You're [a] Witness

Easter Sunday

            I remember it like it was yesterday.  I left the crowded streets and the hot air and went into the cold building.  I walked straight to the middle and got in line.  I went in to a smaller edifice in the middle.  It was then that I became an eyewitness to the resurrection of Jesus.  You see, I was in Jerusalem on pilgrimage with the first-year seminarians from Sacred Heart, and we were able to enter into not only the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the place where Jesus died, was buried, and rose, but we were also able to enter into the aediculum, the building erected inside the Church over the spot of the tomb that housed Jesus’ body until the resurrection.

The empty Tomb of Christ

            Now, I’m not bringing this up simply because I’m leading a pilgrimage in November 2012.  But it truly was an awesome, and experience filled with the wonder and awe in God’s presence, to go to that very place and, while not running like Sts. Peter and John from our Gospel account today, still becoming someone who can personally testify that Jesus’ body is not there!  He has risen from the dead as He promised!

            But, even though I’d love to have a full pilgrimage, the great news is that you don’t have to travel to Israel to draw into the events which we have just celebrated over this Sacred Triduum.  You don’t have to go to the physical Upper Room, walk to the Garden of Gethsemane outside the old city walls, or walk to the Church of Holy Sepulcher to re-live those powerful events of the Last Supper, Agony in the Garden, Crucifixion, Burial, and Resurrection of Christ.  We live out those three days each Sunday as we gather as the Body of Christ in the Church.  We gather in this room with Jesus who, present in the priest, says to us, “Take and eat; this is my body; take and drink; this is my blood.”  We kneel with Jesus as we prepare for his agonizing death, which then took place on the altar of the cross, and is re-presented for us on this altar as He once more hands over His Body and pours our His Blood for us in the Eucharist.  We see His Body, the same Body which is “seated at the right hand of God,” as St. Paul tells us in the second reading, present to us truly and sacramentally in the Eucharist we receive. 

We become witnesses of the resurrection through these mysteries we celebrate today, and every Sunday, the 8^th day of the week, as we celebrate Easter every time Sunday.  This is why the Church asks, invites, and, yes, requires us to attend every Sunday: because we need to remember the Paschal Mystery each week as it defines who we are as a Church, as a people.  We need that grace of the Eucharist to help us to be faithful disciples, to love others, even the ones who do us wrong, just as Jesus loved those who put Him to death.

            And, as witnesses of the resurrection and the great deeds that God has accomplished in Jesus, we should not be able to keep that Good News, the Gospel, to ourselves.  Knowing how much God loves us, and to what extent that love goes, the message that St. Peter preached in the first reading.  How “God raised [Jesus] on the third day…He commissioned us to preach to the people and testify that he is the one appointed by God as judge of the living and the dead.”  Like any good news that we receive: a new child conceived, a new job, a new car, a good grade on an exam or paper, and any of the earthly news that we can’t wait to tell others, we should want to tell our friends, our roommates, our neighbors, and anyone about the great news of the resurrection and what that means for us: that we can rise with Christ if we are baptized into His death.

            Whether we have seen the empty tomb in Jerusalem or whether we see Jesus among us in His people, in His Word, and in the Eucharist, we are all witnesses of the resurrection.  I hope we share that most joyful of news with others that they may also find new life in their relationship with Christ.

This Shocking Story

Holy Thursday Mass of the Lord’s Supper

            One of the things I find very difficult to do is to read a book more than once.  Especially if it’s a fictional book like the Grisham novel I’m in now, it’s hard for me to go over the same story a second or third time because, after I have read the book, I know where it’s going.  I know what the rising action will be, I know what the climax of the story will be, and I know how it ends.

            The difficulty with Holy Week, in particular our celebration with the Triduum, is that we hear the same readings each year.  I’m not suggesting we change that practice, because these readings are so powerful and so fitting, that we need to hear them each year.  But I think that each of us is faced with the temptation of becoming emotionally and/or spiritually numb to what is happening in these days, because, for most of us, from our earliest memories, we have heard these same readings.  Using tonight’s readings as examples, we are used to hearing about the institution of the Passover in Exodus, the institution of the Eucharist in Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, and Christ’s humble service of His apostles in the Gospel according to St. John.

            Allow me to try and shake you from this numbness, and allow the blood to start flowing again, giving us that tingling sensation as we regain our emotional and spiritual feelings.

            Tonight we celebrate a three-fold humiliation of Jesus that should shock us to our core.  Jesus, the Divine, the Omnipotent, the Omniscient, the Son of God, the one worthy of all worship and adoration, the Master, becomes a slave as He washes the feet of His apostles.  Now for most of us, our feet aren’t that bad.  Sure, they may smell a bit, but they’re generally clean because we are a society that bathes our feet regularly, that has solid coverings for our feet twice over, if you include socks and shoes.  But the apostles did not bathe as regularly as we do, and many of them probably only had sandals covering the bottom of their feet.  Even so, the dust, the mud, the bacteria, the infections from open blisters surely would have been the covering for their feet.  And Jesus, the Lord of all creation, takes off his outer garments, took a towel, and began to wash the apostles’ feet.  This was the work of a slave, not a Master; the work of a servant, not a Lord.  And so Jesus says, “‘What I am doing you do not understand now, but you will understand later.’”  Peter has the guts to speak up and say how disgusted He is that Jesus would debase Himself to do this kind of menial service.  If Jesus was really God, as the apostles were coming to learn, and as Jesus had claimed throughout His entire public ministry, then this was not the God the Jews were used to worshipping.  How could God who was usually accompanied by trumpet blasts, thunder and lightning; whom Ezekiel and Isaiah depicted as a king on a throne with angels ministering to Him constantly in a jeweled paradise quietly wash the feet of His chosen band of men? 

            And it is even more shocking that, rather than just wash our feet, Jesus wants to come down to the messiest parts of our souls and cleanse them in His blood.  He wants to bend down as we recline like honored guests and wash from our souls the dust of all the venial sins we have committed and will commit.  He wants to wash off the caked-mud of any of the grave sins we have committed and may commit.  He wants to cleanse the putrid, puss-filled wounds of those sins that have been festering on our hearts and souls for many months, or even many years.  And we, like Peter, tell Jesus, “Don’t go there!  Don’t do that!  That part of my life is not worthy of you.  It’s not right for you, my Lord, to lower yourself and see.  ‘You will never wash my feet.’”  But Jesus assures us, “‘Unless I wash you, you will have no inheritance with me.’”

            Secondly, Jesus humbles Himself by instituting the ministerial priesthood that will act in His name, starting with those Apostles.  He chooses, freely and without any force or pressure, to so identify with the men who will be called from his disciples that they are able to act in His name and in His Person.  These are not always stellar men.  They have argued with each other since they were gathered together about who was the greatest.  They come from sinful backgrounds, one of them even being a tax collector, a Roman collaborator.  One of His first priests, in fact, the priest who will act as His Vicar, the first Pope, will first deny that he even knows Jesus. 

            And the shock continues through the centuries and even today as Jesus so debases Himself that he continues to act in a special way through the priests and bishops, allowing them to use His words to change bread and wine into His Body and Blood.  Allowing men who have sinned, sometimes grievously, to forgive sins in His name: men who sometimes fight amongst themselves; some who still jostle for power and prestige; some who even deny or betray Him even to this day.  Jesus humbles Himself by allowing men who are sinners to be ordained, and entrusting His power to them, drawing them closer to Himself and drawing them to the holiness that is required to execute such a pure office.

The Upper Room where Jesus washed the feet of His Apostles,
and Instituted the Sacraments of the Eucharist
and Holy Orders

            Thirdly, Jesus humbles Himself by allowing bread and wine to become His Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity.  He becomes defenseless once more in the hands of humanity, not able to defend Himself, not opening His mouth, like an unblemished lamb led to the slaughter.  He allows the appearances of bread and wine to house His very substance, so that when we hold what looks like bread and drink what tastes like wine, we are holding and drinking none other than the Lord of Life, the Creator of all things, the true Passover Lamb.  He makes Himself so vulnerable, that, if someone wanted, they could do horrible, sacrilegious things to His Body and Blood, and He remains defenseless, protected only by our reverence and respect for Jesus in the Most Holy Sacrament of the Altar.  And still we break our 1-hour before Communion Eucharistic fasts with gum, coffee, or even regular food and drink; still we receive Jesus in a state of grave sin, knowing that we should first be cleansed by God’s loving forgiveness if we are conscious a grave sin which greatly ruptures our relationship with God; still we consider the great gift that it is to be able to receive the Eucharist as boring and commonplace, rather than the great joy it truly is to be made one with our Lord as He enters into our very body.

            Why?  Why would Jesus humble Himself in these extreme ways?  Why would He allow Himself to do such menial work; to allow chosen men, still in need of redemption themselves, to act in His person; to allow Himself to become defenseless in our hands and our mouths?  Because, “He loved his own in the world and he loved them to the end.”  Even though we know the ending of this true story, let us be shocked this evening, this beginning of the Sacred Triduum, that God would lower Himself so much, because He loves us; because He wants us that much; because “he loved [us] to the end.”

Judging People by their Covers

Fourth Sunday of Lent

            We probably heard it in school or from one of our parents: “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”  And yet, if you’re anything like me, as I’m looking for a book to buy, and if I don’t know anything about the author, I see which cover looks most interesting, and I buy that one.

            Almost instinctually we do the same thing with people.  We look at how prosperous they are, how handsome or beautiful they look, what kind of a job they have, and we assume by the cover of money, physical traits, or occupation that God loves them and has blessed them.  While those who lack prosperity, beauty, or a job we treat as if they have done something wrong and God is simply giving them the justice they deserve.

A bronze statue of David after he
beheaded Goliath from the
Tower of David, Jerusalem

            If this describes you at all, and I think it describes all of us at some points in our life, even the way we view our own life, then we can put ourselves into the role of Samuel in the first reading, who assumes that God’s choice as king must be the most handsome, the strongest, the fittest son of Jesse.  Now, Samuel was one of the greatest prophets in Israel, even if this wasn’t his best moment.  So we might not feel so bad.  But the other people who assumed that outwards prosperity was a sign of divine benevolence were the Pharisees from the Gospel today.  They assumed, because the man was born blind, that he or his parents had done something horribly wrong to merit this divine punishment. 

            Samuel at least didn’t have the benefit of the book of Job, so we can let him off the hook a little more easily than the Pharisees, who would have been familiar with the story of Job, who, though he had done nothing wrong, was allowed to endure horrible afflictions to his family, the loss of his livelihood, and even physical disease to see if his love of God was pure, or just based on earthly prosperity.  The Pharisees should have known better.  But they dismiss the man born blind as a sinner, as cursed by God.

            We still struggle with equating earthly blessings with divine favor.  If we have a good job, if we have a good family, if life is relatively easy, then we assume God loves us more.  But as soon as those so-called measures of divine favor are taken away, we assume that we have done something wrong, and that God is displeased with us. 

            The reality is that you can’t judge a book by its cover.  Some people seemingly have everything: a good job, lots of money, a handsome family, popularity, and any of the ways by which the world judges favor.  And yet, to whom much is given, much will be expected.  Sometimes what those “favors” mask are real struggles in living out the faith, in being faithful to God, in seeing the world as God sees it.  Sometimes the prosperous are really spiritually blind.  While those who have very few or even none of those “favors” have a deep and abiding relationship with God, and rely on Him because they have nothing else on which to rely.  While they seem blind, they, like the man born blind, recognize God as He comes to them, ready to accept His healing.

            The one who proves this the most is Jesus Himself.  On Good Friday we’ll hear from the Prophet Isaiah: “Even as many were amazed at him, so marred was his look beyond human semblance and his appearance beyond that of the sons of man…[and] there was in him no stately bearing to make us look at him, nor appearance that would attract us to him.  He was spurned and avoided by the people, a man of suffering, accustomed to infirmity, one of those from whom people hide their faces, spurned, and we held him in no esteem.”  We have a God who became man.  He did not come as a prince, or as a wealthy merchant, powerful and rich as He was, but instead placed Himself in the family of a carpenter, who was too poor to offer the usual sacrifices to the Lord.  We have a God who allowed Himself to be beat, crowned with thorns, stripped naked, and hung on a cross; a man who was cursed, as St. Paul says citing another passage in Scripture: “Cursed be he who hangs from a tree” so that we might receive the blessings of God’s eternal life of the Kingdom. 

But God’s blessing was never taken away from Jesus, despite his poverty, despite his death in utter shame and disgrace.  Jesus remained the source from whom all blessings flow, even though we thought of Him as accursed.  And so we cannot assume that because life seems to be going well, our souls are ready for heaven.  It could, in fact, be the opposite, if we rely on ourselves and not on God.  We cannot assume that because we suffer some shame, like the man born blind, that God is punishing us.  Because, from all eternity, God planned to allow that man to be born blind so that Jesus could reveal His true nature by the healing of a man born blind, a healing which led that man to believe in Jesus and worship Him. 

The way to know that we are being blessed by God, no matter what the trials, no matter whether or not the world thinks we are favored, is to believe in Jesus and act accordingly.  Then, at the end of time, we will be able to judge a book by its cover, because those who lived contrary to the will of God and separated themselves from Him will suffer eternally in hell, while those who followed Jesus and lived as a faithful disciple will receive their glorified body in the eternal banquet of heaven.  Blessed are those who are called to the eternal wedding feast of the Lamb.

I Thirst For You!

Third Sunday of Lent

            If you’re anything like me, when you hear this Gospel, during Mass or outside of Mass, you inwardly prepare for the homily about how we are supposed to be thirsting for the water that Jesus wants to give us, just like God provided water for the Israelites in the desert, and just like Jesus was drawing the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well to in our Gospel passage.

            Instead, I would like to focus on someone else’s thirst: Jesus’ thirst.  When Jesus first meets the Samaritan woman, he tells her, “‘Give me a drink.’”  Jesus is thirsting.  But for what is Jesus thirsting?  Water?  Unlikely, since Jesus, had spent forty days and forty nights fasting, and was used to being deprived of water.  For what was Jesus thirsting?

            Jesus was thirsting for the soul of the Samaritan woman.  Jesus, the one who, fully human, was talking to her and engaging her in dialogue, was also the one who, fully divine, willed her into existence when she was conceived in the womb of her mother.  As her Creator He wanted her to be in spiritual union with Him, the only way she could be happy.

            She had tried other ways to be happy.  She had tried to find her true happiness in a spouse, but, whether those first five spouses died, divorced her, or she was an adulteress, she had not found that happiness that she was looking for.  Her thirst was not being quenched in human relationships.  And so she was cohabitating, living together without the sanctity and protection and benefit of marriage, with her boyfriend. 

            She had tried to be happy by following false gods.  The Samaritans were excluded from the Jewish people because, from the very beginning of their nation, they had worshipped other pagan gods instead of the one God who had brought them from the land of Egypt, that place of slavery, into the promised land; the one God who had given them manna and quail when they murmured against the Lord in their hunger; the one God who had given them drink from the rock when they grumbled against God and against Moses.  And this abandonment of the true God was only solidified when the Northern Kingdom of Israel, which came to be called Samaria after the name of the chief city in the north, was conquered by Assyria, who displaced many of the Israelites and made them intermarry with the other pagans, which God had expressly forbidden.

            Yes, she was thirsting for God, but God was also thirsting for her.  He wanted her to be happy, truly happy, not just the passing happiness of doing whatever she felt right.  And so Jesus expresses to her His thirst.  But she tries to put Him off, to keep Him thirsting for her, rather than quenching it with the conversion of her heart and life to God.  She first puts Jesus off by trying to argue about who Jesus is, and how He can give her life-giving water.  She then tries to put Him off by lying about her relationship status.  Finally, trying to go for something that surely would put Him off for good, she talks about liturgy, figuring that no two people who are so different in liturgical practices would ever be able to talk about where to worship properly.  But Jesus wants His thirst quenched, and He will not give up. 

Icon of the Crucifixion at the
Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre in
Jerusalem

It is no accident that it is in John’s account of the passion that one of Jesus’ last words on cross is, “‘I thirst.’”  Because on that cross, more than He is thirsting for water, as He gives His human life up and puts His entire life into the hands of His heavenly Father, He wants all people to be drawn to Him as He is lifted high on the cross and dies so that His children, all His children, whether Jew or Greek, slave or free, woman or man, might find life from the water and blood that flow from His pierced side. 

We know the agony of being thirsty ourselves, yet so easily we can find some way to drink.  Whether it’s a water fountain, a vending machine, or the local store, we can find some way to quench our thirst.  But the only way that Jesus’ thirst is quenched is by our love and obedience to Him, a love which does not burden or enslave us, but a love and obedience which truly sets us free.  What are the ways that we keep Jesus thirsting for us, increasing the pain He suffers by us not being united with Him?

Do we feel that we know better than Jesus, and that He cannot truly quench our thirst for happiness?  Do we argue with Jesus that only by the passing pleasures of this world can we truly be happy?  Do we figure that Jesus is not greater than our father Jacob who provided for his family by digging a well, just as our fathers and mothers provided for us by their hard work that bought us toys and relaxation?

Do we feel that only with the right relationship can we truly be happy, trusting that, if we just found that special someone, we would no longer yearn for a deeper relationship, the infinite relationship which only God can satisfy?

Do we keep Jesus away by arguing with Him over which translation of the liturgy is better, which one we like the best, and how we want to worship?  Do we try to put Jesus off, to keep Him at arms’ length because we only want to do the least that we can?

Jesus is thirsting for us, and only our love will quench that thirst.  While His love lacks nothing, He wants us to be joined to that perfect love in the union of the Communion of Love of the Trinity.  If we choose, we can keep Jesus thirsting for us, thirsting for our love in a deep and abiding relationship with him.  Or, we can be like the Samaritan woman at the well, who quenched Jesus’ thirst by the conversion of her life, and the preaching of the Gospel to her friends, and, most importantly, her love of Jesus.  As Jesus hangs on this cross he says to us today, “I thirst.”  Will we give him the drink of our love?