Seeing the Risen Jesus

Solemnity of Easter

The entrance to the aediculum

   [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.]  One of the most memorable things that I experienced when I went to the Holy Land for the first time in 2007 as a seminarian was attending Mass at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, the place where Jesus died and rose from the dead.  At the place where the tomb was, there is a small building inside the church called the aediculum, and inside that aediculum is where a slab of stone rests that held the dead body of our Lord.  The Franciscans gave us permission to have Mass there one day.  The way Mass works in that space is that the Liturgy of the Word/Mass of Catechumens happens outside the aediculum.  For the Liturgy of the Eucharist/Mass of the Faithful, the priest enters the aediculum and says the Eucharist Prayer inside there, which you can hear, but not see, because of how small it is inside.
    The great moment is when the priest gets to the point where he says, “Behold, the Lamb of God,” because the priest leaves the aediculum, and, holding the Body of the Lord above the chalice says, while showing the Eucharist to the people.  Part of the power is that this is the same risen Lord, coming from His tomb, alive for us to see, though of course under sacramental signs.
    As we celebrate Easter today, we remember the event that changed the course of human history.  While the Prophet Elisha had raised a person from the dead in the Old Testament, and our Lord had raised the daughter of Jairus, the son of the widow of Nain, and Lazarus from the dead, the resurrection was altogether different.  Our Lord’s Body no longer suffered under the restrictions of the physical world, as we will hear next Sunday when we hear about Him entering a locked room through the door.  While the Body was certainly His, and bore the marks of His crucifixion, in a glorified state there was something different about it.  I often imagine it as having a slight glow to it, though maybe that was not the case.  It was different enough that the disciples on the road to Emmaus didn’t recognize Christ as He walked with them, until He broke bread in a room with them.  
    But that event that changed everything, starting really with Good Friday and culminating with Easter Sunday, we celebrate and enter into each Sunday in particular, and each time we come to Mass more generally.  At the Mass, we begin by acknowledging that we are sinners and that Christ suffered for us and because of us.  We stand at the foot of the Cross and nail our sins there with Christ so that they can be forgiven.  We offer our lives–the joys and sorrows, pain and comforts, work and leisure–since the last time we attended Mass united to the perfect offering of Christ to His heavenly Father on Calvary.  We stand there at Calvary and hear God’s word proclaimed to help us understand what work God does in our lives.  And then, during the Eucharist Prayer/Canon of the Mass, we enter into Christ’s offering of Himself on the cross, and His burial in the tomb.  In fact, the Catechism of the Catholic Church references how the altar, besides being symbol of Christ Himself and the Cross, also symbolizes the tomb.
    And that is perhaps a bit clearer as we celebrate Mass facing the Lord together, or ad Dominum.  During the three days between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, Christ’s Body laid in the tomb, unseen by all others.  After the elevations which follow the words of institution, the words that Christ Himself spoke (“This is my Body”; “This is my Blood), Christ is not seen by the faithful in the pews until the priest shows the Body of Christ while saying, “Behold the Lamb of God.”  This is, as it were, Christ breaking forth from the tomb, and appearing before His disciples after the Resurrection.  The same experience I had in Jerusalem, of seeing Christ in the Eucharist come forth from His tomb you can experience as I remove the Body of Christ from the tomb of the altar and He rises so that you all can see Him and His glorified Body, which is not limited in the way our bodies are limited.
    And the Lord does not just show Himself from afar as I show Him to you.  At the time for the reception of Holy Communion, He comes near to you, as He came near to Mary Magdalene at the tomb or as He came near the Blessed Mother, the Apostles, and the disciples in the Upper Room.  He stands right before you, and then even enters in to you to bring that power of the Resurrection into your individual lives.
    And what is our response, then?  The same as the disciples who realized that Christ was risen: they had to tell other disciples, and, after Pentecost, everyone.  Knowing that Christ had died, but that He was truly risen, they could not remain silent, but shared that joy and the transformation of their lives that the Resurrection made.  Death no longer had the last say.  Sin no longer could hold them in slavery.  They could not contain the joy of that revelation, but had to tell others.  And so should we.  The joy of this day should cast away all sorrow and fear and lead us to greater holiness of life.

Inside the aediculum

    Christ has risen from the dead.  It is not just a past event, but a reality that we get to join every Sunday, which the Church calls a “little Easter.”  May we recognize the Risen Christ as we see and receive Him in the Eucharist, the Lamb of God, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit, live and reign for ever and ever.

Getting the Bigger Picture

Easter Vigil
    I know someone well who is very smart.  His mind is a well-oiled machine.  When faced with different data points, he can put it together to make sense, and anticipate challenges and/or opportunities, and adjust expectations or actions as necessary.  Because of this, he is very gifted at administration.  When it comes to friendships: he struggles a bit more.  Because his mind tries to get to why a friend didn’t tell him something, or why did a friend use the words he did, and is that friend trying to communicate something subtly that he doesn’t want to say directly.  And then anxiety kicks in and his brain goes into overdrive trying to make sense of it all, and often reading into things that are much more innocent.
    I try to help him by reminding him to consider other facts that he knows to be true that will put his mind at ease.  I encourage him to expand the amount of data that his mind is analyzing to include more positive facts and input, and not just the negative ones to which his brain so easily goes.  While it takes work, seeing the bigger picture can help calm his fears of rejection and realize that he really does have good friends who aren’t looking to get rid of him.
    Maybe you don’t have an analytical mind, but with what has happened over the past few days, starting on Holy Thursday, there’s a lot to process.  In this one grand liturgy that began with the Mass of the Lord’s Supper, we entered into the model of service in the washing of feet; the institution of the priesthood and the Eucharist at the Last Supper; and the agony in the garden at the altar of repose.  On Good Friday we joined with Christ in the fruits of the betrayal by Judas and our God, Savior, and hope dying in the most horrible way possible.  Earlier today we just waited, joining with the apostles who had all likely lost hope and were wondering what they should do now that their Master was in a tomb.  And now, tonight, we celebrate that hope did not die, but that God raised His Son from the dead and conquered sin and death forever.  If we take these events seriously, they should make us wonder what God did and what it all means.  We may not get anxiety, but it calls for a deeper reflection on more facts, more data to understand God’s plan.
    And that’s why we had all these readings tonight.  We heard about how God created life to be good and an expression of His love.  We heard about Abraham almost sacrificing his beloved son, but God providing a ram to take Isaac’s place.  We heard about the Egyptians being put to death in water, which was also the way that God’s chosen people were saved: through water.  We heard the Prophet Isaiah talk about how God would take us back, though we had abandoned Him, and how God would give us the good things of life and renew His covenant with us.  The Prophet Baruch encouraged us to follow the ways of the Lord and so receive light and favor.  And we heard God tell the Prophet Ezekiel that God would give new life to His people, cleanse them from their sins, and lead them back to their promised inheritance.  
    These are all realities we all need to hear tonight, to better understand God’s plan.  But especially you, Dylan and Isaiah, need to hear these as you prepare to become Catholic through your baptism, confirmation, and reception of the Holy Eucharist.  You will go through water which will destroy all that is fallen in you, but will give you new life in Christ.  God will send His Spirit upon you to help you live the new law of grace.  And God will prepare for you the “rich fare” of the Eucharist, the food which is truly the Body and Blood of Christ, which will help join you to Christ in the closest union you can have with anyone while on earth.  Your stories–what brought you to this holy night, your path of conversion–now becomes a small part of the larger story of salvation, by which God gives us a greater gift even than the Garden of Eden, which He created for us, the people He has made in His image.  God made Eden for Adam and Eve, who lost it by their disobedience.  God opens heaven to you, greater than any earthly paradise, and you can receive it by your life of obedience to God.  

    The price of this great gift of heaven was costly indeed: the death of the Son of God.  But Christ accepted it lovingly as the will of the Father and because it meant you could go to heaven and be united with Him for all eternity, which is exactly why God created humanity in the first place: for union with Him.
    So do not only consider the drama of the past few days.  Do not fix your minds on what causes anxiety.  Consider all of salvation history, and how God, who created you in love, has redeemed you in love, and now welcomes you into His family of love, the Catholic Church, and now shows you the straight and narrow way to enter into eternal love in heaven.  

Being Carried to Mount Doom

Good Friday of the Lord’s Passion

    One of the many moving scenes in the third movie, “Return of the King,” of  the trilogy “The Lord of the Rings,” is when Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee are on the slopes of Mount Doom, the mountain in which the One Ring has to be destroyed in order to end the growing strength and power of the evil Sauron.  Frodo has almost no strength left from the weight of the ring on a chain around his neck, as it grows heavier the closer it gets to destruction.  Sam, too, is tired, but is doing all he can to help his friend complete the quest, without which all of Middle Earth will fall into darkness and despair.
    Even though Sam has offered to carry the ring to help, Frodo has made very clear (to put it lightly) that the ring can only be borne by Frodo.  It is his burden to bear.  So, as Frodo is exhausted on Mount Doom, full of despair and darkness, and cannot take another step, Sam says, “‘I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you.”  And Sam carries Frodo up the slopes towards a small door that grants passage to the fires that will destroy the One Ring.  You can watch the rest of the movie, or, better yet, read the book, to learn how it all turns out.

    J.R.R. Tolkien demonstrates his genius and masterful Catholic storytelling by not having any one character always correspond to one person in salvation and the Scriptures.  Many often compare Frodo to Christ, because he carries the ring like Christ carries the cross and our sin.  And in this sense, we are called to be like Sam, a friend who never leaves the side of the one he loves.  We are to be like the Blessed Mother, John the Apostle, St. Mary Magdalen and the other holy women, Joseph of Arimathea, and Nicodemus, who stayed with Christ through His entire Passion, His entire agony on the cross.  And we are here today to do precisely that.  Through this long, ancient liturgy, begun last night at the Mass of the Lord’s Supper, we show our love for Christ, who showed His love for us by dying on the cross.
    And it’s not much.  We’re not fighting against the soldiers who nailed Jesus to the cross.  We’re not arguing with the Pharisees and the Sadducees who convinced Pilate to crucify the Lord of Glory.  We’re just here, with Jesus, in the liturgical presentation of His last hours before He dies.  We remain here, mourning, recognizing that our sins led Jesus here and made this day necessary.  
    But, Samwise Gamgee also represents Christ.  We are like Frodo, with the weight of sin around us.  We know that sin has to be destroyed, and we have done all we can to destroy it, but without any success.  The weight is too heavy for us to bear.  Sin clouds our vision so that we can no longer remember our home of heaven, union with God.  Sin gives the devil clear sight of us, a gaze which burns our souls and causes us to lose hope.  But Christ does not abandon us, though we have no strength to carry on.  He lifts us up on His shoulders and carries us so that sin can be destroyed and hope can be restored.  
    So today, we stand at the foot of the cross, remaining here with our Lord so that He does not have to be alone.  We see the cost that our sins have created.  But, let us make our own the words of Samwise Gamgee, the words Christ encourages us with as He suffers for our salvation: “Then let us be rid of it, once and for all.”  As Christ destroys sin and death: come, let us worship.

Bracing for Impact

Holy Thursday–Mass of the Lord’s Supper
    When I served as the Administrator of St. Joseph parish in Adrian, before Bishop Boyea assigned me as pastor, I still kept the same dentist in Williamston I had had growing up.  On 24 November 2014, I had morning Mass, and then started the drive up M-52 to get to Williamston for my appointment.  It had snowed recently, and there was maybe an inch on the ground, the roads were clear, except in the middle of the two-lane road and on the shoulders.  The sun was out and it was mostly clear skies.

My car after the accident

    Just after I left the village of Stockbridge, heading north on a straight stretch of road at around 55 mph, there was a Chevy Tahoe traveling south.  All of the sudden, the Tahoe started to slide into my lane, and I knew what would happen next.  I closed my eyes out of reflex as the moment of impact came, and tensed up, bracing for impact (which is, ironically, one of the worst things you can do if you know you’re going to be hit).  When I opened my eyes I was facing west, between 10 and 20 feet into a field on the east side of M-52.  All my airbags had deployed, and I could not feel any major injuries.  While I was taken to the hospital for evaluation, I had no major injuries, though my car was totaled.
    I knew something bad was going to happen, and I braced myself.  Tonight, as we begin this Sacred Triduum, these three holiest of days, I invite us this year to look to our Lord to see what He did as something not just bad, but awful, prepared to happen.
    In the Gospel tonight we simply hear about the washing of feet.  But, between Palm Sunday and Good Friday’s Passion Narratives, we know what else happened.  The Lord instituted the priesthood (which we celebrated liturgically this morning at the Chrism Mass) and the Eucharist.  He then went to the Garden of Gethsemane, not too long of a walk from the Upper Room, and there prayed so intensely that blood dripped from his body.  As the night progressed, Judas, one of His hand-picked Apostles, His closest friends, betrayed Him, and the Jewish soldiers took Jesus to the house of the High Priest for questioning.
    What a dramatic shift!  It’s like the weather in Michigan: going from 70 degrees one day to 30 degrees that night.  Christ had the joy of being with His closest friends and telling them that they would share in His power to change bread and wine into His Sacred Body and His Precious Blood.  But none of them quite understand.  And then, as He goes off to pray, the three closest of the closest–Peter, James, and John–all fall asleep, perhaps emotionally overwhelmed themselves in confusion of having their feet washed and eating what looked like bread, but that Christ had assured them was His Body.  
    The mental anguish was so much that Christ lost blood while praying to His Father, hoping that there could be another way to save humanity, but entrusting Himself in obedience to the will of the Father.  And then that moment, a moment He saw coming, when Judas came to betray Him with a kiss, and He was arrested and taken away, while His closest friends mostly scattered and fled.
    Throughout it all, Christ leans into His relationship with the Father.  St. John the Apostle and Evangelist records the beautiful, poetic, and cryptic monologue that we call the Last Supper Discourse, where Jesus talks about His connection to the Father.  We struggle when we try to explain the love we have for a spouse or a best friend.  Even more so do words fail to properly communicate the love between the Eternal Father and Co-Eternal Son.  

The church built over the place in the Garden of Gethsemane where Jesus prayed

    And in the agony in the garden, the first sorrowful mystery of the Rosary, Christ leans in on His relationship with the Father to ask that the chalice of suffering might pass, but that God’s will would be accomplished, and that Christ would be obedient to it, no matter the cost.  How fully the words of Psalm 116 were fulfilled on Good Friday as Christ took up the chalice of salvation and called on the name of the Lord.
    So, when we struggle with difficulties, as members of the Mystical Body of Christ, we should lean in to our relationship with the Father.  We are His beloved children, adopted in Christ.  When any difficulty comes our way, do we go to God immediately?  Do we ask for His help?  And, like Christ, do we humbly submit to the will of the Father, even when the chalice of suffering cannot pass by?  
    As we enter these three most holy days, may we cling to our love of the Father and His love for us, the love that saved us from sin and death, and opened heaven to all believers.

Entering into the Events which Saved Us

Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion

    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.]  A beautiful spiritual practice is to put ourselves in the Gospel accounts.  One can imagine him or herself as a particular person, like Peter or Mary or one of the other disciples, or one can put oneself into the story as a new bystander, observing what happens and noting one’s own physical and emotional response.
    I think that anyone who takes the Bible seriously would eventually ask, “What would I do if I were there?”  Especially given the Gospel before the Mass about the entrance into Jerusalem, as well as the long Passion narrative, it shouldn’t take much more to insert oneself into the profound stories we know so well of our Lord’s last week in His earthly ministry.  Would I have welcomed Christ like the crowd?  Or would I have been like a Pharisee, criticizing this display?  Would I have scattered in the Garden of Gethsemane, or what I would have remained with our Lord just a few steps behind the soldiers?  Would I have clamored for Barabbas, or would my cries to release the true Son of the Father have been drowned out by the mob asking for crucifixion of the Lord of Glory?
    But we don’t only have to imagine ourselves in the major events of our salvation.  This week, especially during the Sacred Triduum of Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday, we participate in our salvation, in the events that gained for us eteral life.  In the Mass, we enter into those events, not just remember them.  While they are present sacramentally, they are also present truly, such that the fabric of time gets folded into itself, and we enter into the eternal present of God, in our own limited way.  
    So, the question is not, ‘what do I imagine myself doing at the Last Supper, the Garden of Gethsemane, Calvary, or the tomb?’, but will I be present at those events that saved me?  Will I come to the liturgies that make present what happened some 2,000 years ago?  Or do I have more important things to do than spend time with our Lord?
    This is not to make light of those who have no choice but to work on those days.  And none of the Sacred Triduum is a holyday of obligation.  But will we make ourselves present to our Lord if we can?  Will we put our life on hold for the one who gave up His life for us?  Yes, they are long liturgies.  Yes, they happen at irregular times from what we’re used to with Masses.  But if we were willing to take off work to see a presidential candidate, are we not willing to take off work to see the King of Kings and be with Him in His agony?
    The choice is yours.  And I will not be your judge as to whether you could or could not have gone for legitimate reasons, or whether you absented yourself due to sloth.  That is for God to judge.  But if we can, the Savior deserves extra time spent with Him this week.  He gave His all for us?  Can we give a little more than usual for Him?  [Who with the Father and the Holy Spirit live and reign for ever and ever.  Amen.]

Working Out With God

Passion Sunday

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  Two Thursdays ago I met up with Sgt. Anthony Dent to work out with him and some other Troopers and Cadets of the Michigan State Police.  Anthony likes to push me when we work out, and I think one of his proudest moments working out with me is when his workout made me throw-up.  This particular workout was in the cross-fit style, and had us paired up, going against other pairs of Troopers and Cadets.  For the workout, each pair would share the following exercises in this order, not moving on to the next exercise until the previous was completed: 100 burpees; 100 calorie row; 100 barbell thrusters; 100 ab-mat sit-ups; 100 push presses; 100 box jumps; 1-mile run with a 14-pound medicine ball.  The first set was a challenge.  The second set started to kick my butt.  The third set and following got much harder, until I couldn’t even do the box-jumps, but had to substitute 2 box step-ups for every 1 box jump.  As each set progressed, Anthony did a greater percentage of the exercise.  I even had another sergeant help me with the box step-ups, because I was very gassed.
    When it comes to salvation, we might feel like we just have to muscle through and do it ourselves.  God gives us the rules (the workout), and we have to do it in order to get to heaven (rest).  While I’m loathe to compare Anthony to God, because he already has a very-healthy sense of self-worth, what we often find is that the harder we try to keep up, the more we fall behind.  We give it our all, but get more and more tired, until we are exhausted and don’t feel like we can do anything else.  And, unlike working out with others, you can’t have someone else do the exercise for you.
    So today’s first reading provides a great reminder for us: Christ already saved us!  His sacrifice, not ours, however good they may be, won reconciliation for us and the Father.  Before Christ, we tried all sorts of things to be saved: living according to the law, offering different sacrifices that God Himself had told us to make.  But that old covenant, written in stone, could not bring us into right relationship with God.  As the Apostle says elsewhere, it was only a tutor for us, to know how wrong our passions led us astray.  The new covenant, sealed in the Precious Blood of Christ, opened for us our eternal inheritance of heaven.  
    But so often, we try to do it all ourselves.  We live as if our entrance into the heavenly Temple depends only on us and our moral rectitude.  But if we live that way, we become more and more tired, are able to do less and less, and end up in failure.
    So, does that mean we can say that we simply believe in the Lord, confess that the Savior died for our sins, get baptized, and then never worry about going anywhere other than heaven?  While that is what some of our Protestant brothers and sisters seem to espouse, that is the other extreme, which we also need to avoid.  Rather, virtue lies in the middle between trying to earn our salvation (which we cannot do) and presuming our salvation (which we should not do).  Our response is to put faith in what God has done (which we could never do) while also working out our salvation with fear and trembling, to paraphrase St. Paul.
    Our good actions find their goodness inasmuch as they are connected to Christ.  By themselves, they do no more than the blood of goats or calves.  But if we unite to the cross our daily efforts to live in according with the covenant written in our hearts, prophesied by Jeremiah and fulfilled by Christ, then we will get somewhere.  We will advance in holiness because our efforts are now connecting to the “effort” that truly made a difference, the sacrifice of the unblemished Lamb of God.  To go back to my cross-fit analogy, it’s as if God has already done the entire workout and won us the prize.  But He wants us to engage in it because it will help us become more like Him.  Still, He knows we cannot do it all on our own, so He’s right there, by our side, picking up our slack, doing what we can’t, and encouraging us to do more than we think is possible, because all things are possible with Him.
    That is the day that Abraham saw from afar and in which he rejoiced.  Abraham longed for the day when God would close the gap that we had created by our disobedience.  He looked forward to a time when he would not simply have to act by faith, and presume his own efforts would be enough.  He rejoiced in God accomplishing what no mere human could: defeating sin and death and opening up eternal salvation.  And Abraham’s faith was not disappointed.
    So, by all means, in these last two weeks of Lent, may we not slack off on our Lenten disciplines and penances.  Work hard to put to death all within us that is not of God.  But do so knowing that God has already saved us; salvation doesn’t depend on us.  But God does want us to cooperate with Him in the work of salvation, complete the race, and enjoy the prize of eternal rest with the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

The Desire for Life

Fifth Sunday of Lent–Third Scrutiny
    We spend so much of our energy trying to avoid or cheat death.  “The experts” suggest foods that we should eat or not eat.  Companies make large amounts of money selling creams, vitamins, and pills which aim to prolong life, or even just the appearance of life.  One of the things I have learned with my work with the Michigan State Police is that a drowning person will push a potential rescuer under water if that Trooper is not prepared in order to try to stay above water and not drown.  A person in the cold will start to lose function in most parts of the body, except the brain and the loins, the two seats of preserving current life and perpetuating life, which shut down last.  While some may say that death is natural, the fact that we try to avoid death at all costs shows that God made us for immortality, not simply like the animals who are born into this world and then die and decay.
    As Catholics, we know that death entered the world through our disobedience to God, the source of life.  God further expelled us from the garden and the tree of immortality, which some Church Fathers interpret as a mercy, as it meant that we wouldn’t live forever with sin, but that the reign of sin in our earthly bodies would end at death.  But, even with this, we have an innate sense that God made us to live forever with Him.  And so we fight death as much as possible.
    And while we cannot support euthanasia, assisted suicide, or suicide, because every life has value, and only God is the Lord of Life, we all have to die.  In order to get to heaven, we have to die.  Not before our time, but as a necessary preamble to eternal life, hopefully in heaven, death will come.
    But we know of another kind of death that we must undergo in order to live, and that is the death of baptism. St. Paul speaks very clearly about death needing to occur in order for the spirit to live, and then the body to be raised on the last day.  He also says in Romans chapter 6, verse 3: “Are you unaware that we who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?”  Water was an ancient symbol of death, because it wasn’t as sure and steady as the ground.  The waters of chaos swirled about before God ordered them and created light and life in the beginning.  In the early church, the priest fully submerged the elect in the waters.  And anyone afraid of water knows that being under water you can’t breathe, and, if it takes too long, you drown and die.  Baptism is death.
    But that submersion did not signify the end.  The priest would then also raise the elect out of the waters where he or she could breathe, signifying new life.  St. Paul in Romans, chapter 6 continues:
 

We were indeed buried with him through baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might live in newness of life.  For if we have grown into union with him through a death like his, we shall also be untied with him in the resurrection.

Christ died, and so rose to new life.  In baptism we, too, die, and rise to new life with Christ, with a downpayment here on earth, and the fulfillment in heaven, if we stay faithful to Christ.

    Lazarus, then, and his death and resurrection, prefigures both Christ’s death and resurrection, as well as our own death and rising to new life through baptism.  The four days of his death are like the entire life of the Catholic after baptism, where new life is present, but death seems to reign.  Four score is 80 years, and the psalms describe the life of a strong person as 80 years.  So the four days are like a full life.  But then, after our death to sin in baptism, and staying faithful to dying to sin during our earthly life, we rise to new life with Christ, as He calls us out from the tomb.  
    Dylan and Isaiah, you are about to go into the tomb in just a couple more weeks.  At the Easter Vigil you will die with Christ in the waters of baptism, but because of that death you will also get to receive new life from Christ, and a pledge of future glory for when your earthly life is done.  In some sense, you life after baptism will be a practice in dying.  Each day you will have opportunities to die to your sinful self, and stay alive with Christ.  You will die to your own sinful past, and choose to nail your own will to the cross along with anything in you that does not imitate the life of God.  
    But do not be afraid of that death, because it brings life.  Only fear the eternal death that comes when we reject God and His ways in our daily actions and words.  This earthly death may seem scary, like holding your breath for a long time under water, but if you stay faithful to God you will rise to new life.     
    So do not fight the death of all that is not of God.  Embrace the penances and pain that come from denying our sinful passions.  Because if we die that death, starting with our death in the waters of baptism, we have a sure and certain hope that we will live with Christ for ever in joy beyond all description.

New Levels

Fourth Sunday of Lent

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  A few people in the parish know that I play the online game, Clash of Clans.  For those who know, I’m Town Hall 17.  For those who don’t, probably best not to wonder too much.  It’s a game on the phone or tablet where you collect resources, build and defend your village, and war with other plays to get more resources and collect special rewards.  It’s not a role-playing game, but just a fun, online pass time that gives me a distraction a few times a day when I can use a rest for my brain.
    Inevitably, as I get close to getting to the highest level for all my buildings and troops (maxing out, we call it), they release new levels and new things which moves the finish line farther away.  For example, just as I was about to complete most of my buildings for Town Hall 16, they added Town Hall 17 and new upgrades on most of the buildings, which means I had to start saving resources to get to the next level.
    All this “nerding out” does have a point.  In our Gospel today, and to a lesser extent in the epistle, we have different layers that lead somewhere else.  In the epistle it’s a bit simpler: we start with the story of Abraham and Sarah and their slave Hagar.  Now, Abraham and Sarah and Hagar were all real.  They lived life as the Bible describes, including Sarah “convincing” Abraham to have relations with Hagar because Sarah was barren, and Hagar giving birth to Ishmael.  But then God allows Sarah to give birth to a son Isaac after she has relations with Abraham.  And, like the good soap opera which it sounds like, the two women who bore sons to Abraham don’t get along.  But St. Paul notes that this true story was also a foreshadowing of the Law of Moses (represented by Hagar and Ishmael) and the Law of Christ (represented by Sarah and Isaac.). But it also points to the earthly Jerusalem (again, represented by Hagar and Ishmael) and the heavenly Jerusalem (again, represented by Sarah and Isaac).  Just when you think you understand one story, it’s taken to the next level.  And the epistle, as I mentioned, is the easier reading of the two.
    In the Gospel, we have all sorts of levels going on, some of which are directly mentioned, but some of which only make sense in the broader Biblical and theological context.  We start with Passover in the Book of Exodus (the anniversary of which is the time in which the Gospel takes place).  Hopefully we remember what happened: the Israelites put the blood of the unblemished lamb on the doorposts of their houses in Egypt, so that the Angel of Death would pass over their houses.  God established it as a liturgical feast to be celebrated every year as the making present of the past event of the thing that made Pharaoh free the Israelites from slavery.  That’s the first level.
    The second level is the Gospel today, which takes place around the feast of Passover.  In the Gospel, Jesus miraculously multiples five barley loaves and two fish into enough for 5,000 men, not counting women and children.  After this miracle, and after the Lord flees from the Jews who wanted to make Him King, because it was not yet His hour, Christ gives the famous Bread of Life discourse, teaching us that if we wish to have eternal life, we must eat His flesh and drink His blood.  Many of the Lord’s followers reject this hard teaching and walk away, but He doesn’t change what He says or even modify it.
    But, the multiplication of the loaves points to something which is coming up: the Last Supper.  Christ gives His Apostles, His first bishops, a new liturgy, connected to the Passover, but superseding it, in which ordinary unleavened bread and wine, which were used in the Passover, becomes His Sacred Body and His Precious Blood.  Christ uses language to assert that this is a new rite for His new Church, and asks that they repeat this ritual in His remembrance.  This is level three.
    But we’re not done yet.  Because the Last Supper points to and intimately connects to the offering of the truly unblemished lamb, the Lamb of God pointed out by John the Baptist, on the cross on Good Friday.  The Eucharist, the sacrament of the Flesh and Blood of our Savior, first preached in John, chapter 6, was instituted on Holy Thursday, but is the unbloody presentation of what happened on Good Friday.  The Precious Blood of the Lamb of God save, not only the first born in Egypt, but all of God’s people in all time and space whom God has chosen.  Death is conquered when Life Incarnate dies on the tree, and Christ gives us a way to access that conquest of death each time we receive the Eucharist in a state of grace.  Level four.

Ghent Altarpiece

    But wait; there’s more!  Because the Eucharist, the re-presentation of Calvary in an unbloody manner on the altar points to the heavenly Jerusalem (connecting us with the epistle) where Christ eternally offers Himself to the Father in the wedding banquet of the Lamb of God, the heavenly worship to which the Mass points.  This is the fifth level.  The beautiful bottom panel of the Ghent Altarpiece shows the Lamb, pierced with blood flowing into a chalice, on an altar, with a cross nearby, with angels and saints around the altar worshiping and singing, which brings together most of those levels in one artistic rendition.  
    In the Scriptures, so many things connect together, and so many Old Testament true stories point to New Testament fulfillment and realities, which themselves prepare us for heaven.  May our Lenten sacrifices keep taking us deeper and deeper into our understanding of what God has revealed, until we hopefully see the final fulfillment in the kingdom of heaven, where Christ lives and reigns with God the Father in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God for ever and ever.  Amen.  

God Getting Dirty Hands

Fourth Sunday of Lent–Second Scrutiny

The Strouse House

    Though we didn’t have a farm growing up, we did live in the country.  There were farms not far from our property, including pigs and cows (which made for interesting smells in the summer time).  We understood, early on, where meat came from.  We did have a little garden in the summer to grow corn, tomatoes, and zucchini.  And we would be responsible for planting the seeds, by hand, watering the ground, and picking the weeds.  We weren’t afraid of getting a little dirty, unlike some city folk I have known who imagine that food just magically appears at the grocery store each week.
    Our Lord wasn’t afraid of getting a little dirty as He healed the man who was born blind.  Jesus spits on the ground, makes a kind of mud, and then puts it on the eye of the man, and tells him to wash the mud off in the Pool of Siloam.  And in the first reading, God chooses David to be the new king.  Now, the reading describes David as “ruddy,” which I have heard numerous times, but had to look up, as it’s not a word we often use.  Ruddy means “a healthy, red color.”  The reading also describes David as handsome, but notes that he worked with sheep.  Sheep are not the cleanest of animals, nor the brightest.  So David, even with his handsome, healthy appearance, also probably had a bit of dirt on him.
    God uses earthy things to communicate.  Dylan, in a few weeks you will be washed, not in the Pool of Siloam, but in the font of baptism.  You, like David, will be anointed with oil on your head.  And while both things come from the earth, and spiritual reality will be accomplished through the earthly substances.  
    Through the water being poured on your head, God will remake you, just as He remade the man born blind.  Water is already a natural means of cleansing, but through the water blessed at the Easter Vigil, you will receive cleansing from original sin and adoption into God’s family.  It may feel no different from other water, but through this holy water, infused with the Holy Spirit, you will die with Christ and rise with Him to new life.  
    Likewise with the oil.  The oil, the Sacred Chrism, is just a mixture of olive oil and a special perfume.  But because of its consecration by Bishop Boyea, it will have the ability to give you the Holy Spirit, the same spirit that rushed upon David at his anointing by Samuel.  It will smell different than the oil that you cook with, but it will look the same.  Still, by that oil, you will become an anointed of God, with the ability to offer the sacrifice of your life to God as a priest in the common priesthood of the baptized; the ability to speak for God as a prophet in union with the Church; and the ability to govern yourself to follow God’s law as a king in the kingdom of Christ the High King.  All of that will be accomplished through simple, earthly things which we dedicate to God for His use with our cooperation.
    Today, in the second scrutiny, you will again ask God to prepare you for these earthly and heavenly realities mingled together.  We will pray for you that God will continue to remove any blindness from your life to the sins that hold you bound now, but from which you will be freed at baptism.  We will continue to pray that God will make you ready to rise from the dead, so that “‘Christ [may] give you light.’”  

    And all of that will culminate in your reception of Holy Communion.  God will receive the simple bread and wine that we offer, and, through the power of the Holy Spirit and my ordained priestly ministry, will transform it in the Body and Blood of His Son, Jesus Christ.  That spiritual sustenance will give you what you need to follow Christ each day and continue on your pilgrimage to heaven, along with the rest of us.  Through your reception of Holy Communion, you will be closer to Christ than you could be in any other way on earth, in anticipation of being united to Him in heaven.  Again, God will use ordinary, earthly things to communicate His life, His grace, to us, as He does with all the sacraments.
    Our response, then, is to walk in the light of truth and be faithful to Him, even when we are challenged by others, as the man born blind was by the Pharisees.  Those who are not enlightened might see just simple water, or oil, or bread and wine.  But you will know that the Holy Spirit will be present in each, and that the bread and wine will be the Body and Blood of the Savior.  And your job, as with all of us who are confirmed, will be to help others to also see the spiritual realities that are communicated through earthly things.  You will use that new life, the Holy Spirit, and the spiritual sustenance of the Eucharist to help you help others know how God works among us, even now.  May God, through these scrutinies, help you to see more clearly in preparation for your baptism, confirmation, and reception of the Holy Eucharist.  And we all also receive clearer vision, and give you an example of those who were blind, but now see, and share the good news of life in Christ.

The Sacrifice God Desires

Third Sunday of Lent

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  So much of our communication connects to the culture in which we live.  For example, when I say the phrase “March Madness,” almost everyone knows that I am talking about the college basketball tournament.  But imagine, for a second, that you came from a place that had no knowledge of basketball, or even a diminished understanding of the cultural impact of college basketball.  The phrase “March Madness” would probably lead one to believe that there was a mental illness that could afflict people one month out of the year (and some may argue that the amount of attention some people pay to college basketball approaches a mental illness).   
    In the biblical word, sacrifice, as a word and an idea, was likely as ubiquitous as March Madness is in the US today.  Sacrifice was a daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly part of life.  Sacrifice usually entailed the destruction of something for the benefit of the gods, so very early on other animals or plants, or sometimes even humans, were used so that one did not have to kill off one’s own race and religion to appease the gods.  When we look at Judaism, animals, plants, and liquids (but not humans) are destroyed in order to thank the one, true God for the gift of life, to ask for forgiveness, and to ask God for some future good.  Sacrifices entail entering into a relationship with God, and agreeing to do or not do certain things in the future.  The English word sacrifice comes from the Latin words sacrum, a sacred thing, and facere, to make.  To sacrifice something was to make it holy, to set it apart for God.  
    St. Paul would have had all of this in mind when he wrote about Christ offering Himself as a sacrifice to God for an odor of sweetness.  Of course, Christ already belonged to God, but He offered His human nature to the Father through the sacrifice on the cross, an offering which had a sweet odor, as in precious incense, which represents prayers rising to God.  Christ did not need to become holy, set apart for God, but He offered our human nature so that all those who joined themselves to Christ through holy Baptism, could also be set apart for God.

    In times past, sacrifice often included animals.  Noah, after just rescuing animals from the great flood, immediately kills some of them once the flood recedes to thank God for saving him and his family.  Abraham sacrifices a ram, in place of his son Isaac, after the angel stays Abraham’s hand.  And the unblemished lamb is slaughtered and its blood is spread over the lintels of the door to prevent the angel of death from killing the first born of Israel.  Blood signified life, and so the pouring out of blood meant the offering of life of the animal.
    But God, though the prophets, instructs the people that the sacrifice He really wants is a life given, no longer through the shedding of blood, but through right living, following His ways, and loving others as God loves us.  In Psalm 39, the psalmist prays, “Sacrifice and offering you do not want; you opened my ears.  Holocaust and sin-offering you do not request; so I said, ‘See, I come…to do your will, my God.’”  The Prophet Isaiah speaks for God and says that God does not care so much for the sacrifices of the Temple, as for living according to the way of the Lord.  Isaiah says: “cease doing evil; learn to do good.  Make justice your aim: redress the wronged, hear the orphan’s plea, defend the widow.”  Through the Prophet Hosea God says, “it is mercy I desire, not sacrifice, and knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings,” a phrase that our Lord uses after He calls St. Matthew and goes to dine at his house.
    Through salvation history, God has led His people to think of sacrifice as something we do to an animal or grain or wine, to something we give of ourselves, which is the deeper meaning.  But we don’t have to destroy our physical life.  Rather, God wants to destroy in us by His grace all of the spiritual shortcomings that we have so that we can make more room in our souls for His grace.  God wants us to offer ourselves, not through the shedding of blood, or the burning of grains or incense, but by the shedding of all that is fallen in us, and the sending on high all the good that we desire to do.  God has received the blood that brings us into relationship with Him, the Precious Blood of our Lord, the true Passover Lamb.  He wants our joys and sorrows, our work and our leisure, our going and coming.  
    And God even wants our sins, the things that separate us from Him.  In the Sacrament of Penance, we sacrifice to God the ways that we have said no to God in contrition and with firm amendment to sin no more, and God grants us forgiveness and strengthens our soul to fight temptation in the future.  There is nothing that we have that God does not want to take from us, bless, and then return to us as an opportunity of grace.  May this Lenten season help us to offer the acceptable sacrifice of hearts humble and contrite to God the Father, through Christ the Son, in the power of the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

A Relationship with the Truth

Third Sunday of Lent-First Scrutiny

    In high school I was on our own Quiz Bowl team (yes, I was a nerd).  And Lansing Catholic High School participated in the PBS TV station televised games called “Quiz Busters.”  I remember being in the championship game one year, with a one-year tuition scholarship to MSU on the line.  We were in the final Lightning Round, with either team in a position to win, and the question was asked, “In the Sistine Chapel, what color smoke…” to which I buzzed in and yelled “White!”, anticipating the rest of the question, which answer was right, and helped us win the “Quiz Busters” Championship against another school which was much larger than Lansing Catholic.
    I like to have the right answers, and there is something good about knowing the truth.  But having the right answers isn’t all there is, as we see in the Gospel today, this long Gospel that we use each year that we have an elect, a catechumen chosen by the Bishop for baptism at Easter.  The Samaritan woman has the right answers, at least most of them.  She knows that Jews do not drink from the same containers as Samaritan women, because the samaritans were pagans and it could render the Jew unclean.  She knows that to have water, you have to have a bucket to draw it out.  She gives a technically right answer when she says that she doesn’t have a husband.  And she says that Jews and Samaritans don’t agree on how and where to worship.
    But the Lord isn’t only looking for right answers.  He is looking for a relationship with her.  Now, Jesus also identifies Himself as the Truth.  So I’m not trying to say that the truth doesn’t matter.  It does.  But the truth comes in the context of a relationship with Truth Incarnate.  Jesus is trying to give the Samaritan woman eternal life, and all she can focus on is trying to give correct answers and trip Jesus up in theological debates.

    The Samaritan woman, upon entering into relationship with Jesus, recognizes that He knows her.  She says, “‘Come see a man who told me everything I have done.’”  Jesus knows her, more deeply than anyone else, though He just met her at the well.  The Samaritan woman heard Him say that He is the Christ, the Messiah, who will let everyone know what they are to believe and how they are to worship.  
    Dylan, as an elect, God already knows you.  But over these past months He has drawn you in to know Him better.  He knows everything you have done: the good, the bad, and the ugly.    But He wants to be in a relationship with you.  You have learned many important things over the past months about what it means to be Catholic and how we Catholics are called to follow Christ in our daily lives.  Being a friend of Jesus, and even more than a friend, a sibling with Jesus, means doing things that will strengthen your relationship with Him and avoiding anything that would harm that relationship with Him.  
    Through Holy Baptism, Confirmation, and reception of the Eucharist, the love of God will be poured into your heart, as St. Paul said in our second reading, “through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”  You will become an adopted son of God the Father, and God will dwell within you as in a temple.  
    As God prepares you for this, He draws you closer and closer to Himself.  The Samaritan woman changes the way she addresses Jesus as the conversation develops: she starts by calling Him “a Jew”; then, “Sir”; then “the Messiah.”  You, too, have come to know Jesus more deeply in the passing weeks and months, to be at a place where you are almost ready to profess Him as God and Savior.  
    And sometimes, like with the Samaritan woman, some of what Jesus the Savior has revealed has been painful.  I’m sure the Samaritan woman wasn’t too pleased when Christ said, “‘You are right in saying, “I do not have a husband.”  For you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband.’”  But Christ reveals our brokenness because He can heal us, and wants to heal us.  
    But this process of growing in relationship with Christ won’t end with your reception of the Sacraments of Initiation.  All of us here hopefully try to grow in our relationship with Christ each day.  Yes, we try to know the right answers, but we also try to be a good brother or sister of Christ and son or daughter of the Father.  Sometimes we miss the point, like the Samaritan woman.  Sometimes the Lord needs to convict us of sin, or sinful habits.  But everything the Lord does gives us the opportunity to grow closer to Him.  May we not squander the opportunities the Lord gives us to deepen our relationship with Him, especially this Lent, but drink from the living water which flows from the wounded side of Christ. 

The Old Man and the New Man

Second Sunday of Lent

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  Not long before Toby Keith died, a little more than a year ago, I heard a song that he released in 2019 called, “Don’t Let the Old Man In.”  While the song sings of death, personified by an old man, for us Catholics, the old man is Adam, our fallen, sinful self, while the new man is Christ, raised from the dead and sinless.
    And as we hear the readings today, we get the comparison between the old man and the new man.  St. Paul lays out one of the sins that is part and parcel of the old man: lust and fornication.  St. Thomas Aquinas defines lust as seeking sexual pleasure not in accord with reason.  And fornication, in its simplest form, is sexual relations between an unmarried man and unmarried woman, though more broadly it can refer to adultery (where at least one person is married) and other sexual sins.
    There is no doubt that the sexual passions are strong.  The old joke is told of a man asking a priest when he would no longer have to worry about lust.  The priest answered, “Five minutes after you’re dead.”  Our bodies, when they are not subjected to the soul, tend towards their own desires.  Especially in youth, they operate as if the propagation of the human race depended entirely upon one’s self.  And while one can have a legitimate desire to seek sexual pleasure that is in accord with reason (indeed, the gift of sexuality is a great gift from God), the old man, whose body, mind, and soul are not ordered properly and subjected in obedience to God, seeks simply to satisfy those desires whenever and however he wants.  
    And this is true even beyond lust and sexual desire.  The old man, the disobedient Adam, always seeks his own will over and against God’s will, no matter what the subject matter.  The old man spends money as he wants, without any reference to God; eats whatever he wants, without any reference to God; pursues whatever he wants, without any reference to God.  In all these cases and more, God is, at best, an afterthought, and, at worst, not considered at all in one’s actions.  The old man, St. Paul says, is earthly, and was addressed on Ash Wednesday: Remember, man, you are dust, and to dust you shall return.  

    But the Gospel we heard today, the Gospel of the Transfiguration, shows us what the new man can be.  Christ receives transfiguration from the Father to show the three great Apostles what will happen after the Passion and Crucifixion.  But that foresight connects to obedience, obedience to the Father’s will, no matter where that leads, even if it leads to the cross.  Moses, who appears on Mount Tabor with the Lord and Elijah, also received a much smaller gift of transfiguration when he beheld God.  His face radiated, so much so that people would have him cover it up because they were put off by it.  Moses would only remove his veil when he entered the presence of God.  But, St. Paul also says that it was a radiance that faded.  Whereas the radiance God desires for us in heaven will never fade away, just as the radiance of Christ never fades away.
    That radiance comes when we stop living like the old man, doing it “my way,” and when we, by the grace of God, open ourselves up to God’s transforming grace, His life, so that it begins to change us from the inside out.  We start to transfigure when we do it God’s way.  Sin blocks the light of Christ that we received at Holy Baptism from shining through us.  Repentance, especially through the Sacrament of Penance, cleanses us from the mud of sin so that the light of Christ can shine through us and glorify God.
    As far as our sexual passions go, living the life of the new man means treating our gift of sexuality as the precious gift it is, rather than simply a physical relief from stress or loneliness.  Since we live in a GM city, the image of the gift of sexuality I use is like a new corvette.  Most would care for it, protect it from misuse, and make sure no one is eating or drinking in or around the car.  Misusing it would be to take it on two-track roads in a forest, or let kids eat ice cream in the back seat, or drive it through bogs.  When we view things we shouldn’t, or try to simulate the sexual act on our own, or engage in acts of affection which are proper to marriage, or even engage in sexual acts as spouses that are not open to life (and I’m not talking about NFP, which cooperates with how God has made the human body to achieve or delay conception), we run our corvette through the mud.  The more we put ourselves into temptation regarding our sexual faculties, the harder it is to get out of the mud.  So we want to make sure that we are not allowing our sexual desires get the better of us as much as we can.
    But, as I said, living a transfigured life isn’t only about sex.  It’s also about being kind to a co-worker who puts us down; or being a friend to someone who is friendless, even if they are a little off; or not seeking undue attention and puffing ourselves up by bragging about our achievements; or treating even our enemies with human dignity and respect.  Living the life of the new man is about asking what God wants us to do in this moment.  And the more we practice it, the easier it becomes.  As we think about the saints, for many of them towards the end of their life, living a Christ-centered life didn’t require as much effort, because they had trained themselves to think with the mind of Christ and love with His Sacred Heart.  
    We don’t have to live like the old man.  We don’t have to fall to our passions and let them rule us.  That is the precious gift we were given in baptism.  So, to quote the last verse of Toby Keith’s song: “When he rides up on his horse / And you feel that cold bitter wind / Look out your window and smile / Don’t let the old man in.”  In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

Don't Let the Old Man In

Second Sunday of Lent

    Not long before Toby Keith died, a little more than a year ago, I heard a song that he released in 2019 called, “Don’t Let the Old Man In.”  While the song sings of death, personified by an old man, for us Catholics, the old man is Adam, our fallen, sinful self, while the new man is Christ, raised from the dead and sinless.
    And as we hear the readings today, we get the comparison between the old man and the new man.  St. Paul speaks about those whose “minds are occupied with earthly things.”  These are people to follow their passions, whatever they might be.  They live more like animals than humans.  And because they do not live up to their human potential, they become “enemies of the cross of Christ,” tending towards destruction by following whatever desires they may have.  This is the description of the old man, the first Adam, who gave up happiness with God out of pride and gluttony.
    The old man, the disobedient Adam, always seeks his own will over and against God’s will, no matter what the subject matter.  The old man spends money as he wants, without any reference to God; eats whatever he wants, without any reference to God; pursues whatever he wants, without any reference to God.  In all these cases and more, God is, at best, an afterthought, and, at worst, not considered at all in one’s actions.  The old man, St. Paul says, is earthly, and was addressed on Ash Wednesday: Remember, man, you are dust, and to dust you shall return.  

    But the Gospel we heard today, the Gospel of the Transfiguration, shows us what the new man can be.  Christ receives transfiguration from the Father to show the three great Apostles what will happen after the Passion and Crucifixion.  But that foresight connects to obedience, obedience to the Father’s will, no matter where that leads, even if it leads to the cross.  Moses, who appears on Mount Tabor with the Lord and Elijah, also received a much smaller gift of transfiguration when he beheld God.  His face radiated, so much so that people would have him cover it up because they were put off by it.  Moses would only remove his veil when he entered the presence of God.  But, St. Paul also says that it was a radiance that faded.  Whereas the radiance God desires for us in heaven will never fade away, just as the radiance of Christ never fades away.
    That radiance comes when we stop living like the old man, doing it “my way,” and when we, by the grace of God, open ourselves up to God’s transforming grace, His life, so that it begins to change us from the inside out.  We start to transfigure when we do it God’s way.  Sin blocks the light of Christ that we received at Holy Baptism from shining through us.  Repentance, especially through the Sacrament of Penance, cleanses us from the mud of sin so that the light of Christ can shine through us and glorify God.
    St. Paul mentions those who treat their stomach as a god, who follow their appetite at all costs.  During Lent we often hear critiques about fasting and abstinence.  People will say that they like fish, or that going to Red Lobster hardly seems like a penance.  But part of the abstinence and fasting is that we humble ourselves in observing obedience to a church law.  I read an article recently about whether one could eat an Impossible burger on Fridays during Lent, since it’s not meat.  The response was that, if one is simply trying to find a loophole to not eating meat, then it would probably not be ok to do.  But, if one truly saw eating the Impossible burger as a penance, then it could be ok, since it is not meat.  And, for those who feel it’s easy not to eat meat on Fridays, do it throughout the year.  Because of my fallen will, the times I want meat the most are the times I’m not allowed or supposed to have it.  Or try following the Ember Days, which are four times a year of additional abstinence and fasting.  The old man will probably start rearing his head and crying out for attention, trying to pull us away from penances that we want to do to bring us closer to God.
    We demonstrate the transfigured life of the new man when we display kindness to a co-worker who puts us down; or when we show friendship to someone who is friendless; or when we do not seek undue attention and puff ourselves up by bragging about our achievements; or when we treat even our enemies with human dignity and respect.  Living the life of the new man is about asking what God wants us to do in this moment.  And the more we practice it, the easier it becomes.  As we think about the saints, for many of them towards the end of their life, living a Christ-centered life didn’t require as much effort, because they had trained themselves to think with the mind of Christ and love with His Sacred Heart.  
    We don’t have to live like the old man.  We don’t have to fall to our passions and let them rule us.  That is the precious gift we were given in baptism.  So, to quote the last verse of Toby Keith’s song: “When he rides up on his horse / And you feel that cold bitter wind / Look out your window and smile / Don’t let the old man in.” 

On Pilgrimage with our Lord

First Sunday of Lent

Mount of Temptations

    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen].  One of my hopes during this Jubilee Year was to lead a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.  There is nothing quite like traveling to the land which our Lord made holy through the Incarnation and Paschal Mystery.  I have been there three times before, but the sites help one go even more deeply into the Gospels by seeing the places where our salvation happened.  As we hear this Gospel for the first Sunday of Lent, I can see in my mind’s eye the Mount of Temptation, which stands near Jericho, the traditional place in the desert where Satan tempted our Lord.  Or, as we get closer to Holy Week, to walk the Way of the Cross through the streets of Jerusalem, or stand at Calvary in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and especially to see the empty tomb in that same church.  
    But most people, whether in the past or in the present, could or cannot physically travel to the Holy Land.  In the past it was expensive and dangerous.  Today the expense is more the issue than anything (the holy sites are generally very safe, even right now with the animosity and fighting between Israel and Hamas).  But St. Francis of Assisi developed the Stations of the Cross, originally just for Franciscan churches, to help people draw closer to the saving events of our Lord’s life from a local church.  And even beyond the Stations of the Cross, we are invited to, even if only spiritually, travel with our Lord in these forty days of Lent.
    During Lent we are meant to be on our own pilgrimage with the Lord for forty days.  We spend forty days in the desert, evoking the forty years the Israelites wandered in the desert between their exodus from slavery in Egypt to their entrance into the Promised Land, as well as the forty days our Lord spent in the desert after His baptism, leading up to His temptation by Satan.
    The desert of Lent is meant to test us, to see of what we are made, and to discover the areas in which we still need to grow.  If we think back to the Chosen People wandering in the desert, at first they were ecstatic about their freedom.  The Egyptians had given their riches to the Israelites, so the liberated slaves had precious materials for their new home to which they traveled.  But fairly early on, they started to regret leaving Egypt, even though they were slaves there, and wanted to go back because, even with as bad as it was, they were familiar and comfortable with the bad, which seemed better than the unfamiliarity with a future, unknown, good.  They cried to God for water and food, and even created a false god after Moses had gone up to Mount Sinai.  The Promised Land was their home, a land God had promised to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, but a land they had left some four hundred years earlier, a land they had forgotten.  While the journey to Canaan was not an exceptionally long distance, because of their lack of faith, just as they were at the door of the Promised Land, they had to wander in the desert even longer than originally intended.
    Instead of lacking faith, our Lord’s forty days in the desert demonstrates what Lent is supposed to be: still difficult, still a test, but a test that we can pass because He did.  Our Lord hungered; our Lord thirsted.  But He did not doubt God’s care for Him, and He did not give in to the temptations of the devil.
    If we are honest, we are more like the Israelites than like our Lord.  Our baptism sets us free from Satan and sin, and God gives us the treasure of His grace, His life, to help us on our way home to heaven, our true Promised Land.  But along the way we doubt God.  We do not trust Him to provide all that we need.  We create false gods whom we feel will lead us better.  We forget that we are made for heaven and union with God, and in our selective amnesia, we make our path to God even longer and more difficult than it needs to be.
    So this Lent, our goal as we travel on pilgrimage with Christ is to be more like Him, and less like the Israelites.  As we fast and abstain, as our stomachs growl, we should remember that we do not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.  As we pray, we do so not to put God to the test, but to bring the desires of our heart to God so that they can be purified and answered according to His will, not to our own insecurities and drive to be in charge.  As we give alms, we recognize that true power does not come from money and possessions, the false gods that we create, but from worshipping God alone and allowing Him to exult us.  
    While the desert is difficult, and tests us to trust more in God and less in ourselves, the desert is not forever.  God does not abandon us to wander around for eternity.  Christ has opened heaven by His Death and Resurrection, and wants us to end up there if we will follow His path through the desert.  The pilgrimage to heaven may be difficult at times, and we may want to turn back to what comforts we think that slavery to sin gives us, or look to other gods of our own making that we think we can control.  But if we follow Christ this Lent, and truly seek to allow Him to put to death in us anything which is not of Him, we will find the Promised Land where angels will minister to us as we worship in perfect happiness our true God: [Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen]

Ordo Amoris

Quinquagesima
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  I try to communicate accurately as much as I can, though I do sometimes err.  As a third order Dominican, the truth occupies a special place in my life and in my interactions with others.  When I make decisions, I try to have all relevant information that I can, to help me arrive at the right decision for a particular circumstance.  The more accurate information I have, the better decisions I can make, whether for the immediate present moment or even for the future.
    But truth, while greatly important, should not occupy the highest priority in our life.  St. Paul tells us that love, or charity (that type of love that reflects the love of God) is what is most important.  God could have given you special charisms, like speaking in tongues or prophecy.  You could know everything.  Your faith could be so strong that you, as our Lord said, move mountains or trees.  You could be the most generous person alive, giving away all that you have to the poor.  You could even offer up your body.  But if you do not love, all of that counts for nothing.
    What a good gut check!  How easy we can find it to do the right things.  We check off the lists of the precepts the Church asks us to follow: we go to Mass; we give money to support the parish; we pray daily; we abstain from meat on Fridays or do some other penance.  But even if we do all those things, if we do them without love, there is no merit for us.  All our daily deeds are like dehydrated food.  They have what they need to sustain us, but we need the water of love to rehydrate the food and make it edible once more.
    What many Catholics struggle with today is understanding what love is.  So many people, Catholics and non-Catholics alike, do not understand love.  They reduce love to an emotion or a desire.  They make non-sensical statements like “love is love.”  Or they react like children who want candy from the check-out line and say that if we really loved them, we would let them do whatever they wanted.  But that’s not how St. Paul describes love.  Love doesn’t seek after itself.  If I do not display patience with another, I’m not loving that person.  If I’m only looking out for myself, I’m not loving.  If my desires are perverse and contrary to nature, I do not desire love.

    Recently, our Vice President mentioned a teaching of St. Thomas Aquinas: the ordo amoris or order of love.  He referenced it in regards to the ongoing immigration debate.  I’m going to side-step the immigration debate, and simply focus on the ordo amoris, which will hopefully help you decide how best to implement what is most loving.  If you want the actual and full treatment from St. Thomas Aquinas, you can go to the Summa Theologiae, the Second Part of the Second Part, Question 26.
    The general order of love is: God, self, neighbor.  We then further delineate neighbor into family, city, country, and world.  We should love God above all else.  We owe everything to God as our Creator, and the first commandment our Lord gives us is to love God with all of who we are (and He cites the Book of Deuteronomy).  The second law is that we should love our neighbor as ourself.  But to love our neighbor as ourself, we have to love ourself first.  Love of self can be sacrificed for a higher good, the love of God, as we see in martyrs, or in parents for their children, but we need to have a proper love of self.  Lastly, we love others after God and self, based upon how close they are to us.  Generally speaking, the closest to us are family members, then members of our community, then other people.
    If we follow this to its natural conclusion, it makes perfect sense.  If I didn’t believe that there are priorities in love, then I might skip Mass on Sundays to spend time with a friend playing basketball or drinking bourbon.  Or if I don’t have a hierarchy of loves, then when I give money to charitable contributions, I should give the same amount of money I spend on groceries each week to each of the following: my parish; my Diocese; my local food pantry; the homeless shelter; each religious order that exists; each food pantry that exists in the US; each homeless shelter that exists in the US; every orphanage around the world; every charity around the world; etc.  Of course, that would lead to poverty, and the family would lack necessary goods, to which they have a right, while others, who are not even known to us, would receive the same financial support.  

    The Holy Father rightly brings up the parable of the Good Samaritan as our Lord reminds us to care for our neighbors who are not like us.  The Samaritan had no family or even national connection to the man left for dead.  But the man on the brink of death was close to him, and the Samaritan could do something at that moment to help the man, without neglecting any of his other legitimate responsibilities.  The man was in immediate need of assistance, and so, even in the ordo amoris, the Samaritan, like the priest and the levite before him who failed, had a duty to assist as a way of expressing love.
    The Scriptures also challenge us to remember that love of God cannot fully be divorced from love of neighbor.  St. John writes in his first epistle: “whoever does not love a brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen.”  Love of God, strictly speaking, does outweigh love of neighbor.  I should be more concerned with what God thinks of me than what my friends or family think of me.  However, more often than not, we show God we love Him by loving the people He loves, that is, our neighbor.
    The argument of modern society is that we should love everyone equally.  To the extent that we generally will good for all people, that is true.  But we cannot, strictly speaking, actually love every single person on this planet equally, because we have closer ties with some than with others, and the resources by which we show our love are limited, even while love is not limited.  So we should order our loves, putting God above all else, then myself next, then my neighbor, and my neighbor starting with my family, then my friends, then my other communities both locally and internationally.  I also have to order my love so that I deal with what is in front of my face: the rich man had a duty to care for poor Lazarus because Lazarus was at his doorstep and needed the rich man’s help.  
    But we also have to understand what love is and what love is not.  Love is not just a feeling, or license to do whatever we or another want to do.  Love means willing the good, for ourselves and for others.  If we allow a person to do that which is harmful, or if we want to do something which is harmful, we are not loving.  
    We could do so many good things, or have so many spiritual gifts.  But love, willing the good of the other, has to undergird all of what we do.  Otherwise all of our good deeds and actions are worth nothing.  If we ever have a question about how love looks, then gaze at the crucifix.  Because that is the greatest example of love: to lay down one’s life for God and for neighbor.  If our actions connect us to the cross of Christ, then there is good chance that they are truly loving actions, and therefore join us to the God who is Love: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.