Waiting in the Tomb

Fifth Sunday of Lent
    The summer after my first year in college seminary, I worked at St. Thomas Aquinas in East Lansing as a custodian.  And on a sunny, hot day on 2 July, I was working with my supervisor–a gruff older man named Grady–on trimming the bushes around the school.  Some of the work wasn’t bad; we were using gas-powered hedge trimmers.  But some of the bushes were big, taller than any of us, and we needed to trim the top.  Grady was convinced that the best way to trim the tops was to put me in the bucket of a tractor, and lift me up so I could reach the branches.  I hated the idea, but didn’t want to say no to my supervisor. 
    So I started to get in the bucket, my mind racing with the hundreds of ways that this could end with a lost limb or fatality.  But, before the bucket could be raised, the secretary radioed for me to come to the office.  Somehow, I knew something wasn’t right, so while my first few steps were at a regular pace, I quickly sped up and ended up running to the office.  It was there that the secretary told me that my sister, Amanda, had been in a bad car accident, and I needed to get to Sparrow Hospital in Lansing quickly so that I could ride in the ambulance down to Ann Arbor with my other family members as my sister was air-lifted to U of M Hospital.  Fr. Dave, the pastor, drove me to the hospital in Lansing, where my sister ended up having surgery, rather than going to U of M. 
    I knew something was wrong, so I ran, and I’m willing to bet that Fr. Dave drove faster than the posted speed limit to get me to the hospital.  And yet, when Jesus gets word that his friend, Lazarus, is ill, St. John says, “[Jesus] remained for two days in the place where he was.”  What was Jesus doing? 
    Jesus knew exactly what He was doing, and what He was going to do.  We heard Jesus say, “‘Our friend Lazarus is asleep, but I am going to awaken him.’”  This may seem cold, Jesus waiting for Lazarus to die, and then raise Him from the dead.  But it was part of the Father’s plan, for the good of Lazarus, for the good of Martha and Mary, for the good of the apostles and disciples, and even for Jesus’ good. 
    It didn’t seem that way for Martha.  She said to Jesus, “‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.’”  But, even in the midst of her grief and confusion, Martha trusts in Jesus, and the power of God to do anything, even raise someone from the dead.  Mary, too, when she comes to see Jesus, repeats the refrain of Martha, “‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.’”  Mary, who had sat at the feet of Jesus to hear Him, while Martha worried about being hospitable, is now wondering what Jesus was doing, and why Lazarus had to die. 
    But Jesus is not callused to the death, either.  When Jesus came to the tomb, He cries.  This is the shortest verse in the entire New Testament: “And Jesus wept.”    Faced with the loss of His friend, Jesus cries.  He even took on our sorrow in the face of the death of a friend.  As Jesus goes to raise Lazarus, the crowd does not believe.  Even Martha says, “‘Lord, by now there will be a stench; he has been dead for four days.’” 
    And then, after this long, drawn-out episode of Lazarus getting ill, Jesus waiting, Jesus greeting Martha, and then Mary, and then going to the tomb, it all changes.   “‘Lazarus, come out!’” Jesus says loudly.  And Lazarus does.  And the Jews began to believe in Jesus.
    We’re in week two of no public Masses.  Now we have a Stay At Home order from Governor Whitmer.  School is still out.  We’re trying to prevent deaths from COVID-19 by our social distancing, but it almost feels like the world is dead.  It seems like there has been no life.  Many people aren’t even leaving their houses, or doing so very sparingly.  With so many people staying inside their homes, by now, there will be a stench! 
    And yet, the Lord is doing something.  Somehow, according to the will of the Father, this is for our good.  It seems like Jesus is waiting too long.  Things are dire!  We need a cure now!  We need this to end now!  But He’s still waiting.  So what is on the other side of this pandemic?  We don’t know, other than it’s new life.  And somehow, God will be glorified, and others will have the opportunity to believe in Jesus. 
    I know we want to rush this, and get this over as soon as possible.  Believe me, as much as I am grateful to Tommy for Facebook live broadcasting me to you, I’d rather have you here!  I’d rather celebrate the holiest week of the year with you.  But, for now, we wait in the tomb with Lazarus.  For now, we wait for the Lord to act.  And while we wait, we reaffirm our trust, that when the Lord Jesus does act, it will mean new life for each of us.  So let us wait with joyful hope to hear those words of our Lord: Come out!  And we will be unbound, and able to live in the freedom of the resurrection. 

Keep Your Head on a Swivel

Fourth Sunday of Lent

    In the Michigan State Police, and in other settings, there’s a phrase often called “tunnel vision,” and it refers to being so focused on something, that you don’t notice other things.  In particular, this phrase is used when pursuing a vehicle.  The tendency is to stay so focused on that vehicle, that you can totally miss other vehicles on the road, and whether or not they’re stopping for you or getting over to the side of the road.  The solution to tunnel vision is another phrase we like to use, “keep you head on a swivel,” meaning, keep looking around at your surroundings, and not only on the car that you’re chasing right in front of you.
    Tunnel vision is a form of blindness.  Your eyes still work, but they’re so focused on that one thing, that you miss everything else going on.  And we hear about this especially in our first reading and Gospel today.  In the first reading, Samuel the prophet sees the sons of Jesse, and is so fixated on a strong, leader-looking son to be the next king of Israel, that at first, Samuel fails to see as God sees.  We humans see the appearance, “but the Lord looks into the heart.”  Only when David appears, who is the youngest, but still ruddy and handsome to behold, does God reveal the son of Jesse who is to be the next king of Israel.  Later on we learn that David has a radical trust in God, which is precisely what God wanted in a king for Israel, and which allowed small David to conquer the giant, Goliath.
    In the Gospel, we hear about two blind people: the man born blind and the Pharisees.  The man born blind has physical blindness, and yet is able to see the spiritual realities.  The Pharisees can physically see, but they are blind to the work of God.  The man born blind recognizes Jesus in the beginning as a prophet of God, and later, as the Son of God.  The Pharisees see Jesus as, at best, a nuisance, and at worst, a person who leads others away from God and keeping the sabbath law and the laws of Moses. 
    I think that we’re all suffering, at least a little, and in many cases, a lot, from tunnel vision.  We are so focused on one thing, that we fail to see the other things around us.  And of course, that one thing right now, is COVID-19/Coronavirus.  It’s almost all we hear and see on the news.  It has led to the cancellation of public Masses.  It’s on our minds as we drive on empty roads around town.  It’s certainly our focus at the grocery store as we buy beyond our need and, as has happened so often recently, even beyond any sense of reason.  We focus on the virus when we think about touching someone, or even coming closer than 6 feet to another person.  Some have lost jobs, or at least lost hours at work.  We can no longer dine-in at restaurants.  It has become, in many ways, the all-encompassing focus of our lives.  And because there are still so many unknowns, and no known cure at this point, we focus on all the negatives, which only drives us to more fear.
    I will admit, I’ve been in this same boat.  On my mind has been: How do we make the Mass available to people?  Are the people I encounter carriers?  Are they more vulnerable?  How low is the collection going to be?  Which bills should we pay?  Will the school open up after Spring Break, or will it be closed for the rest of the school year?  Will I be able to visit people at the hospital who are sick and need the sacraments?  How can we provide faith-building materials for people in the midst of our changing schedule?  And on an on it goes.  It seems like that’s all that’s on my mind, and I’m sure you feel the same way, too!
    But, because I have suffered form tunnel vision, I have missed seeing things that God also wants me to see.  Just last Monday, while walking from the rectory to the office, the sun was shining, and there were the first, small flowers blooming by the school, with their little lavender petals and a bright yellow circle in the middle.  And I realized that I was blind to the other things that God is doing.  Spring is springing, flowers are starting to bloom; my perennials are pushing up through the soil, the temperature is warming (ever so slightly).  Have we noticed that?  What else are we missing?  There is a generally greater awareness of caring for our neighbors, making sure that they have enough food and supplies.  Hopefully, even as Masses are cancelled, people will recognize their need for the Eucharist, and not see Sunday Mass as merely an obligation, but a chance to worship God and be nourished by His Word and the Body and Blood of Jesus.  Maybe people are learning new devotions to feed their daily prayer life, and/or reading the Bible more.  What happens when you have tunnel vision is that you miss all those things.  But if you keep your head on a swivel, you can notice that, even in the midst of the very real and great challenges in which we find ourselves, God is doing great things.
    Today, I invite you, to think about what positive things are happening in your life.  What is God doing with, for, and in you that is positive?  Can you recognize the good things that God is doing in your life, in the lives of your family and friends, and in the world around you?  They are there; you simply have to look for it.  Keep you head on a swivel!

Corona and the Well

Homily for the Third Sunday of Lent
    Probably at least in the back of your mind, and very likely in the front of your mind, is COVID-19, the Coronavirus.  I saw a meme the other day that said something to the effect of: Did you ever wonder what it was like to live in the 14th century?  Well, we have two popes and a plague.  Obviously, the spread of this illness is not really a laughing matter.  But the fact remains that it’s on our minds, even here in church.
    As a reminder, if you’re feeling ill, we ask you, as an act of charity, not to come to church.  Wash your hands frequently.  We’re not holding hands during the Our Father (just fold them in a prayer position), nor doing the exchange of peace, and, for the time being, we’re not going to distribute the Blood of Christ at Mass (recall that, even if you only receive under one species, you receive the entire Jesus).  We also have hand sanitizer at the main entrance that you can feel free to use.
    Sometimes people will take the opportunity to say that large bad events are punishments from God.  Whether it’s a new virus, a hurricane, an earthquake, or any natural disaster, some are quick to pile on the idea that God is punishing us for something.  This isn’t really a Catholic view of how God works; there is rarely a one-to-one correlation between something bad happening and God being unhappy (just look at the Book of Job, or especially at the suffering of Jesus).  But, in times like these, we can take the opportunity to see what we value, and in what or whom we place our trust.
    Because, throughout the history of the Church, saints have pointed out that bad things happening are a reminder to us that God is in charge, and we are not.  Again, not that God sends us calamities, but when they happen, they remind us that, even with all our technological advances, we are not the masters of the universe, or even of our own lives.  God can certainly use disasters and outbreaks to turn back to Him and act in our life in a way that we recognize that God is God, and we are not.
    But something like the outbreak of COVID-19 also tells us where our top priorities are.  I will admit, I wanted to watch Powers Catholic boys basketball play in the District Championship last Friday.  I’m sure there are many more who wanted to see the Big Ten tournament or the NCAA tournament, even just on TV.  As I write this, I just saw that the Master’s Tournament, a tradition unlike any other, was postponed.  School won’t be back in session until 6 April.  Certainly, there’s the disappointment of buying tickets (sometimes very expensive tickets) and the loss of the expense of traveling, but is that the most important thing in our life? 
    And where do we look to as far being the base of our hope?  While we certainly need to be prudent as far buying supplies to last us if we get quarantined, how many rolls of toilet paper do we need?  Are we looking to the government to save us?  The government certainly has a role in protecting us and advising us on best practices, but our hope is not in supplies, or a 401K, or even the government.  Jesus invites us to make Him our only hope.
    And that is where the readings tie in.  In the first reading, the people do not put their hope in God.  They’re tired, worn out, and thirsty, and they complain that God is not taking care of them enough.  Massah and Meribah becomes in Jewish Biblical talk the signs of a lack of trust in God.  But God does provide for them, all throughout out their sojourn in the desert. 
    Or the Samaritan woman.  She’s in a desperate situation.  Drawing water in the middle of the day was a sign of being a social outcast, much like having a cough right now.  She’s an outcast probably because of her multiple husbands.  She put her trust in other men.  But when she encounters Jesus, He invites her to put her trust in Him, so that she can have living water and never thirst again.  It takes Jesus talking with her a while to get her to that point, but she gets there, and realizes that Jesus is the answer to the questions of her life.  The same is true for us now.  While fear and panic is common, natural, we may even say, we are called to the supernatural, to trust in God, even as we follow best practices for good hygiene.  God invites us to trust in Him.
    Illnesses are also scary because they remind us of our mortality.  Especially in our culture, we avoid death like the plague, if you’ll pardon the expression.  We fight it with pills, creams, injections, and anything else we can think of.  But, for a faithful disciple, we need not fear death.  It is a transition to, our hope tells us, new life in Christ.  The saints often remind us to keep death before our eyes daily, not to be dour or depressed, but to make sure that our choices reflect with whom we want to spend eternity.
    Let’s be prudent in our choices to avoid contracting or spreading COVID-19.  But let’s also not fear or act out of panic.  May we come to the well of God’s wisdom, and draw the living water that Jesus promises to provide us.  May our hope not be in any thing or comfort that the world says it can provide, but in Jesus Christ, our true hope and joy.

Into the Lenten Desert

First Sunday of Lent

St. Anthony being attacked by demons

    St. Anthony of the Desert, also known as St. Anthony of Egypt, is considered the Father of Monks.  According to St. Athanasius, who wrote his biography, St. Anthony, while twenty years old, heard the Gospel of the rich young man, that, in order to be happy, he had to sell his riches and follow Christ.  So he got rid of most of his possessions and land, gave his sister into the care of some local Christian virgins (no one knows how she took his decision), and eventually went into the wilderness of Egypt, and lived to the ripe old age of 105 (a blessing in addition to having the name Anthony).
    Why does St. Anthony go into the desert?  Why does Jesus go into the desert after His baptism, as heard in the Gospel today?  What’s the big deal with deserts?
    To begin with, it was the opposite of where man was supposed to be.  We heard in Genesis how God put Adam and Eve into a garden in Eden.  The garden had everything they needed for food and sustenance, and apparently it was warm enough where walking around without clothes wasn’t a problem, so certainly, the garden was not in Michigan!  But the point is that gardens are places of life, whereas deserts are places of death.
    For the Israelites, the desert was also the place of great testing after the Exodus from Egypt.  Recall that the desert was where the Israelites wandered for 40 years, after they doubted that God could take care of the giants who were occupying the land of Canaan, where God had promised to settle the Chosen People. 
    Last, but not least, just as the garden was seen as the property of God, the source of life, so the desert was seen as the property of the devil, the source of death.  At the Day of Atonement, the priests would send the goat, who had previously received the sins of the nation on it, into the desert to be handed over to the demon Azazel. 
    So Jesus, and St. Anthony in imitation of Him, goes into the desert, and there He is tempted.  Both Jesus and St. Anthony went there to battle Satan.  St. Matthew writes in his account of the Gospel that Jesus battled Satan verbally (Jesus, of course, won).  St. Athanasius records that St. Anthony was tempted in the desert with all sorts of temptations, and St. Anthony did not give in to those temptations; he won his contest. 
    For us, then, Lent is going into the desert.  The desert isn’t a fun place, but it’s a necessary place for us to grow in our relationship with God.  It’s a place of battle, and that means we have to fight.  But it’s the only way to get back to the garden.  In Lent we fight against our fallen earthly desires in order that our desire for heaven can be strengthened.  In Lent we fight against our temptations to sin, to be disobedient to God and obedient to Satan.  In Lent, we fight against hiding from God because of our shame, and we run to God to ask Him to heal the wounds the sin has created and clothe us with His holiness. 
    Lent is a privileged time to grow in holiness.  Jesus didn’t grow in holiness when He went into the desert, because He is holiness Himself.  But He gave us an example so that we could grow in holiness.  St. Anthony grew in holiness when he went into the desert, and gave us an example of how fasting, extra prayer, and concentrating on our relationship with God transform us by the power of God’s grace into the man or woman that God wants us to be. 
    Entering the desert for us can be more time for silence.  Not only for the young, but especially for the young, silence can feel like death!  To a society so used to having access to the internet all the time on the phone, or music all the time, or some sort of stimulus for our ears and eyes, silence can seem as barren as a sea of sand.  But it’s also a great way to become more accustomed to hearing the Word of God, which often is only audible in silence.
    Entering the desert for us can be making more time for prayer: speaking with and listening to God.  It seems like every year we get more and more things to do, and prayer often gets shoved out of the way, even before we ditch exercise!  And yet, without prayer, we can’t thrive as God wants us to thrive.  Again, it may feel deadly to set aside even another 5 minutes each day to tell God what’s on our hearts, and to listen to hear what God’s heart wants to say to us.  But it’s also a great way to know if we are following God’s will or our own will.
    As we enter this Lenten season, this Lenten desert, let’s follow the example of Jesus, and the example of St. Anthony.  Let’s go into the desert to fight our temptations and to do battle with Satan, a battle that we can assuredly win if we’re connected to Christ, as St. Anthony was.  Don’t be afraid of the dryness of the desert; don’t be afraid that it’s too difficult.  Enter the desert with Christ and St. Anthony, as a way to enter the Garden when we come to Easter.

Not Giving as Good as we Got

Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

    When I was around 5 years old, my sister and I were racing up our basement steps on our hands and knees towards the first floor.  On the way up, I slid off the side, and fell, around 8 feet, head first, onto our concrete floor (I’m sure some of you are thinking: that explains a lot about Fr. Anthony!).  I suffered a concussion, and was in the hospital for some time.  While I have no evidence to support this, I jokingly say, to my sister’s chagrin, that she pushed me off so she could beat me to the top.
    I don’t really believe that my sister pushed me, but I do know human nature, and I know that, often, when we feel slighted in some way, we not only give back what we got, but go a little further to make sure that the other person understands that they shouldn’t mess with us again.  This is the tricky thing with justice: we’re good at demanding it, but quite awful at exacting it.  We always give a little bit more than we got.  We see this with kids all the time: one sibling touches another, which leads to a slap, which leads to a punch, with leads to an all-out fight.  But adults aren’t much different, except that as adults were a little bit better at hiding our retribution. 
    As Jesus teaches us in the Gospel today, the idea of exacting justice for ourselves does not always lead to justice.  When we keep returning offense for offense (“an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth”), we continue a cycle of violence that will never stop.  Even if we could exact perfect justice, the cycle would still continue: you offend me, so I offend you back, but then you are offended so you offend me, and then I offend you back, etc., etc. 
    Instead, Jesus invites us to end the cycle, and turn the other cheek.  Jesus is not teaching us here to be punching bags or victims of others’ aggression, but to remove ourselves from this cycle where we think we need to get revenge any time someone does something wrong to us.  Jesus invites us to forgive the other and will the good of the other, or said more simply, to love the other. 
    Now, we can all think of times when this would be unreasonable.  For a cop, he or she may have to use force to subdue an attacker or arrest someone who is not following lawful commands; for our justice system to work we have to punish those who do wrong to the city and help them to understand that breaking legitimate laws is not something that promotes the common good; for our men and women in the armed forces, they are called on to fight enemies of the USA in defense of our country; and even for individuals, one has a right and often an obligation to defend oneself or one’s family against violence. 
    But at the same time, in our day-to-day lives, we have many opportunities to end the cycle of vengeance at home, at work, on the road, and elsewhere.  And when we do, we imitate our heavenly Father who offers even those who offend Him time to repent and to turn away from their evil and live a life of holiness.  Nowhere is this more evident than with St. Paul.  The Acts of the Apostles documents, and St. Paul himself writes in some of his epistles, that he persecuted the Church that Jesus founded.  He even consented to the stoning of St. Stephen.  But God didn’t stop loving Paul, or only give him bad things.  By God’s grace, which was showered upon Paul, he became the greatest missionary in the history of Christianity and gave his life in witness to the faith. 
    So today, let us recommit ourselves to doing as we heard in the first reading, to loving our neighbor as ourselves.  As disciples of Jesus, may we follow the example of our Master, and not respond in vengeance, but end the cycle of giving back at least as good as we were given when someone offends us.  As we have received mercy from our heavenly Father, when strict justice demanded punishment, so may we also be merciful, as our heavenly Father is merciful.

Remember the Poor

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time
    When it comes to preaching homilies, in seminary we were jokingly (but also a little seriously) told two keys: the 5 Bs and KISS.  The 5 Bs are: Be brief, boy, be brief; KISS stands for Keep It Simple, Stupid (Stupid being directed at the preacher).  I don’t know how brief I’ll be, but I can keep it pretty simple today.
    The readings today focus us on serving “outsiders.”  By outsiders I mean those about whom we heard in the first reading–the hungry, oppressed, homeless–but also anyone who is poor or marginalized.  As followers of Jesus, it is not enough to simply believe the right things (though that is important).  How we live, and how we treat others is also key.  We might say that those are the two parts of the greatest law (Love of God as right belief and right worship, and Love of Neighbor as right actions and morality). 
    This call by Jesus to change the way we treat others is part of what Jesus meant in the Gospel, that we are to be the “salt of the earth” and the “light of the world.”  By following Jesus, and living according to His way of life, we are to preserve what is good in society, and enlighten the parts of the world that are darkened by sin.  By being salt and light, we glorify our heavenly Father.
    St. John Chrysostom, one of the saints depicted in our icons, put it this way:

If you cannot remember everything, instead of everything, I beg you, remember this without fail, that not to share our own wealth with the poor is theft from the poor and deprivation of their means of life; we do not possess our own wealth but theirs.  If we have this attitude, we will certainly offer our money; and by nourishing Christ in poverty here and laying up great profit hereafter, we will be able to attain the good things which are to come, by the grace and kindness of our Lord Jesus Christ…

Chrysostom means golden-mouthed, and though it might not seem so golden, he is certainly right.  As followers of Jesus, as Catholics, we have an obligation to the poor and marginalized, to help them as much as we can.  “Not,” as St. Paul says, “that others should have relief while you are burdened, but that as a matter of equality your surplus at the present time should supply their needs.” 
    Some would suggest that we don’t need to help the poor, because that’s what our taxes supply.  And certainly, there are some ways that the government can help in ways that individuals cannot.  It would be very difficult, if not impossible, to provide public housing based on personal generosity.  It would be very difficult, if not impossible, to take care of basic health needs for people who have no real means of income, without some sort of larger program.  But it is also true that a perennial teaching of Catholic social morality is that individuals or smaller entities that can provide for a need should be allowed to, and only when individuals or the smaller entities cannot should a larger entity or government step in (we call this subsidiarity).
    I should also be clear that St. John Chrysostom is not advocating a wholesale redistribution of wealth.  We hear that a lot from politicians who openly proclaim themselves as socialists.  It is as if a political party can decide to become Robin Hood, and steal from the rich to give to the poor.  But the Church does not advocate socialism, or for people to deputize themselves to decide how much people need, and take the rest from them by force.  Private property and wealth are acceptable, as long as one realizes that the “outsiders” have a right to our assistance for anything beyond what we need for basic living.  Jesus reminds us of this fact in Matthew 25, when he says that we will be judged on how we treated the hungry, thirsty, naked, ill, and those in prison. 
    What that looks like for each person is different.  I can’t give you a dollar amount, or even a percentage, for how much you should be giving to those in need.  The number 10% is tossed around, as the idea of a Biblical tithe, and to the extent that you're able, I would encourage sharing 10% between your parish, maybe Catholic Charities and a few other charities, and having some available as you encounter the poor in your day to day life.  Catholic usually give less than 1% to their parish.  Maybe it’s time for you to consider giving 2% to St. Pius X.  Maybe you can give more.  Maybe you can’t give 2%.  Whatever it is, you’ll know what you can and can’t give, whether to your parish, to charities, and to individuals.
    But remember that, as followers of Jesus, we have a responsibility to the “outsiders.”  As we encounter the daily poor, we can decide best whether they are truly in need, or whether, sadly, they are trying to scam us.  We can decide what charities use the money best for the poor, and areas of our city, State, country, and world that we feel particularly drawn to support.  But the key is that we are committed to helping others to the extent that we are honestly able.  I’ll end here with one more quote from St. John Chrysostom:

Do you want to honor Christ’s body?  Then do not scorn him in his nakedness, nor honor him here in the church with silken garments while neglecting him outside where he is cold and naked.  For He who said: “This is my body,” and made it so by his words, also said: “You saw me hungry and did not feed me, and inasmuch as you did not do it for one of these, the least of my brothers, you did not do it for me.”

A Great Nightly Prayer

Feast of the Presentation of the Lord

    Every night, before a priest goes to bed, he prays the words that we heard in the Gospel today (albeit with slightly different wording): “Lord, now you let your servant go in peace; your word has been fulfilled.  My own eyes have seen the salvation which you have prepared in the sight of every people: a light to reveal you to the nations, and the glory of your people Israel.”  We call it in Latin the Nunc dimittis (so-called because the first two words in Latin are Nunc dimittis), or the Canticle of Simeon, since it was Simeon who prayed it in the temple, as Jesus was presented there by Mary and Joseph. 
    It’s not long, and easily memorized, and if you’re looking to add a prayer to your nightly prayer routine, it’s a great one to add.  But why does the Church have every priest (as well as bishops and men and women religious) pray this before they go to bed?
    The first sentence may make sense.  Remember that the Gospel told that us God the Holy Spirit had promised that Simeon that he wouldn’t “see death before he had seen the Christ [Messiah] of the Lord.”  Simeon is telling the Lord that He doesn’t have to keep Simeon alive anymore, because he has seen the Messiah, Jesus.  God has fulfilled His promise.  The same goes for the priest.  Throughout the day, God has fulfilled His promise, and the priest at the end of the day thanks God for His fidelity.
    The phrase, “go in peace” also probably reminds us of the phrase “rest in peace.”  Sleep is another Christian way of saying death, especially recognizing that death is not the end.  We don’t use this phrase much anymore, but we can speak of someone who has died as “falling asleep in the Lord.”  And let’s be honest, when we go to sleep, we hope we’re going to wake up the next morning, but we never know.  We might wake up before the judgement seat of God.  So this Canticle of Simeon reminds the priest that life ends, sometimes after many years, sometimes after a few years, and that the priest should always be ready for it.
    Simeon continues, “‘for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of every people.’”  Simeon was able to see Jesus, who is God’s salvation (Jesus’ Name means “God saves”).  He encounters or meets Jesus (the way that the Christian East refers to this feast), which is, for Simeon, the greatest gift, the gift he had waited so long to receive.
    So for the priest, each day he encounters Jesus.  The priest gets to hold Jesus in his hands as the priest confects the Eucharist at Mass.  He receives Jesus into His very self as he consumes the Body and Blood of Christ, so that Jesus is closer to the priest than any other person.  And that encounter with Jesus is the greatest gift the priest can receive, worth more than any treasure on earth.
    If you’ve been attentive (some days are harder than others to keep attentive during the homily), you’ve noticed that the priest prays this Canticle of Simeon each night before he goes to sleep because God has fulfilled His promises, as a reminder to keep death always before him, and because he has encountered Jesus.  But that’s true not only for the priest, but for all of God’s people (which is why the Canticle of Simeon is a good prayer for everyone to say each night).  Each day God fulfills His promises to be with each person, no matter what; to love each person, no matter what; to send grace each day sufficient for each person to be a saint.  Each day we all should keep death before us, remembering that life is fleeting, and the choices we make echo into eternity, for good or for ill.  Each day we all have the chance to encounter Jesus, not only in the Eucharist, but in God’s Word in the Bible, in our daily prayers, in the poor and marginalized, in co-workers and family member, maybe in annual retreats, and especially in the Eucharist. 
    Going back to God fulfilling His promises, priests don’t always have easy lives, the same as the rest of you.  As I know is also true for you, there are days for me where nothing seems to be going the way I want or planned, where everything things to be falling apart, and where life, frankly, stinks.  On those day in particular, it is important to still pray with Simeon and remember God’s fidelity even in the midst of pain, illness, stress, and failure. 
    So tonight, before you go to bed, I invite you to start a new habit of prayer, and join with bishops and priests, as well as consecrated men and women around the world, and pray the Canticle of Simeon, thanking God for his faithfulness, keeping death before our eyes, and remembering the times throughout the day that we encountered Jesus.  “Lord, now you let your servant go in peace; your word has been fulfilled.  My own eyes have seen the salvation which you have prepared in the sight of every people: a light to reveal you to the nations, and the glory of your people Israel.”

What Good is the Word?

Third Sunday in Ordinary Time–Sunday of the Word of God

    This year, Pope Francis has inaugurated a new focus for this third Sunday of Ordinary Time.  He has decreed that the third Sunday of Ordinary Time is especially to be centered on the Word of God.  In his Apostolic Letter that created this celebration, Pope Francis writes, “without the Scriptures, the events of the mission of Jesus and of his Church in this world would remain incomprehensible.  Hence, Saint Jerome could rightly claim: ‘Ignorance of the Scriptures is ignorance of Christ.’”
    For Catholics, especially of a particular age, the Scriptures may be a bit foreign.  Indeed, some of you have even told me that, while growing up, you were discouraged by priests, nuns, and others, from reading the Word of God.  While we do have some active Bible study groups here, some of you may be thinking: what good would it do me to read the Bible more?  I’ve gotten along without it just fine for this long!
    The Word of God, as divinely revealed in Sacred Scripture, and faithfully communicated and interpreted through the teaching of the Church, is meant to be the guide for our life.  In the Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation, entitled Dei Verbum, of the Second Vatican Council, the Church teaches:

both [sacred tradition and Sacred Scripture], flowing from the same divine wellspring…merge into a unity and tend toward the same end.  For Sacred Scripture is the word of God inasmuch as it is consigned to writing under the inspiration of the divine Spirit, while sacred tradition takes the word of God entrusted by Christ the Lord and the Holy Spirit to the Apostles, and hands it on to their successors in its full purity, so that led by the light of the Spirit of truth, they may in proclaiming it preserve the word of God faithfully, explain it, and make it more widely known. […] Therefore both sacred tradition and Sacred Scripture are to be accepted and venerated with the same sense of loyalty and reverence.

When we sang, with the Psalmist, “The Lord is my light and my salvation,” what we were saying is that the Lord illuminates the path that I am to take towards heaven.  The Word of God gives us a great light, whereas without it we walk in darkness.  It brings us “abundant joy and great rejoicing.”  It gives us freedom from the yoke of sin that burdens us.
    The Word of God is also meant to bring about the unity of Jesus’ followers, and all those who are created in the image and likeness of God.  Humanity tends towards disunity; it is, we might say, the communal law of entropy.  Even in St. Paul’s time, he writes that divisions are creeping in among the Christians of Corinth: “each of you is saying, ‘I belong to Paul,’ or ‘I belong to Apollos,’ or ‘I belong to Cephas,’ or ‘I belong to Christ.’”  When we are left to our own machinations, we tend to divide.  The Word of God, given to us through Sacred Scripture and faithfully interpreted by the teaching office of the Church, holds together what Satan wants to sift apart.
    Lastly, as we hear from our Gospel today, the Word of God calls us on to mission.  Jesus, the eternal Word (in Greek: Logos) of God the Father, calls the first apostles, Simon and Andrew, and also James and John, and invites them to follow Him, so that He might make them “fishers of men.”  It’s not as if the Word of God is meant to stay stagnant in our lives.  It is meant to change us, and to urge us on to making other disciples.  If our engagement with the Word of God doesn’t draw us to make other disciples, then we’re not getting all that God wants to share with us through His Word.
    Now, I know, those are a lot of high-level ideals.  But does the Word of God make a difference in my real life?  It can, if we are open to its effects.  In the first way, it helps us to make decisions on how we spend our time and money, helps us to know how to interact with others, and assists us in making both big life decisions and the smaller daily decisions by shining the light of Christ on the path we are seeking to travel, to see if it’s a good path or a dangerous path.
    In the second case, there are a lot of people who claim to follow Jesus, but the Word of God can help us evaluate whether their encouragements of what to believe and how to live are truly from God and live up to His wisdom, as expressed in Sacred Scripture and the teachings of the Church.  Both are necessary, as we see Christian communities who were historically founded on the Scriptures as the only rule of faith, now allowing and sometimes even promoting activities which are in direct contradiction to the Sacred Scripture.  We avoid division by staying faithful to the Word of God as expressed in the Bible and faithfully interpreted by the apostles and their successors, the bishops, teaching in union with the Pope. 
    In the third case, the more that we hear the Good News expressed in the Word of God–that God loves us, God has a plan for us, God forgives us, God has saved and is saving us–the more we want others to hear that news.  Bible studies cannot be ends in themselves, but should push us to share with our family and friends and neighbors that Good News, and how following God can change our lives for the better. 
    Today God reminds us that His Word is light, unity, and mission.  May our hearing of the Word of God, and our daily engagement with it, bring that light, unity, and mission to our lives, that we may share that light, unity, and mission with those that we encounter each day.

What We Are Called

Feast of the Baptism of the Lord
    There are numbers of things that we can be called during our life time, and some of them can even be said in church!  My grandparents and their generation called me Tony; among my elementary and middle school friends I was TJ; in high school I was AJ; Bishop Mengeling liked Anthony, which is what I started to be called in seminary.  In seminary I developed the nickname Strohs, after the cheap beer, since my last name was similar.  In the State Police I have developed the nicknames Padre and Chap (short for chaplain).  I’m sure there are others about which I don’t know because people don't say them to my face!
    Today we hear a few names or titles.  In the first reading: “my servant” and “my chosen one,” and in the Gospel, “‘my beloved Son.”  Each, too, comes with longer descriptions about the identity of the one about whom God is speaking.  Isaiah talks about the servant and chosen one as “upon whom I have put my spirit.”  He goes on to say about this person, “I…have called you for the victory of justice, I…set you as a…light for the nations.”  Isaiah probably didn’t know it, but God was speaking to Isaiah about Jesus.    In the Gospel, the name is without doubt about Jesus, and John and the people hear it clearly.  As Jesus is coming up from the water, God the Father, who had sent the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove, says that Jesus is the beloved Son, “‘with whom I am well pleased.’”  What an identity!  What an expression of love from the Father!
    And yet, in Baptism, both of those things now apply to us.  Let’s look at the Gospel first.  In Baptism, we become a child of God in the Son of God.  God does not simply cover us up with His grace, as snow covered dung (to paraphrase an alleged phrase of Martin Luther).  In  Baptism, He changes our soul and makes us like Himself, so that, when God looks at us, He truly sees His beloved Son.  We are configured to Christ, with an indelible mark, a seal, a character, that forever wants us to be like Christ in our daily choices.  Preface VII of the Sundays in Ordinary Time says it this way: “so that you might love in us what you loved in your Son.”  That’s no small thing!  God is not blind, so it’s not like He cannot see our sins, but at our soul, since we are baptized, He sees Jesus, His beloved Son.
    And then, turning to our first reading, because of our new identity in Baptism, our path is changed.  Before Baptism, we are not likely on the road to heaven.  The road to heaven is narrow, and the only way to it is through Christ.  In fact, the Church goes so far as to say that for those who do not know Christ or His Church through no fault of their own, if they are seeking God with all their heart and doing their best to follow their conscience, it is possible that they can be saved.  Possible.  It can happen, but the pre-requisites (not knowing Jesus through true ignorance, doing everything possible to try to know God, and following the conscience) are pretty tough. 
    But with Baptism, the road becomes a bit easier, because we have a well-spring of grace flowing up within us, urging us on towards the divine life of holiness.  Which is why Isaiah can say, “I, the Lord, have called you for the victory of justice.”  We are not baptized into failure.  We are baptized for victory, for greatness.  Ours is not meant to be the mediocre life.  Ours is meant to be a heroic life, even if not many people know about our heroism.  For January 12, listen to the saints that are honored on this day (even if not in the general calendar): St. Marguerite Bourgeoys; St. Aelred of Rievaulx; St. Anthony Mary Pucci; St. Arcadius; St. Bartholomew Alvarez; St. Benedict Biscop; St. Caesaria; The Ephesian Martyrs; St. John of Ravenna; St. Martina; St. Martin of Leon; St. Salvius; St. Satyrus; St. Tatiana of Rome; Sts. Tigrius and Eutropius; St. Victorian of Asan; and St. Zoticus.  Have any of you heard of any of them?  I haven’t!  But they’re all canonized saints.  And beyond them, think of the others who are in heaven who lived heroic lives but not well-known lives.  All of that was a response to baptism, to that call for the victory of justice. 
    What does that look like?  For parents of young children, it means doing all you can to pass on the faith to them and help them to develop their relationship with Jesus.  For young children it means obeying parents and being loving even when your young siblings maybe aren’t showing that love to you.  For older couples, it means putting up with your spouse’s idiosyncrasies (which you see much more as retired), and caring for each other in illness.  For widows and widowers it means turning to the Lord in times of loneliness and sorrow.  For all of us it means donating our time to the Lord, avoiding gossip and speaking ill of others, and making our relationship with Jesus the most important part of each day. 
    In Baptism, we were chosen by the Lord as His servant and chosen one.  In Baptism we became a son or daughter in the Son of God.  In Baptism we were made for the victory of justice.  Let’s not forget those names and titles, and, by the grace of God, work to make them even more true each day. 

Our Gifts for God

Solemnity of the Epiphany

    When it comes to getting my nieces presents for birthdays and Christmas, I will admit that I’m always just making my best guess at what they want.  I can even ask my sister for ideas, but I’m never quite sure if the gifts I get are the ones that my nieces want, or what my sister and brother-in-law want for their kids.  But this year, I bucked the trend!  One of the gifts that I got my nieces was a mini-backpack (apparently those are very chic right now), one with a koala and koala baby and one with a kangaroo and a joey.  My nieces were so thrilled and wore the backpacks all throughout the rest of our Christmas celebration. 
    On this Solemnity of the Epiphany, we focus on the gifts that Jesus received, as we celebrate the magi bringing the gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.  One of the great liturgical reforms after the Second Vatican Council was the restoration of an extended offertory procession, with the gifts being presented by the people.  There was nothing wrong with how it happened before, with the servers presenting the gifts from the credence table, as the servers represented the entire assembly.  But there is something nice with the gifts of bread and wine being presented by parishioners.
    Those gifts of bread and wine are not only used because they are necessary for the Mass.  But they are meant to also symbolize so much more.  So often during the Mass, we get caught up with the external things that are being done.  When people think of full, active, and conscious participation, which had been called for in the liturgy since the beginning of the twentieth century, people often immediately go to the external things, like bringing up the gifts, or maybe being a reader at Mass, or an Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion, or an altar server.  And none of those things are bad.  But everyone is called to participate fully, actively, and consciously, even if a person does not have a “special role.”  Externally, this happens through singing the hymns, joining in the Ordinary of the Mass (the parts that never change, like the Gloria, the Sanctus, etc.), and responding to the prayers.  But even those externals are meant to be the outer reality of something that is happening interiorly.
    Interior participation in the Mass is the first step in fully, actively, and consciously participating.  Just because one is responding or doing something does not mean one’s heart is in it.  We can all say the Creed, but how often is that profession of faith an external sign of our internal belief in who God is: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit?  We are all called not simply to go through the motions of the prayers, but to work at making sure our inner reality is being conformed to the outer reality of the rites of the Mass.
    And that brings us back to the gifts at the offertory.  Each time the bread and wine (and on Sundays and Holydays the collection) are brought forward, that external action is meant to be united to our internal action of bringing to God everything that has happened since the last time we came to Mass.  We are invited and called to unite in a mystical way our lives with the bread and the wine, which will be offered to God the Father by the power of the Holy Spirit, united to the perfect offering of Christ on the Cross. 
    Allow me to give you an example of what that could look like from my own life, extended a bit beyond what happened since the last time I went to Mass (yesterday) into the entire Christmas season thus far.  While the collection is happening, while we’re singing the offertory hymn, in my mind I would be recalling the different parts of my life, and offering them to God.  I would give God the blessing as well as the challenge and sorrow of seeing both my grandfathers, both widowers, as their own health declines, and their minds lose some of their  sharpness that I remember.  I would give God my own frustration at not being able to see a best friend who was in town for a couple of weeks, my fear that maybe our friendship isn’t as strong as I thought it was, but also my gratitude at the small ways that he confirmed for me that our friendship is a priority for him as well.  I would give God thanks for the generosity of you, my parish family, to me as an individual, and to the parish which helps us keep St. Pius X running, not only by financial donation but also the donation of time and talents.  I could go on, but you get the idea.  The offertory is our opportunity to give gifts to Jesus.
    When it comes to giving gifts to Jesus, I think it’s a little easier than my nieces.  Jesus is pleased with any gift that we give Him, as long as it’s our best gift that we can give him.  It doesn’t have to be perfect, but it does need to be honest and come from us.  It may not be gold, frankincense, or myrrh, but it’s meant to be the best that we offer to God from what we have experience since the last time we came to Mass.  Today, every Sunday, and every time we go to Mass, unite those experiences, good and bad, joyful and sorrowful, to the bread and wine presented from you to God the Father, transformed by the Holy Spirit into a gift of new life which God returns to you from His love: the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ.