Why Are We Running?

Easter Sunday

    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen].  Forrest Gump, after returning home from the Vietnam War, and after he sold his shrimping company, and after he had tried to figure out what to do with his life, got off his porch and, as he said, “That day, for no particular reason, I decided to go for a little run.  So, I ran to the end of the road, and when I got there, I thought maybe I’d run to the end of town.”  He ends up running through his county, through Alabama, and across the United States.  In reflecting on his super marathon, Forrest says, “For no particular reason, I just kept on going.”
    While I have run the CRIM once, and sometimes run as part of my cardio workouts, I’m more in the camp of those who run solely because they’re being chased or chasing after someone.  And as for being chased, as long as you’re not the slowest, generally you’re ok.  
    But John’s account of the first Easter Sunday talks about Sts. Peter and John running to the tomb.  They run there to see if what St. Mary Magdalene said was true: that someone had taken the Lord.  John, who wrote the Gospel, adds what I like to think was a little fun jab at Peter: “They both ran, but the other disciple [that is, John] ran faster than Peter and arrived at the tomb first.”  Peter would have been in trouble if they were running from a bear.
    But they both ran with a purpose: to see the empty tomb.  They saw the burial cloths, and the cloth that had covered the head in a separate area.  They believed Mary Magdalene, that someone had taken the body somewhere else, as St. John makes clear, “they did not yet understand the Scripture that he had to rise from the dead.”  It would not be until the Risen Lord appeared in the Upper Room that evening that they would know that He had risen from the dead.  
    Do we, like Peter and John, run towards the resurrection?  Or do we, like Forrest Gump, run for no particular reason?  As followers of Christ, we should run towards a goal, not aimlessly.  Our life should be a run towards the risen Christ in heaven.  If we’re just running, with no goal in mind, we never know where we might end up, and it might not be in heaven.  
    As we go through each day and the different activities of life, we can treat the parts of the day like smaller races: waking up and getting myself and/or the kids ready–100 meter dash; working in or out of the home–3200 meter run; making dinner and cleaning up the house–400 meter dash.  And as we begin each race, we should do so with a prayer.  Maybe it’s a simple prayer as you wake up, like a morning offering, of even the short pious phrase, “My Mother, My Confidence!”, entrusting our day to the intercession of the Blessed Mother.  Maybe it’s the sign of the cross as you enter your car to drive to work, or as you begin a load of laundry at home.  Maybe it’s the Angelus on your lunch break.  Maybe it’s Grace Before and/or After Meals.  Maybe it’s a pray of thanksgiving as you put your kids to bed or go to bed yourself.  But praying throughout the day makes sure that we’re running towards a goal, and not just running like a chicken with its head cut off.  
    If we don’t focus our energy, we run towards other goals than heaven–earthly prosperity, power, fame–which do not endure and will not save us.  Or, it’s more like running on a treadmill, which expends the same amount of energy, but without actually going anywhere.  To share in Christ’s Resurrection, we have to want to get there.  Simply making our legs go back and forth won’t necessarily get us closer to the new life that Christ wants for us and that fulfills our human nature.  How sad would it be to find out, at the end of our life, that we ran the wrong way, or even didn’t run any distance, but only ran in place.  

The empty tomb in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre

    Today, let us join Sts. Peter and John, running toward an empty tomb, because Christ has risen from the dead.  Let us run the race that God has put before us, not aimlessly, but with our eyes fixed on our goal: heaven.  Each day we can run the small and long races, which hopefully push us closer to eternal life.  We use prayer to make sure we’re on the right track, the path that leads to heaven.  
    Forrest Gump later in the movie says, “I had run for three years, two months, fourteen days and sixteen hours….I’m pretty tired.  Think I’ll go home now.”  He had run for years, but without a purpose, without reaching a goal.  May our race of life have purpose, like Peter and John, and, spurred on by the grace and mercy of God, lead us to heaven.  [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.]

The Greatest Story Ever Told

Mass of the Lord’s Supper

One of my major complaints about movies today is that Hollywood no longer knows how to tell a new story.  Many of the movies that have come out recently are either telling a story that’s already been told (like in a comic book), or continuing with a story that was told earlier (like the new Star Wars movies).  I was recently chastised by an older friend who was appalled both that I liked the new “True Grit,” and that I had never seen the original “True Grit” with John Wayne.  

But the great things about the movies that stick with us is that they tell a timeless tale.  In any movie that works, there is a decisive event, which leads to a challenge, and that challenge must be overcome to find success.  As I understand literature, the comedies are the stories where the success involves the life of the hero; tragedies are the stories where the success involves the death of the hero.

Human redemption is not simply a story, but it is the basis for all good stories.  Salvation history, writ large, is about the decisive event (the Fall of Adam and Eve), and God reconciling humanity (quite a big challenge because of our stubbornness and our attraction to sin), and God overcoming our challenge by the Death of His Son, Jesus.  Of course, in Jesus, we find both tragedy and comedy, as Jesus both dies, but then lives again.  

In salvation history, redemption is always tied up with death, either literal or metaphorical.  In our first reading, we hear about the redemption of Israel from the slavery of Egypt by the death of the lamb, which also saves them from the death of the first born, the tenth and most drastic plague.  And as Jesus institutes the Eucharist (which St. Paul talks about in the second reading), He gives His apostles a way to connect, not only simply to remember, but to connect to His death, which He anticipates in His early celebration of the Passover.  Perhaps that is why God inspired the Psalmist to say: “Precious in the eyes of the Lord is the death of his faithful ones.”  Psalm 116 seems to see the necessary connection between death and redemption.

The Eucharist is precisely redemption given to us as food and drink.  In the Eucharist, Calvary is given to us under the appearance of bread and wine as Jesus gives His Body and Blood for us.  That is why the Church asks that a crucifix occupy a most central place in the sanctuary: so that we can see and be drawn to the love that we receive on our tongues and in our hands.  

Redemption involves death, but God turns death on its head so that death actually becomes an opportunity for life.  We will see this on Saturday night and Sunday, but we also see it in Jesus washing His apostles’ feet.  Jesus does not literally die when He washes the apostles’ feet, but He dies to elevating oneself and what should be.  He is the Lord, they are they servants, and yet He makes Himself their servant.  He is the Rabbi, they are the disciples, but His teaching involves elevating them, rather than Himself, and then He says that just as He has done, so they should do.

Bishop Boyea washes Fr. Anthony's foot at his
presbyteral ordination

It is easy to pass over (if you’ll pardon the pun) the depth of this event.  Every Holy Thursday we hear about Jesus’ washing His apostles’ feet, about Simon Peter resisting because it’s unbecoming, but then overcompensating by saying he wants his hands and head as well.  But remember this: Jesus would wash the feet of Peter, who would, that same night, deny even knowing Jesus.  Peter would not die to his fear, to his pride, and so death, which is what sin is, would enter his soul.  Judas also had his feet washed, the same Judas who that same night would find the temple guards and lead them to Jesus to betray Him.  Everything in Jesus’ human will must have screamed against treating Judas, the betrayer apostle, the same as John, the beloved apostle.  But He died to that temptation so that He could live in obedience to the Father.

It would be to facile to simply say, “serve others.”  What Jesus did on Holy Thursday, in the washing of the feet and the institution of the Eucharist and the ministerial priesthood, is much stronger than “do good for others.”  Jesus invites us to be a part of the grand story, the grand reality, of our redemption.  But as we are reminded, redemption, our own redemption, involves death.  Perhaps the death of our bodies (there continue to be armies of martyrs crowned with the palm of victory), but more likely the death of our wills, where we let go of what we want, where we let go of what the world says is right, and we hold on to dear life to the will of God, which is often not what we want and not what the world says is right.  

Tonight we have the opportunity not only to remember what Jesus did, not only to recall our redemption in Christ, but also to actually participate in our redemption.  As we receive the Eucharist, we receive Jesus’ death for us.  And if we allow the Eucharist to do the work that it is meant to do, we can participate in the great story of human redemption.

"Do You Trust Me?"

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

It doesn’t seem like that long ago, but the Disney version of “Aladdin” came out 25 years ago!  Robin Williams is the voice of the Genie, and it has the famous song, “A Whole New World.”  That song takes place on Aladdin’s magic carpet, and it begins right after Aladdin, pretending to be Prince Ali Abawa, asks Princess Jasmine, whom he likes, “Do you trust me?”  Those are the exact same words that Aladdin asks Princess Jasmine when she is pretending to be a commoner and she is running away from trouble in the marketplace: “Do you trust me?”

“Trust,” we so often say, “is earned, not given.”  Or we might say, “Trust, but verify.”  But in our Gospel, St. Peter takes neither of those approaches.  Jesus has done some amazing things for Peter (helps him catch fish even though they had been fishing all night; changes water into wine), but it’s not clear that Peter knows exactly who Jesus is.  It’s not for another chapter in Matthew’s Gospel that we hear Peter confess that Jesus is the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of God.  And it’s clear that most of the apostles think that the vision of Jesus is a ghost, not the real thing.  Peter had no way to verify if it truly was Jesus.  In fact, in Peter’s act of faith (which, admittedly, falters), Peter walking on water was the way he was going to verify it was Jesus.

But Peter must have trusted that it was truly Jesus, and that if Jesus told him to walk on water, then walk on water was what Peter would do.  Think of all the temptations that Peter had before he even got out of the boat: they were being tossed about by waves, it was the middle of the night, and the apostles were all terrified.  And yet Peter stepped out onto the water because Jesus, or something that Peter thinks might be Jesus, tells him to do so.  

But as soon as Peter stops trusting Jesus, as soon as the realities around Peter become the focus and not Jesus, Peter starts to sink.  But even then, Jesus verifies and earns Peter’s trust, by reaching out to save Peter when he cries out in fear.

Do we trust Jesus?  Or do we feel Jesus hasn’t earned our trust, or we need to verify before we can trust Jesus?  Would we be willing to step out on water (and not the frozen kind) to walk to Jesus, or would the fear of drowning keep us from even putting one foot over the side of the boat?

Trusting God can seem hard.  It doesn’t mean life always goes well.  Jesus had to entrust Himself to God the Father even on the cross.  Temptation eats at Jesus, as we hear Him say, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”  But even though tempted, Jesus doesn’t give in to His fears, and will also say, “Into your hands I commend [or entrust] my spirit.”  Even as He is dying, Jesus shows us how to trust God in horrible circumstances.  

What makes it especially difficult to trust is when we feel that we have been let down.  We all have that one person, maybe a former friend, who has let us down, betrayed us, and not been there when we needed him or her.  Maybe that friend was even a spouse.  And now we find it hard to trust again.  That fear of betrayal, of abandonment, can easily bleed into our relationship with God.  We show up, but it’s on our terms, not God’s.  We have expectations about how things should be, and if they’re not fulfilled, then we’ll cut bait and run.  

For many of us, we trust God with certain things: secrets, hopes, fears, etc.  But maybe there’s an area of our life where we don’t trust God.  Maybe we don’t trust God when it comes to money.  Maybe we don’t trust God to guide our relationship.  Maybe we don’t trust God when it comes to conceiving a child or how many kids we should have.  Maybe we don’t trust God to truly forgive us.  All of those are very common ways that we think we know better than God, or we don’t want to involve God in those parts of our lives.  But to that fear, Jesus invites us to trust in Him and walk on water.

Maybe we don’t trust that God will be enough for us, or we don’t trust that we can be alone with God.  In our first reading, Elijah heard God not in the dramatic aspects of life–the strong and heavy wind, the crushing of rocks, the earthquake, the fire–but in a tiny whispering sound.  The only way to hear that tiny whisper is to keep silence.  If we really want to know if we trust God, try being silent with Him.  Silence can be the scariest thing in the world, because we might actually hear God, and maybe we don’t trust that what He says to us will be for our good.  It’s so much easier to play with our phones, to listen to music, to distract ourselves, than to be silent with God.  

After the music stops and while I’m still purifying the sacred vessels (or as some say, cleaning the dishes), can you simply kneel or sit in silence and wait to hear God, whom you have just received in the Eucharist?  It would be comical if it weren’t so sad, how many times someone feels like they have to break the silence by a “cough” or another noise (and I’m talking about adults, not kids).  But it is in the silence where we can so often hear God speaking to us, inviting us to trust Him in every aspect of our lives, not just the ones we want.

Take time in your life for silent prayer with God, a time, maybe just 5 minutes, to entrust yourself to God.  For some of us it may be as scary as stepping out onto the water like St. Peter did.  But remember that God will not let us drown.

Today at the end of Mass, we will also, along with every other parish in the Diocese of Lansing, entrust our parish and all who belong to it, to the Immaculate Heart of Mary in an act of consecration.  In a formal way we give ourselves over to God for His glory, rather than our own plans.  We do so on the 100th Anniversary of the apparition of our Blessed Mother to the shepherd children at Fatima.  We entrust our lives to her and ask her to help us to say yes to God, just as she did at every moment of her life.  There is more information in the narthex if you are interested.  May we truly trust in the love of our Lord Jesus Christ, and His Immaculate Mother, the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Frequent Dying and Rising

Tenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

For as stupendous as raising someone from the dead is, it happens somewhat frequently in the Bible.  We heard about God raising the widow of Zarephath’s child through Elijah in our first reading, and Jesus raising the son of the widow from Nain in today’s Gospel.  Jesus also raises the daughter of Jairus, a synagogue official, and Lazarus.  After Jesus ascended into heaven, Peter raises a young girl named Dorkas (what an unfortunate name!), and Paul raises to life a person who falls out of a window after that person had fallen asleep because of how long Paul was preaching (there are dangers with preaching too long!).  I don’t know why, but I feel like that’s a lot of times.  About a month ago, I was given credit for raising someone from the dead by some of our firefighters, after I was riding with the firefighters and we responded to a call of someone having a heart attack, who seemed to miraculously wake up when we arrived (in reality, that person was an example of why you should never mix alcohol and a prescription narcotic).

But God truly does raise people from death on a regular basis, if we take time to think about it.  God raises from death those who are baptized.  In baptism, children, men and women are taken from being at enmity with God to being His children.  By baptism, people are buried with Christ–they die–so that they can rise with Him to new life.  By baptism, the old self has to die, like the grain of wheat, so that the new self, the person alive in Christ, can live.  

But that process of dying and rising does not stop on the day that we are baptized.  Each day we have the opportunity to die and rise.  It starts for some of us at the moment our eyes open.  At that moment we have the opportunity to die to our laziness and the comfort of our bed and rise to the new day that is before us.  There’s nothing wrong with hitting the snooze button if we have time, but at some point for many of us, we need to get up and get prepared for the day.  That’s why, at the beginning of my day, before my feet hit the floor of my bedroom, I say a short prayer: Mater mea, fiducia mea!–My Mother, my confidence!, and I entrust my entire day to Jesus through the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary.  You could say any prayer that you like, but prayer is a great way to rise to new life.

Throughout our day there will be people trying to kill us.  Sometimes we are the people trying to kill others.  Hopefully not literally, but certainly figuratively.  What I mean by that is that we are all sinful, and we all give in to temptations, to not be disciples of Jesus.  Whether it’s others or ourselves, there’s gossip, slander, sharing secrets we have no business sharing, treating others as objects or as means to advancement, and the list could go on and on.  If we are the culprit, then we need to die to all of those sins.  We need them to be put to death, and Jesus does that by His suffering on the cross.  When we bite our lip, or treat someone kindly, we are dying to our fallen nature and its sinful tendencies.  If we are on the receiving end, then we die when we patiently suffer through them (correcting when necessary and prudent) instead of giving back what we received.  And whether we are putting to death our own tendencies, or suffering with Jesus because of others’ tendencies, new life, resurrection, is available for us, not only after our earthly life ends, but even on this side of eternity.

Because those who can accept suffering and unite it with Jesus do live happier lives.  They may still have the same sorrows, but they do not let the sorrows control their lives.  They cling to their new life in Christ, given to them in baptism, and live in the joy of the Resurrection, even in this vale of tears.  Which is the happier life: the one tossed about by uncontrollable forces, or the one who entrusts his or her life to God and stays on a steady course toward Him?

Everything in our nature rebels against death.  We were not made to die, but experience death because of sin.  We see that rejection of death and its power in our first reading and Gospel today.  But there is another kind of death, a healing death, a death to our sinful selves, a death in Christ, which is not contrary to who we are, but helps us to be the fullest person we were created to be.  May we allow our sinful natures to die with Christ on the cross, so that we can also rise with Him to new life, both in our daily lives, and especially in the life to come.

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.  

Don't Stay in the Upper Room

Pentecost

In 1217 a man named Domingo did the unthinkable.  It was less than a year earlier that his small group of companions, along with a convent of nuns, had been approved by Pope Honorius III as the newest religious order in the Church.  But, even though he only had 16 mobile members in this new religious order, he sent them out: some to Spain, some in France, and some to Italy.  The other members of his small group of companions objected to this radical move.  They needed more members before they could spread out so much!  But Domingo insisted, stating that seeds that are kept in a container rot; only seeds that are scattered and sown can create new life in the ground.  These sixteen companions, along with the convent of nuns, was the beginning of what is known better today as the Order of Preachers, the Dominicans.  Domingo is the Spanish way of saying Dominic.

Today as we celebrate Pentecost, we go back to the group of disciples, some 170 people, who were crammed into the upper room (I’ve been there; 170 people would have been very tight!!).  Throughout the Easter Season we have heard about the disciples and the apostles.  They were scared, much like the first Dominicans would be some 1200 years later.  We heard about the Lord appearing in their very midst in the upper room, though the doors were locked for fear of the Jews.  They see Jesus, and yet, they are afraid.  They stayed in that upper room for some time, and even after having seen Jesus numerous times, they didn’t know what to do.  St. John records an account of Peter and the apostles deciding to go fishing, sometime after they had seen Jesus twice.  Even after seeing the Risen Jesus twice, they still don’t know what to do.  They are held back by their former way of life.  But then Jesus tells them to cast their nets over on the other side, and they catch 153 fish, one representing each known nation at that time.  John recognizes Jesus, and Peter, always the impetuous one, jumps in and swims to shore to see his Master.  It is then that Jesus asks Peter three times, “Do you love me?”, foretells Peter’s martyrdom, and then tells Peter to follow Him.  

But even after the Ascension, the disciples are in the upper room again.  They are obedient to Jesus, waiting for His promised gift of the Spirit, but they are there in the room.  It is then that the first Christian Pentecost (it was already a Jewish feast) happens, and the Holy Spirit moves the apostles outside of the upper room and leads them to proclaim the Risen Jesus, the importance of Baptism, and the call to a new life through conversion to all they meet.  The Holy Spirit is the catalyst that gets the apostles out of their comfort zone, out of their past, and into their future as evangelists.  The Holy Spirit gives them courage to conquer their fears and trust in Jesus.

On Memorial Day we remember and honor those who were not held back by their fears.  I’m sure that there were some soldiers in our military who were never afraid.  Perhaps this was a special gift; perhaps it was just rashness.  But I would guess that most soldiers, especially as they engaged in battle, had some fear.  That is natural.  It is part of how we usually stay alive.  And yet, for the greater good of God and country, they fought to protect those whom they served, to defend our freedom, and to defeat those who sought to do these United States harm.  They did not let their fears hold them back.  They acted with courage, even when it meant laying down their life.  What a precious gift they gave us, and it is right and just that we remember them.

But we are all called to trust in the power of the Holy Spirit to move us beyond our fears.  We may not necessarily go into battle with earthly forces, but the Holy Spirit wants to give us the gift of courage, to fight the fears in our lives that seek to keep us in a room.  Few have mentioned it to me, but I’m sure there are some fears with working with St. Mary for religious education, if for no other reason than this is new (at least in this iteration); I know that some of you are afraid because of your own poor health, or the poor health of those you love; I know that some of you are afraid because of the loss of a job, or a new job which is going to call for new gifts; some of you are afraid for the future of your children or grandchildren in their life of faith, and in their financial stability.  Allow the Holy Spirit to bring you out of that room of fear and have confidence that the Holy Spirit will take care of you.

Our 9th grade students received the seven-fold gifts of the Holy Spirit in a new and powerful way at their confirmation this past Tuesday.  One of those gifts is courage.  They will need it, because living as a faithful Catholic is becoming more and more difficult, at least in certain teachings that we have about life, marriage, and truth.  But we need courage, too, to proclaim Jesus as Risen and the Church as His Mystical Body.  We need to courage to try new things, maybe a Bible study or a faith sharing small group.  We need courage to be evangelists in an age where it is much easier to hunker down and hope that we can survive this current time of antagonism to the Church.  

Whatever keeps you in the upper room of fear, today God wants to give you a gift of the Holy Spirit to allow you to proclaim, like the apostles, that Jesus is Lord and that we are called to change our lives to conform to His because Jesus shows us how to be truly happy.  Together now, let us pray for that gift of the Spirit to fill us and give us courage to be, like St. Dominic, an evangelist in the way that God calls us.  Come, Holy Spirit…

You're Invited!!

Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

            In terms of the social life, it seems to me that there is nothing bigger in the mind of a kindergartner than being invited to a birthday party.  It’s a sign that you’ve made it in the innocent jungle of social interactions between 6-year-olds.  And it doesn’t seem to leave us.  Even as we progress through school, we want to be invited to a friend’s house; we want to be chosen for the basketball team; we want to be chosen as first chair in our instrument’s section of the band; we want to be chosen as the lead in the play or musical.  And let’s be honest: as adults we still like being invited over: to a friend’s house; to a sports game; maybe for an adult beverage at the local watering hole. 

            Jesus invites Simon Peter, Andrew, James, and John in our Gospel today.  And maybe they, too, were just so happy to be invited and chosen.  But it is amazing that they just left everything.  This Jesus, whom they didn’t know well, called them to follow Him, to be his disciples, and they did.  There were no questions, no caveats, no conditions.  They just followed Him.  And, as we know the rest of the story, their acceptance of the invitation took them many places they never imagined: the Sermon on the Mount; the feeding of the 5,000; Mt. Tabor and the Transfiguration for Peter, James, and John; the triumphant entry into Jerusalem right before Passover; the Upper Room as both the priesthood and the Eucharist were established; the Garden of Gethsemane, again for Peter, James, and John; the foot of the cross for John; and the Upper Room again where they saw the risen Christ.  And then they continued the work of Jesus after Pentecost, “teaching,…proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom, and curing every disease and illness among the people.” 

            We were given the same invitation at our Baptism.  We were called to put Jesus ahead of everything else.  We were invited to be a follower of Jesus and to teach, proclaim the gospel of the kingdom, and heal people.  As we celebrate Catholic Schools Week this week, we celebrate schools that can offer that invitation to our children Monday through Friday, not just in religion class, but throughout the entire day.  But have we, no matter where we went to school, accepted this invitation?  Or do we stand at the fringes of our faith, like the Rich Young Man who wanted to follow Jesus, but was not willing to give up anything to follow Him?  Is the extent of our faith life, our relationship with Jesus, simply going through the motions each week, or do we know Jesus personally?  To put it another way, if I were a stranger and I came up to you and said, “Why do you follow Jesus?  What’s so important about Him?  Why should I become Catholic?” what would you say?  Think about that for a second.  What would you say?

            In our preface, our prayer reminds us that even though we had abandoned God through sin, through Jesus’ blood and the power of the Holy Spirit God reconciled us to Himself, made us the body of Christ and the temple of the Holy Spirit, the Church.  That’s the invitation we received: to claim as our own that reconciliation and the gift of God’s friendship.  Because without God’s friendship, we are at enmity with God, as St. Paul says.  Without God’s friendship, we deserve God’s wrath.  But God invites us to His banquet, and to be a part of Jesus through the Church.

            And that Church is supposed to be one as the Trinity is one God.  This past week we celebrated the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity.  Too often, those who are invited, and who seek that invitation, work against that unity by dividing into camps: “‘I belong to Paul,’ or ‘I belong to Apollos,’ or ‘I belong to Cephas,’ or ‘I belong to Christ.’  Is Christ divided?”  Pope Francis recently said that there is one word that describes Christians not being united: scandal.  We have grown too accustomed to the disunity of Christians.  We have grown too used to divided Christians.  Instead, there should be one Church of Christ, united in true belief of what God teaches us through the authority of Scripture and the Teaching of the Apostles and their successors; united in governance under the one Vicar of Christ, the visible sign of the unity of the many Christians spread throughout the world; united in the sevenfold sacramental economy of salvation, where we receive God’s life of grace in the way Jesus Himself established.  If we have friends, and many of us probably do, who have left the Church, how have we invited them to come back home to the Catholic Church?  If we have Christians friends, and I’m sure all of us do, who are non-Catholic Christians, have we done our best to explain our faith to them to promote understanding? 

We have received the greatest invitation, better than a birthday party, or a spot in the band or the play, or a member of a sports team.  We have been invited to be a part of the one Church of Christ and to use our diverse gifts and personalities to spread the kingdom of God and invite others to follow Jesus, not from far away, but in a close, intimate relationship with Him.  Yes, we may have to leave some things behind that were dear to us, like Peter, Andrew, James, and John did.  But we will receive a hundredfold in this life and in the life to come if we accept the invitation from Jesus to follow after Him and become fishers of men.

The Sound (and Power!) of Silence

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            “How does God speak to you?”  It’s a question I get asked a lot, especially when talking about my discernment to become a priest.  “How did you know, Father, that God was calling you to be a priest?  Did you hear a voice?”  We want to know how God communicates to us, to see if He is communicating with us.

            We have three paradigms for divine communication in today’s readings.  I usually work towards the Gospel in preaching, but this time I’m going to go from the Gospel to the first reading.  And each reading contains ways that God communicates to us.

            In our Gospel, Jesus speaks to the disciples in the boat, as I am speaking to you.  But whereas many of us probably think that if God were to speak to us, we would clearly understand what He was saying and do whatever He asked, this isn’t true with the disciples.  They have been with Jesus for some time, hearing Him preach, watching Him heal the sick and possessed.  And yet, when Jesus appears, walking on the sea, they figure that it’s a ghost.  They do not recognize Jesus.  Peter, to ascertain Jesus’ identity, asks Jesus to command Peter to walk on water.  And when St. Peter does, but then falters, it is Jesus who picks him up and helps him back into the boat.  In this way, we see two ways that Jesus speaks to us: in the first way, He speaks to us in the same way that I am speaking with you now, so that we can hear His voice.  But what is surprising is that, just like the disciples, we don’t always recognize the voice of Jesus even when it’s a voice.  Secondly, Jesus speaks through His care for the disciples.  When Jesus rescues Peter from drowning, He is communicating through His actions that He will never allow Peter to sink amidst the crashing waves.  We see in this the foreshadowing of Jesus’ protection of His Church, sometimes referred to as the Barque or Boat of Peter, which is not allowed to sink in the storms of world events.

            The second paradigm is in St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans.  St. Paul says, “I speak the truth in Christ, I do not lie.”  God speaks to us through His apostles, those whom Jesus called and sent out to build up and oversee the Church.  The bishops, as successors to the apostles, when speaking on matters of faith or morals speak “the truth in Christ.”  To them is given the charism, when they are united to the Pope, to teach what belongs to the faith infallibly.  Just as St. Paul says elsewhere, “It is not longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me,” the bishops are given the grace to teach, not by their own authority, but with the authority of Christ on matters of faith and morals.  If we want to hear God speaking about what we must believe, and how we must live to as to be faithful to Christ, we can look to the bishops, the successors of the apostles, to hear the voice of God.

            The last paradigm from our readings comes from the first reading, and is a very powerful way that God communicates.  We hear the inspired author tell us that Elijah, the greatest prophet in all the Old Testament, did not hear God in the heavy winds, nor the earthquake, nor the fire.  No, Elijah heard the voice of God in the whisper heard in the silence.  This voice was so powerful, that Elijah, who had called down fire from the heavens to consume the oblation, offered to the true God to shame the prophets of Baal, had to hide his face because He heard God in the silence.

            Silence is a very powerful expression of God’s voice.  It is in silence that the great things of God happen.  When God created the universe, He did so in silence.  In the silence of meditation, according to most artistic renditions, Mary heard the Archangel Gabriel tell her that God had called her to be the Mother of the Son of God.  And in the silence of the night, the Word-Made-Flesh came to be known by us as He was born in Bethlehem.  In fact, in the extraordinary form of the Mass, what some call the Tridentine Mass, part of the Liturgy includes a prophecy from the Book of Wisdom about the Incarnation.  Romano Guardini quotes it in The Lord, his meditation on the life of Christ: “‘For while all things were in quiet silence and the night was in the midst of her course, thy almighty word leapt down from heaven from thy royal throne.’”  Likewise, the Resurrection happens in the silence of the early morning, when the guards are asleep and no one expects Christ to rise from the dead.

            In our days, however, we manage to cut out as much silence as possible.  Are we afraid of being alone with God?  Are we afraid of what God would say?  The answer is probably as diverse as the number of people here.  I bet that if I remained silent for a long period of time during the Mass, we would try to find ways to break the silence: thumbing through hymnal pages, reading the bulletin, looking around to others.  But we need silence.  My practice is to always give up the radio and music during Lent so as to allow more time for God to speak to me in His power.  But we don’t just need silence in Lent.  We need it all throughout the year. 

            We’re taught in seminary that every homily (at least the good ones) should have a practical way to apply the readings to life.  Today we’ll apply this teaching by taking some extended time of silence, first after my homily, and then after the reception of Holy Communion.  Listen to God during this time.  Don’t just make it a time of doing nothing, but make it a time of active listening to the whisper of God, heard only in the silence.