Banjos and Baptism

Feast of the Baptism of the Lord

    As a fan of country music, I love the sound of the banjo.  The banjo got a bad name from the movie “Deliverance,” but it’s a beautiful instrument with a great sound, almost part and parcel of country music.  When I served as a priest in East Lansing, I decided one year to get a banjo.  I’ve played piano, saxophone, and the bassoon before, so I felt I could handle a new instrument.  I took lessons for a few months, bought a book with an accompanying DVD to help me learn, and went to it.  I didn’t pick up the instrument as quickly as I liked, and then Bishop Boyea named me pastor of St. Joseph in Adrian, so it fell by the wayside.  After years of not using it, I gave it to Jake, the seminarian who was living with me for the summer when I became pastor here.  Hopefully he has found more use for and success with it than I did!
    Sometimes we Catholics treat baptism and our faith life like a banjo.  We’re excited about it when there’s a new child, we might use it a lot at the beginning, but then things get hard, and we set it off to the side, never to use it again.  I think some of this comes from a misunderstanding of what baptism is and means.
    For years after the Second Vatican Council, there was an emphasis on how similar our sacraments were to human milestones.  The intent was good.  If all people are created in the image and likeness of God, and if all humans truly desire God, as St. Augustine noted, then it makes sense that other cultures and even other religions would have times and ceremonies that mimic what Christ Himself instituted in the sacraments.  For example, baptism is connected to birth, confirmation to adolescence, matrimony and holy orders to marriage and family, anointing of the sick to dying and death.  Many cultures and religions do have rituals during those times of life, and I do think that it reflects the pieces of truth that connect other cultures and faiths to our true religion.
    But at the same time, baptism now is often viewed as a merely sociological experience that is over as quickly as it begins.  Parents come to church to have their children baptized, and then they’re not seen again until first reconciliation and first Holy Communion, then leave again, then not seen again until confirmation, then leave again, then return again for marriage (often because it’s a requirement of the parents who are footing the bill), and then leave again, hopefully returning again at the baptism of their own children. 
    But millennials in particular, and the generations that are following them, are not into empty rituals that are done for the sake of being done.  Many young people who leave the church during college never return, unlike the generations before them.  And when they have kids, fewer and fewer are having their children baptized.  In some ways that’s troubling, because baptism is the ordinary way that eternal life is opened up for humans, but in other ways, it’s almost more honest, at least if the parents have no intent to live out their faith. 
    Baptism means seeking the Lord, like Isaiah said in the first reading, but it also means the scoundrel has to “forsake his way and the wicked mad his thoughts.”  It’s the beginning of the growth of new life and a relationship with God, the first watering of the field of the soul, not the harvest and the rest that comes after.  Jesus didn’t quit telling people about God the Father and drawing them into relationship with the Father once Jesus was baptized; He began His public ministry of calling all to repentance and the fulness of happiness.  As a pastor, it seems like many take baptism to mean that they never have to work at keeping the commandments, unlike what St. John said in the second reading.  Baptism is treated as a Get Out of Hell Free card. 
    But Baptism really means that the person will try his or her best to make the life of Jesus his or her own.  Baptism is the grace-assisted and grace-empowering beginning of a habit of: listening to the Holy Spirit; trusting in and following the will of God; dying to our own preferences and fallen desires and habits; putting behind us sinful life and living for God above all else.  Yes, it washes away original sin; yes it imparts a character with which we are sealed for all eternity as a child of God; yes it gives us sanctifying grace which pushes us toward heaven.  But it’s not magic.  It’s not a “do this and then you’ll never have to do anything else” ritual. 
    Baptism is the beginning of a grand adventure with God.  Baptism is the beginning of a saintly life.  It doesn’t mean that we always get the saint part right, but it means we’re trying to, and we put behind us things that don’t help us be saints.  It is a life-long commitment to strive to do the will of God in every circumstance.  It gives us the identity of a son or daughter in the Son of God, which isn’t so much a badge that we can scan to get to exclusive areas, but rather a mission to live like Jesus would in our own day, a life that truly begins happiness, and share that call to happiness with those we meet, both by word and by deed. 
    Don’t let your baptism be like my banjo.  Don’t just start and then not follow through.  Don’t just pick it up every now and then.  Allow your baptism to be the strength which allows you to live each day in the freedom of the children of God, a freedom God gave us not for license, for doing whatever we want, but for holiness, for doing what God wants.  Live your baptism every day, and at your judgement you will hear from the Father: “‘This is my beloved…with you I am well pleased.’”

Follow the Light

 Solemnity of the Epiphany of the Lord

    One of the great images of the Epiphany is the star.  And sometime in the fall of last year, we heard that the conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn, which some postulate was the “star” of Bethlehem and led the magi to the Holy Family, was going to be visible on 21 December.  This was a seeming bright spot in a very dark year, and many people were excited to be able to see this celestial phenomenon, which one could even do while being social-distanced.  But, just to make 2020 feel even more 2020ish here in Flint, it was, of course, cloudy.  Lucky for them, the magi weren’t trying to find the newborn king in Michigan, because our usual cloudiness during this time of year would’ve made that nearly impossible!
    Because we’ve heard the story so often, we probably gloss over what the magi, the wise men, went through to find the Christ Child.  They were likely from modern-day Iran, a foreign land, which was not a friend of Israel or the west.  It was the Babylonians (in modern-day Iraq) who had conquered and exiled the Jews from the Chosen Land.  After the Persians took over the Babylonian Empire, they were not always friendly to others around them.  Recall that King Leonidas of Sparta at the Battle of Thermopylae fought against the Persians, some 500 or so years before Jesus was born.  The Persians (now referred to as Parthians) had kicked Rome out of Judea in 40 BC, but the Romans had regained control in 37 BC, and held it until centuries later.  All of this is to say, they were foreigners, and probably not necessarily welcome visitors.  In fact, it was a Herod who had helped the Romans to kick the Parthians out of Judea.
    Depending on where the magi came from, they may have traveled upwards of 700 or more miles, perhaps from Babylon, a great center of learning that the Persians took over from the Babylonians.  That’s 700 miles, and assuming the camel was carrying them and the supplies at about 3 mph, and traveling for maybe half a day (taking time to rest and eat), it would have been more than 20 days of travel, if everything went well.  It’s clear from the fact that they go to see Herod first that they were not exactly sure where this newborn king was supposed to be.  But Herod, after asking the chief priests and scribes, informs the magi that it will be in Bethlehem, which is about 5 miles away from Jerusalem by foot.  All that way, to see a little child, in the home of a carpenter and his wife, probably not much to speak of.  But they were guided by the light of the star, and they adapted their lives around that light because of the importance it had for them.
    Isaiah prophesies in our first reading that Jerusalem’s light has come, the glory of the Lord shines upon it.  While the world is in darkness and clouds, the Lord shines upon His people,  and even other nations shall be guided by that light from the Lord (a foreshadowing of the magi, those from other nations, coming to see the Lord Jesus).  The light of the Lord was to allow the Chosen People to see clearly, to not trip over obstacles, or lose their way.  
    That’s what the Lord wants to be for us, as well.  He wants to be the one who guides our way, who helps us to see clearly, who gives us the ability to avoid obstacles that will hurt us or wrong paths that will not take us to our destination.  Is He that light for us, or have we allowed clouds to cover up that light?
    The magi, for a king that they would see only for a short time, traveled some 700 miles.  They likely left behind family and friends to bring fine gifts to an unknown child.  They risked much for someone who wasn’t even part of their religion, but whom, they knew, they had to see.  How much effort do we put into seeing Jesus?  Which lights guide us, and where do they lead?
    God wants to be the light in our life.  Jesus will refer to Himself as the Light of the World.  Light allows us to see and interact with the world.  Are we guided by the light of Christ, or by other lights?  Jesus reveals to us how the world truly is, and where we want to go.  But how often do we find other paths, or prefer to stumble around in the dark?  
    I think that many people know what God wants them to do; they understand Jesus’ teaching; but their will is not in relationship with Jesus; they are not willing to follow that star.  Following the will of God is sometimes very difficult, because, like Herod, the world or even simply our fallen will would rather be in charge, and doesn’t want competition.  It seeks to snuff out the light, or to present us with other, dimmer lights that are pale reflections of the true light and do not lead us where we want to go.  We prefer our way to God’s way.  We bristle, especially now, at any institution which tells us how to live our life, as if guidance means that we lose control.  We prefer to stumble in darkness, and are then surprised when it hurts.  We follow lesser lights to places we are not meant to go, and then are shocked that we can’t find happiness.
    The life of a Catholic is meant to be a life that follows a star, the Morning Star, Jesus Christ, in everything.  God, through His Son Jesus, and the one Church that Jesus founded, the Catholic Church, reveals to us what we are to believe and how we are to live in order to be happy.  Sometimes that means that we have to give up things that we desire, or things that others, sometimes many others, say will make us happy.  Sometimes it means that, while the rest of the world goes one way, we go another.  It means when we come to significant or major decisions, we take them to prayer and evaluate them by Scripture and the teachings of the Church, not just think about them and decide what we want to do.  
    The magi followed a star to a foreign country to briefly see a king from a different religion.  For us who claim to follow Jesus, to belong to the religion He founded, are we willing to follow Him, our Star?  Are we willing to conform our life to Him in order to find the happiness we all desire?

Year of St. Joseph

 Feast of the Holy Family

     On Tuesday, 8 December, to the surprise of many (there wasn’t any Catholic gossip that this was going to happen of which I was aware), Pope Francis proclaimed a special Year of St. Joseph, on the 150th Anniversary of Pope Bl. Pius IX naming St. Joseph as Patron of the Universal Church.  As St. Joseph is part of the Holy Family, I thought it would be good to preach about him today, as we begin this special year dedicated to the Spouse of the Blessed Virgin Mary and Foster-Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.  While the entire homily won’t be directed only at men, ladies, I would ask your forbearance for those parts that address only the males.
    I had seen a post on Facebook that jokingly challenged everyone to memorize every word that St. Joseph said in the Gospels by the time the holy year ends on 8 December 2021.  The joke is that St. Joseph, while mentioned numerous times in the Gospel, never has a recorded word spoken in the gospel accounts.  This lack of talking may make him, in the view of many wives, the perfect example of a husband: always silent.
    What can we learn from a man who never had a word that he said recorded?  There is much we can learn from this saint, and I’ll highlight one in particular.
    St. Joseph was a man who had a deep relationship with God.  Before even Jesus was born, Joseph was attune to God speaking to him in dreams.  Joseph took Jesus and Mary to the temple 40 days after the birth of Jesus in accord with the Law of Moses.  And the Holy Family traveled to the temple for the pilgrim festivals of the Jewish faith, like Passover and the Feast of Booths.  While we have no direct evidence, Jesus seemed very familiar with the synagogue and how the services were conducted, so Joseph must have taken Jesus to synagogue throughout Jesus’ life.  
    Fathers: in many ways, we fathers have lived up to our call to help our families have a relationship with God.  This is certainly true of certain spiritual fathers, priests who preyed on the vulnerable and led them away from God.  But it’s also true of biological fathers.  How many children consider religion to be a things that mostly girls do?  How many times is it the mother who is making sure that the kids go to Mass, while the father makes excuses about golf, watching sports or sleeping in?  
    I encourage you, fathers, to make sure that your families (including you!) are going to Mass every Sunday and Holyday, except in case of illness (or a pandemic).  Why don’t kids practice the faith after they leave the house?  Because, in so many cases, the faith clearly wasn’t that important when they were living at home.  It certainly isn’t the only part of being Catholic and developing a relationship with Jesus, but it’s an important part.  Most people who attend Mass will tell me that they never had a choice when they were growing up about attending Mass; it was non-negotiable, even on vacation.  I dare say that most people, at some point in their lives, do not want to go to church.  But that habit of going is so important.  Because when life gets rough, as it always does, without faith, it’s so much harder to get through and to know where to turn, than it is with a practice of going to Mass.  
    Another part of our faith is daily prayer.  The Mass is necessary for our relationship with God, but so is daily prayer.  Sometimes that prayer can be formal prayers that we learned, like the Our Father, Hail Mary, and/or Glory Be.  Maybe during this year of St. Joseph we can learn the Memorare of St. Joseph.  But prayer isn’t always formal.  Yes, in the Mass, we use special, elevated language to communicate with God.  But in our daily prayer we are encouraged to use everyday language to share with the Lord our hopes and fears, our desires, our struggles, our needs, and everything that is a part of our life.  If you can talk with a friend, you can talk with God.  And, like with our friends, we also need to learn how to listen, so that we can hear God’s voice.  Fathers: teach your children (or grandchildren) to pray.  Teach them to be able to speak to Jesus and to listen to Jesus.  
    There are so many other ways that St. Joseph is a great model for all Catholics, especially, but not only, for men.  He is a great intercessor for chastity, for work, for the importance of fathers in a family, as well as the patron of a happy death, which is not something to be neurotic about, but something for which we should always be prepared by living the best life that we can, centered around God.  I’ll close today with a prayer to St. Joseph, which closed the Apostolic Letter, Patris corde, with which Pope Francis inaugurated the Holy Year of St. Joseph:


Hail, Guardian of the Redeemer,
Spouse of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
To you God entrusted his only Son;
in you Mary placed her trust;
with you Christ became man.

Blessed Joseph, to us too,
show yourself a father
and guide us in the path of life.
Obtain for us grace, mercy and courage,
and defend us from every evil.  Amen.

Joy to the World–Even in 2020

Solemnity of the Nativity of the Lord–Mass at Night and During the Day

    Our Savior, dearly Beloved, was born this day.  Let us rejoice.  Sadness is not becoming on the Birth Day of Life Itself, which, now that the fear of death is ended, fills us with gladness, because of our own promised immortality.  No one is excluded from sharing in this cheerfulness, for the reason of our joy is common to all men.  Our Lord, the Conqueror of sin and death, since there was no one free from servitude, came that He might bring deliverance to all.
    …Let the sinner rejoice, since he is invited to grace.  Let the Gentile exult, for they are called to life.  For the Son of God, in the fulness of time, has taken upon Himself the nature of our humanity, as the unsearchable depths of the divine counsel hath decreed, in order that the inventor of death, the devil, by that very nature which he defeated, would be himself overcome.

These words are not mine, but those of Pope St. Leo the Great.  He invites us to rejoice at Christmas.  But, you may say, Pope Leo the Great didn’t have to deal with COVID-19.  He didn’t have to cancel family celebrations.  He didn’t have to miss seeing children and grandchildren whom he hadn’t seen in the better part of a year, if not a year or more (though, as a pope, it’s good that he didn’t have children or grandchildren).  He wasn’t a waitress who had her job taken away, given back, and then taken away again, just in time for the holidays.  He didn’t have to quarantine because a student in his child’s class was diagnosed with the virus.  
    And that’s all true.  Pope St. Leo the Great had his own difficulties–Attila the Hun sacking most of central Europe, into Italy; barbarians sacking Rome; heretics seeking to divide the Church with their errors; emperors being murdered; the beginning of the end of the Roman Empire in the west.  But Leo’s happiness wasn’t based upon something transitory or temporary, and certainly not simply on the twenty-fifth day of December.  Leo could encourage the people of Rome, to whom he preached this homily, to rejoice because of what we celebrate on the twenty-fifth day of December: the birth in the flesh of our Incarnate Lord. 
    What we celebrate on Christmas is that God loved us so much that His Eternal Word, the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity, was born for us in Bethlehem.  And that birth is, in itself, great enough news that there is no room for sorrow, because God has become like us so that we can become like Him.  How much love does it take for someone in a distant land, not needing anything, perfect in himself, to travel to a far away land in enemy territory, subject himself to all kinds of humiliations, just to be close to us?  And yet, that is what God did for us! 
    And if that wasn’t enough, that little baby, whose birth we celebrate today, would grow and would show even greater love, as He chose not only to become like us in all things but sin, but to die for us, so that we could live forever.  Matthew Kelly describes it this way in his Sacrament of Confirmation program called “Decision Point”: there is a virus that is infecting and killing everyone, and try as they might, scientists cannot find a cure.  As they try to work out how the virus works, more and more people keep dying.  And then, one day, they discover this one person, whose blood contains the antidote to the virus.  From his blood, a vaccine can be made that will eventually save everyone on earth from this virus.  The only problem is that, in order to make the vaccine, every drop of blood is needed; the person will have to give up his life.  That person, not thinking only of himself and how he will be fine, but all the people he can save, agrees to die so that others could live.  That Confirmation program was developed years ago, but it hits home even more so now, in the midst of this pandemic.
    Jesus’ Nativity is a reason to rejoice, no matter what is happening in our lives and in the world.  Jesus’ Nativity is the hope that gives us the strength to keep going, these 9 months after “14 Days to Flatten the Curve.”  As Catholics, we don’t live for this world.  While we treasure and care for the creation that God has entrusted to us, we have our minds on the world to come.  And this “momentary, light affliction,” as St. Paul says, is as nothing compared to the glory to be revealed in heaven.  We care for ourselves, and make prudent choices about our health, but we don’t obsess and fret about death because Jesus has freed us from the fear of death.  Death is not the end, but for those who follow Jesus, a transition to new life, glorified life, joy-filled life. 
    This is not to make light of the many sacrifices that have been made and are being made by people each day.  This is not to brush off the real hardships that many find themselves in during the pandemic.  But Jesus’ Nativity is a great reminder that these experiences are not all there is to life.  If anything, this pandemic has revealed to us how much we have lived like this life is all there is, and have not focused on heaven enough. 
    No government official nor any created thing can stop our joy that comes from this day and the hope the newborn Jesus brings to us.  Though our celebrations may be smaller, and maybe not happen with family and friends at all, and though we rightly find some level of happiness from our time spent with loved ones, the true joy of today comes the fact that God’s love for us has been revealed in Jesus being born for us to save us from sin and death, and open for us the way to eternal salvation.  So “let us rejoice.  Sadness is not becoming on the Birth Day of Life Itself.”  “Joy to the world!  The Lord is come!”

The Hard Way

 Solemnity of the Nativity of the Lord–At the Vigil Mass

When I was a freshman in high school I had a science class.  I like science, in general, but I’m not good at science.  One of our final projects in the class was to make a car from a mousetrap and have it travel 3 feet or so.  We could use anything we wanted to, as long it didn’t include a motor.  All we were given were the mousetrap and four plastic wheels.  I had seen someone else use CDs for wheels, and though that was a good idea.  Besides, what else would I do with all those AOL CDs that we got in the mail each month?  Try as I might, I could not get it to go forward.  I was left with simply pulling the arm of the trap back, and quickly releasing, trying to get enough forward momentum from my arm releasing it quickly.  It didn’t work.  When it came time for us to demonstrate what we had done, I watched my classmates and saw their cars.  They used strings or rubber bands attached to the arm of the trap, which were connected to the axels of the wheels, which, when the arm was released, propelled the mousetrap car forward.  It seemed so obvious, and yet it hadn’t occurred to me at all.  I certainly hadn’t found the easiest way to do things.  In fact, I have a special gift for often missing the easiest way, and finding the hardest way to do something.
    It may seem like God also chooses to do things the most difficult way.  St. Paul gives the basics of the Gospel as he is preaching in the synagogue in Antioch in Pisidia, which we heard in our second readings.  God chose a people, is where St. Paul starts.  The story would have been familiar to the Jews.  But in case it’s not as familiar to us, let’s make sure we know that the people God chose were not a strong nation, or the best warriors, or the smartest.  No, God chose a family, Abram and Sarai, who were very old, had no children, and lived in modern-day Iraq, and told them to go to the land of Canaan.  That family, starting with the miracle child, Isaac, slowly grows into a small household, who sell one of the brothers into slavery, and then they have to beg from that brother for food during a famine.  
    The family makes its way to Egypt, lives comfortably there for a while, before Pharaoh gets nervous about their fecundity, and enslaves them.  God sends them Moses to free them from slavery, but this people, this nation now, always seems to think life was better in Egypt as slaves as God tries to give them Canaan and freedom.  God promises them the land and peace as long as they follow Him, but they can’t do it for even one generation.  So they struggle with the surrounding nations, until they beg God for a king, even though God tells them they have a king: Him; they don’t need another.  But they whine some more, and God gives them what they want.  First comes Saul, who is pretty bad at following God, and then David, who is much better at following God, except when he’s murdering to cover-up his adulterous relationship.  Still, David is mostly for God, which is good, because he’s the last king like that.  
    The people, throughout the centuries, wander away from God, get in trouble, cry out to God, and then God saves them, only for the people to get comfortable again, and turn away from God.  Then God sends John the Baptist to prepare the way for the Messiah, Jesus.
    One would think that the Messiah, God’s own co-eternal Son, would have things easier.  Instead, His mother is almost divorced by His foster-father; He has to make numerous trips, first in the womb, then as an infant, then as a young boy.  Jesus’ foster-father, Joseph, dies before Jesus reaches the age of thirty, and then Jesus preaches God’s message, first welcomed with open arms, but eventually rejected by his followers, betrayed by one of his closest friends, and then dies on the cross, abandoned by almost everyone except His mother and few others.
    That’s not the easiest way.  As we celebrate Christmas, we celebrate that God took flesh, and so could feel the jostling in the womb on the road to Bethlehem; was cold as he was delivered in a cave, because no inns had room.  Jesus, the eternal God, could be hungry and thirsty, could stink from soiling his diapers, and could feel the emotional struggle of rejection as He grew up, similar to everyone else in appearance, but clearly very different from his neighborhood friends.  
    God didn’t choose the easiest way to save us; but He chose the best way.  He entered into our forsakenness, our desolation, so that He could change us into His Delight and His Espoused.  It was not clean and easy, but neither was humanity.  Whether it’s building mousetraps or trying to live as disciples of Jesus, we seem to choose the harder, not smarter, way.  But God loves us enough to enter into that messiness so that, by His grace, we can clean up.  
    What we celebrate at Christmas is that God didn’t take the easy way out.  He could have simply willed to save us, but instead He sent His only-begotten Son to become like us in all ways but sin.  He took on our messy history, the saints and the sinners, and made it His own history.  God became man, so that man could become God, to paraphrase St. Athanasius.  
    This Christmas is hard, no doubt about it.  But the Good News is that God is here, and He understands our challenges, our difficulties, probably better than we do ourselves.  But God is still working to save us, no matter how hard, how difficult.  And that love, that dedication to us and to our eternal happiness that humbled itself to become like us in all things but sin, is definitely worth celebrating, and is something that not even COVID-19 can take away.  O come let us adore Him, Christ the Lord!

We're On a Mission from God

Third Sunday of Advent

     If I say the names Jake and Elwood, those of you who remember the 80s probably know exactly who I’m talking about.  Jake and Elwood are the Blues brothers, from the movie with the same name.  And as they work to get the band back together, they make it clear to everyone, that they’re on a mission from God. 
    Our first reading and Gospel today focus on a mission.  In the first reading from the Prophet Isaiah, we hear the mission statement that Jesus Himself will give as He preaches in the synagogue at Nazareth.  Jesus tells them, as Isaiah told Israel, that God has sent Him “to bring glad tidings to the poor, to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners, to announce a year of favor from the Lord and a day of vindication by our God.”  That’s definitely a mission from God, and a pretty good one!
    Our Gospel, too, makes clear that St. John the Baptist was “sent from God.  He came for testimony, to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him.”  We heard about St. John the Baptist, also called the Precursor, last week in our Gospel.  The Precursor is a man on a mission, to prepare the way for Jesus.  He is not the Messiah, as some had started to think, but wants everyone in Israel to be ready for the Messiah. 
    We, too, are called to be people on mission.  We, like Jake and Elwood, are on a mission from God.  I have used this quote before, but St. John Henry Newman wrote: 

God has created me to do Him some definite service.  He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another.  I have my mission….He has not created me for naught.  I shall do good; I shall do His work.  I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place.

God has given us each a mission, a call, and it’s something that no one else can do like we can.  Can we respond to that call?
    Many times when we think of a call, we think of priests and consecrated men and women like monks and brothers, nuns and sisters.  But all of us are called, by baptism, to be on mission for God.  Many are called to be on mission as a wife or mother, husband or father.  Others are called to serve as a priest or deacon, or be in a religious community.  Some women are called to be consecrated virgins.  But all are called to advance the Gospel to others.
    How do we recognize our call?  Prayer is key.  A call is something that we choose, but to which God first invites us.  We make a deliberate choice to follow the urging of the Holy Spirit in our life.  Imagine how silly it would sound if I said I chose to be a priest simply because no one else wanted me.  Probably not a great way to start the seminary interview with the bishop.  Instead, a call is something to which we are driven.  A wife (hopefully) doesn’t agree to marry someone simply because no one else will have her.  She finds a man who cares for her, who puts her needs above his own, who wants to work with her to build a family according to God’s plan.  She chooses to love him because she senses that they are meant to become saints together.  And through daily prayer, taking time in silence to hear the voice of God, we learn what God wants for us.
    Sometimes our idea of the call develops or changes.  I didn’t always want to be a priest.  I wanted to be married, have a few kids, a couple of dogs, a really nice house and car, and work either in the military, or as a lawyer, and then maybe a politician (don’t let that last part lessen your opinion of me!).  But through prayer, I came to sense that I could only be truly happy as a priest.  Of course, the Church had something to say about it, too.  It wasn’t simply that I wanted a particular vocation.  But with the formation that the Church provided, and the “yes” that the Church spoke through her leaders, I came to be confirmed in what I felt God wanted me to do.  Sometimes our understanding of our mission changes or develops.
    Another key part of our mission is that we don’t replace the Messiah.  An older priest once told me that his spiritual director had counseled him when he became all-too-convinced of his own importance, “The Church already has a Messiah; we don’t need you!”  Our mission is to cooperate with God, not to take His place.  So many people feel that they can decide what they want to do, rather than God; that they can define what happiness will be–whom they can marry, how many kids they need to have, how they should spend their money–without any consideration of what God wants.  God has made the world a certain way, and has taught us, through the Scriptures and the Church, what truly makes us happy.  When we choose other than that, we are in an exercise of futility; we cannot be happy doing the things that God has said will not give us true happiness. 
    Some of you may feel, due to age or other factors, that you have already accomplished your mission because you know your vocation.  But, as long as you are alive, you still are on mission.  You can continue to spread the Gospel through your children, your grandchildren, and others.  You can offer suffering to Jesus on the cross for an intention.  You can continue to help others know the joy you have from your relationship with Jesus.  Don’t let COVID give you the blues.  You are on a mission from God!

St. John Henry Newman

Thanos and Gamora

 Second Sunday of Advent
    Before COVID, we had these things called movie theaters that gathered lots of people together in a single place, sitting within two feet of each other, without masks, watching a movie on a giant screen, while eating food and drinking beverages.  Some of you may remember this distant, past phenomenon.  I remember going, each year, to see the newest movie that featured comic book heroes from the Marvel universe.  And one of those movies, called “Avengers: Infinity War,” came to mind as I prepared for this week’s homily.  Since it’s been out since 27 April 2018, or 687 days before the COVID-19 first lockdown, I don’t think there’ll be any spoilers in the homily, but if you haven’t seen it, you may want to cover your ears a bit (or at least now you don’t have to make up your own excuse not to listen to the homily).
  

Thanos & Gamora

In that movie, as part of the build-up to the climax, Thanos, the villain, in search for the Soul Stone to increase his power, is told that he has to sacrifice something he loves in order to get the Soul Stone.  Thanos has with him Gamora, his “adopted” daughter (I say adopted because in reality, Thanos killed her parents as he destroyed half the population on her planet, including her parents).  So Thanos kills her, and in doing so, gains the Soul Stone, part of his quest to gain all the six Infinity Stones which will give him the power to destroy half the life in the universe.  
    Perhaps not the cheery image you were looking for on this second Sunday of Advent.  But then again, maybe the word “repent” is not one that you associate with Advent, either.  And yet, that is the proclamation of St. John the Baptist, which prepares the way for Jesus.  We probably prefer the rosy, cozy message that we heard from Isaiah: “Comfort, give comfort to my people…Speak tenderly to Jerusalem.”  And that is also the message of Jesus.  But the comfort comes once we acknowledge our sins.  
    How does that work?  In order to our Lord to heal in us that which is sick and wounded, we first, by His grace, have to admit that we are sick and wounded.  Otherwise we’re like the Black Knight from “Monty Python and the Holy Grail,” whose arms and legs are being chopped off as he battles King Arthur, but pretends it’s not serious and says, “It’s just a flesh wound.”  The primary and first proclamation of the Gospel is that we are sick and wounded, and we cannot heal ourselves, but Jesus can, and will.

And people know that they’re not alright.  In the Gospel, people “of the whole Judean countryside and all the inhabitants of Jerusalem” were going to St. John the Baptist to acknowledge their sins and be baptized.  They all knew that they were not how they were supposed to be.  Who ignored their sins?  The Pharisees.  They were convinced that they didn’t need healing, so they reject the message of St. John the Baptist, and consequently, the message of Jesus.  The people, on the other hand, can accept the message of Jesus because they first accepted the message of repentance.  Repentance prepares the way for the Lord.
    It’s as if we’re Thanos, and in order to gain the Soul Stone, we have to sacrifice something that we love.  But we’re not to sacrifice a person, but our sins, in order to gain our soul.  In Greek, the word for death is 𝛩𝛼𝜈𝛼𝜏𝜊𝜍.  Those in death, 𝛩𝛼𝜈𝛼𝜏𝜊𝜍, in order to gain life, has to give up what they mistakenly treasure–sin–in order to become full of life or immortal, 𝛢𝜃𝛼𝜈𝛼𝜎𝜄𝜊𝜍 in Greek.  
    Which is why, as we assemble for Mass, we begin by acknowledging our sins.  We don’t pretend we aren’t sinners (at least hopefully we don’t).  We don’t have to be major sinners; but all of us sin.  Pope Francis himself said in one interview when asked who he is, “I am a sinner.  This the most accurate definition.  It is not a figure of speech, a literary genre.  I am a sinner.”  Or, as has been claimed, Pope Francis said when accepting the papacy, “I am a sinner, but I trust in the infinite mercy and patience of our Lord Jesus Christ.”  If Pope Francis can admit that he’s a sinner, then we all can.  I certainly am a sinner, in need of the Lord’s mercy.  And because I know I need the Lord’s mercy, I am much more likely to accept it.  Again, like the Pharisees, those who do not think they need the Lord’s mercy will not be able to accept it when it comes.  
    What do we value above God, or place before our love for God?  What is more important to us than God?  What sins, big or small, are we grasping onto as if our life depended on them?  If our hands are grasping onto our sins, then our hands are not open to receive the mercy of the Lord.  Whatever the sin, bring it to the Lord in confession.  Express sorrow for your sins (the asking is itself a gift from God), and open your hands and your hearts to the mercy of God.  You may not gain the Soul Stone, but you will allow God to save your soul.

A Pilgrimage to Bethlehem

 

Manger Square

First Sunday of Advent
    One of the great blessings in my life is that I have been to the Holy Land three times: once as a seminarian, and twice as a priest.  And while the climax of the trip is the visit to the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre, where Jesus died, was buried, and rose from the dead, also one of the major stops is the Church of the Nativity of the Lord.  Like a lot of other holy sites, a church was built in Bethlehem at the site of the Lord’s birth during the reign of Emperor Constantine, after his mother, St. Helena, had traveled to the holy sites.  Like other churches built during that time, it was destroyed.  But, a new church was built, around 529.  Unlike other churches, that same church structure from 529, though built up with additions, still remains.  As we were told, one reason why this church survived where others didn’t was because when the Persians attacked in 614, they spared this church alone, because above the church entrance were three Persian-dressed men.  It’s important to recall that, at the Epiphany, we celebrate Magi, wise men from the east.  And what is east of Judea?  Persia.  
    The Church of the Nativity has always been busy each time I went.  You enter through a door that makes you bend over to enter, called the “Door of Humility,” since you have to lower yourself to enter.  Then, as the antechamber opens up to the main nave of the basilica, you see how long the line is, and how long it will take you to wait in line to see the place where Jesus was born.  As a seminarian, I think I waited two hours or so.  This last time I went, I think I only had to wait 45 minutes.  

Door of Humility

    The line leads to a descending stair case, again, where one has to bow down to go through the archway above the opening, towards the Grotto of the Nativity, where Jesus was born.  At the location, in a small chapel, there is a silver star surrounded with a Latin inscription: Hic De Maria Virgine Maria Jesus Christus Natus Est, which means, Here, of the Virgin Mary, Jesus Christ was Born.  Across from there is the Grotto of the Manger, where Mary laid Jesus down to sleep after giving birth.  
    Why do I mention this church and my experiences?  Not only to highlight that it’s my intent to lead another pilgrimage to the Holy Land in 2022, but because I remember that wait.  At first you start praying, maybe a rosary, especially the third joyful mystery of the Nativity of the Lord.  And you’re trying to stay quiet (because otherwise the Orthodox monks will shush you), but eventually you want to talk a little bit.  There’s lots to see as you wait, as some of the columns still have saints painted on them.  There are mosaics from earlier times beneath the current floor, which you can see through plexiglass-covered openings in the floor.  Everyone wants to get in as soon as possible, so the idea of the line is basically morphed into a clump of people as you get closer (which does get precarious on uneven and semi-circularly shaped descending stairs).  There are icons everywhere, as most of the Church is controlled by the Orthodox Patriarchate of Jerusalem.  And the smells oscillate between the beautiful aroma of incense which is used in the Orthodox prayers, and the less than beautiful scent of BO of pilgrims who have been in the heat, or from other cultures who may have other approaches to deodorant.  But, through it all, you’re waiting to get to the cave, the niche where Jesus was born (we Latins tend to think of the creche, due to St. Francis of Assisi).  

Place where Jesus was born

    

So this Advent, we’re on our way to the cave.  We’re waiting, not only for our celebration of Christmas, but for Jesus to return, not as a babe but as a victorious King.  Jesus tells us to watch, because we don’t know when it will happen.  As we go on our way to Bethlehem, our celebration of Christmas, the first step in is always humility.  We cannot make our way to the cave, to Jesus’ birth, unless we humble ourselves before God.  If we try to get there with our pride, we won’t be able to enter in to encounter God.
    There will be times, on our way to the cave, when we know we want to pray, and there will be times when we are tempted to stop watching and waiting, and put our minds on something else.  As we go our minds will sometimes be lifted with the smoke of the incense into the heavens.  And sometimes we’ll be brought quickly back to earth by smells that are all to earthly, and not divine.  
    On our way to the cave, it’s important to recognize, as we heard the Prophet Isaiah say in our first reason, that part of the reason we don’t watch so well is because of our sins.  We miss seeing God because our sins have grabbed our attention.  So let’s confess our sins to the Lord, and ask for His mercy, confident in His love for us.  And having received the mercy of God, may we, with St. Paul, give thanks to God, who has given us His grace to become more and more like Him, who became like us in all things but sin.  
    Today we start our pilgrimage to Bethlehem.  Our path is humility, prayer, contrition, and patience.  It may take us a while, sometimes it may seem like a very long time, but we’ll get there.  And if we are ready, watchful in prayer, then as we celebrate God-with-us at Christmas, and as we watch and wait for Jesus to return, we will find such joy at seeing the star, Jesus, the Morning Star, who will return to inaugurate the day that never ends.  Venite, adoremus–Come, let us adore!

Nave of the Church of the Nativity

Jesus' Crown

 Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe

     Some time back I got into watching “The Crown,” a Netflix series which dramatizes the reign of Queen Elizabeth II, starting with right before she ascended the throne.  Season 4 just came out, and it only took me a couple of days to watch the 10 episodes.  This season especially covers the story of Prince Charles and Princess Diana–how they met, their courtship, and the beginning of their rocky marriage.  Season 4 ends before they get divorced, so there’ll be more to come next year in Season 5.
    To be fair, this is a drama series, not a documentary, so, as a fellow priest pointed out after watching the latest season, there are things which certainly were exaggerated or added for cinematic purposes.  But, whether exaggerated or not, what came through in Season 4 was how selfish both Prince Charles and Princess Diana were.  I don’t want to give away too much, but in the episodes, throughout their rocky marriage, it was clear that each wanted to be the most important in the relationship and wanted the other to have a supporting role, which is not the best approach for marriage.
    When we think of queens, kings, princes, and princesses, we tend to think of power.  Indeed, we tend to view everything as an exercise of power these days.  Modern political and social thought has cast everything in the light of who has power, who should have power, and how more power can be gained by this or that group or cause.  So perhaps this idea of power struggle has bled its way into our minds as we approach this Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe, our last Sunday in Ordinary Time, which we celebrate today.  
    But what does Jesus show us time and time again about His reign?  Not that He doesn’t have power.  In fact, Jesus says at the end of the Gospel according to Matthew, right before Jesus ascends into heaven, “‘All power in heaven and on earth has been given to me.’”  It’s not as if Jesus has any equals when it comes to His power, any more than my legos as a child were in a power struggle with me.  But Jesus doesn’t use this power as a display of might, but as a commitment of service.  Jesus’ kingship is about doing the will of His Father, and helping us to reign with Jesus.  Everything Jesus did on earth and does in heaven is done with the goal of helping us to get to heaven and be in communion with the Most Blessed Trinity.  This approach a far cry from the self-centered, despotic uses of power that we are most accustomed to these days.
    Yes, Jesus’ power gives Him the right to judge the world at its end, to separate the sheep and the goats.  But Jesus uses this parable to teach us how we are to use the power Jesus shares with us, as we are baptized into him and become prophet, priest, and yes, king.  Jesus shows us that our use of power has to be the same as His, has to be one of service, especially to those who have nothing.  
    And that’s what we see from the saintly royals in the history of the church.  We just celebrated two royal saints last week: St. Margaret of Scotland, and St. Elizabeth of Hungary.  St. Elizabeth was a Hungarian princess, who was married at the age of 14, widowed at age 20, and died at age 24.  After her husband died, she made sure her children were taken care of, and quickly used her power and especially her money to build a hospital where she served the sick.  She gave up her royal trappings in order to serve.  St. Margaret of Scotland was an English princess who became Queen of Scotland.  She helped her husband grow in faith, served orphans and the poor every day before she ate, and washed the feet of the poor, in addition to her own daily habits of prayer.  She saw her position and power as an opportunity to show others the love of Christ, rather than lording it over them.  
    So for us, who have the baptismal dignity of kings because we are part of the Mystical Body of Christ, who is Himself King of kings and Lord of lords, how do we exercise that power that Jesus has given us?  How do we exercise control over ourselves, most importantly, and, when part of our life, over others?  Is it for self-aggrandizement?  Is it to make sure others know who’s the boss?  Or is it to assist others to be the best that they can be, to serve them so that they can more easily continue on the pilgrim route to heaven?  
    So often we think that, if we have power, others need to focus on us and tend to our needs.  But the truth, as is so often the case in the Gospel, is that, for followers of Jesus, that’s the exact opposite of the way it should be.  Just as it sounds backwards to say that the poor in spirit, the meek, the peacemakers, those who hunger and thirst for justice, and those who mourn are truly blessed, so for those who have power, it is meant to be exercised in a way that focuses not on the self, but on the other.  If we use our power to serve, we probably won’t get a crown of gold with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, but we will get an eternal crown that does not rust or tarnish, with jewels that are the evidence of whom we chose to serve.  And that sounds like “the crown” that we would want.

Confidence of a Quarterback

 Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time
    When reading this Scripture for this weekend’s Mass, my mind went back to a high school football game some years ago, back when I was a priest in East Lansing.  I stood on the sidelines with the Lansing Catholic varsity team.  As I recall, we were winning, but it was a somewhat close game.  Cooper Rush, our quarterback, went back to pass to our wide receiver, Matt Macksood.  The pass was thrown to the back corner of the end zone.  Matt caught the ball, but there was some question as to whether or not the pass was completed inbounds.  The two officials who were closest were looking back and forth at each other, waiting for the other to make the call.  I had been watching the play intently, including Matt’s feet, making sure that at least one foot made contact with the end zone before he stepped out, and knew that it was good.  So I threw up my arms in the signal for a touchdown.  The two officials looked at me (I’m sure they noticed I was a priest) saw my arms held up, and then both signaled that it was a good catch and a touchdown.  After all, priests don’t lie, so I could be trusted to make the right call, right?!?
    Cooper threw the ball where only Matt could catch it.  It was going to be close, but Cooper had confidence that Matt would do everything he could to secure the pass in bounds and keep Lansing Catholic on the road to victory.  That’s the sort of confidence that a quarterback and a wide receiver have to have in each other, even if that confidence is not always rewarded with completions.
    This morning we heard the all-too-familiar Gospel passage of the talents.  This is often where the priest or deacon will preach on using our gifts and talents that God has given us well, not burying them.  Or maybe he will talk about stewardship and its importance in our personal and faith lives.  And those are both good topics for homilies.  But this morning I want to focus on the attitude of the servants who were entrusted with the talents to their master.
    The first two servants had confidence in their relationship with their master.  How do I know this?  They were willing to take a risk in order to make the master happy.  Any risk means that things could go horribly wrong.  When you try to invest money, there’s always a risk that you won’t make money, but lose money (just ask my portfolio, especially between March and June).  But they had confidence in their relationship with the master and knew that he wanted a return on his investment in them, which was worth the risk of losing it all.
    The third servant, though, also knew that the master wanted a return, but was afraid of losing money for the master, so he buried his talent.  His relationship with the master was one of fear.  And that fear even blinded him to the possibility of putting the money in the bank to get some interest.  He was not confident in his relationship with his master.
    What is our approach to God?  Are we confident in our relationship with Him?  Or do we live in fear?  We can talk about the fear of the Lord (in fact we heard in our psalm response, “Blessed are those who fear the Lord”), which is a gift of the Holy Spirit, but that fear is not servile fear, but respect for that fact that God is God and we are not His equals.  But at the same time, we are beloved sons and daughters in the Son of God.  We are not slaves, but friends of God.  And that friendship with God should give us a certain confidence.  We shouldn’t have arrogance (that’s when we lack the proper fear of the Lord), but confidence in God’s love for us, which allows us to take risk so that we can please the Lord and spread His love and truth.  It’s as J.R.R. Tolkien wrote in The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring: “It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door.  You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.”  Confidence allows us to go places we might never imagine.
    That sort of courage to spread the Gospel only comes when we have confidence in our relationship with God.  It does mean that we are willing to take a chance in order to deepen our relationship with God and share it with others.  Sometimes it takes us places where we don’t expect.  It took me to Adrian, a small town on the way to nowhere, but where I fell deeply in love with the people and the community there.  It took me here to Flint.  Before I came here, I’ll be honest that Flint was probably not on my list of places to live.  But I love being here, I love you, my parishioners, and I love serving to try to make Flint better.  I had confidence that God wouldn’t take me anywhere where He couldn’t do some good, and I try to continue to respond to His will as best as I know it and as best as I can.  
    How is your relationship with God?  Do you fear God as a slave?  Or do you have confidence in what God can do with you, and will be pleased with the risks you take to serve Him in love?  Trust in Him; have confidence in His love for you; and you’ll do better than scoring a touchdown.