Illuminating the Night

 Solemnity of the Nativity of the Lord–Mass during the Night
    Talk about irony!  The first reading of the Mass that the Church calls “Mass during the Night” begins: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom, a light has shone.”  There is something beautifully still at Midnight Mass, a peace that exists as most people are asleep, but it’s also certainly dark.
    But Christ came precisely so that we can have light, as this church is illumined.  And the light that He came to bring is the light of holiness that casts away, not the darkness that comes from the earth spinning on its axis and certain parts of the globe facing away from the sun during times of the day, but the darkness of sin and death, which is really slavery.
    Isaiah continues with that theme of slavery when he talks about the “pole on their shoulder, and the rod of their taskmaster.”  Sin binds us up and takes us captive.  As Jesus is born, the one who ransomed us from slavery, who bought us at the price of His own Precious Blood, is made known to us, and for that reason we rejoice.  We rejoice even in the middle of the night because today is the today it happened; today the path to our freedom in Christ was begun in a backwards part of a nowhere failed kingdom, ignored by the powers of the world, but for the riots that would happen from time to time among the people.
    The shepherds were awake at night, looking out for wolves so that their sheep did not get eaten.  I remember my trip to Zion National Park.  I had a very early flight out of Vegas, so I had to leave at zero dark thirty.  Driving through Utah, where there were no towns, was something else.  The moon was out, so it wasn’t that dark, but without the moon, or on a cloudy night, it would have been pitch black.  On nights without clouds, the stars help to illumine the sky.  
 

   The shepherds saw the stars, and then saw other lights–angels–which not only shone but sang.  They tell the shepherds the good news, that the Messiah has been born, and not only the Messiah, but God Himself (Christ and Lord).  Then they sing the hymn that we sung earlier tonight: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”  Both their presence and their hymn bring light to the world, not their own light, but reflections of the light of Christ.  Many of the Church Fathers, when considering when the angels were created (since there’s no mention of it in the Scriptures), attribute it to when God created the stars.  And so it was fitting that the angels should all appear at night, in the night sky, to proclaim the newborn Jesus to the shepherds.
    We know about darkness all too well in our lives.  Since March of 2020 we have lived in the darkness of a COVID world, and no matter how you look at the virus, it has made the world dark.  Our country and our world are torn by the darkness of division.  Horrible crimes perpetrated by powerful men and women have come to light, only to accentuate how dark things really are.  In our own City of Flint, homicides are up this year from last year, which was an increase from the year before.  And lest we simply try to focus on the spinner in our neighbor’s eye, without recognizing the beam in our own, I think we all recognize the sins that plague our life, small or great, which contribute to the darkness that surrounds our world.
    But in the midst of the darkness we dare to hold our baptismal candles, sometimes shining with more of the light of Christ than other times.  We do not simply curse the darkness, but we call on Christ to shine upon us and upon our world.  St. Paul talks about how the grace of God, which is the very life of God who is Light, “has appeared, saving all and training us to reject godless ways and world desires and to live temperately, justly, and devoutly in this age, as we await the blessed hope, the appearance of the glory of our great God and savior Jesus Christ.”  The Light of Christ is ready to shine upon us and upon our world, taking our baptismal candles which were lit from Him, which, by themselves do not illumine much, but united cast away all darkness.
    Just as the light of this church shines, even while surrounded by the darkness of the outside, so we, the living stones of the temple of God, are to shine, even when we are surrounded.  We do not have to be slaves to sin; we do not have to stumble our way through the darkness.  We have light, the very light of God that gives us true freedom and shows us the way to the day that never ends in heaven.  That is why we sing “Glory!”  That is why we venture out in the middle of the night in the bleak midwinter.  Not because we are perfect; not because we are the light and can solve every problem.  But because Christ is the Light, and is the answer to the question of every human heart, and the healing for every brokenness that exists in the world.  And today He is born for us.  
    Don’t blow out your candle because of how much darkness surrounds you.  Don’t even curse the darkness.  But, to quote the country singer Thomas Rhett, “Don’t hide in the dark, you were born to shine. In a world full of hate, be a light”  Or, even better, from the Prophet Isaiah: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom a light has shone.”  That light is Christ, born for us today.  “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to people of goodwill.”

Seeing or Believing

 Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  I remember what a big deal it was when I was finally old enough to ride the Space Mountain roller coaster at Disney World.  I was nervous and excited, all at once.  I didn’t realize it was in the dark, and while I survived, that whole experience freaked me out!!  I like to see where I’m going, because I’ll know what to expect and how to adjust appropriate.
    The man in the Gospel whose son our Lord heals at first also wanted to see.  He asked Christ to come and heal his son, who was at the point of death.  Jesus bemoans that it must be seen in order to believe.  But that observation leads to the man having faith that the Savior could heal the man’s son, whether he was present or not.  And this faith led to the healing of the son.  Not only that, but the entire household believed in our Lord.  
    Do we have to see?  My desire to see everything that is coming up is sometimes virtuous, because it helps me to adjust for upcoming realities and plan.  But in other ways, it is pride, because I feel like I have to be in control.  Maybe some of you know that feeling, too.  If we see what is happening, we feel like we are in control of the situation.  When we feel like we cannot see, we don’t feel like we have control over what is going on, and when something else comes to us, we may not be as prepared for it.
    But over how much are we really in control?  During the pandemic, we have seen so many things change in a moment’s notice.  I remember 13 March, Thursday, hearing reports about schools closing down due to COVID, and then Friday, 14 March, the principal at St. Pius X school let me know that we were closed, and we didn’t reopen for the rest of that school year.  As a parish school, we laid off a number of employees eventually, because they were aids and there were no kids to watch over in the building.  I had plans to celebrate my tenth anniversary as a priest in June 2020, and even in March I was sure that it would still happen.  But by May I made the decision to cancel, and celebrated only with my immediate family who could attend a small dinner I held in my house.
    In our life, we control very little.  But God is control of all things.  He directs or allows things to happen for our good, but they don’t always seem that way.  But, through it all, God is in control, and we are not.  And because we are not in control, we are invited to have faith, to put our trust in God.  God invites us to loosen our grip on things we think we control, but we don’t.  He wants us to have confidence in Him as He cares for us.  
    Again, this can be hard for us, because our timing is not always God’s timing.  There are families who go through extreme illnesses; friends or family who are killed in an unforeseen accident; an unexpected child is conceived, or a couple wants to conceive and cannot; an employee loses a job.  In all these circumstances we so often presume that we know better.  We think that if God had simply left the decision up to us, then everything would be ok.  
    But how much really goes ok if we are left in charge?  We may be the best or one of the best in our particular field, but how many small examples of Divine Providence, which we had not organized or even considered, had to happen in our for our success to come about?  How many people had to get up at just the right time and leave the house in order for us to avoid a traffic crash?  If we think about all that happens for a single second to go right, it should make us fall on our knees in thanksgiving for that one second and all that had to occur just for that one second to go the way we want it to.  
    But even when we life doesn’t go as we want it to, St. Paul still reminds us to give thanks “for all things.”  We could write Paul off if his life had been easy.  Instead, the man who tells us to give thanks for all things was himself beaten, whipped, stoned, left for dead, abandoned by co-workers, and was held suspect by some believers.  St. Paul talks about being comfortable in having nothing, in going hungry.  And still, he says, give thanks.  
    It is easy to put our confidence in God when things are going the way we want it to, when we can see the healing taking place.  But the virtue of faith is truly exercised when we can’t see things going right, when nothing seems to be going right, and yet we trust in God anyway.  Faith is witnessed when we cannot see what God is doing, but we trust that He’s doing the best thing for our salvation, just as Jesus healed the man’s son even without the man being able to see that healing take place.
    Our days are evil.  Around us swirls hatred, confusion, division, immorality, idolatry, and a host of other evils too many to number here.  But God called us to live in this time, to be a witness of His love and truth in this time, when so many don’t want true love, don’t want truth.  We may sometimes say, with Frodo, that we wish that “none of this had ever happened.”  But God wanted us to be alive in this time, and He is accomplishing some good.  Further, we know it must be some great good, because it is opposed so much by the enemy.  We cannot decide the times in which we live, but we can decide “what to do with the time that is given to us.”  We cannot always see what God is doing, and the miracles He is accomplishing, but today, and everyday, the Lord invites us: have faith!

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!”

You Look At Me

 Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    One of my many memories from college seminary was being able to watch “The Return of the King,” the last movie of the trilogy, “The Lord of the Rings,” on opening night.  I had read the books by J.R.R. Tolkien, and was excited to see the video representation of what I had read.  Years later, I found the same joy watching Peter Jackson’s version of “The Hobbit,” the prequel to “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy, which, unlike the book which is one volume, was released in three parts.
    One powerful scene from the third movie, “The Battle of the Five Armies” is when Bard, a peasant from Lake Town, is trying to defeat Smaug, the dragon who is spewing fire on the wooden town built upon the lake.  Bard has one arrow left, and his son, Bain, has come to help his dad fire the arrow.  Bard has to rest the arrow on his son’s shoulder, because the wind lance (a stationary bow for firing large javelin-like arrows) had broken.  Then Smaug the dragon taunts Bard and his son.  Smaug says, “What will you do now, bowman?  You are forsaken; no help will come!  […] Is that your child?  You cannot save him from the fire!  He. Will. Burn!”  Meanwhile, Bard says, “Stay still, son.  Stay still.” as Bard puts the arrow on his shoulder and starts to aim.  Smaug then taunts Bard again, “Tell me, wretch, how now shall you challenge me?  You have nothing left but your death!”  Bard’s son, Bain, is scared at the dragon’s voice, and starts to look back toward the dragon, but Bard says to him, “Bain.  Look at me.  You look at me.”
    As I read this Gospel earlier this week, that exchange between Bard and his son, Bain, came to my mind.  It is only when Peter takes his eyes off Jesus, perusing the strength and danger of the wind and the waves, that he starts to sink.  If Peter would have only kept his eyes on Jesus, Peter would have been fine.  
    And the same is true for us: if we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, like the myriad men and women saints who have gone before us of all races and states of life, we have nothing to fear; we can walk on water.  If our attention oscillates to the cares and tribulations of the world, we start to sink, maybe not physically, but emotionally and spiritually.
    This whole COVID deal has been a tempest of a storm for our State and our nation since March.  Schools closed, and some, like ours, whether directly tied to COVID or not, will not reopen this fall.  Families have unexpectedly lost loved ones.  Parents who work in hospitals have spent long hours, and even days, separated from children, as, especially in the early days, we didn’t want doctors and nurses to spread the virus to the other members of the family and had them quarantine.  Even now, I know people who have been shut up in their room for over a week because they tested positive for COVID, even while the other members of their family or their roommates did not, and so cannot visit them.  Many people have lost their jobs, temporarily or permanently, and, like schools, some businesses will not be able to reopen.  And I won’t even get into the politics of the pandemic.  It’s hard not to focus on all those things, and more.  But if we do, we’ll sink.  If we focus on all the negatives, we can easily fall into a depression, or start to doubt God’s love for us, or give in to our favorite sins that promise us comfort without really giving it to us.  
    Instead, we are called to keep our eyes fixed on Jesus.  It is as if Jesus is telling us, “Look at me.  You look at me.”  He knows the dragon is around us, and that there is destruction, but He is about to slay the firedrake, and His aim is perfect.  The dragon will certainly perish.  But will we go down with the dragon, or will we stay connected to Jesus?
    I don’t know what things are going to look like in September, December, or a year from now.  I don’t have a special gift of foresight that will allow me to tell you what changes are still in store for us, both the changes the come from our continuing fight of COVID and just the daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly changes that happen due to the regular cycles of life.  But I can say that, if we stay connected to Jesus, if we keep our eyes fixed on Him, we have nothing to fear, and we won’t succumb to the trials, but will conquer them.  
    I don’t know about you, but when I think about all the junk (or, to quote Bishop Mengeling, puke) that has happened in 2020, it does not put me in a good emotional or spiritual place.  Life seems dreary and a drudge, and doesn’t seem much worth it.  So why do we keep focusing on those things that are past, those things that have been bad, when we can’t do a thing about it?  Why do we fixate on things we missed or are still missing?  All that does is drain our batteries and sap our strength.  Instead of focusing on those things, read a consoling Bible passage, pray to Jesus or through the intercession of the saints, or make a visit to church.  
    Instead, focus on Jesus.  Keep your eyes trained on Him.  Don’t pay attention to the waves and the wind, because they just make you sink.  Gaze, instead, on Jesus, who lifts you from the cares of the storm, and keeps you safe in the harbor of his love.  Jesus calls us by name: “Look at me.  You look at me.”

"There's a Difference in Living and Living Well"

Fourth Sunday of Easter
    People sometimes ask me how I prepare for my homilies and how long it takes.  I think it was Archbishop Fulton Sheen who said that if he was supposed to preach for five days he needed five minutes of prep.  If he was supposed to preach for five minutes he needed five days of prep.  For whatever reason, though, this was a hard homily to write this week.  I followed my usual pattern of reading the readings a week ahead of time.  My first draft was talking about how we can sometimes be like sheep, not the smartest creature on God’s green earth, and follow the wrong shepherd.  My second draft was basically an apology for all the ways that I don’t live up to the model that the Good Shepherd sets for us priests.  But neither of them “felt” right in my gut; not what God wanted me to say.
    The readings are not overly complicated.  Jesus calls Himself the gate and the shepherd in the Gospel, the second reading talks about how we had gone astray like sheep, and we heard the familiar psalm, “The Lord is my shepherd,” which is why this weekend of Easter is referred to as Good Shepherd Sunday.  But nothing was sticking as I prepared it.  So hopefully this does the job.  If not, chalk it up to an off-week.
    “‘I came that they might have life and have it more abundantly.’”  We get caught up in a lot of things in our day-to-day life.  We have responsibilities, concerns, points-of-view, and things that occupy first place in our mind.  Add to this all of the things that come to our mind with COVID-19.  And then there’s politics.  Oh how we love to engross ourselves in what’s happening politically, and whether or not it jives with our political views. 
    Now, all of those things are important.  If you don’t keep in mind that you need to feed your family, problems quickly ensue.  If you’re not noticing the green light changing to red, you could hurt yourself or another.  We need to be our brother’s keeper and practice good hygiene and social distancing to help lessen the spread of COVID-19.  And politics is certainly worth engaging in, as a way to make sure that the City of Man reflects, to the greatest extent possible, the City of God.  But is that living?  Or as the great George Strait, the King of Country, sang, “There’s a difference in living and living well.”      Jesus, the King of Kings, and King of George Strait, said, “‘Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life…Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing?’”  Paying attention to food, money, traffic, viruses, and politics are all important.  But do we really think that’s what Jesus meant when He said that He came to give us abundant life?  Is abundant life the daily grind to make a living and provide for the family?  Is abundant life just watching cars on the road and traffic signals?  Do you feel you’re living an abundant life trying to navigate the ever-changing rules on how not to spread COVID-19?  Is sharing and retweeting political posts and arguing and trolling people really what we think is of the utmost importance in life?
    Jesus did not come to bring us a life slightly better than the one we have now.  The life that Jesus came to bring, the life He came to shepherd us to, is more different than we could ever imagine.  It’s not an improvement where we’re still giving the most thought and concern on our the day-to-day, but a life filled with the grace and power and love of God.  Jesus did not come to shepherd us from one good pasture to another.  He came to shepherd us from death to life, from darkness to light, from sorrow to joy. 
    The saints sometimes get foretastes of this abundant life, and we hear about saints who go into ecstasy–the overwhelming experience of pure happiness, not the drug–as they have communion with God.  They give us an example, as a way to encourage us on with them to what Christ desires for us all. 
    That’s what made the Apostles preach as they did, as we heard in the first reading.  This reading is part of St. Peter’s speech at Pentecost, where the Apostles and disciples were so ecstatic (literally from the Greek meaning out of the everyday status) that people thought they were drunk.  But Peter, having experienced the joy of the Risen Christ, and given the power of the Holy Spirit to preach it, had to tell the people what they knew.  Or, as St. Paul would later say, “Woe to me if I do not preach the Gospel.”  And it’s not merely telling the people about Jesus and the abundant life He offers.  It’s also about repenting, being baptized, and receiving the Holy Spirit to receive that promise of abundant life. 
    So do you want that abundant life, or do you want to settle for the humdrum in which we so often find ourselves?  Abundant life is your inheritance, your birthright through baptism; you need only claim it.  Yes, we will still have to operate in this world and be mindful of all of our daily needs and activities.  But our hearts and minds can already be joined to God, and we can, even now, enjoy the verdant pastures where Christ, the Good Shepherd, desires to guide us to enjoy abundant life. 

Plethoras of Alleluias!

Easter Sunday of the Resurrection of the Lord

    One of the great comedic movies of the 1980s is “Three Amigos” with Steve Martin, Chevy Chase, and Martin Short.  If you’re not familiar with the movie, it’s about three actors in the early twentieth century, who think they’re going to a film shoot in Mexico, only to learn that the locals think that they’re real heroes, and have sought their help to conquer the villain, El Guapo.  There are too many good lines to quote here, and you can probably watch it online somewhere (it’s rated PG, but parents should screen it first to make sure it’s appropriate for their children).
    But, in one exchange between El Guapo, and his chief henchman, Jefe, as they are planning his birthday party, El Guapo asks, “Would you say I have a plethora of piñatas?”  Jefe responds, “A what?”  El Guapo repeats, “A plethora.”  Jefe responds, “Oh yes, you have a plethora.”  El Guapo then asks, “Jefe, what is a plethora?”  Jefe asks back, “Why, El Guapo?”  El Guapo responds, “Well, you told me I have a plethora.  And I just would like to know if you know what a plethora is.  I would not like to think that a person would tell someone he has a plethora, and then find out that that person has no idea what it means to have a plethora.”
    We have a word that we use, especially during the Easter season, but do we know what it means?  What is that word?  It’s not plethora.  It’s Alleluia!  We sing it so often during Easter, and we put it away during Lent, but do we know that Alleluia means?  It’s one of the few Hebrew words that the church retains untranslated, it means “God be praised,” and it’s a response of joy.  It comes from the Hallel psalms in the Bible, psalms 113-118, and many Jews still pray these psalms especially on the most important Jewish feast days.  So, as those who follow the fulfillment of Judaism, it is right that we say, on our most important feast days, Hallelujah or Alleluia.
    But what do we have to praise God for this year?  As we’re stuck in our homes, watching Mass on TV or on the Internet, as so many businesses are closed, and we probably can’t gather with the usual family members for the usual Easter dinner, why would we sing Alleluia?  Can we praise God in the midst of COVID-19?
    We can, and we should, because Easter still celebrates what it has always celebrated, which is worthy of the greatest Alleluia!  Perhaps in years past we have muddled the meaning of Easter because we do have family to visit, hams to cook, Easter bonnets to wear.  But Easter, like every Sunday, is about one thing: the Resurrection.  Jesus Christ has been raised from the dead, God be praised!  Jesus Christ has conquered sin and death, God be praised!  We, too, who have died with Jesus Christ in the waters of baptism can rise with Him to new life, God be praised!  This is truly the reason for the celebration.  All the other stuff is good, too, but it’s not even a pale comparison to the joy we should have from Jesus rising from the dead. 
    We should sing with the Psalmist today, “This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad.”  We heard even in the Sequence sung today that Christ has reconciled us to the Father.  “Death and life have contended in that combat stupendous: the Prince of life, who died, reigns immortal….Christ indeed from death is risen, our new life obtaining.”  In the midst of all that is going on, and that is not as it usually is, all that is not as it should be because of COVID-19, Jesus is still risen, we still have the great gift of new and enteral life offered to us.
    And Jesus’ Resurrection means that the world is, little by little, being remade.  It starts as a small seed, that died in the ground but then rose to new life in Jesus, but the tree has started to spread all over the world, granting its fruit of new life to those who partake of it.  Unlike in Eden where our first parents ate of the fruit and brought death to the world, our Lord, on a tree, conquered Satan, the ancient foe, and through that tree, new and eternal life is available for all. 
    It can be easy, like Peter and John, to see the empty tomb, but not believe in the Resurrection, because it is not fully before our eyes.  Because the world is being remade in the light of the risen Christ slowly, we miss the reason for joy.  We focus on the doubt and the darkness, and don’t see the hope and light.
    But Jesus is still victorious, and the light is still there.  Jesus conquered sin, He conquered death, and yes, Jesus has even conquered COVID-19.  We need only stay faithful to Jesus so that we can share in the full victory that was won when Jesus rose from the dead. 
    So today, and every Sunday, which the church calls a little Easter, rejoice in the Resurrection!  Sing with the psalmist, “This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad.”  Join with the words that Nehemiah spoke, foreshadowing the joy of the Resurrection, even in the Old Testament: “‘Today is holy to the Lord your God.  Do not lament, do not weep!  […] Do not be saddened this day, for rejoicing in the Lord is your strength!’”  Alleluia!  God be praised!!

The entrance to the place where Jesus rose from the dead in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre

It's Not Supposed to Be This Way

Mass of the Lord’s Supper

The Upper Room in Jerusalem (now a mosque)

    Many people presume that the Passover meal that Jesus celebrated was a Seder Meal.  I myself remember being in Catholic elementary school during Holy Week and having small Seder Meals in a classroom.  I wasn’t a fan of the egg, but I did enjoy the matzoh, parsley and the charoseth (which was a mixture of apples, walnuts, cinnamon, and honey).  Instead of real lamb, we had a paper lamb cut out for us (when I first tasted lamb many years later, I learned how truly disappointing it was to only have paper).  But scholars, even Jewish scholars, that I have read, state that the Seder Meal originated sometime after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem around the year of our Lord 70.  So Jesus, at the Last Supper, most likely was not celebrating a Seder Meal.  But, that’s not to say that the Passover didn’t have rituals.  Indeed, our first reading starts to outline some of the rituals of the Passover meal.
    Rituals are repeated actions, sometimes associated with religion.  The beauty of ritual is that, for the most part, it’s not supposed to change.  So the Apostles, gathered in the Upper Room with Jesus, had some idea of what was going to happen, even if it started out oddly, as it was a day earlier than the first Passover celebration was supposed to begin. 
    But those ideas were quickly shattered.  Before the celebration begins, Jesus takes off his outer garments and serves the Apostles in the task usually reserved for the lowest slave.  You can imagine the Apostles thinking, “It’s not supposed to be this way!”  Peter is the only one who has the courage to actually say what’s on his mind: “‘Master, are you going to wash my feet?’”  Jesus is the Master, the Messiah, the Anointed One of God who is supposed to lead Israel into a new kingdom of prosperity!  What is Jesus doing?  It’s not supposed to be this way!
    And then, as they celebrate the Passover (in whatever way that happened), Jesus changes things.  When it comes to the unleavened bread, Jesus changes the ritual and says, “Take this, all of you, and eat of it, for this is my Body.”  And then when it comes to the wine, Jesus again changes the ritual, and says, “Take this, all of you, and drink from it, for this is the chalice of my Blood, the Blood of the new and eternal covenant, which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.  Do this is memory of me.”  As they ate the Body of the Lord, and drank His Blood in the celebration of the first Eucharist, I can imagine them thinking, ‘It’s not supposed to be this way!’
    After the first Eucharist, Jesus then has a beautiful prayer and conversation where He goes back and forth between a conversation with the Apostles and a conversation with His heavenly Father.  We call this the Last Supper Discourse, and if you’re looking for a beautiful read tonight and tomorrow and Saturday, you can read the Gospel of John chapters 14-17.  This was certainly not part of the Passover meal (you’ll get why if you read the chapters), and so probably the Apostles were thinking, ‘It’s not supposed to be this way!’
    As I celebrate Mass tonight, the same thought is on my mind: it’s not supposed to be this way.  The church is not supposed to be empty; there’s supposed to be the optional ritual of washing feet; there’s supposed to be a Eucharistic procession.  None of that will happen.  In fact, Cardinal Sarah, speaking for the Pope, had to give special permission for priests to celebrate this Mass with only one minister, as that has, from time immemorial, never been allowed.  Don’t get me wrong: Jesus is still here, the bread and wine will still become His Body and Blood, but I think that we realize that it’s not supposed to be this way.  The Mass of the Lord’s Supper is meant to be our special entering into the Lord’s Passion for all parishioners, not simply for the few who are necessary to pull off a beautiful, but minimal, celebration.
    But what followed from that first Eucharist, administered by the hands of Jesus Himself?  Salvation followed.  Dark days, yes, but light, too.  Suffering, intense suffering, but later, peace and joy.  Death, a death unlike any before or any after, but also resurrection.  All those came through a celebration that wasn’t supposed to be the way it happened.
    So, what will follow from this year’s, “it’s not supposed to be this way”?  Jesus is offering the same gifts, but our response will dictate whether or not we receive those gifts.  Will we treasure our reception of the Eucharist, rather than simply see it as the weekly routine we go through?  Will we prepare better for the celebration of the Eucharist, perhaps by confession, but always by quieting our hearts and minds to hear what the Lord wants to say to us?  We will allow the Eucharist to transform us and change the way that we interact with each other after we leave Mass? 
    There are many tragedies during this time of pandemic.  But the biggest tragedy of this time of fasting from public Mass in our churches will not be those who are infected or who have died, tragic as that truly is.  The biggest tragedy of this time of fasting from public Mass will not be the economic changes that churches have to make to adapt.  The biggest tragedy of this time when we cannot pray together in person in our parish church will be if, after all of this is over, we return to the same life we had before and not appreciate the sacrifice that Jesus allows us to share in every time we get to come to Mass by either not even coming when we don’t feel like it, or receiving the Eucharist in an unworthy state.  Tonight Jesus teaches us: it’s not supposed to be that way.

Kenosis

Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion

    Usually for Palm Sunday, I contrast the beginning of Mass when we entered, waving palms, singing “Hosanna,” joyful in acclamation, and me wearing my very festive red cope, to the somberness that we get to by the Gospel, hearing the Passion narrative, and no longer singing “Hosanna,” but shouting, “Let him be crucified!”  But this year, there’s no waving palms, no singing “Hosanna” by the parish assembled here, no red cope.  #ThanksCOVID19.
    But it has pushed me to focus more on our second reading, from St. Paul’s letter to the Philippians.  Bishop Barron notes that scholars hypothesize that this was an adaptation of ancient hymn or prayer that St. Paul was repeating to the people of Philippi, perhaps from only a decade or so after Jesus died and rose from the dead, as this letter was written by St. Paul sometime in the 50s.  And this part talks about Jesus emptying Himself, which is the crux (if you’ll pardon the pun) of this passage.  The beginning (“Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped.”) leads up to Jesus emptying Himself, and the next verses describe the example (the how) and the consequences (the so what?) of Jesus emptying Himself (“taking the form of a slave…becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross…God greatly exalted him…every knee should bend…and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”).  We talk about this emptying in theology by using the Greek word 𝜅𝜀𝜈𝜊𝜎𝜄𝜍. 
    Isn’t that what we heard about in the Gospel today?  Jesus emptied Himself through His Passion and Death on the Cross.  In modern phrases, we might say, Jesus “gave His all” or “gave 100%.”  But this was precisely a part of who Jesus is.  As the second Divine Person of the Blessed Trinity, Jesus, from all eternity, poured Himself out to God the Father, who, likewise, from all eternity, poured Himself out to God the Son, in a bond of love so strong that it eternally breathed forth the Holy Spirit.  And it’s who Jesus still is today; His emptying didn’t stop at the cross.  Jesus continues, for all eternity, to pour Himself out to the Father in that communion of love that I just mentioned.  
    We joke about people hoarding toilet paper, or panic buying in general, but hasn’t COVID-19 demonstrated the radical opposite focus of our lives?  Hasn’t it revealed a deep darkness in our world?  We, as members of the mystical Body of Christ, are not made for selfishness, for taking as much as we can, but for emptying ourselves for the other, for selflessness.  And yet, the selfishness of many parts of our culture are on display now more than ever.  When times get tough, the tough tend to only think of themselves.  It’s one thing to prepare in case a family is stuck at home for weeks on end.  It’s altogether different when those same supplies will be available week after week at the grocery store, to which we all can have access. 
    We are made for giving, even to the end.  And yet how many times are we afraid of giving ourselves?  Like any other virtue, selflessness has two extremes: too little, and too much.  We do have to take care of ourselves.  But more often than not, we’re not selfless enough, because we’re afraid that if we give ourselves away, we will lose something.  Maybe that goes for our marriage or family life.  Maybe that goes for work.  Maybe that goes for our relationship with Jesus.  We are afraid that if we give Jesus everything, then He might take something away that we like.  If we empty ourselves for Him, will He really empty Himself for us?
    Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI spoke about this to the youth in particular, but it applies to us all.  He said:

Are we not perhaps all afraid in some way? If we let Christ enter fully into our lives, if we open ourselves totally to him, are we not afraid that He might take something away from us? Are we not perhaps afraid to give up something significant, something unique, something that makes life so beautiful? Do we not then risk ending up diminished and deprived of our freedom? . . . No! If we let Christ into our lives, we lose nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing of what makes life free, beautiful and great. No! Only in this friendship are the doors of life opened wide. Only in this friendship is the great potential of human existence truly revealed. Only in this friendship do we experience beauty and liberation. And so, today, with great strength and great conviction, on the basis of long personal experience of life, I say to you, dear young people: Do not be afraid of Christ! He takes nothing away, and he gives you everything. When we give ourselves to him, we receive a hundredfold in return.
       
        During this Holy Week, following the example of Jesus, who emptied Himself for our salvation, who gave all of who He was, not only to God the Father, but “for us men and for our salvation” (as we say in the Nicene Creed), let’s also empty ourselves for God and for our fellow human beings.  What’s the result for us?  The same as it is for Jesus: when we empty ourselves, God greatly exalts us in Christ, and makes us sharers in the glory that is to come.  While we usually have on our lips “Hosanna” today, may this year’s struggles remind us today, this week, and every day, to also have another word in our minds and hearts, and on our lips: kenosis; emptying. 

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.