are still applicable; and the words Jesus speaks, he speaks not just to an individual or a community of antiquity, he speaks to us and to the situations of our lives. Poverty might be about money or material needs such as food, clothing, or housing. It might also be poverty of love, hope, or meaning. Regardless, our world is empty. The captive might be a prisoner. It might also be an addicted person, a cancer patient, or one overcome by anger and resentment. Regardless, our world is small and closing in. Blindness can be physical. But it can also be emotional or spiritual. Regardless, our world is dark. Oppression happens in hundreds of ways from physical or emotional violence, to racism, to fear, to profound sorrow. Regardless, our world is not safe.

In the midst of these circumstances, when life gets really difficult, it’s easy and tempting to run away, to get stuck in the past, or fixate on the future. Yet, Jesus comes to us today, here, now. He’s not lost in our past or hidden in an unknown future. The only place we can meet Jesus is today, in this present moment, in whatever the circumstances of our life might be.

But here’s the irony. We too often miss today fretting over yesterday and worrying about tomorrow. And yet the presence of Christ today somehow heals our past and prepares us for the future. Good news, release, sight, freedom, the Lord’s favor. All these are made real and present today, in the current context and circumstances of our lives.

This morning's Gospel is fulfilled in our hearing . . . TODAY!

Solemnity of the Holy Family (Cycle C)

CHRISTMAS GIFTS

Sirach 3: 2-6, 12-14; Colossians 3: 12-21; Luke 2: 41-52 

“What do you want for Christmas?” 

If you asked that question to a child this past month, you probably got an earful, an extensive wish list of the latest toys, technology and fashion that’s been marketed to them on television. Everything from this year’s Hess Truck to anything and everything Star Wars. And so, Santa’s job (or the job for “Santa’s Helpers”) was an easy one because they let us know in exact detail what they wanted . . . the things that, along with sugar plums, danced in their heads. 

But it’s harder to buy for others on our Christmas shopping list. As we get older, our wish list gets shorter and when asked, “What do you want for Christmas?” the response is: “Nothing.” “There’s nothing I need or want.” “What could I want? I have everything.” And so for those people, usually older folk - grandparents, parents, husbands and wives - choosing the perfect gift is a challenge. It takes thought and creativity. Because, despite their answer, something in us still wants to not only give them something, but give them the perfect something . . . the something that will express our love for them and make them happy. 

Did you ever leave someone off your Christmas shopping list? Someone that you forgot to buy for? When that happens, often times we resort to re-gifting. We give them something that we were given. Sometimes it’s something that we’re all too happy to get rid of: the thing we already have twelve of, the ugly Christmas sweater, the thing we didn’t want, didn’t ask for, never will use, wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. Sometimes it’s something we reluctantly give away, something cherished, something we give joyfully and unselfishly, knowing it’s something that someone else needs or wants, something that will look better on them, something that will bring them happiness. 

If you think about it, there IS probably someone who didn’t make it onto your list this year. And there’s a good chance that he never has. Two days ago we celebrated a midnight clear, a child's cry, a blazing star hanging over a stable, and wise men coming from afar with birthday gifts. We haven't forgotten that night down the centuries. We celebrate it with stars on Christmas trees, with the sound of bells, with song and with gifts. But especially with gifts. Gifts for young. Gifts for old. Gifts for family. Gifts for friends. Gift for bosses. Gifts for school teacher, mailman, and hair dresser. Gifts given out of love. Gifts given out of appreciation. Gifts given out of obligation. Gifts for all . . . except the one whose birth we celebrate. 

Maybe he’s never made it onto our shopping list, because he’s difficult to buy for. He’s like the family member who tells us he doesn’t need anything . . . he has everything. After all, what can you give the SON OF GOD??? What can you give the one who needs nothing and if he did, could create it for himself? I’ve thought about that question a lot, and I’ve come up with one thing that God cannot give himself. And that’s LOVE. Because the very nature of love is that it’s dynamic, creative and never focused inward but always extended outward - towards someone or something else. Love, when it’s true love, is the total gift of self, and you can’t give yourself to yourself but only to someone else. The very last lyric that Oscar Hammerstein wrote says it beautifully: “A bell is no bell till you ring it. A song is no song till you sing it. And love in your heart wasn’t put there to stay. Love isn’t love till you give it away.” 

If you think about it, love was the first Christmas gift, the gift of Mary and Joseph. Unconditional love. The type of love that causes a fourteen year old girl to say yes to God, despite confusion, unanswered questions, feelings of inadequacy, and the possibility of the loss of her reputation and maybe even her life. The kind of love that transforms a faith-filled virgin into a faithful mother: unconditional love. 

It’s the type of love that causes a carpenter to give up his own dreams and plans in favor of God’s will . . . to accept a pregnant girl as his bride . . . to raise someone else’s child as his own. It’s the kind of love that transforms a righteous dreamer into a father of the heart. Unconditional love. 

Before angels gave their gift of song, before kings presented their gold, frankincense and myrrh, before shepherds knelt and offered their praise; there in the solitude of the stable, the Virgin and the Carpenter offered the first gift, the greatest gift: the gift of their love. Unconditional love. 

It’s the type of love that Jesus had, a lesson he learned well as a member of that Holy Family - the type of love that led him from the manger to the cross. The type of love he said we should have when he said, “Love one another as I have loved you.” 

Our gift of love to Jesus is one that’s re-gifted, because it’s the very gift that he has given us. He doesn’t care what the wrapping and ribbon look like, because much like a father whose son or daughter gives him the handmade art class project, despite its imperfections, when it’s given, it’s worth more to him than all the diamonds at Tiffany’s. 

So if you made your list, checked it twice, but left off he whose birth we celebrate, don’t worry. Belated gifts are accepted and cherished. And just as Christmas gifts come in different varieties, sizes and colors, so too does the gift of unconditional love to babe of Bethlehem, the man of Golgatha. It might be wrapped in the honesty and integrity with which you conduct business in a competitive, cutthroat, backstabbing workplace; the faithfulness to your marriage vows amidst the temptations and allures of our sexually promiscuous society; the total dedication to your children in our materialistic culture that places greater value on productivity than on parenting, quantity of work time over quality of family time; The ribbons and bows of your gift of unconditional love might be the gentleness and fairness with which you treat both neighbor and stranger, or embracing Gospel values over Hollywood values, or time set aside for prayer and worship amidst a life of schedules and obligations. 

Our gift for the one born on a starlit night so long ago can’t be found in Santa’s workshop, in a department store, or online. It needs to be found in the same place Mary and Joseph found it – in the heart. And make no mistake about it: unconditional love doesn’t come cheap. It costs. As a matter of fact, it costs everything. But it is the only gift worthy of the Son of God. 

Happy Birthday, Jesus! . . . Sorry if I’m late.

The Second Sunday of Advent (Cycle C)

DO YOUR HEAR WHAT I HEAR?

Baruch 5:1-9; 2 Philemon 4: 1-6, 8-11; Luke 3: 1-6 

Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy,

“Do you hear what I hear?

Ringing through the sky, shepherd boy,

Do you hear what I hear?

A song, a song, high above the trees

With a voice as big as the sea

With a voice as big as the sea

A voice cries out in the wilderness, “Prepare the way of the Lord! Make straight his paths.” Do you hear what I hear?

The Roman authorities didn’t. They were too interested in keeping the “Peace of Rome” by force than to take seriously the challenge to prepare for the “Prince of Peace” who would come to establish his kingdom on love. 

Herod didn’t. He was an unpopular, cruel and power-hungry king. He was too busy trying to work deals with the competing factions.

The Pharisees and teachers of the Law didn’t. They knew the Bible backwards, but unfortunately didn’t know it “forwards.” In theory they were looking for the Messiah to come sometime in the future. But in reality they didn’t want anyone to disturb their control on the highly structured, all-encompassing rules that dictated how they lived their lives, and which they expected everyone else to live by, as well.

The ordinary people . . . they didn’t either – most of them. They were poor and life was hard. They had to pay close to sixty percent of their wages to pay the Temple tax, as well as the tax imposed by Rome. Life was a struggle. They were simply too busy to realize that the very ancient prophesies that they knew by heart and longed to become a reality for their nation, had been fulfilled in their midst. 

Do YOU hear what I hear? 

In today’s gospel, we hear a voice imploring us to get ready. It’s a familiar voice, one that we hear every year at this time. But it’s a voice that often gets drowned out by other voices: a voice chuckling “Ho, Ho, Ho;” a voice crooning dreams of a White Christmas, or a voice reminding us on TV or radio that there are only 18 shopping left days ‘til Christmas.

For nearly 2000 years later, the voice of the Baptist has echoed out from the wilderness: “Prepare the way of the Lord! Make straight his paths.” It’s a voice that must be heard before we can hear about angel’s songs and humble shepherds’ surprise, and “Silent Night, Holy Night.” His voice is the voice of a herald who challenges us to get ready. For preparing for Christmas cannot simply be a matter of making sure the Christmas lights work, or of putting up the Christmas tree, or of making enough gingerbread cookies for company. All of those things are fine, but the real preparation for Christmas takes place not on the outside, but on the inside, through radical self-examination, and yes, even though making changes in our life. John the Baptist cries out to us from the wilderness to look at our lives and re-examine our priorities; to ask ourselves we're investing our time, our energy, our money; to get rid of whatever is hindering us from having deeper faith, or from loving and being loved, or from living in the ways of justice and peace.” 

John the Baptist's call to preparation through benevolence to the poor, honesty and integrity in business, and contentment with one’s lot in life is just as real today as it was when he first proclaimed it in the wilderness. Now all of that may not be the kind of Good News we want to hear. But it is the Good News that will enable God’s love to be born among us in Jesus Christ in a way that is truly transformational, that changes us and our world. John reminds us that each of us needs to repent – to turn around and go in another direction, the direction of Bethlehem and the birth of God’s love in Christ Jesus. 

So here we are on December 6th beginning the second week of Advent. How are you doing with your Christmas preparations? This past week one of the women who works in the rectory told me that she’s almost finished her Christmas shopping . . . FOR NEXT YEAR!!! I’m not that prepared, and I imagine most of you aren’t either. But along with the shopping and decorating and card writing and baking, how are your spiritual preparations for Christmas coming? Let’s not make our spiritual preparations be like New Year’s Resolutions – things that are well intended . . . things that we really want to do . . . things we promise ourselves that we’re going to do, but in the end, time slips past us and the busyness of life gets the better of us, and our good intentions get shifted to our “to do” list for next year. 

So, if you need a little help, here are six suggestions to help spiritually get ready for Christmas this year:

1. Give God one very special gift – just from you to Him. Let this gift be something personal, that no one else need know about, and let it be something that “costs,” not your money, but you personally, a sacrifice. Perhaps your gift to God will be to forgive someone you’ve needed to forgive for a longtime. Or maybe your gift will be to commit yourself to spending time with God daily in prayer, maybe praying the rosary and focusing on the Joyful Mysteries, since most of them are connected with the birth of our Lord.

2. Set aside a special time to read Scripture. Perhaps this would be a good year to read the Book of the Prophet Isaiah, and recall some of the ancient prophesies that were fulfilled by Jesus. Or, read the Gospel of Matthew or Luke. I recommend either of them because they contain what we call the “Infancy Narratives,” the accounts of Jesus’ conception and birth. 

3. Set up a Nativity scene in your home. Set it up in a prominent place, and don’t let it be just another Christmas decoration, but something you visit every day, which you allow to help you transcend time and space and bring you back 2,000 years to Bethlehem.

4. Send Christmas cards that convey a spiritual message. This is an easy way to share your faith at Christmastime. If you've already bought the snowman cards -- no problem! Just write a Bible verse and include a personal message with each card.

5. Plan a project of good will this Christmas. The idea of giving the gift of service to someone in need demonstrates Christ-like love and service. It could be volunteering in a soup kitchen, caroling at a nursing home, baking cookies for an elderly neighbor, or running an errand for a friend. Oh, and don’t forget, charity really does begin at home, so maybe look around to those who live under the same roof as you and the special needs that they might have. 

6. Go to the Sacrament of Reconciliation. There's no better way to prepare yourself spiritually for the coming of our Lord at Christmas than to go to confession. Do some spiritual housekeeping in your heart, mind, and soul, to prepare a place worthy of Jesus being born anew this Christmas. 

Today we celebrate the Second Sunday of Advent. Christmas is two weeks and five days from today. And today a voice cries out from the wilderness, “Prepare the way of the Lord!” Do you hear what I hear?

First Sunday of Advent (Cycle C)

Wait . . . Want . . . Watch . . . Wonder

Jeremiah 33:14-16; 1 Thessalonians 3:12-4:2; Luke 21:25-28, 34-36 

At the time of the economic crash there were seven children, five girls and two boys—Joseph was the oldest and Theresa was the youngest. The family lived in a small house in Brooklyn that had no central heating and the refrigerator was an icebox on the back porch that had to be padlocked at night so that the other poor wouldn’t steal their food while they slept. There was no work available anywhere. Josephine, the widowed mother, cashed in her husband’s small insurance policy and sold the few pieces of gold jewelry she owned just to buy groceries. Whatever clothes they had had been outgrown by someone else and shoes were often the wrong size. The gas and electric bills weren’t paid and they were forced to use a kerosene lantern to see by night.

On the coldest nights of winter, they all slept in the kitchen around the stove, the only source of heat. Out of sheer desperation they sought public relief. And before welfare could be collected, an agent visited their home and opened all the cupboards and bureau drawers to determine if they were destitute . . . and they were. Christmas that year was homemade – old toys and dolls refurbished and doll clothes sewn from scraps. 

They waited and waited for the worst to be over. It wasn’t the end of the world, it just seemed like it.

Sometimes life feels like the world is shattering and collapsing and there are people who long for the end of the world . . . the world as they know it. Many of us have experienced this kind of world and understand what our final end might be like - when hope is all but exhausted and we look around and see that everything still seems normal, but the world has stopped for us. When the small shadow appears on an x-ray after years of remission; when we’re on the verge of losing our home because the bank says, “time’s up;” when we wait for the phone call or email in the midst of company layoffs; when we wait in anguish for the sound of the car pulling in the driveway when our seventeen-year-old son is hours late getting home.

Not all waiting is unnerving and fearful. Sometimes we wait in joyful hope and expectation—for a pregnancy to end and labor to begin; for the grandparents to arrive on their annual Thanksgiving visit; for Christmas morning after weeks of eagerness and excitement. But wait we must—it seems so unavoidable in this life. And none of us waits very well. Whether it’s standing in line at the bank or waiting for winter to end and spring to begin, waiting has a way of taking hold of us and demanding all our attention—it tests our patience and can sometimes feel like solitary confinement. We do anything to avoid it and fill our lives with great amounts of activity so that we don’t have to think about it. We hurry through life, and we fret and worry if we’re doing enough, and . . . all the while . . . we’re waiting. 

Today begins our Advent waiting—a four-week-long marathon of sprinting breathlessly to the Christmas finish line. Even as we do so, the days grow shorter, the darkness grows longer, and nighttime takes over—there is a sense of losing what precious little time we have. And into our stressful and anxiety-filled lives, Jesus issues a stern warning in the most disturbing language, striking fear in our hearts—“on earth nations will be in dismay . . . People will die of fright in anticipation of what is coming . . . Be vigilant at all times and pray that you have the strength . . .” Few of us take these words seriously. Maybe those who first heard them, who were enduring terrible suffering and wanted to know when the world was coming to an end, but even they grew weary of waiting and wondered if these things would ever come to pass. The truth is we all wait for Christ to return; we all believe that God keeps his promises . . . just not in our lifetime.

So maybe today’s gospel isn’t about earthquakes, Category 5 hurricanes, raging wild fires, unrelenting rain and floods, and the world coming to an end. Maybe it’s not about looking up at the heavens for Christ coming in a cloud, but about redemption and promises kept. Maybe it’s not about what Christ will do and when he’ll do it, but about what we should be doing right here and now. And maybe it’s not about being alert and keeping our eyes open for what will happen in the future but about finally seeing what’s already right in front of us. 

Advent is a time to wait, to want, to watch, and to wonder. It’s a time to wait to celebrate Christ’s coming at Christmas and his coming more fully into our lives. It’s a time to want, to want to use this precious time to prepare, to make these four weeks different from the other 48 0f the year. It’s a time to watch, to be more attuned to Christ’s coming in the people and events of our everyday lives. And it’s a time to wonder, to be in awe of such profound love and goodness and mercy that God sent his own Son to redeem us and to give us an example of how life should be lived. 

Advent is a gift, a precious gift of time to straighten out what’ not yet right; to overcome that one struggle, that one area of darkness—to heal what we’ve broken, to forgive, to be less addicted, to be more chaste, to be more generous, to bring Christ back into our lives as if this Advent were our very last Advent. It’s a time to interrupt our Christmas marathon and look into our lives no matter how shattered or wonderful they may be, to find Christ with us. Christ who once came. Christ who comes to us in the broken places where we know we can’t make it on our own. Christ who comes to us in those moments when we look beyond our own needs, to see the needs of others. 

Time passes for all of us, no matter how quickly or how slowly that may be happening. We wait for him who keeps his promises and we dare not be caught by surprise.

The Solemnity of All Saints

Saints Among Us

Revelation 7:2-4, 9-14; 1 John 3:1-3; Matthew 5:1-12a 

He was born in 1985 and his smile was contagious from the moment he first gave one. A typical kid, with typical interests. He loved professional sports and was a diehard Yankees, Giants and Bulls fan. In elementary school he joined the basketball team and played trumpet in the school band. And it was in fourth grade, when he became an altar server, that his love for God, his love for the church, and his dedication to a life of service began to grow. When he was fifteen years old, he needed a kidney transplant. He never complained, never felt sorry for himself, and used that experience to come to a deeper appreciation for life. He was an average student, but what wasn’t average about him was his goodness, his gentleness, his faith, his love of God, and his commitment to serve God’s people. In his senior year of high school, he became a Eucharistic Minister and spent a week that summer serving the Navajo Nation in Arizona. But during his second year in college, his body began to fail him and he spent five months in various hospitals. The will of God proved stronger than the prayers of his family and friends, and God brought him home to Himself. He had discerned that God was calling him to be a priest. And perhaps we can question the wisdom of God: why would God take such an inspirational and faith-filled individual at a time when the Church needs priests? But if a priest is one who dedicates his life to God through service and sacrifice, in reality, although he never was ordained, he already was a priest. His name is Patrick Nilsen. He was my student, and today is his feast day.

She was born in Brooklyn, NY in 1925, the youngest of seven children. Her father passed away when she was five and there were days when there was little on the family dinner table, and years that they couldn’t even afford a Christmas tree, much less Christmas presents. She attended her parish elementary school and would love to sneak into the church during lunchtime to light a candle and say a prayer in front of the statues of the Sacred Heart, the Blessed Mother, St. Joseph, and her patron saint, St. Therese. In her life, she never accomplished anything that the world would consider great, except to those who see greatness in being a loving and devoted wife to her husband of 51 years, a dedicated mother to her three sons, and a dear friend to all. She attended mass everyday, volunteered to feed the hungry every Thanksgiving, and was a member of a sewing group in her parish that provided clothing for the poor. She was someone who mastered her patron saint’s spiritual philosophy, known as “the little way” to sanctity, by doing the mundane things of everyday life and infusing them with tremendous love. When she was diagnosed with cancer in 1997, she lost her hair, she lost weight, and ultimately lost her life, but she never lost her faith. During her illness, she never admitted to being in the tremendous pain that wracked her body, but only spoke of it as “discomfort,” and refused pain medication that would cause her to be “out of it,” and chose instead to take only Extra-strength Tylenol so she could appreciate the time that she had left with her family. As her life was an example in Christian living, her death became an example in Christian death. And as she lay in her hospital bed a few days before she died, as she finished praying with her family, her face beamed with the most beautiful and serene smile as she announced to her family (while she stared at seemingly nothing at the foot of her bed), “He looks so beautiful.” Her name is Theresa Olsen, my mother, and today is her feast day.

Today, we celebrate the Feast of All Saints. And today is not about those who have been officially canonized. They already have their own particular feast days on the Church calendar. "All Saints" speaks of those who were not famous, but those nonetheless whose lives and deeds and love have endured beyond their death . . . my mother, your father, his brother, her husband, their child; our grandparents, our relatives, our friends . . . all those who have died and are now in the eternal embrace of God in heaven.

What is a saint? Saints are normal people, normal everyday people, who differ from most others in this world, not necessarily because of the degree of their moral perfection, but because of their faith. A saint is someone whose life is dedicated to the love of God and the doing of God's will in their lives. A saint is someone who inspires in us the desire to know and to follow Christ. And so, the feast of All Saints is an opportunity for us to offer a hymn to the ordinary people of the world who are extraordinary in their holiness, their love, their compassion, their dedication, and in their prayerfulness.

What makes a saint? Extravagance: excessive love, flagrant mercy, radical affection, exorbitant charity, immoderate faith, intemperate hope - none of which is an achievement, a badge to be earned or a trophy to be sought, but are secondary by-products of the one thing that truly makes a saint: their love for God.

Saints are those who hear the self-absorbed, success-orientated values that mainstream society has to offer and rejects them; values that shout out to us that: “Happy are those with strong personal ambition - they will get everything they ever dreamed of possessing!” And, “Happy are those who fulfill the expectations of the present age - the world is at their feet!”

We can choose to accept our society’s blessing. If we do, I’m sure we will be gifted with what the world knows and understands as blessings. But if we do accept that definition, we also reject our Lord’s voice. For in the world’s blessing there’s very little room for the poor in spirit, the mourning, the merciful, the meek, the righteous, the pure, the peacemakers or the persecuted. 

Or we can reject the modern view of blessing and stand in the company of God’s saints. God’s saints are those who know their identity and security are found only in God. God’s saints are those who give only God their total devotion. God’s saints are those who morn because other members of God’s family suffer. God’s saints are those who renounce the violent ways of the world causing that suffering. God’s saints are those who actively strive to do God’s will, and in their merciful actions reflect God’s mercy, and bring God’s peace. God’s saints are those whose actions, and whose very selves, may be rejected by the world, but they rejoice because they know they do their Lord’s work and follow their Lord’s path.

Today we are invited to walk the path of the saints, the way of the Beatitudes. The way is narrow and hard. We need faith and courage to walk it. Today we look to the example of the saints and call upon their prayers to encourage us and strengthen us. We’re told that St Augustine found it hard to live the Beatitudes, but when he read the lives of the saints he said, "What these ordinary women and men have done, why not me?"

Why not us?

The Twenty-Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle B)

CUT IT OUT!

Numbers 11:25-29; James 5:1-6; Mark 9: 38-43, 45, 47-48

If you’re in a profession long enough, you can point to a lot of positives that make it a rewarding career. For me, as a teacher, I can honestly say that the opportunity to work with young people, to be surrounded by their energy and enthusiasm, and the opportunity for me to learn from them and for me to grow as a person as I tried to impart knowledge and deepen their faith, are but a few of the positives that kept me going back to the classroom for so many years. But along with the pluses, realistically, there are always a few negatives. For me, the long hours of preparation, the paperwork, and sometimes having to deal with administrators who lacked the ability to appreciate and affirm are a few. But if you asked me what aspect of teaching I disliked most, I would have to say it was being a disciplinarian. As I’m sure those of you who are parents can identify with, children want to do what they want to do, and sometimes it takes multiple tries to get them to cease and desist. Sometimes, “Stop it!” wouldn’t be enough and would need to be followed up with, “Knock it off!!” But sometimes, in order for them to really get the message that I was losing patience and would no longer tolerate their shenanigans, with eyes widened and volume elevated, I needed to emphatically say, “CUT IT OUT!!!” And usually that did the trick. They got the message. 

CUT IT OUT!!! I think that’s message that Jesus is trying to get across to us today. 

In our gospel we hear some very jarring words from Jesus. He tells us that if our hand causes us to sin, to cut it off; if our foot causes us to sin, to cut it off; if our eye causes us to sin, to pluck it out. And I’m sure, although not directly stated by Jesus, by extension, he would have the same admonition for a tongue or an ear that has become the vehicle of our sinfulness. 

Well I’m happy to tell you that we’re NOT selling knives and axes after mass today in the Atrium as a fundraiser to pave the parking lot! But we get a little nervous when we hear Jesus’ words. Is he really suggesting radical surgery as the way to avoid sin? Radical? Yes. Surgery? No. 

What we have here is the typical, exaggerated language of the Middle East. We call it hyperbole. If a truth is important enough, the Semitic people don’t go in for concise, moderated, (and often dull) language such as the Romans favored. The Semites expressed truth in vivid word pictures; exaggerated images. And Jesus, a true Semite, used that kind of dramatic language to make his point. 

For our culture, especially when we’re writing or giving a formal lecture, the bigger the truth the more careful and concise and logical the language should be. Not so for the people of the Middle East. For Jesus and his people, the bigger the truth the more exaggerated the language might be. Get this right and his teaching packs a punch. Get it wrong and some earnest souls end up with a literalism which leads to confusion or grave error. 

And so I am quite sure that Jesus is not actually looking for more one handed, one footed, half blind disciples in response to this teaching. He isn’t advocating self-mutilation. But he is advocating an extremely rigorous, uncompromising approach to dealing with the roots of sin within ourselves. He’s telling us to root it out, to go hard on it, to CUT IT OUT. His language is clearly metaphorical. Feet, hands and eyes don’t cause sin. As the Apostle James has been telling us in recent weeks, sin has its roots in the attitudes of our hearts, in selfish ambitions and jealousies. Feet, hands and eyes may perform sinful actions, but they are followers not leaders.

But one of the traps of saying that something is a metaphor is that we can use that as an excuse to ignore the passage altogether instead of asking what the metaphor is telling us to do. If Jesus isn’t telling us to chop off our hands and gouge out our eyes, what is he telling us to put under the knife? 

Jesus is telling us to be ruthless on anything that keeps tripping us up and causing us to fall into sin. And he’s making the point that sometimes this may mean giving up things that aren’t bad in themselves. Isn’t that the point of his metaphor – there’s nothing inherently evil about feet or hands, but if they’re causing a problem, “CUT IT OUT.” 

When Jesus tells us that if our hand or foot causes us to sin, to cut it off, or if our eyes causes us to sin, to pluck it out, it constitutes the great reversal. He who healed a boy with a withered hand, made the lame walk, and restored sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, and speech to the mute, is telling us to become maimed, lame, blind, deaf and mute, if our hands, our feet, our eyes, our ears, our mouth, OURSELVES inflict sin and hurt and evil. And he tells us how to do it: 

• If our hand greedily grasps for wealth and power and the latest must-have items, if our hand refuses to let go of some of what we have acquired to help those in need – CUT IT OUT! 
• If our feet move us away from God and God’s Church, if they take us to places where God is disregarded and Gospel values are scorned and ignored – CUT IT OUT! 
• If our eyes see success in terms of money and possessions, if they look upon pornographic and violent images that poison the human spirit, if they fail to see others as children of the same Father – CUT IT OUT! 
• If our tongues wag with lies, negativity, gossip, vulgarity or words that promote hated and discrimination – CUT IT OUT! 
• If our ears are all too eager to hear scandal, dirty jokes, and lies that lead us away from the truth of the gospels, or if they tune into music that contains obscenities or promotes violence and sexual promiscuity – CUT IT OUT! 

Quite simply, if you spot a pattern of behavior where involvement in something leads you down unhealthy and destructive paths, give it up. CUT IT OUT!

But I know what you’re thinking. “CUT IT OUT! . . . Great advice, Deacon Bruce.  But easier said than done. How the heck do we do that? Here’s a few suggestions. 

1. Identify the Problem: Look in the mirror and do some introspection. And ask yourself two questions. First, what’s my reputation? Are you the “go to” person that people depend on for the scoop about everybody else? Are you the friend that everyone can count on for a good time, but is nowhere to be found when they’ve been dealt a bad hand or the chips are down? Second, what are the things about yourself, the things that you do, that you would never want anyone to know about? 
2. Avoid the Near Occasions on Sin: Remove yourself from the things, the people, the places that put yourself spiritually in harm’s way. Maybe that means ending some toxic friendships. Maybe that means limiting your time on the computer, or moving it to a public place in your house. 
3. Go to the Sacrament of Reconciliation: Confession is a win – win proposition. You get your sins forgiven but you also get sanctifying grace: God’s presence and assistance for you to change your heart, to break away from sinful patterns in your life, and to have the strength and courage to follow his way. 
4. Pray: Let me ask you a question: If you sincerely ask God to help you change, break away from the times your hand, your feet, your eyes, your tongue, your ears cause you to sin and distance yourself from Him, do you think He’s going to say no? Of course not! Pray for the Gifts of the Holy Spirit: wisdom, understanding, counsel, fortitude, knowledge, piety and fear of the Lord. And if you do, you will receive the Fruits of the Holy Spirit: charity, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, generosity, gentleness, faithfulness, modesty, self-control, and fear of the Lord – everything you need to embrace radical transformation and avoid radical amputation. 

Today, Jesus the Divine Physician, puts before us two treatments for the spiritual cancer that we’re afflicted with. One is a regular dose of antibiotics (the Sacrament of Reconciliation), diet (a life of self-control avoiding the near occasions of sin), and exercise (prayer). It’s non-invasive, but will absolutely bring about spiritual wellness. The other course of treatment is radical surgery to cut off the diseased organ. Which one will you choose?

The Twenty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle B)

GETTING ALL A’S BUT FLUNKING LIFE

Deuteronomy 4:1-2, 6-8; James 1:17-18, 2B-22, 27; Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23 

Isn’t it funny how one thing can be considered bad news for some, but good news for others? So, for those of you under the age of eighteen, I have some bad news for you – School starts this week. For those of you who are parents, I have some good news for you – School starts this week! And for those of you who are teachers, I’ll let you decide whether or not that’s bad news or good news. As you know, I loved teaching. But I do have to admit to you that when it came to the month of August, I literally refused to look at a calendar, because I didn’t want to be reminded of how few days were left before early mornings, lesson plans, faculty meetings and grade books. Oh the power of the grade book! I recently heard a story about a little boy who wasn’t getting good marks. One day, he snuck behind his teacher at her desk and caught a glimpse of the failing test grade she was entering for him. The boy tapped the teacher on the shoulder and said, "I don't want to scare you, but my daddy says if I don't get better grades, somebody is going to get a spanking!"

In today’s Gospel, Jesus, the Divine Teacher, gives the Pharisees a glimpse at his grade book. But before we look at the grades the Pharisees received, we need to go back and consider what lesson it was that the Pharisees were being graded on. For that we need to go back a few thousand years in the history of Israel to consider an unprecedented moment in human history. 

We go back to when God chose a ragtag band of wandering Semites to be a Chosen People, his Chosen People. God entered into a special relationship of love with these people. God entered into a Covenant with Israel, saying, “I will be your God and you will be my people.” And to preserve that unique relationship of love, God gave the Chosen People the Commandments – rules for living that would preserve that relationship. The author of Deuteronomy captures the excitement when God, the Creator of the Universe, broke into human history. He calls the people of Israel a “great nation,” “a wise and discerning people" (Deut 4:6), for what other nation has a god so close to it as Israel is to Yahweh? What nation has statutes and decrees as just as the law God gave the people of Israel?

But the Law, the Commandents, were not given as an end to themselves. They were always intended as a means to an end. They were intended as a means for preserving this incredible love relationship which God had established.

Now come forward to the time of Jesus and the Pharisees we meet in today’s gospel.

In one of his books, the Catholic novelist Walter Percy has a character who says about another person, “He got all A’s, but flunked life!” That is essentially what Jesus, the Divine Teacher, is saying to the Pharisees, “You got all A’s at keeping the Commandments, as you understand them, but you flunked life.” The Pharisees, and many others at the time of Jesus, were focused on a complex set of rules for following the Law, but in some important ways had neglected the heart of the Covenant. They had lost their focus on what was the essence of the Covenant – a loving relationship with God and with all creation. Someone said the Pharisees had moved religion from the sanctuary into the kitchen – and that is what their questioning reveals. They have the Lord of Life, the Lord of the Dance, sitting in front of them, and they wanted to talk about the rules for washing hands! A poet says about the Pharisees, “they were so busy scrubbing ‘useless pots the whole day long’ that they completely ‘lost the dance and song.’”

But there is something unsettling about this scene with the Pharisees. It is easy for us to nod and agree that, Yes, the Pharisees got it wrong. They deserved bad grades. But what nags at my conscience is that we know the lesson here is not limited to the Pharisees. The Pharisees were, after all, at the time of Jesus, respected religious people. Like us, they were not thought of as bad people.

And so, we feel compelled to ask ourselves, “What grades would the Divine Teacher give us?” Do we in some way get all A’s but flunk life? Do we in our families, in our friendships, at work, in our church, focus narrowly on a strict observance of a multitude of rules, but fail to seek out and celebrate truly loving relationships? Have we become so scrupulous in the blind observance of the letter of the Law that we neglect the spirit of love on which and for which the law was written. It’s so easy to rattle off a list of commandments by rote. It’s so easy to follow rules to the “T” and expect other to do likewise. It’s so easy to point fingers, cast judgements and disdainfully shake our heads at those that don’t. It’s so much more challenging, not to look the other way, but rather to see beyond and treat those we deem as rule-breakers, miscreants, and sinners with love, compassion, tolerance and mercy. Do we at times move our religious focus from the sanctuary to the kitchen? The earliest Christians called the mass an “agape” – a love feast. Is it still a celebration of God’s love for us, our love for God, my love for you, your love for me, or has it degenerated to mere ritual and routine? Are we consumed with who is worthy and welcome to gather around our table or whose hands are considered unclean because of the sins we perceive they’re guilty of? If so, then our religious experience may be more pharisaic than Christian. We may be more preoccupied with scrubbing “useless pots all day long” and completely miss “the dance and the song.”

But there is one very reassuring thought in all of this: we are being taught daily by a most unusual teacher. Not the Teacher of the Year or even the century. But the Teacher of All Time and Eternity. Like the many good teachers so many of us have known, this teacher will never give up on us. This teacher is eternally patient, eternally loving. This teacher doesn’t want us to fail. He’s the teacher who tirelessly and relentlessly goes over the lesson again and again until we get it right. He’s the teacher who always makes himself available for extra help. He’s the teacher who enters our failing marks in his grade book, not with red ink, but with red pencil that can be erased and changed if we ultimately learn the lessons he has taught. Our Divine Teacher, Jesus Christ, has shown us convincingly, through his death on the cross, that he will make the ultimate sacrifice so that we too may share in that loving relationship with God, promised to our ancestors in faith so long ago. We rejoice now in that knowledge and celebrate it in our Eucharist.

Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle B)

WHAT KIND OF MESSIAH ARE YOU LOOKING FOR? 

Exodus 16: 2-4, 12-15; Ephesians 4: 17, 20-24; John 6: 24-35

Did you ever feel misunderstood? Did you ever feel that people don’t see the real you? Ever feel that people just don’t get you? Are you ever upset because you feel used, that people are only interested in what they can get out of you? If so, you’re in good company. I think most of us have felt that way at one time in our life or other. Some of us might feel that this is the story of our lives, a persistent pattern, an ongoing reality. If so, you’re in even better company than you realized, because I think that’s the Jesus we meet in today’s gospel.

Today’s Gospel is Part II of a five part series from John’s Gospel called the “Bread of Life Discourse.” Mark’s Gospel, which is the shortest of the four Gospels, is interrupted and supplemented with this important episode and inserted into the Cycle B readings. In it, the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves and fish, which we heard last Sunday, takes just nine verses to relate and some forty-two verses to explain. The feeding of the 5,000 is a gentle but central introduction of a succession of Gospel readings that take us through one of the most difficult, confusing, counter-intuitive chapters in all the gospels. John 6 is a rhetorical back and forth between Jesus and the crowd and the disciples about his identity, God's mission, and our response. In the coming weeks, Jesus will tell the people they must eat his flesh, and, when they object and ask him to clarify or soften his hyperbolic message, they ultimately reject him. 

Last week, if you recall, Jesus took five barley loaves and two fish and multiplied them to feed a crowd of five thousand hungry people. To them, this miracle is the greatest thing since sliced bread and it convinces them that Jesus must be the Messiah. Their attempt to carry Jesus off and crown him king, results in him literally running away because he will not have it. Why? After all, isn’t Jesus the Messiah? Didn’t he want the people to recognize this and believe in him. Yes, but on his terms and not theirs. For them, the Messiah would be a new King David, who would not only free them from Roman oppression and bring down their enemies, but lead Israel into an era of prosperity. He would be one who would take care of, not only their political needs, but their physical needs as well. But that wasn’t the type of Messiah that Jesus came to be. The kingdom Jesus came to rule over wasn’t the Kingdom of Israel, but the Kingdom of God. He came, not so much to nourish them physically, but spiritually.

It’s there that today’s Gospel picks up. As is often the case in John, Jesus turns the physical into the spiritual. They want bread—like the bread Moses provided in the wilderness, but Jesus had another kind of bread in mind. He told the people that they searched and found him, not so much because they witnessed a miracle, but because they had their bellies filled. They had temporal needs met, which at that moment are important to them. And Jesus uses this as an opportunity not to rebuke them, but to challenge them to go deeper. 

More than likely, many of us find ourselves in a similar situation. Maybe we’re here at Mass because we’re dealing with some major issue in our lives. Someone is sick, someone has died, someone is unemployed. And we’re fearful or angry or afraid. And it’s a good thing to come and bring that to Jesus. But Jesus tells the people and us that it wasn’t Moses who gave the people bread, it was God. Now God would offer them bread, just a different kind of bread—the bread of life. That promise leads to another request: show us this bread. Jesus answers: “I am the bread of life.” Just as food is essential for our physical safety and well-being, he is essential for our eternal safety and well-being. 

The thing is, the people did get it at least part right. They recognize at least part of Jesus' identity. He is a king. He admits his kingship when he stands before Pilate. Jesus is meant to rule. So the people have it partly correct. They don’t, however, see the whole picture. Jesus is meant to rule, but not for just a few years - and he doesn't belong to only one group. That's why Jesus withdraws from them - not that they are wrong, but they have too narrow a view of who he is.

So it is down to our day. A New York Times' columnist named Ross Douthat has written a book entitled, "Bad Religion - How We Became a Nation of Heretics." He argues that we Americans, by and large, still want Jesus to have some place in our lives, but that, like the people of his day, we want to limit him. That's the definition of heresy - not some new idea about Jesus, but a limited idea. "Heretics" emphasize one aspect of Jesus in a way that leaves everything else out.

Some, for instance, want a Jesus who simply affirms them as they are. It is “feel good religion,” one that justifies our actions and a Jesus that accepts us as we are, no matter what we do, rather than challenging us to become something more and better. In "Bad Religion" Ross Douthat also analyzes the "prosperity gospel" of Joel Osteen, the recycled Gnosticism of the DaVinci Code and the dangers of blending religion and nationalism - making a kind of "American Jesus." 

The question before us this Sunday is: Who is Jesus? Is he merely king or guru or business partner? Is he some small part of my life - or is he as necessary to me as food and drink. Jesus says that he is the “Bread of Life, the “Cup of Eternal Salvation?” He is the food that gives eternal life. He is the food that encourages and comforts the guilty sinner. He is the Wonder Bread that enables us to carry the heavy loads that life can put on our shoulders. He is the food that will strengthen us to face anything that comes our way. With Jesus, the Bread of Life, there is nothing more that we need. This is bread that God gives to us as a gift. This is the bread that is not only good for the here and now but also for eternity. This bread will change you. This bread will strengthen you for the journey ahead. This bread gives eternal life. This bread gives hope in the face of trouble, confusion and death.

Today Jesus reveals something about who he is, his true self. He comforts us in our troubles, but he doesn't say he will affirm us no matter what we do. He helps us have a better life, but he doesn't guarantee financial success. He teaches the purpose of life, but he doesn't give secret knowledge to make us superior to others. He is meant to rule our lives and our world, but he does not allow us to use him for personal political ends. What he tells us is this: "I am the Bread of Life." If we come to him, we will never hunger and thirst for anything else. He is the Bread of Life. That is Jesus' identity. Take him or leave him.

Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Cycle B)

BEING THERE

Ezekiel 2:2-5; 2 Corinthians 2:7-10; Mark 6:1-6

Looking for a great movie to rent from Netflix this summer? One I would recommend is the 1979 comedy, "Being There." In it Peter Sellers plays a simple-minded gardener named Chance who has spent all his life in the Washington D.C. house of a wealthy old man. When the man dies, Chance is put out on the street with no knowledge of the world except what he has learned from television. Circumstances, however, lead him to become an unlikely political insider as his simplistic utterances about gardens, the weather and quotations from the television shows he has watched are repeatedly misunderstood as being profound and are interpreted as allegorical statements about business and the state of the economy. One phrase that Chance repeatedly says throughout the film is, "I like to watch," referring to television as his window to the world. 

"I like to watch." Seems like something that characterizes many in our society today. Maybe even a lot of us. We like to watch . . . television, movies, and YouTube videos; emails, text messages, snapchats and webcam conversations; sporting events and video or computer games, not to mention the stockpile of photos on Instagram and our cell phones. The problem with this is, rather than being participants in life, we often times become mere spectators. And sadly, the same thing can often be said about our faith lives. I think that’s what the people of Nazareth were guilty of in today’s Gospel.

They were there – on that Saturday, in that hometown, in that synagogue. They had heard the stories of “local boy makes good”: the snippets of things he supposedly said, the rumors of mighty deeds he reportedly accomplished. They were there – that Saturday, in that hometown, in that synagogue, in stilled silence as the carpenter’s son entered and walked to the bimah, the elevated place, where the scripture is read. All eyes focused on him as he unrolled the scroll of the oracles of the prophet Isaiah. They anxiously waited, wondering which passage he would choose to read and comment on. And the one he chose was a familiar one. One they had heard many times. One they had pinned their hopes on, for it spoke of the long-awaited messiah: 

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,

“because he has anointed me

to bring glad tidings to the poor.

He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives

and recovery of sight to the blind,

to let the oppressed go free,

and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord.”

He rolled the scroll back up and handed it to the synagogue attendant. He paused as he made eye contact with each and every person gathered on that Saturday, in that hometown, in that synagogue . . . neighbors, friends, family. And then he spoke: “Today, in your hearing, this passage has been fulfilled.”

“What? What did he say? Wait a minute! Did I hear him right? Does he mean what I think he means? Can he possibly be saying that HE is the one spoken about, the long-awaited messiah? But we know him! He’s the carpenter . . . the son of Mary! We know his family!” And they took offence of him - so much so that in Luke’s version of the story, they take hold of him and lead him to the outskirts of town, and attempt to throw him head-first off a cliff. 

They were there – that Saturday, in that hometown, in that synagogue. They had come as spectators to hear a good homily and maybe witness a miracle or two. But one thing they forgot to bring along with them was their faith. Mark tells us, “He was not able to perform any mighty deed there, apart from curing a few sick people by laying his hands on them, (for) he was amazed at their lack of faith.” The congregation in that synagogue in Nazareth was content being there, just watching. But when they were challenged to something greater – FAITH - and when his message wasn’t to their liking, wasn’t what they wanted to hear, they rejected him. They were content with their lives as spectators and felt threatened by Jesus’ invitation to active, living faith in him, and all it implies. 

What about us? "I like to watch" should never be the catch phrase of a Christian. For faith is more than just passively being there – or here. Faith is more than a mere mental exercise. It goes beyond intellectual acknowledgement and blind adherence to doctrine. Faith transforms us. It shapes and molds us. It motivates us. It energizes us. Faith, if it is true faith, is active, growing, deepening, LIVING. Never stagnant, idle, self-satisfied, but always discontent: always wanting more - wanting to be more . . . wanting to do more. It's a participation in the world, for faith goes beyond belief and into action. It throws open the doors of the church and ventures out into the world, to be in the world but not of the world. As you’ve heard me say before, "Christian" is more than a proper noun; it's an action verb. A Christian must be a crusader against injustice, a righter of wrongs, a beacon of hope, a minister of charity, a shouter of good news, a reconciler, and a servant to the unstated, stated understated, obvious and not so obvious needs of all people. 

That’s why former Governor of Florida and current Republican presidential hopeful, Jeb Bush, was so misinformed two weeks ago when he said, "I think religion ought to be about making us better as people and less about things that end up getting in the political realm." Aren't the things that make us better people part of the political realm? Did not many of the Hebrew prophets speak out on social justice issues? In addition to ministering to the spiritual needs of people, didn't Jesus heal the sick, feed the hungry and speak out against the excessive burdens that groups like the Pharisees placed on the common folk? Wasn't his ministry one of inclusiveness, embracing those who were forced to exist on the fringes of society and welcoming them into the Kingdom of God? And so, shouldn't climate change, human rights, the right to life, the economy, the plight of the hungry and homeless, and health care be things that are rightly in the religious realm and not just the political? In Jesus vision, YES! 

Jesus was the messiah, the “anointed one.” He said that he had been anointed by the Father to proclaim liberty to captives, recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord. And that is the same sacred ministry that you and I accepted as our own the day of our baptism when we became “anointed ones” as the chrism oil was poured on our heads. 

Summer is a time to kickback, to escape, to chill. But don’t just watch it fly by. Don’t find yourself on Labor Day Weekend bemoaning the end of summer and regretting missed opportunities to live life and enjoy life to the fullest. Don’t watch life go by in front of a television, computer or cell phone screen. Take the precious gift of time that you have been given to be with nature, to be with your friends, to be with God. Be an active participant in life rather than a passive observer. Don’t watch. DO! And live your life as a Christian the same way. Yes, be THERE for your family and your friends, and be HERE in church. But in all the places and situations that you find yourself, don’t just “be there” but leave your mark there. Be like Jesus: Speak the truth. Seek the lost. Touch lives. Heal the hurting. Give of yourself. Yes being there might put you in the right place. But what good is being in the right place if your presence there makes no difference?

So if you get the opportunity this summer, watch the movie “Being There” . . . On second thought, DON’T. Don’t become like Chance or like those who gathered on that Saturday, in that hometown, in that synagogue who merely liked to watch. Don’t just BE THERE, but GET OUT THERE.