Don't Let the Old Man In

Second Sunday of Lent

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

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

A Plethora of Disciples

Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
    In the 1986 comedy, “Three Amigos,” starring Steve Martin, Chevy Chase, and Martin Short, there is a scene where the the main villain, El Guapo asks his second in command, Jefe, “Would you say I have a plethora of piñatas?”  Jefe responds, “A what?”  El Guapo answers back, “A plethora.”  Jefe tells El Guapo, “Oh yes.  You have a plethora.”  El Guapo then questions Jefe, “Jefe, what is a plethora?…If you told me I have a plethora, and I just would like to know if you know what a plethora is.”  In case you were not prepared for a vocab quiz today, a plethora is defined as a large or excessive amount of something.

      So we now know what a plethora is.  But do we know what the word disciple means?  Because today’s first reading and Gospel focus in on being a disciple, whether of the prophet Elijah in the first reading, or of Jesus in the Gospel.  And we here probably consider ourselves disciples.  But do we know what it means?
    Our English word disciple comes from the Latin, discipulus, meaning a student, scholar, or follower.  But being a disciple was more than that in the ancient world.  Being a disciple meant that you sought to live like the master, and make his or her way of life your own.  We don’t often think of students becoming like every teacher or professor they have (indeed, sometimes students really dislike their teachers or professors).  But disciples were, in some way, self-selected.  You could choose which master or teacher you wanted to follow.  But when you did make that commitment, it wasn’t about 9 hours in a classroom each day, or a 18 weeks of meeting twice or thrice each week.  Choosing to live as a disciple meant a life-long commitment, even living like the master after he or she was gone.
    So when we talk about Jesus’ disciples, that is the mindset in which they sought to follow Him.  But, as we heard today, sometimes people didn’t want to make that entire commitment, or Jesus wanted to make sure that they knew with what they were getting involved.  Following Jesus, we hear today, is even more important than burying one’s own family, or saying farewell to one’s family.  And it means that one may have to give up external stability, like a set place to rest one’s head.  But does it still mean that today?
    Being a disciple today is slightly different, but the idea of commitment is no different.  Jesus has to be our number one priority, if we wish to be the disciples God wants us to be.  It doesn’t necessarily meant that we won’t have any home, or that we cannot have time with our family, or even bury family members.  But it does mean that we make our life not about ourselves and our desires, but about Jesus.
    Consecrated men and women, whom we often call “religious,” do take vows to live as a disciple in a more radical way.  They give up a family of their own, a bank account of their own, and even choosing how they want to serve, through the vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience.  Diocesan priests also make the promise of celibacy, and seek to live a simple life, detached from their possessions (even though they have their own bank account), and promise respect and obedience to their bishop and his successors. 
    But being a disciple is not just for consecrated men and women, and priests.  Being a disciple is the commitment our parents made for us, or we made for ourselves, at baptism.  Our parents promised for us, or we made promises, to live like Christ to the best of our ability, no matter what our vocation.  Christ became our Master so that it would no longer be I who live, but Christ who lives in me, as St. Paul said. 
    So who do we put first in our lives?  Whose rule do we follow?  We’re here today, at Mass, so we are at least giving Christ this time.  But do we do so every week, or only when we feel like it?  Is going to Mass our biggest priority, or is going to Mass at a certain time our biggest priority? 
    Whose voice do we hear first, and to whose voice do we respond?  The voice of Christ, or the voice of our preferred political party?  Let me let you in on a secret, even while certain political parties espouse ideas which are gravely antithetical to being Catholic, no political party can claim the obedience we owe to Christ.  Yes, we are sometimes called to choose the lesser of two evils (as long as we’re not choosing a political party because of evil policies they advocate or adopt), but our allegiance to this or that party should be way down the list, with our allegiance to Christ at the top, and then probably family, country, and friends. 
    With the decline in religious observance in this country, it is interesting that people have not jettisoned obedience that we would normally give to God; they have transferred it to something else.  There is a need to give someone our entire loyalty built into us.  So if we don’t give it to God, we will give it to someone or something else.  Recently, I think many people have transferred religious submission of will and intellect to political parties, such that disagreement with the latest political platform is akin to heresy. 
    Do we truly live as disciples, or are we only living in a shell of what that word means?  When it comes to major issues of our day–abortion, euthanasia, so-called homosexual marriage, racism, service of the poor, when to receive or not receive Holy Communion–are our positions formed by the Gospel, or by the politician we like the best?  We use this word “disciple” a lot, and often for ourselves.  But do we really know what it means?

Being Transfigured

  [The parts in Italics were used only at the Extraordinary Form Mass]

Second Sunday of/in Lent
    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.]. When I talk about going on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, I talk about how visiting the Holy Land makes it so that you never read the Gospel the same way, because you see in your mind the places where these things happened.  This is certainly true for the Transfiguration.  I remember the first time I went to the Holy Land, as a seminarian.  We stayed with the Franciscan friars at the top of Mt. Tabor.  To get up there, there are shuttles you have to take for large groups; the big travel busses can’t handle the snake-back roads.  While waiting for the shuttle, I decided I was going to climb up the mountain, and hopefully save some time.  So, with my Birkenstock sandals on, on a warm, May day, I started walking up the side of Mt. Tabor.  It was not as easy as I thought, with all the thorns and bushes.  Sometimes the stones were a little loose, and I lost my footing.  But I made it to the top, quite sweaty and hot, probably a little dehydrated, but proud at my accomplishment.

    I had another experience at Mt. Tabor, as I went inside the church.  There is a beautiful mosaic of the transfiguration in the apse of the church, and as I was praying, the sun shone just perfectly so that it hit the image of Jesus, and illumined Him.  I remember thinking that this must have been something like the apostles saw when our Lord was transfigured.  Combining those two days, it’s even more amazing when Christ was transfigured, as He and the apostles would also have likely been hot and sweaty, and yet Christ’s clothes became as white as light.
    That’s all well and good to understand some very realistic background, but what, we may ask, does the Transfiguration have to do with us?  How does the Transfiguration change my life?  Well, as with so many aspects of our Lord’s life, what He showed us is what He desires to happen to us.  We are supposed to be transfigured as well.  We are supposed to go from earthly dirty, sweaty, and tired, to clean, bright, and glorified.
    That process started for us in baptism.  At our baptism, the voice of the Father may not have been heard, but He said that we are His beloved.  We became configured to Christ for the first time (but hopefully, not the last!).  And from that moment on, we were destined for glory, the glory that Christ shone forth as a foretaste at the Transfiguration.  We call this divinization, or deification.
    God wants us to be like Him.  We cannot be the same nature of God (as we are limited and He is infinite), but He wants us to be transformed so that we are images of Him.  This is the whole idea of the Christian life.  From baptism until death, we are called to become more and more like Christ, the new Adam, and less and less like the first Adam.  St. Paul will talk about this using the terms “old man” and “new man.”  
    How does this happen?  Some of it happens through the sacraments.  I already mentioned baptism, but the Sacrament of Penance helps us be more like God through having our fallen actions (sins) washed away by the Blood of Christ.  Confirmation empowers us to act like Christ in public.  The Eucharist is meant to transform us from the inside out, so that as we receive Christ in the Eucharist, we become more like Him in what we do because we have Him inside us.    Marriage helps us to live for the other, as Christ did for His Bride, the Church.  Holy Orders allows one to act in the name and person of Christ the Head.  Anointing of the Sick strengthens us in illness to trust in God, even in difficult circumstances.  So when we receive the sacraments, it’s not meant to be coming up to receive some thing, like a prize for the just, but is meant to be a way of receiving God so that we can become more like God.  Which is why those in mortal sin have to go to confession first, because, among other reasons, you cannot become like God if you have separated yourself from Him.  Each time we receive sacramental grace, God wants us to utilize that grace to act more like Him in daily life.  
    Also, askesis, asceticism, is meant to help us be more like God.  We say no to things that we don’t need to rely more on the One whom we really need: God.  Especially in Lent, it can be easy to see penitential practices we do as something that we’re required to do, but only extrinsic practices.  Instead, in the Catholic spiritual tradition, our penitential practices are the practical ways that we say no to our fallen nature, and yes to Christ’s divine nature.  Do we see our Lenten penances that way?  Did we choose penances that will help us transform into the people God wants us to be, people more like Himself?  Or is it just “I gave up chocolate or beer for Lent because I would like to lose weight, but I’m going to go right back to it, and maybe even more, once Easter comes.”  It is so easy to pick a penance, and not get to the deeper reality of that penance, or what the penance is supposed to do.  
    Daily prayer is also a great means of divinization or deification.  Our Lord was always in contact with His heavenly Father, and would take specific time away from His preaching and miracles to be alone in prayer.  Is prayer just something that we check off to get it done for the day?  Or do we see it as our privileged time of speaking to and listening to the Father, so that He can change us to be more like Christ?      [Lastly, St. Paul in today’s epistle talks about how even the gift of our sexuality is meant to be transfigured by Christ.  Specifically, he talks about how to find a spouse in a Christian manner, not a pagan manner.  The Christian seeks someone whom they can help go to heaven, not just someone who looks good and satisfies bodily desires and lust.  In Christian marriage, personal happiness is not the goal; the holiness and happiness of the other is the goal.  Again, this is different from a pagan or secular point of view, which views the other as a means to the end of personal pleasure.  The way that we utilize our God-given gift of sexuality changes because of our relationship with Christ, whether we are single, married, in consecrated life, or ordained.  God wants to divinize all of us, not just parts of us.]
    Life is tiring, sweaty, and sometimes a hot mess.  We may always feel like we’re climbing, but never reaching the top of the mountain.  But if we allow God’s grace to be active in us; if we are open to the sacramental graces that we receive on such a regular basis; if we do penances that help us die to our old, fallen self; if we take time to really speak our heart to God and listen for what His heart says to us, then we will arrive at the top of the mountain, and find that God has transfigured us as well, to be a reflection of the glory of His Son, [who with the Father and the Holy Spirit is Lord, for ever and ever.  Amen.] 

No mo' FOMO

Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

A little over a month ago, on one of the very few nice days that we had in May, I decided that I was out of shape (that reality had been true for some time), and I should do something to get in shape.  So I decided to do a 30-minute run around the exterior of the parking lot here at St. Pius X.  And then I decided to try to keep it up around every other day.  And then someone suggested that I run the CRIM, which I foolishly agreed to do.  So I’ve been running about every day or two, usually doing 5 miles, but once a week trying to get in a 7.5-mile run.

A few months ago, I would have told you that I would only run if I were being chased, or chasing after somebody.  And I can confirm that I never have a smile on my face while I run.  Yes, you do get the endorphins (the good feelings) after you’re done, but the fact that you get them after you’re done running should say something about running in general.  I can tell you that there have been no few amount of times where, during a run, I wonder what in the world I’m doing, and I just want to give up.  But I keep on pressing forward, at least until I attain my goal of running the CRIM.

Jesus in our Gospel tells us to keep going.  He tells us not to look back to what was before, but to continue following Him.  There will be all kinds of excuses about why we can’t follow Him, but He tells us to ignore those, and press on forward.

One of the plagues of today’s culture, especially among the youth, is FOMO–Fear Of Missing Out.  I can’t tell you the number of young adults that I have spoken with over my nine years as a priest who convey to me their fear about experiences that they really want to have, but which may pull them away from a current education, job, or even significant other.  There is a general lack of perseverance, of sticking with something for the long-haul, simply because it gets tough, or challenges appear.

Following Christ is not for sissies.  It gets tough, and there are many temptations to veer off course to something else, maybe not even something bad, that catches our eye.  As a priest, in my three parish assignments, there have been times–during my four years in East Lansing, during my two years in Adrian, and yes, even during my three years here–where I take my eye off Jesus ahead of me, and want to look back and wonder if I made the right decision.  At first, as I entered college seminary, I was more like Elisha, telling my mom and dad goodbye, and then just going for it.  But whenever a trial would present itself, and each parish has its own trials, there would be a little voice (like the one in cartoons that comes from a little red guy with horns, a tail, and a pitchfork) asking me to think about what life would have been like if I wouldn’t have  gone through the seminary and been ordained.  But the voice of the little angel on the shoulder with the halo and wings would respond with what Jesus said today: “‘No one who sets a hand to the plow and looks to what was left behind is fit for the kingdom of God.’”  And, by the grace of God, I have persevered and been filled with such joy by remaining faithful to how God has called me to be a saint.

But it’s not just for priests.  For married couples, too, there’s the temptation to cut bait and run.  To be clear, I’m not talking about physically or verbally abusive situations, where a person needs to leave the marriage for his or her own physical or mental health.  Marriage is tough; it takes perseverance.  For me as a priest, I had eight years for the seminary staff to prepare me to be a priest.  For married couples, it’s usually around 8 months, and it’s not daily preparations; it’s a day here, a weekend there, etc.  And yet it is no less demanding of a vocation, and the temptations to look back also present themselves.  But that’s why it’s so important, when discerning marriage while dating, to make sure that it’s a person with whom you feel God is calling you to spend the rest of your life.  

There will be challenges that married couples will need to face together.  Many of you here can speak to that better than I can.  Many of you here have celebrated 25, or 30, or 40 or even 50 years together as a married couple, and some of you are even working towards 55 or 60 years of marriage.  What I notice about successful marriages is that they both work at following Christ, and, more often than not, they don’t give in to that temptation to look behind them at what could have been.  That’s true if you marry when you’re 19 or 22 or 30, whether you have 3 children or 5 or 8.  Don’t look back at what could have been; face forward toward Christ and where He is calling you to be as a couple.

And for those not married or not considering a vocation to the priesthood, Jesus’ words are still applicable.  It is not helpful in our relationship with Christ to look back and think what could have been.  It’s not helpful to give in to FOMO, to the fear of missing out, and never make that commitment towards doing something great, no matter how hard it is.  That goes for the simple act of making it to Mass every Sunday and Holyday; that goes for choosing to avoid places where you know you’ll be tempted to wander away from God; that goes for choosing to serve others rather than serve yourself.  

In the life of a disciple, there will always be moments where we wonder what life would have been like if we would have chosen B instead of A, gone left instead of right, given in to temptation rather than following Christ and His plan for our life.  Don’t look back; don’t second-guess yourself.  Keep your determination to follow Christ and you’ll find the joy that comes from persevering and finishing the race that God has set before you.

The Language of the Eucharist

Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ (Corpus Christi)

One of the things I love doing is learning languages.  In fact, from time to time I use a free app on my phone called Duolingo, which allows me to study, in this case, Dutch, at my own pace.  I love languages because it helps me understand people.  It’s like a key that unlocks the doors of those who don’t speak English.

When it comes to the Eucharist, we as Catholics have our own language.  That language, once understood, helps us to open up the riches of our faith when it comes to the Eucharist.  We use words like transubstantiation, which means that the bread and wine truly become, in their substance, the Body and Blood of Jesus.  We use words like host, Holy Communion, chalice, paten, and we use the word sacrifice.

That word, sacrifice, is the key to understanding the Eucharist.  Now, after Vatican II, there was a lot of emphasis on the meal aspect of the Eucharist.  And certainly, Jesus did institute the Eucharist at the Last Supper, which took place in the context of the Passover meal.  But even the meal of the Last Supper recalls the sacrifice of the lamb on the doorposts of the Israelites, the sacrifice which saved them from the death of the firstborn.

The Eucharist is not a community meal that celebrates the unity of the assembly.  The Eucharist is not a social gathering of like-minded people who share fellowship.  The Eucharist is the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross, the truly unblemished Lamb of God whose Precious Blood, poured out for us, saves us from eternal death.  That is why the place where the sacrifice of the Mass is offered is called an altar, which is, by definition, a place of sacrifice.  On that altar, Jesus’ one, perfect, and unique sacrifice is made present for us in an unbloody way, so that we can share in what Jesus’ sacrifice made possible for us: life in heaven.  That is why those who offer the prayer are truly called priests, whose central job it is to offer sacrifices.  

When we understand the Eucharist as a sacrifice, it opens up for us the Old Testament.  Today’s first reading highlights the sacrifice of Melchizedek, king of Salem, who offers bread and wine to God Most High on behalf of Abram, our Father in Faith, after he had won the victory of foreign kings.  When we hear about a sacrifice of bread and wine, we should immediately think of the Eucharist.  And, as the Letter to the Hebrews in the New Testament states, Melchizedek is himself a prefigurement of Christ, as he has no beginning and no end (as evidenced by no genealogy); his name means King of Justice; and he is the King of Salem, that is, King of Peace.  And even Jesus’ miracles, like the one we heard in today’s Gospel, point to the sacrifice to which the Eucharist points.  Jesus offers loaves and fish, which is clearly different from bread and wine.  But, in an early mosaic at the place where this miracle happened, there are two fish, and a basket with four loaves, right in front of the altar, because the fifth loaf was understood to be the bread that was offered on the altar.  

Understanding the Eucharist as a sacrifice also changes our approach to it.  If the Eucharist is merely an old thanksgiving meal, then how we act, how we approach the Eucharist, how we prepare for the Eucharist, doesn’t really matter.  Yes, preparations are necessary for Thanksgiving dinner, but it has to do with the food, not so much with the people attending.  If the Eucharist is simply a thanksgiving meal, then our attendance doesn’t really make a difference; sometimes family members make other plans on Thanksgiving than spending it with all their extended family.  If the Eucharist is merely a thanksgiving meal, then you might have special dishes or special entertainment on TV, like watching the Lions lose, or you might decide to make things easier and go with chinette plates, and you might change up what you watch or what you listen to.  

If, instead, the Eucharist is the sacrifice of our salvation, the means by which we are cleansed of our sins and heaven is opened to us, then we prepare by making sure that we are in communion with each other and communion with God through the Sacrament of Penance regularly.  We prepare by fasting from most food and drinks for one hour before we receive Jesus.  We show up because we are grateful for what Jesus did for us then, and what He continues to do for us each day.  We use special clothes and special vessels, and special music, because it is made for a sacrifice, not for entertainment.  We might even read the Sunday readings ahead of time as a way of preparing, or attend daily Mass as an overflow of our gratitude to God.  

Without sacrifice, we cannot understand the true nature of the Eucharist.  And understanding the Eucharist as a sacrifice also helps us to unite our daily sacrifices to Jesus, because we know that He already did that for us, and we want to return to the favor, even in our own daily ways, big or small.  Understanding the Eucharist as a sacrifice allows us to approach the Body and Blood of Christ, not as if we’re in a line at the grocery store, waiting to get a handout, but with wonder and awe and reverence as we receive Jesus, our Lord, on our tongues and on our hands, as He brings us into union with Him in the Sacrament of His Body and Blood.

Our Time to Shine

Second Sunday of Lent

The most recent Marvel movie that debuted is “Captain Marvel.”  The previews didn’t really excite me, but on a Sunday afternoon I had some free time and decided to catch the movie.  I have to say, I was really impressed with the movie, both as something enjoyable, and as a good part of the Marvel universe, especially with the upcoming late-April release of the latest Avengers film.

I don’t want to give away the movie, but like many of the first movies of a superhero (or in this case, superheroine) it explains Carol Danvers’ history and identity, as well as her becoming who she truly is meant to be.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus shows us a glimpse of what we’re supposed to be.  In the midst of the impending Passion of our Lord (in the Gospel according to Luke, the Transfiguration happens after the first prediction of Jesus’ Passion, and right before Jesus sets out for Jerusalem to undergo His Passion), Jesus gives Peter, James, and John a glimpse of what will happen after Jesus’ Passion and Death.  The Gospel describes Jesus as with “dazzling white” clothing and His face changed in appearance.  We often depict Jesus as glowing in His Transfiguration.  But what it comes down to is that Jesus shows His special apostles a prefigurement of His glorified body, and Jesus speaks with Moses and Elijah about “his exodus,” Jesus leading His people from slavery to freedom.

We were created for that glory that Jesus shows us in the Transfiguration.  We were created to communion with the saints in heaven as we make our way on our pilgrimage on earth.  We were made for heaven; that is the goal of every human life.

When we depict saints artistically or for sacred worship, we do so with a glorified body, and with a halo.  Good liturgical depictions of the saints may include the instruments of their life or even their death, but it does so in a way that shows that they are at peace.  We also try to make it look like the eternal light of heaven, that place where there is no night because the Lamb is the light and He is never hidden.  If you look at our icons, we have gold leaf for their halos as a way of reflecting and showing off the light.  And their faces are definitely peaceful, not affected by the passions or by even the external events of the world, but simply living the peace of Christ.

But that reality is not only for those in heaven.  If we are living the life of Christ, if we are putting on Christ and living as He desires, then we, too, can shine here on earth.  About certain holy men and women on earth, some have even mentioned that they seemed to shine.  Moses’ face shone after every encounter with God, as we read in the Old Testament.  

And if we shine more and more as we live the heavenly life, then we become more dull the more we immerse ourselves in our earthly life.  St. Paul speaks about that in our second reading.  He talks about those whose “end is destruction.  Their god is their stomach; their glory is in their ‘shame.’  Their minds are occupied with earthly things.”  The more that we focus, instead, on the heavenly life, the more Jesus “will change our lowly body to conform with his glorified body.”  The more that we focus on our earthly life, the more we resist that transformation that Jesus shows us in the Transfiguration.

Now, you might be thinking that you have to focus on our earthly life because you live an earthly life.  You, like I, have to pay bills, buy food, travel back and forth, pay mortgages or rent, etc.  But that’s not what I mean by the earthly life.  Earthly life is when we focus on our fallen and base desires.  When we are lustful; when we are greedy; when we make money or power or fame a god; when we lie; when we gossip.  When we do those things, we say no to the divine light that wants to change us, wants to transfigure us.  When we focus on prayer, on generosity, on helping our neighbors, on the common good, even while we are working or vacationing, then we allow that light to penetrate into the very fabric of our life and make us shine with the light of the eternal sun that never sets in heaven.  When we live the heavenly life, we can truly say that the “Lord is my light.”  

I don’t know about you, but I feel like our world is darker now than it was even not that long ago when I was growing up.  And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that since that time, people’s participation in the faith has decreased greatly.  Our world is darker because it is not illuminated by as many men and women striving for holiness, striving to let the light of the Lord shine through them.  And even some of those who do attend Mass do not have their hearts set on the Lord, but are living a double life where greed and power and lust are the happy focus of their life for six and a half days of the week, and the Lord is the focus for one hour on Sunday.  The light will not shine through those people, either.   Instead, by the grace of God, we need to allow God to change us, to forgive us through the Sacrament of Penance when we fall, and to transfigure us with His light.  

Our identity is not in our base desires.  Perhaps you’re still discovering the “superhero” that God is calling you to be.  Be that superhero of the faith.  Be that saint, even in your daily life.  Let God transfigure you to let His light shine through you.

Trusting God with our Future

Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

These readings for the Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time providentially connect well with my final Sunday as pastor of St. Joseph.  This is one of the amazing things about the Word of God.  It always has something to say to us to strengthen us, to comfort us, and to provide us with the way forward in our lives, no matter what is happening.

I do have to say, though, it is a bit funny that the first reading is about Elijah calling Elisha away from his home, and the Gospel includes a passage where Jesus affirms that He has no permanent home in His ministry, unlike the foxes and birds who have their dens and nests.  

When I was ordained a priest, six years ago, I put my hands in Bishop Boyea’s hands, and Bishop Boyea asked me, “Do you promise respect and obedience to me and my successors?”  I answered, “I do.”  Bishop Boyea then continued, “May God who has begun the good work in you bring it to fulfillment.”  Bishop Boyea didn’t tell me that moving to Flint was part of my promise of obedience to him.  But as he asked me to leave my home, Adrian, behind, I knew that God was asking me to let go of that which I treasured, and entrust myself to Him, just as Elisha had to entrust himself to God as he followed Elijah.

One of the things that may seem crazy is the life of a priest.  The decision to give up money, the ability to make the major decisions in our life, to be obedient to another, as well as to give up sex and a biological family, seems, in the view of our society to be crazy.  It might even sound boring or too much to give up.  But, even with the very real sacrifices that I do make, I am grateful to God that He called me to be a priest, and I would make the same decision again if I had to.  I also can think of at least 8 young men who are in the parish (in addition to Jake, the seminarian who is living with me) or are from the parish who would make a good priest (I won’t embarrass them by naming them).  If you are a young man, even if you think you know exactly what you want to do with your life, do not be afraid to be open to the will of God.  If you have heard that little voice in your heart suggesting a priestly vocation, at least look into it.  Keep praying about it.  And do not be afraid to see if that is where the Lord is calling you.

But that attitude of abandonment to God’s will is not just for priests.  As Christians, we are all called to a radical trust in God in every circumstance.  And sometimes God calls us to walk away from what we think is best in order that we can continue to grow in faith in Him.  Sometimes that means moving, like in my case.  Sometimes that means letting go of a favorite hobby, food, or especially a sin without which we are sure we cannot live.  Maybe it means being open to another child when we think we’ve had enough.  Of course, when it comes to a new life entering our lives, we want to pray about it, and use the gift of reason that God has given us as we discern God’s will.  But just because our will says one thing, does not mean that it is necessarily God’s will.

We are called to live by the Spirit, as St. Paul reminds us in the second reading.  And not just any spirit, but the Spirit of God.  Our fallen human nature sometimes says one thing while the Spirit of God says another.  We are always tempted to take our lives into our own hands and make all the decisions ourselves.  We still struggle with the same temptation that afflicted Adam and Eve: to put ourselves in the place of God and decide our future without any relation to God.  But by our baptism, we can know God’s will, and we can choose to make what may seem like an insane decision according to the wisdom of the world, but which is the best decision according to the wisdom of God.

The Lord calls us throughout our lives to put our trust in Him and to follow Him, even to places we didn’t expect to go.  Will we have the courage to be like Elisha and leave what we know behind in order to serve God where He leads us?

Bread: Not As Ordinary as You Might Think

Solemnity of Corpus Christi

One of my favorite foods from my pilgrimages to the Holy Land is the bread.  The way it is made, we would likely call it pita bread, but it’s an unleavened bread that has a pocket in it, though it’s totally enclosed until you rip into it.  It puts Wonderbread to shame in my opinion.  Of course, it’s not made just for sandwiches.  It’s also for dipping into hummus, sopping up some of the sauce or gravy with the food, and other ways of eating.  It’s the same type of bread that you can get at Middle Eastern restaurants like the Beirut in Toledo.  And while Adrian has more restaurants than you can shake a stick at, there’s no place that really sells good, Middle Eastern bread that I have found.

It may seem odd to focus so much on bread.  Bread is so ordinary.  No matter what kind it is, most people expect it with their meal, even if sometimes as a roll.  As much as I go on about bread, there is nothing too special about it.  And yet, Jesus used bread as one of the elements, or what theologians call the matter, of the Sacrament of His Body and Blood.

Our readings today on the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ all revolve around bread (and also wine).  In our first reading, Melchizedek, a prefigurement of Jesus, offers bread and wine, and then blesses Abram.  A good chunk of the Letter to the Hebrews focuses on this small passage we heard from Genesis, and what it prefigured.  And we, as Catholics, should have our sacramental sense tingle every time we hear bread and wine in the Old Testament.

St. Paul in our second reading recalls Jesus instituting the Eucharist, that Jesus offered bread and wine, but no longer referred to it as bread and wine, but as His Body and Blood.  And the Gospel we heard is the multiplication of the loaves and fish.  Now, to be clear, Jesus did not use fish as a part of the Eucharist, though maybe it does explain why Catholics love having fish fries.  But Jesus multiplies the bread, bread which satisfied everyone who was there, around five thousand men, not counting the women and children.  

Why bread?  Why did Jesus choose bread as part of the matter of the Sacrament of His Body and Blood?  We can only speculate, but many have thought over the years that it has to do with the different aspects of bread.  In the first place, bread is ordinary.  It was a staple of the Middle Eastern diet.  God takes the ordinary, and makes it extraordinary.  He does that with bread, but He also does that with us.  God takes our bread, our ordinary lives, whatever they entail, and He accepts them from me, your priest, and then returns it to you, no longer bread, but the Body of Christ; no longer your common life, but transformed.  Bread is a metaphor for us: nothing special, but common.

In the second place, we can look at how bread is made.  In a document of disputed origins called The Didache, some parts probably dating from the 5th century, others dating from the 12th or 13th century, there is a prayer that purports to be said at the Eucharist.  Part of the prayer reads, “As this broken bread was scattered over the hills and then, when gathered, became one mass, so may Thy Church be gathered from the ends of the earth into Thy Kingdom.”  This prayer examines how bread is made.  First, the grain is scattered across the field.  Then it is gathered together.  After it is gathered, it has to be crushed to make flour.  Then flour is added to water, is baked, and then you get bread.  Humanity, too, is scattered across the field of the world.  But Jesus unites what was scattered; He gathers all of humanity in Himself, and gives them the opportunity to be one with Him through faith.  Humanity, too, is broken, often crushed.  We each have our own crosses in life, the ways in which we suffer.  When we unite our suffering with the waters of Baptism, our participation in the suffering and death of Christ, and are warmed by the love of Jesus, we become one loaf of bread, bound together in the Kingdom of God.

Wine, too, has a rich symbolism, as it is taken from grapes on the vine (we recall Jesus saying that He is the Vine, we are the branches), crushed and pressed into wine which, as the psalms say, gives joy to the heart.  But maybe I can talk about wine in a different homily.

So maybe bread isn’t so common.  It certainly has a vast symbolism which is perhaps why God chose to use it so often in the Old and New Testaments.  Whenever we hear bread, hopefully our minds will immediately think about the Eucharist and about Jesus’ abiding presence with us.  As we walk through the streets of Adrian today in our Walk with Jesus, we will follow what looks like a small piece of unleavened bread.  But we know by faith, that it is no longer bread, but is truly Jesus’ Body.  May our joy for what Jesus did with bread, changing it into His Body, be manifest when we come to Mass, when we walk with Jesus today, and even in our daily lives, that we might truly be a Eucharistic people, a people who are always grateful and on the lookout for the presence of the Lord.

A Post-It Note from God

Second Sunday of Lent

In the front of my Breviary for Lent and Easter, the book of prayers that priests, deacons, and consecrated men and women are required to pray throughout the day, is a Post-It note, on which is written: Sirach 6:5-17.  The last part of this Scripture passage reads:

Faithful friends are a sturdy shelter;

whoever finds one finds a treasure.

Faithful friends are beyond price,

no amount can balance their worth.

Faithful friends are life-saving medicine;

those who fear God will find them.

Those who fear the Lord enjoy stable friendship,

for as they are, so will their neighbors be.

Fr. Kregg Hochhalter

This Post-It note was put there by one of my best friends from college seminary, Kregg Hochhalter, who is now a priest of the Diocese of Bismarck.  He stuck it there when I visited him once while he was still at St. John Vianney College Seminary.  Every Ash Wednesday I open it up, and I immediately think of him and our friendship.  Because we live so far apart, and because we have such busy lives, we rarely get to see each other.  In fact, after his ordination to the priesthood a few years back, I had not seen him until last summer, when his retreat happened to coincide with my summer studies at Mundelein Seminary in Illinois.  We didn’t have much time to catch up because of his retreat, but we spent the better part of an hour or two finding out how the other was doing.

Friendships like these are not too uncommon.  Many times friends from college move away from each other.  But if they are truly good friends, then all it takes is a meeting, even after a few years, and they can pick back up where they left off.  What is a blessing for me is that every year, I am reminded of our friendship, pray for Fr. Kregg, and try to send him a little note.  That yearly physical reminder I have in my book eases the year’s worth of not being able to see him.

Abraham (still called Abram at this point in the story) in our first reading is given a physical reminder of his covenant, his friendship, with God, who promises Abram descendants more numerous than the stars in the sky.  Abram would never see that promise fulfilled, nor the promise that his descendants would have the land.  But each time Abram looked into the night sky, and saw all the stars, he was reminded of what God had sworn on oath would happen.  In fact, that very bloody covenant ritual of cutting up animals and burning them, was the ancient way of saying, “May I be as these animals if I do not fulfill my part of the covenant.”  Each time Abram saw the stars, he knew that his descendants would one day be many, not just the child of his slave woman, Ishmael, or the child of his wife, Isaac.  

Jesus also gives Peter, James, and John, the Big Three of the apostolic college, a glimpse of something spectacular which is meant to hold them through the suffering and crucifixion of Jesus.  Peter, James, and John see what a glorified body will look like, and they see Jesus surrounded by Moses, who represents the law, and Elijah, the greatest of all prophets.  They are given a glimpse of the resurrection.  They don’t really understand it, other than knowing it’s truly awesome.  

Mural of the Transfiguration at the top of Mt. Tabor

And it is even more awesome when one recognizes how much of a change it would have been.  I have been to Mount Tabor, to the place of the Transfiguration.  Today it has a switchback road with small busses to take people up.  But I climbed in my Birkenstock sandals to the top on one of my pilgrimages.  And even though I had showered that morning (as I do every morning), I was a mess by the time I made it to the top.  There were weeds, brambles, thorns, and the like, as well as loose rocks.  I doubt Jesus would have showered that morning; no doubt they were all a bit dirty from walking so much on the dirt roads, the sun beating down on them.  So when Jesus’ face “changed in a appearance and his clothing became dazzling white,” I’m sure Peter, James, and John knew this was something divine, a moment from God that was meant to strengthen their faith in who Jesus is.

God will often give us moments or Post-It notes that are meant to remind us of what is to come.  There is no better moment than the one we have here.  Jesus, under the appearance of bread and wine, is made present for us once again in the Sacrament of His Body and Blood.  This  place is not heaven, but is meant to be a reminder of us of heaven, where we will worship God and have communion–union with–God.  It is our weekly, or for some of you, daily reminder of God’s love and of what we have to look forward to if we follow Jesus.  May our Lenten practices help us to be aware of the many ways that God gives us a glimpse into what is to come, the bounty, the good things of the Lord that we hope to see in the land of the living.  

Putting Yourself in the Mass

Solemnity of Corpus Christi

            It was not uncommon, in medieval art, for the painter to put himself into his work of art.  From what I have heard, one of the faces on the back wall of the Sistine Chapel, in the great mural The Final Judgment is the face of Michelangelo.  Caravaggio put himself into most of his famous paintings.  And even if they don’t put their image into their paintings, a painter pours his or her heart and soul into creating a work of beauty, a work which shows forth the splendor of the truth.

            Today’s readings focus us in on offering what we have, of putting ourselves into what we are doing, no matter how little or how big.  The first reading from Genesis is the story where Melchizedek blesses bread and wine and offers them to God Most High, and then Abram offers him a tenth (or tithe) of everything.  The Letter to the Hebrews makes a big deal out of this event, because one greater blesses one who is lesser, and you only offer a tithe if there is a debt to be paid to another.  Now, Melchizedek must have been pretty important to make Abram, the Father of the Chosen People, the lesser of the two, and for Abram to offer Melchizedek a tithe.  The author of the Letter to the Hebrews focuses in on Melchizedek’s name, which means king of righteousness, and his country, King of Salem, from the root word, shalom, which makes him the King of Peace, and that, unlike almost everyone else in Scripture, there is no lineage.  Melchizedek just shows up without father or mother or ancestors.  For this reason, the Letter to the Hebrews states that Melchizedek was a foreshadowing of Christ, the true King of Righteousness and King of Peace, who is the co-eternal Son of the Father, without beginning.  When you throw in offering bread and wine, too, it is not hard to see why the author equated the two. 

            And in the Gospel, there are only five loaves and two fish to feed five thousand men, not to mention women and children.  But they are offered to Jesus who miraculously multiplies them so that it is enough, and not just enough, but enough to satisfy everyone. 

            And so we often talk about stewardship: sharing the time, talent, and treasure we have with the Church to continue the work of Christ.  Think of anything you like here at St. John or St. Thomas.  We can’t do it without people generously donating their time.  Think of anything you like here at St. John or St. Thomas.  We can’t do it without people coming together to use a diversity of gifts towards a common goal.  No one person has a monopoly on all the gifts necessary to preach Jesus Christ and His salvation.  Think of anything you like here at St. John or St. Thomas.  We can’t do it without people giving of their treasure to fund the staff salaries, the opportunities for retreats and programs, etc.  And the burden is not the laity’s alone to bear.  I also feel compelled to give to our parish each week, to the scholarship fund for St. Thomas Aquinas parish school, to the Capital Campaign we are in for the school, to DSA, and my list, probably like yours, goes on and on, even beyond this parish.

            But, as we celebrate Corpus Christi today, I want to ask you: do you put yourself in the celebration of the Mass?  Do you invest your energy when you come here each Sunday, or is it something to pass an hour on a Sunday morning?  I can tell you that, for me, celebrating Mass is exhausting.  Our sacristans and Mass coordinators and servers and tell you that it’s not uncommon for me to yawn out of fatigue after the first Mass and before the second.  Why?  Because each time I celebrate Mass, I try to pour myself in what I am saying or chanting and doing.  I try to bring all of who I am, and when I offer all of me, it can be exhausting.

            Because we are all members of the priesthood of the faithful, we have a priestly office, even if it isn’t the same as the ministerial priesthood.  All of us baptized are invited by Holy Mother Church to offer who we are to the Father with the Son in the power of the Holy Spirit.  Yes, we pass the basket to collect our treasure.  Yes, we bring up bread and wine.  But united with that bread and wine is supposed to be all of who we are.  Did you have a crummy week where nothing seemed to go right?  Offer it to God, united with the bread and wine as you silently listen to the words of Jesus offering His Body and Blood to the Father.  Did you have a great week where everything was just how you wanted it?  Rejoice and thank God by offering it united to the bread and the wine.  This morning, eight of our parish children have the opportunity to offer their excitement, and maybe a little nervousness, with that bread and wine, as they prepare to receive the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ, the eternal High Priest and Victim for the first time.  All of us, no matter what our age, vocation, occupation, or race, can put ourselves into the Paschal Mystery and offer ourselves to God.    As Lumen gentium, 34 from the Second Vatican Council stated:

all their works, prayers and apostolic endeavors, their ordinary married and family life, their daily occupations, their physical and mental relaxation, if carried out in the Spirit, and even the hardships of life, if patiently borne—all these become “spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.”  Together with the offering of the Lord’s body, they are most fittingly offered in the celebration of the Eucharist.

Pour yourself into this, and every Mass.  Make it not just a routine, but a purposeful time to unite yourself to the Lord by offering your lives with the bread and wine, which will be given back to you as the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity, of our Lord Jesus Christ.  Put yourself into the beautiful work of art that the Mass is.