Living and Dying

Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
    As the connection to Christianity dips, many people have developed very weird habits in connection to death.  People don’t want to have funerals any more, or if they do, they have the bare minimum.  Many choose to have a “celebration of life,” (which, by the way, is not what a funeral is) where you simply remember the good qualities of the person, rather than praying for the person.  Or sometimes people will scatter ashes in a person’s favorite nature place (which, for the record, the Church does not allow; not to mention you better hope you judge the direction of the wind as your pouring ashes out of an urn).  Or sometimes people will make jewelry that has little amounts of ashes in a locket that a person wears (the Church also does not allow this).  Or, some people just forgo burial altogether, and leave the urn on the mantle (which is also not allowed by the Church; and, which, if you have seen the movie “Meet the Parents,” can turn out quite poorly, especially if you have a cat).
    I connect the newer, weirder practices that surround death with the waning of Christianity, and Catholicism in particular, because as Catholics, we should live without fear of death or need to create our own new rituals with death.  Why?  Because we’re already dead!  No, this isn’t a weird way in which the TV series “LOST” depicts reality.  But through Holy Baptism, we already died.  We had to, if we wanted to live.  It is Christ’s death that allows us to have life, and we have to join in that death, albeit sacramentally, in order to join in His Resurrection.  That was the point of the epistle today from St. Paul’s letter to the Romans.  In baptism we died with Christ so that we could live in newness of life.  And some religious orders demonstrate this during vows, where one is covered with a death pall and lies prostrate on the floor, signifying that they’re old life is dead.  
    But this death, whether of monks and nuns or those in another vocation, isn’t a death of our biological life, but a death to our life of sin and separation from God.  And the new life that we receive is not like an extra life from a video game, but a new way of life in which we strive for holiness and union with God.  Our new life consists in choosing that which is truly life, that which is connected to God, and rejecting that which is truly death (sin), that which separates us from God who is the source of all life.

St. Pier Giorgio Frassati

    Ironically, it is those who die to sin who are the most alive.  Look at the saints: they live the most invigorating lives!  Those who go from sin to sin exist, but don’t have anything that exciting.  Those who persist in mortal sin are like zombies who still walk around, but they are dead.  The quote from now-Saint Pier Giorgio Frassati comes to mind: “To live without a faith, without a patrimony to defend, without a steady struggle for Truth, that is not living but existing.”  He also said, “Vivere, e non vivacchiare” which means “to live, and not just to get by.”    But when we do not live according to our baptism; when we decide that we choose our own will over God’s; when we go from sin to sin, we just get by.
    Life without the Lord is like “The Wizard of Oz” at the beginning in Kansas (with no offense intended to the State of Kansas).  It’s black and white (figuratively, not literally).  It’s simply getting by on a farm.  It’s not living life to the fullest.  But after baptism, and as one follows Christ, life is like Oz: colorful, exuberant, and overflowing goodness; song, dance, and joy.  What’s odd is that we often feel like black and white is better than color, and death is better than life.
    Sin is like the feeling when you’ve eaten way too much food on Thanksgiving (or maybe on other days of the year, as well): you feel sluggish, lethargic, not really excited about anything.  Life in Christ is like when you’ve enjoyed a good meal in moderation, which then gives you energy to go for a walk, run, or bike ride, or play a game outside.  You have what you need, which then gives you the energy to enjoy life even more.
    So how do we live and not simply get by?  We die.  We die to those things that we know do not give us true happiness.  We crucify in ourselves the anger that flares up at someone who has harmed us; the need (or rather, illusion) to be in control of everything; the greed to take all for ourselves and not share with others; the laziness that tells us not to go to Mass or to prioritize fleeting pleasure over sacrificing for the good.  
    Catholics who live the Letter of St. Paul to the Romans seriously aren’t afraid of death.  Because they’ve already been through it, albeit sacramentally.  If they’re following Christ, then death doesn’t matter all that much, because what comes after death for one who follows Christ is an even fuller life than what we can live here on earth by God’s grace and under God’s rule.  We don’t hasten our death, but we don’t fear it, either.  They don’t make weird rituals for death because death is not all that important to one who has already died.  You are already dead, and are leaning into the new life of heaven by the choices you make (or, perhaps, leaning into the eternal death of Hell by the choices you make).  Life the new life of Christ where death has no more power or sting.  “Think of yourselves as dead to sin and living for God in Christ Jesus."   

The Catholic Sense of Death

Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed

    While we, as Catholics, are used to the Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed, more commonly known as All Souls’ Day, it doesn’t often fall on a Sunday.  Sundays are little Easters, so it might seem odd to focus on those who are dead.  But Purgatory, the abode where the souls who are not ready for heaven, but have not rejected God, precisely stands as a possibility because of the Resurrection of Christ.  And Purgatory gives hope to all those who are not perfected at the time of their death, and therefore are not ready for heaven, where we see God, Holiness Himself, face to face.  
    We cannot deny the pain and sorrow of death.  When someone we love dies, we know that we won’t see that person on earth again.  And in the face of that harsh reality, tears naturally follow.  But as those who know that Jesus rose from the dead, our grief should be eased a bit by the fact that death is not the end.  That’s the power of the Resurrection of Christ: death is not the end.  That’s the power that the martyrs held as they didn’t fear to suffer for Christ, because they knew that the world threw all pain and suffering at Christ in His crucifixion, but Christ came out victorious in the end on Easter Sunday.  
    But it’s also the power that should help us who remain after someone dies, because our faith tells us that they simply have gone on a long journey to a place where we can’t stay connected through a meet-up, phone call, text, FaceTime, or Zoom, but where we can stay connected through prayer.  Just as we are somewhat sad, but still have hope when a family member or friend goes on a cruise and we can’t contact them with earthly technology, so we should have the same hope when someone we love dies, because death is not the end, but a transition to a new form of life.  
    But as Catholics we can often act like non-believers who treat death as the absolute end.  We forget our faith and the central teaching of our religion, the resurrection, and we do what St. Paul tells us not to do: weep as those who have no hope.  I’m not saying we need to celebrate every time someone dies, though some saints have reminded their family and friends that life will be better for them in heaven, since they followed Christ on earth.  Really, we should only mourn when someone was not prepared to die and did not follow Christ, though even then we commend those people to the mercy of God.  
    Purgatory also gives us hope because while we strive for perfection, if you’re anything like me, you sometimes fall short.  God is perfect holiness, and if you ever read through the Old Testament, you’ll notice that no one is really excited to see God.  It’s not because they disliked God, but because they knew, often better than we do, that the holiness of God destroys any sin, like light destroys darkness.  So to be in heaven, in the presence of God’s perfect holiness, means that we have nothing sinful left in us, otherwise we would be destroyed.  Or, if we think about God’s holiness like heat, it’s so hot that our sinfulness would immediately burst into flames.
    So if we die in a state of grace, that is, not aware of any mortal sins or any rejections of God, but we still have sin, we have the opportunity to still make it to heaven after we have been purified in Purgatory.  It’s not perfect holiness (and heaven) or hell.  We have the chance to still make it to heaven even if we have not fully configured our life to Christ.
    Having said that, Christ still calls us to put sin behind us and make His life our own while on earth.  Our goal should always be heaven.  If our goal is Purgatory, then we’re aiming too low, like a sports team that only hopes to make it to the playoffs, not win the National Championship.  Plus, we often don’t achieve the goals we set for ourselves.  If we set our goal as heaven and fall short, we do have Purgatory.  But if we set our goal as Purgatory and fall short, there’s no safety net, and our eternity could be the eternal suffering of hell.  
    What is also worth celebrating on a Sunday is that, because of the Resurrection and death is not the end, just like we can help each other while on earth to get closer to heaven, we can help those who have died and whom God purifies in Purgatory by His grace.  The souls in Purgatory are not just left to be purified until God has perfected them.  We can assist them in a variety of different ways and speed their way into heaven.  
    And this is something that we have also forgotten as Catholics.  Not only are we worse, after COVID, of even going to funerals (and I know that some employers are less willing to allow employees to attend funerals), but we especially drop the ball after the funeral.  We take on the mentality either that the person is dead and there’s nothing else we can do, or that the person has certainly made it to heaven and no longer needs our help.  Both of those approaches are antithetical to our Catholic faith.
    Because death is not the end, we can suffer for the benefit of souls in Purgatory.  Maybe it’s an illness, or pain, or just a frustrating situation, but we can offer it up, as the sisters used to say, and speed someone’s path to heaven.  During these first days of November we focus on special opportunities to gain indulgences for the souls in Purgatory, but there are numerous opportunities throughout the year to gain an indulgence, not only for our own salvation, but to help a soul in Purgatory get to heaven a bit faster.  For example, under the usual conditions, spending 30+ minutes in Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament is a plenary or full indulgence; saying the Canticle of Mary (the Magnificat) is partial indulgence; using an object of religious devotion that has been blessed by a priest is a partial indulgence; the vocal  recitation of the Rosary in a church or as a family, or a partial indulgence anywhere else; reading Sacred Scripture to grow in holiness is a partial indulgence, unless it’s 30 minutes or more, in which case it’s a plenary indulgence.  None of those require going to Rome or a Jubilee Year (though there are also indulgences attached to the Jubilee Year).  
    Lastly, Masses can be said for the soul of a person who died.  When a Mass is said for a deceased person, the merits of Jesus’ salvific work is applied to purify the soul of that person.  The practice of saying Mass for a person enjoyed popularity with older Catholics, but is important for every person.  And the cost to schedule Mass for the intention of a person is only $10.  So it’s not outside the range for even a young family with kids.  But what a powerful way to help a person in Purgatory!
    As we celebrate All Souls’ Day today, it’s good to have reminders about our faith in the Resurrection, and the effect it has upon how we mourn those who have gone before us marked with the sign of faith.  May our faith in the Resurrection of Christ not only remain in our minds and hearts, but truly affect how we live our lives as Catholics and the choices we make to assist the souls in Purgatory. 

The Desire for Life

Fifth Sunday of Lent–Third Scrutiny
    We spend so much of our energy trying to avoid or cheat death.  “The experts” suggest foods that we should eat or not eat.  Companies make large amounts of money selling creams, vitamins, and pills which aim to prolong life, or even just the appearance of life.  One of the things I have learned with my work with the Michigan State Police is that a drowning person will push a potential rescuer under water if that Trooper is not prepared in order to try to stay above water and not drown.  A person in the cold will start to lose function in most parts of the body, except the brain and the loins, the two seats of preserving current life and perpetuating life, which shut down last.  While some may say that death is natural, the fact that we try to avoid death at all costs shows that God made us for immortality, not simply like the animals who are born into this world and then die and decay.
    As Catholics, we know that death entered the world through our disobedience to God, the source of life.  God further expelled us from the garden and the tree of immortality, which some Church Fathers interpret as a mercy, as it meant that we wouldn’t live forever with sin, but that the reign of sin in our earthly bodies would end at death.  But, even with this, we have an innate sense that God made us to live forever with Him.  And so we fight death as much as possible.
    And while we cannot support euthanasia, assisted suicide, or suicide, because every life has value, and only God is the Lord of Life, we all have to die.  In order to get to heaven, we have to die.  Not before our time, but as a necessary preamble to eternal life, hopefully in heaven, death will come.
    But we know of another kind of death that we must undergo in order to live, and that is the death of baptism. St. Paul speaks very clearly about death needing to occur in order for the spirit to live, and then the body to be raised on the last day.  He also says in Romans chapter 6, verse 3: “Are you unaware that we who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?”  Water was an ancient symbol of death, because it wasn’t as sure and steady as the ground.  The waters of chaos swirled about before God ordered them and created light and life in the beginning.  In the early church, the priest fully submerged the elect in the waters.  And anyone afraid of water knows that being under water you can’t breathe, and, if it takes too long, you drown and die.  Baptism is death.
    But that submersion did not signify the end.  The priest would then also raise the elect out of the waters where he or she could breathe, signifying new life.  St. Paul in Romans, chapter 6 continues:
 

We were indeed buried with him through baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might live in newness of life.  For if we have grown into union with him through a death like his, we shall also be untied with him in the resurrection.

Christ died, and so rose to new life.  In baptism we, too, die, and rise to new life with Christ, with a downpayment here on earth, and the fulfillment in heaven, if we stay faithful to Christ.

    Lazarus, then, and his death and resurrection, prefigures both Christ’s death and resurrection, as well as our own death and rising to new life through baptism.  The four days of his death are like the entire life of the Catholic after baptism, where new life is present, but death seems to reign.  Four score is 80 years, and the psalms describe the life of a strong person as 80 years.  So the four days are like a full life.  But then, after our death to sin in baptism, and staying faithful to dying to sin during our earthly life, we rise to new life with Christ, as He calls us out from the tomb.  
    Dylan and Isaiah, you are about to go into the tomb in just a couple more weeks.  At the Easter Vigil you will die with Christ in the waters of baptism, but because of that death you will also get to receive new life from Christ, and a pledge of future glory for when your earthly life is done.  In some sense, you life after baptism will be a practice in dying.  Each day you will have opportunities to die to your sinful self, and stay alive with Christ.  You will die to your own sinful past, and choose to nail your own will to the cross along with anything in you that does not imitate the life of God.  
    But do not be afraid of that death, because it brings life.  Only fear the eternal death that comes when we reject God and His ways in our daily actions and words.  This earthly death may seem scary, like holding your breath for a long time under water, but if you stay faithful to God you will rise to new life.     
    So do not fight the death of all that is not of God.  Embrace the penances and pain that come from denying our sinful passions.  Because if we die that death, starting with our death in the waters of baptism, we have a sure and certain hope that we will live with Christ for ever in joy beyond all description.

Body and Soul

Sixth Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  One of the common errors of people today is a false dichotomy, or a presupposition that there are only two choices.  And this can also affect our faith life.  Because we sometimes act as if we forget that a person is a unity of soul and body, and deal with the one we find more enjoyable or the one that comes more easily to us.  But both soul and body are important, as we see in today's readings.
    The epistle focuses us mainly on the spiritual.  And we have to understand this spiritually, otherwise we would start some pretty strange practices.  St. Paul says that we are baptized into the death of Christ, and that the body has to be destroyed so that sin will no longer have power over us.  St. Paul intends, of course, that we read this spiritually.  We believe that by the pouring of water over our heads and the invocation of the Persons of the Blessed Trinity, we symbolically die.  Now, I say symbolically because our soul is not separated from the body, as happens in natural death.  But the death is real inasmuch as our fallen self dies with Christ on the cross, and then rises to new life with Christ in the resurrection.  So it’s not as if this is all made up or in our minds.  We die to sin when we die with the Lord in the waters of baptism, and that is very real.  But it is not that our physical life is ended, otherwise we would be a cult of mass homicide.
    But then in the Gospel, our Lord focuses on the physical needs of those who were following him.  Christ had been teaching the people about who He was, and backing up what He said by healings and exorcisms.  But then, it is three days later, and the people are getting hungry and running out of food.  At this point, while the Savior had taken care of their souls by His teaching, He also focuses on their bodies by performing a miracle of multiplying bread and fish, so that they could eat and be filled.
    In the Church, people easily separate into those who take care of the soul versus those who take care of the body.  As regards the latter, we can think of those who want to provide for people’s physical needs without consideration of the hunger of their souls for truth and beauty and love.  As regards the former, we can think of those who want to teach people about the Lord and instruct them in the faith, but then when they ask for something to eat, they say some form of, “we don’t do that.” 
    And this tension even exists in Scripture.  In Acts chapter 3, we hear about a crippled man who begs Sts. Peter and John for alms.  He wants money to take care of his physical needs.  But the first pontiff says, “‘I have neither silver nor gold, but what I do have I give you: in the name of Jesus Christ the Nazorean, walk.’”  There is a much deeper healing going on here.  Or look back to the Lord, who, when friends lower a paralyzed man down through the roof, immediately tells the man that his sins are forgiven, and only afterwards heals his body, as proof that the Son of Man can forgive sins.  But then in the epistle of James, chapter 2, we read, “If a brother or sister has nothing to wear and has no food for the day, and one of you says to them, ‘God in peace, keep warm, and eat well,’ but you do not give them the necessities of the body, what good is it?”
    So, we invoke the principle of both/and, so often operative in Catholicism.  Jesus is both God and man.  Mary is both virgin and mother.  The Church is composed of both saints and sinners.  We are both soul and body.  We are called to care for both the spiritual and the corporal works of mercy.  We cannot choose one and ignore the other, save at the possible expense of our souls. 

    This doesn’t mean that we can’t focus on one, even while we don’t exclude the other.  St. Theresa of Calcutta is a great example of doing both as she was able.  Her primary mission was to serve the poorest of the poor, and much of her work was caring for the physical needs of those whom society had abandoned.  She didn’t exclude service to people because they weren’t Catholic.  She fed them, cleaned them, and cared for them not because they were Catholic but because she was.  Still, and I know this from my own semester of working with the Missionaries of Charity in Rome, if you were living in their house and eating the food that they prepared, you would pray with the Missionaries of Charity, too.  And St. Theresa would even speak to spiritual poverty when she was given a platform on the national and international stage.
    Probably many of us feel more comfortable serving the spiritual needs of others rather than the physical needs of others.  Part of it may be because we readily have Church teachings accessible in our minds, but we don’t always know how to help someone who says they’re hungry, or thirsty, or need a bus ticket to somewhere.  And, sadly, some people try to scam others out of money, which makes it even more difficult to assist others.  But, I would encourage you to do what I do when someone asks me for help with basic needs of life: pray for guidance from the Holy Spirit to know how best to help that person.  And remember that we don’t have to do it all.  There are many groups in Flint that assist those who are hungry, thirsty, or homeless, like Catholic Charities, the St. Luke New Life Center, St. Francis Prayer Center, and others which are not Catholic but still do great work.  It is not wrong to refer someone to those agencies to do what we cannot do on our own.  But sometimes I know I feel that tug at my heart to give money, or I often carry Applebees gift cards in my car so that, if the Holy Spirit moves me to help someone, I can have a gift card to give them so that they can get food or drink. 
    So often we can try to create false dichotomy between the body and the spirit.  And certainly, one can be fully fed but spiritually starving; or one can be physically hungry but spiritually satisfied.  Christ invites us today through the Scriptures to consider both, and to do whatever we can to address both the spiritual and the physical needs of others, according to the gifts and talents we have received from God, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.  

The Gospel according to The Princess Bride

Easter (Vigil and Sunday)

    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.]  The cult classic movie “The Princess Bride” has so many memorable lines: “Hello.  My name is Iñigo Montoya.  You killed my father.  Prepare to die.”; “Inconceivable.”  “You keep using that word.  I do not think it means what you think it means.”; “Fezzik, are there rocks ahead?”  “If there are, we all be dead.”; and I won’t even mimic the wedding scene with the bishop speaking about marriage.  But, in my most recent viewing, I noticed another line that truly is a pearl, and one especially fitting for Easter.  Westley, dressed as the Dread Pirate Roberts, says to Buttercup, “Death cannot stop true love.  All it can do is delay it for a while.”
    While “The Princess Bride” is not the Gospel, that phrase describes in a pithy and beautiful way precisely what we celebrate at Easter.  Death could not stop true love.  All it did was delay it for a while.  The forces of darkness threw everything they had at Christ.  His own people rejected Him.  The Romans cowardly cowed to the Pharisees and Sadducees rather than risk loss of political prestige.  The Lord’s own Apostles (save John) abandoned Him and hid in an Upper Room, including one who even denied knowing Jesus.  Christ experienced excruciating pain, first from the scourging, where pieces of flesh were torn from His back; then from the crown of thorns thrust upon His head in mockery; then from the purple robe torn from His skin, which had joined to the blood and wounds earlier suffered; then from the nails hammered into His sacred flesh and into the cross.  All sin from all time, from Adam and Eve first disobeying God in the Garden of Eden to the last sin that will ever be committed right before the end of time, Christ took upon Himself, though innocent.  Everything that evil could pile on it did, and yet, as we celebrate tonight/today, evil could not win.  Death could not stop the love of God.
    And that still rings true today.  Death still cannot stop love.  “All it can do is delay it for a while.”   If we are connected to the love of Christ, nothing can stop us, not even death.  Yes, we can still endure pain and suffering and darkness from the forces of evil, but if we remain in the love of God, as did Christ, then even death will not have victory over us.  It may look like it does, as it has looked so many times throughout these two millennia of martyrs, but at the end of time, when the time of delay ends, those who remained in the love of Christ will be shown victorious.
    That love of Christ is not mere delight or pleasure, as we so often confuse love.  Love and truth are connected as closely as Divinity and Humanity in Christ.  Love, true Christian love, offers itself for the good of the other, and does not seek its own gain.  The love of God never goes against what God has revealed through Sacred Scripture and through the teachings of the Church.  God, who is Love, cannot contradict Himself, cannot allow what He has previously forbid, and cannot forbid anything that truly benefits us and helps us to be ourselves, as He created us. 

The inside of the Empty Tomb

   “Death cannot stop true love.”  And that is why death, though sad, is not the end.  In Christ’s Resurrection, all who remain in His love rise from the dead.  Yes, our bodies may return to the dust whence them came.  Yes, until all things are placed under the feet of Christ, our souls will wait for the resurrection of our bodies.  But that is but a delay, a slight delay when viewed in the perspective of eternity.  The enemies of God, whether those on earth or those under the earth, can throw everything they want at us.  But if we remain in Christ, we have nothing to fear, not even “though the earth should rock / though the mountains fall into the depths of the sea, / even though its waters rage and foam, / even though the mountains be shaken by its wave. // The Lord of hosts is with us: / the God of Jacob is our stronghold” as Psalm 46(45) states.
    We, the Church, are the princess bride.  Our beloved seemed to have left us for a while, but He returned.  And He reminded us then, and reminds us now, “Death cannot stop true love.  All it can do is delay it for a while.”  [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.]

True Dichotomy

Seventh Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  So often we’re nudged in the direction of a false dichotomy.  That phrase, false dichotomy, might sound foreign, might even sound like an obscure body part, but it’s the wrong assertion that there are only two choices.  For example, a person might say, “You have to vote for a Republican or a Democrat,” when, in fact, there are other political parties for whom you can vote.  Or, less weighty, you have to decide whether or not you can put pineapple on pizza.  As I tend to be the pop culture reference guy, it’s like Anakin in “Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith” saying to Obi Wan, “‘If you’re not with me, then you’re my enemy.’” 

    But not all dichotomies are false.  Scripture, and especially our epistle today, talks about the dichotomy between sin and grace, death and life.  Sin brings death, grace brings life.  And St. Paul talks about the Romans had previously been slaves to sin and death, but now were raised to life through grace, “in Christ Jesus our Lord.” 
    But this is not just St. Paul.  It’s the overarching theme in the Scriptures, from Genesis to Revelation.  In Genesis, after God creates everything good, culminating in the creation of man and woman in His image, our first parents have life.  They are living in the grace of God.  But then, Eve, followed by Adam, disobey God; they sin.  And by sinning, they welcome death into the world.  They are expelled from the Garden of Eden, and separated from the Tree of Life, so that they experience death. 
    And so throughout Genesis, we see that when evil is allowed to fester, it leads to death.  Think of the Flood and the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.  But, when people follow God, they find life.  Think of Abram leaving Ur because God calls him to go to Canaan, and then becoming Abraham, the father of many nations.  The same could be said for Exodus, where God leads His people from slavery to sin in Egypt to freedom in following His law in the Promised Land.  Of course, throughout the journey, some disobey God, and they find death.  While others, like Joshua and Caleb, follow God, even when unpopular, and they enter the Promised Land.
    This same overarching theme repeats itself in the Books of Joshua and Judges, and then with the Kings of Israel.  The prophetic books are basically warnings from God through His prophets to live according to God’s will, because if they continue in their sin, they will die.  This culminates in the dispersion of the Northern Kingdom of Israel after they start worshiping false gods and oppressing those for whom God has a special love: widows and orphan; and the exile of the Southern Kingdom of Judah to Babylon after they, too, engage in idolatry and mistreatment of the poor and vulnerable.
    Of course, nowhere does this dichotomy appear clearer than with our Lord, who calls Himself, “‘the Way and the Truth and the Life.’”  To follow Him is to have life; to reject Him is to choose death.  The Savior even takes our rejection and the consequence of that rejection–death–upon Himself in His crucifixion, but because He was faithful to God He rises on the third day.  And the rest of the New Testament unpacks that choice between life and death, and helps those who follow the Lord to know what choosing life looks like to the nascent Church.  The Acts of the Apostles, St. Paul’s epistles, the epistles of St. Peter, St. Jude, and St. John all talk about how we can have eternal life and reject the death of sin.
    And at the end of the Bible in the Book of Revelation, we see the cosmic battle between good and evil, a battle that God wins convincingly.  But the Spirit also warns the churches that they have to continue to follow God to have that life.  It was not enough to choose life once or earlier; life must be chosen each day.  In the end, sin and death are defeated forever, and the fullness of the reign of God shines forth, with eternal life for those who remained faithful (and eternal punishment for those who rejected God).
    So which do we choose: life or death?  By our fruits, Christ tells us, you can tell what we choose.  Each time we sin, especially grave sins, we invite death into our lives.  Each time we follow God, we invite eternal life into our lives.  Indeed, though we often think of the judgment as Christ telling us where to go, either to Hell, or to Purgatory or Heaven, really we make that choice each day of our lives.  While the just are surprised that they served Christ through service to the poor, and the wicked are likewise surprised that they ignored Christ through ignoring the poor, they knew that they had served or ignored the poor.  In that way, their salvation or damnation was not a surprise, because they knew their choices, and whether or not they choose to do follow what God had instructed for eternal life.  Sometimes it was one act of following the Lord at the end of one’s life, like St. Dismas, the good thief, who received paradise for his defense of Christ crucified.  At other times it was more choices for the Lord, with some rejections sprinkled in, like St. Peter.  Or, in a negative sense, one great act of betrayal from Judas led him to despair of any chance of salvation.  But Dismas nor Peter nor Judas was ignorant of the choices they made and how each could affect eternal salvation.
    So where will we come out in this great drama and battle between life and death?  By baptism Christ claimed us for Himself and eternal life, and gives us the grace to stay faithful to the choices of life each day.  Each day the enemy works to enslave us once more to death.  Neither Christ nor the devil chooses for us.  We choose if we want death or life.  Praised be to God who gives us all the graces necessary so that we can accept the gift that salvation is, won for us by Jesus Christ, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit is God, for ever and ever. 
    

The Power of Easter

Easter Sunday
    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.].  What does Easter mean to you?  You have come here to Mass, so it clearly has some religious importance for you.  Perhaps it is also a day with extra time spent with extended family, and maybe a better meal than usual.  But I dare guess that Easter does not have the same potency for us as it did for our Lord’s first disciples.
    Part of the waning of the extraordinary nature of Easter is due to a lack of appreciation of the seriousness of sin.  Whether it directly affects us or not, we all live in an environment that supposes that everyone is basically good, and everyone generally goes to heaven.  The first disciples did not suffer that opinion; their experience told them the exact opposite.
    The disciples lived in a time when a foreign power occupied their homeland.  This foreign power, the Romans, pushed their pagan views upon all under their rule.  They promoted worshipping false gods; sexual immorality, both homo- and heterosexual in nature; violence and intimidation as the surest way to keep peace (we might say today: might makes right). 
    But the Romans were not the only problem for the Jews.  No, there was real spiritual oppression by their own religious leaders, twisting the law and its meaning.  No small number of Jews found themselves in a position outside of what the Pharisees taught as a moral way of life.  How often do the Gospels relate that tax collectors and sinners were following Christ and changing their lives!  There were also many diseases and illnesses that could shorten a person’s life or lead them to be ostracized from even family and friends.
    Among the Romans, the Pharisees, sickness, and a lack of personal holiness, the disciples knew they needed a savior.  They knew that they had to change, but didn’t know if they could do it.  They hoped for life after death, a place of the fullness of blessings and peace, but did not know if such a place were attainable. 
    We ourselves live in a time that differs greatly and in some ways not at all from the time of the disciples.  Advances in medicine have extended life expectancy, but there are new diseases being developed, and wreaking havoc across the world.  Some Catholic bishops, priests, and laity promote teachings contrary to the faith.  Rather than a foreign government pushing their will upon a particular people, a wide-sweeping acceptance of worship of money and power, sexual immorality of various kinds, seemingly endless violence, even against children, and a might-makes-right mentality are ubiquitous. 
    The power of Easter is that God the Son conquered all that is wrong and fallen through His Death and Resurrection.  We no longer have to wonder if life after death is possible; Christ died and came back to life.  If death, the consequence of sin, no longer has the last word, then everything good and holy is possible.  No power, whether earthly or spiritual, can hold us back if we are in Christ.  No oppressor will have the final victory over us if we belong to Christ, the Victor over sin, death, and everything that connects itself to those fallen realities.
    Easter gives us the answer, just as it gave the answer to the first disciples, and has given the answer to countless generations since then.  Easter is a reminder that sin and death do not get the last word, but God does, because God conquered sin and death in Christ.  If we want Easter to make a difference, and not just be a Sunday where we eat better food and see other relatives, then we must take hold of the Easter graces and practices and live them out each day and each week.  If we want to see endless violence and suffering end, then we need to live as Easter people.
    Easter means making God number one in our life.  Not sports.  Not vacations.  Not relaxation.  Not exercise.  Not even another person, as dear as they may be to us.  God has to be number one.  Those other things and many more are good, but they cannot take the place of God.  If you want the reign of sin and death to which we have grown so accustomed to end, go to church every Sunday and Holyday, not simply to go, but to be transformed by the grace of God.  Go to confession at least every month, to acknowledge that you are a sinner and in need of God’s mercy.  Allow Christ’s victory over sin to take hold in your life by handing over to Christ all that is fallen and sinful, and receive the mercy which makes possible true transformation. 
    Easter means not supporting death, in any of its forms.  If we wish to live in Easter joy, we cannot re-invite the works of death into our life, or the life of others.  In its most extreme positions, it means not supporting abortion or euthanasia.  How can we not expect death and destruction when it’s openly voted for and codified in law?  When we devalue one human life, we devalue all human lives.  Other works of death include racism, unjust prejudice, and even those actions and thoughts of hatred towards other at work, on the road, or in any other place.  None of those are part of the new life that Christ brought.  The demonization of those who have different views, even if the ideas they propose are wrong, does not contribute to the new life that Christ desires for us. 
    If we wish Easter to be more than simply another Sunday; if we wish to see an end to the widespread violence and hate, then we need to open ourselves up to the graces from God that take us away from death and lead us to eternal life.  Go to church every Sunday and Holyday; go to confession regularly; stop supporting works of death.  If we want the joy and peace of Easter, of Christ’s victory over sin and death, then live His life each day to the best of your ability.  Allow the power of Easter to resonate in every inch of our being.  [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.]

The Raising of Lazarus and a Greater Miracle

Fifth Sunday of Lent
    I have a vague memory from when I was a young child of the first funeral visitation I attended.  I remember looking at the casket with the deceased person, and being a bit confused.  The person looked to be asleep, and I wondered if the person would ever wake up again, and if it would happen while I was there.  I obviously did not, at that point, really understand death.

    We have heard this story about the raising of Lazarus how many times in our life, and it probably has become a bit passé and humdrum.  We know what’s going to happen.  But imagine that story was transposed into our time.  Imagine a wandering priest, who had worked some miracles, walked into the funeral home visitation with a closed casket, told you to open it, and then said, “Awaken!”  And then imagine the person actually opened his eyes, sat up, and then got out of the casket.  Not so humdrum anymore!
    That is the shock that we should have when we hear this familiar story.  It should shake us out of our complacency.  The raising of Lazarus is the last great sign in John’s Gospel that Jesus is who He says He is.  And Jesus takes great pains to make sure that no one will be confused about the significance of what just happened.  Perhaps the other accounts of Jesus’ miracles were written off by others as parlor tricks, or clever shows put on by a snake oil salesman.  But this amazing feat could not be written off.  Jesus waited two days after knowing that Lazarus was ill even to go to Bethany.  And by the time He gets there, Lazarus had been in the tomb for four days.  There was no question that Lazarus was dead.  In fact, the people were concerned that decomposition had started.  And yet, no one could deny that Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, because they saw Lazarus, tied up in burial cloths, walking out of the tomb. 
    And yet, that work, as amazing as it is, is not the greatest work of Christ.  This sign, this miracle, merely restored earthly life to a man who would die again.  Incredible?  Yes.  But not as incredible as the greatest work of Christ, which was His own Death and Resurrection, into which we will enter and participate in less than two weeks. 
    The raising of Lazarus was the re-vivification of earthly flesh.  The Death and Resurrection of Christ brought about the possibility of eternal happiness by filling the earthly flesh with the Spirit of God.  St. Paul references this in our second reading when he writes, “if Christ is in you, although the body is dead because of sin, the spirit is alive because of righteousness.”  And Christ comes into us through Holy Baptism, the Sacrament in which we die with Christ so that we can rise with Him to new life.
    Through Baptism, God takes something which is opposed to Him, His own enemy, and makes it the dwelling place of His Holy Spirit.  He makes a son or daughter out of an enemy, and takes that which is pointed towards destruction and makes it that which is pointed toward glory.  Our bodies operate under the weight of sin and the death that comes with sin.  And yet, by the Spirit of God, they can continue on this earth but no longer plagued by sin and death, but designated for eternal life.  And that eternal life will not end, like the earthly life of Lazarus eventually ended (and as our earthly life will eventually end).  But God will raise up our bodies to be like His in glory, as St. Paul said, and those bodies will experience no more death, nor more pain, no more limits that our earthly bodies experience. 
    With this in mind, it is also striking that we often choose to reject the resurrection that Jesus offers us, and give in to the death that comes from sin.  If Baptism is our own raising like Lazarus, so that we are a new creation, choosing to commit major sins after Baptism is like asking the crowd to re-wrap us with burial cloths and put us back in the tomb where can rot.  Sin binds us up and brings death and rot.  Jesus, on the other hand, frees us to be ourselves as God created us to be, and refreshes us and restores us to our youth. 
    Do we believe that Christ can do this?  Do we have faith in Christ who is the Resurrection and the Life?  Are we like St. Martha, so often put down because of her busyness, but here demonstrating her faith in the Lord?  Do we meet Him and express our faith that we will rise in the resurrection on the last day, because He is the Christ, the Son of God?  Are we like Mary, who previously had sat at the feet of Jesus, but who, in this instance, was slow to come to Jesus and slow to believe?  Are we willing to accept the new life that God desires for us, a life separated from the sins of our past, leaving them in the tombs as we walk about in the fresh air of life in Christ?
    [My dear Elect, in this last scrutiny, we once again ask God to heal you from your past sins, and remove any hold that Satan has upon you.  Christ beckons for you and says, “Come out!  Do not be bound any longer!”  You are less than two weeks away from the time when Christ will make you His own, and pour His Spirit within you, the same Spirit who raised Christ from the dead.  Hear the voice of God.  Do not linger in the tombs, but enjoy the bright light of freedom.]
    I dare say it would be a shock to any of us if, at the next funeral we attended, the person were to come back to life.  And if that person said that Jesus had sent them back, we would probably pay heed to what Jesus had said to that person.  Jesus does a greater work than that: He frees you from the death of sin.  Pay attention to what Jesus has said through the Scriptures and the Church.  Pay attention to the witness of those who have died to their sins and risen to freedom in Christ.  Come out of the death of sin.  Allow the grace and mercy of God to unbind you from slavery to Satan and walk about freely in the Spirit of God.

Choosing Life Instead of Death

 Seventh Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  The colloquial definition of insanity is doing the same thing but expecting different results.  How often we can be insane, at least according to that definition!  It’s like the old gag where a man goes to the doctor and says, “It hurts when I raise my arm,” so the doctor replies, “Then don’t raise your arm!”  Sometimes the simplest things in theory, are the most complex in practice.

    St. Paul reminds us today that the wages of sin is death.  When we sin, we are inviting death into our life.  We might say that we are cutting out life from our existence.  Sin is slavery: shackling ourselves into bondage.  No one forces us to sin; we have the freedom to choose good from evil.  But how often do we choose evil?!
    And then, having chosen death, having chosen to sin, we wonder why we reap death.  Again, our Lord reminds us that if we sow death, we will reap death.  If we sow slavery, we will reap slavery.  We know the tree by the fruits it produces.  But we still go back to the tree that brings us death and weakens our relationship with God, or even separates us from God.  
    Of course, we think that we can get away with it, or that the consequences won’t effect us.  We think we can outsmart sin and death, or be so tricky that we can enjoy the sin but not suffer the consequences.  
    But no one explicitly thinks this way when he or she sins.  We don’t use our brains, we use our passions, and so we often don’t consciously think: this action is not good; it is not leading me to God.  If I do this, I’m inviting death and slavery into my life.  Or we may think that it’s not a big sin, so we don’t need to really worry about it.  So we flirt with little sins, not realizing that they can, if left alone, lead to bigger sins.
    But it doesn’t have to be this way.  Our Lord came precisely to transfer us from the kingdom of death and slavery to the kingdom of life and freedom.  He ransomed us with His own Precious Blood, and paid the price of our freedom by dying on the cross.  God wants freedom for our life.  He wants us to live.  And He offers us every opportunity for freedom and life.  But we keep sliding back into slavery and death.
    The antidote to this sliding is the fear of the Lord.  Our Gradual today, from Psalm 33, begins, “Come, children, and hear me; I will teach you the fear of the Lord.”  The fear of the Lord is not about being scared or afraid.  Fear of the Lord is about recognizing the pain sin causes God, not because He is weak, but because He mourns when we draw farther away from Him.  Think of this fear like the fear you would have of disappointing your spouse or a parent.  Sometimes the worst thing we can hear is, “I’m not mad, I’m disappointed.”  When we love someone, we want to show that love to them, and we don’t want them to not feel that love.  The scriptures often use the image of adultery, marital infidelity, to describe sin.  The action is bad enough, and we know it’s wrong, but the pain that comes from realizing we let our beloved or our Father down is sometimes worse than any corporal punishment that could be inflicted upon us.
    So, to avoid sin, especially grave sin, we need to keep that desire not to hurt our beloved, God, at the front of our mind.  When our mind is fixed on God and showing Him our love by what we do (and what we don’t do), then we’re less likely to give in to those sins that demonstrate that we don’t fully love God, that something else is more important than Him.  Would that we always kept the post-sin sadness in our minds before we fell into sin, so that we wouldn’t have the pain that comes from disappointing our beloved, our God.
    Our life in Christ is not so much about doing the right things and not doing the wrong things (though we should do the right and avoid the wrong).  We can live at that surface level of our faith, where we just do this and don’t do that because the Scriptures or the Church tell us so.  But God invites us to let our roots grow deeper so that we can bear better fruit.  He invites us to consider His commands as the way that we can return the love that He first showed us when our Lord died on the cross.  How often we go to our Divine Physician and say, “It hurts when I sin!”  He tells us, “Then don’t sin!”  Keep at the front of your mind your love for God, that love that makes sin seem less appealing, and by keeping that love before you, avoid the death that sin always brings, the death and sin that were conquered by Christ, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit reign for ever and ever.  Amen. 

Death and Him that Conquered It

 Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time
    As we enter into Lent this Wednesday, we enter into a time of penance.  We begin our observance of Lent with the words, “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”  And throughout Lent we give things up in order to die to our will.  We fast, we abstain, and we enter into a time of making do with less.  Why?  Why all this negation?
    Our little sacrifices are meant to remind us of the one big sacrifice that Christ underwent for our salvation.  But do we really understand salvation?  Do we know from what we were saved?  Do we want to be saved daily?
    St. Paul talks about that which is corruptible and that which is mortal, and talks about death and sin.  This is something that we don’t talk about a lot in modern Catholicism, but it’s important.  Because if we don’t understand the sorry state we were and can be in, then we don’t appreciate the gift of incorruptibility, immortality, and victory that our Lord Jesus Christ won for us.
    We have certainly grown up in a society that says that everyone is basically good, and everything is basically alright.  That’s one view of the world, but it’s not the Catholic, Christian, or Jewish worldview.  Yes, God created all things good, as we heard in Genesis, but through Adam and Eve’s sin, everything in creation was corrupted.  Death entered the world, and not simply the death that signals the end of life, but eternal death, eternal separation from God.  
    And that was not simply for Adam and Eve, it was for everyone who came forth from them, that is, everyone.  We don’t enter into this world on the path to heaven; we enter this world on a path to hell, because we are separated from God.  We belong to sin, and sin means death, which is the opposite of God, who is Life.  All we can produce is bad fruit.  Even the best of us–Abraham, Moses, David, Isaiah–were all still bound in sin and could not enter into eternal life, no matter how good a life they lived.
    This is the victory that St. Paul was talking about for death.  Death claimed every person of the human race before the Incarnation.  It was as if everyone was in a prison, by humanity’s own making, and the warden was the devil.  So many came so close to getting out, only to be dragged back in.  

    But, the victory of Christ was the opening of the prison gates by one who died, but who was not under its penalty.  Christ knew no sin, and yet suffered the penalty of sin so that we would not have to.  He was able to transform the bad fruit into good fruit.  He freed us from sin and death.  And He did this by His Death and Resurrection.  And He imparts that Death and Resurrection to us through Baptism, and through all the Sacraments, especially the Most Blessed Sacrament of the Eucharist.  
    So without Baptism, without the Death and Resurrection of Christ applied for us and accepted by us, we are still in that prison; we are still subject to eternal death.  Without Christ, nothing we do is meritorious and helping us get to heaven.  With Christ, even the smallest sacrifices that we make help us to accept eternal salvation that Christ won for us.
    But while Baptism frees us from the prison, we can, by our decisions, freely walk back in.  We would consider it crazy for a prisoner who was just released from prison to walk right back and close the cell door on him or herself.  But that is what we do when we sin.  
    And so, as we get ready for Lent, we do those small sacrifices that show Christ that we are grateful, but we are also training ourselves not to turn back to sin.  The things that we give up, the extra penances and charitable works that we do are meant to help us be closer to Christ and keep us free with Him.  We give up stuff that reminds us of how bad prison is, so that when we go throughout our day we reject the path back into prison and accept the freedom that Christ wants for us.  
    So, as we prepare for the beginning of Lent on Wednesday, we are not preparing for a Catholic diet.  We are not preparing for a random, 40-day period where we give up stuff just because it’s what we’ve always done.  We are not preparing simply for a season.  We are preparing ourselves to continue in the freedom that we received in Baptism and that we receive in the Eucharist and through the other sacraments we have received.  We are preparing ourselves to recognize and resist the ways in which Satan seduces us to come back to his prison and be his slaves.  We are preparing ourselves to stay close to Christ and the victory He won, so that, in Christ, we can say, “Where, O death, is your victory?  Where, O death, is your sting?”  And “thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ,” whom we will have the opportunity to worthily receive as we continue towards the climax of the Mass, the consecration and reception of the Eucharist. 

Re-discovering the Joy of the Resurrection

 Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
    There is nothing so jarring to human existence as death.  Whether it’s the suddenness or the finality of it, death simply seems wrong.  It feels so wrong when it’s a young person, when a parent has to bury a child.  But even with a person who lived a long life, and who went through a prolonged illness, death still hurts and seems like it doesn’t belong.  And it doesn’t.
    Our first reading reminds us that “God did not make death.”  That hearkens back to Genesis, where God, the source of life, breathes His life into Adam and Eve.  But then, after they rebel against God and are banished from the Garden, God puts a limit on mortal life.  In one sense, this was a mercy, as God did not want us to live forever in a fallen state, always subject to the reign of sin.
    But then in our Gospel, we hear a kind of undoing of death in two ways: in an older woman, and in a younger child.  You may have missed the part about the older woman, but she had been suffering "with hemorrhages for twelve years.”  I’m no doctor, but a hemorrhage is a flow of blood.  Blood, to the Jews, was life, so if she was “leaking” blood, she was, in a sense, dying; the life was flowing out of her.  So both were, at least in one sense, dying.  And Jesus brings them both back to life.
    The Resurrection of Jesus is part of the good news that is at the heart of being Catholic.  And it’s good news because death is not, despite our experience, final.  It is the answer to a question that sits on every human heart.  Every human experiences death, and senses the wrongness of it.  As we sit in the funeral home with the casket in front of us, greeting family and friends, crying at the loss, laughing at favorite memories, we know it’s not supposed to be that way.  Jesus helps us to know that it no longer is that way, because He rose from the dead.
    Jesus’ Resurrection wasn’t like the new life that He gave to the woman with hemorrhages, or the daughter of Jairus, or the son of the widow of Nain, or even Lazarus.  They still died again.  But Jesus will not die again; His death was once for all.  Death was the poverty that Jesus took upon Himself, because Jesus is Life.  It’s like light becoming darkness, or gold becoming clay.  But Jesus did so because He knew that darkness cannot conquer light, and He wanted to make us who were clay into gold.  St. Augustine talks about this as the admirabile commercium, the wonderful exchange.  We gave Jesus death, which He willingly took upon Himself, and He gave us life.  
    So how do we get this deal?  How do we participate in this exchange?  Baptism begins this, as we die with Jesus in the waters of baptism, and rise to a new life of grace.  But it’s more than baptism.  Baptism is only the beginning.  What is meant to follow is a day-by-day deepening in our friendship with Jesus, and giving Him our death, and receiving His life.  
    The woman with the hemorrhages and Jairus, the father of the young girl, are beautiful examples of this exchange.  They have faith in Jesus, and so they go to Him.  Jairus goes to find Jesus, and the woman approaches Jesus as He walks in the crowd.  How often do we truly seek after Jesus, rather than fatalistically figuring that what is going to happen will happen?  How often do we take our death to Jesus to receive life?  It’s as simple as asking.
    But we also have to be willing to receive.  The life that Jesus wants for us is not the life we gave to Him.  We give Jesus a fallen life, a life of sin and death, and He wants to give us life.  But in order to receive life, we have to give up sin and death.  We have to do our best to put behind us those things that we want to do because of the fall, because of our concupiscence, our desire to do evil and avoid good, rather than doing good and avoiding evil.  Too often, we want to give Jesus our death, but we’d like to hang on to it a little, because, while deadly, it’s also familiar, and sometimes even a bit of fun.  But if we hang on to death, we cannot have life.  It’s not so much a punishment, as simply the way things work in the spiritual realm.  If our hands are still clenching onto what we have, they are not open to receive what Jesus wants to give.
   

As Catholics, we need to reclaim our faith in the Resurrection.  We need to reclaim our faith that death is not final, as troubling as it is.  Death is meant to be the last thing that we give Jesus, our last bit of life, so that He can give us His life.  Start engaging in the great exchange today.  Be in the habit of giving Jesus your all, especially your sin and daily deaths, so that He can give you His life.  Come to Jesus, and live.

"Where, O Death, is Thy Sting?"

 Easter Sunday

Inside Jesus' empty tomb

    According to the Michigan Vital Records, 115,408 people died in the year 2020 from causes including cancer, heart disease, COPD, stroke, pneumonia and flu, septicemia, and COVID-19 (this is probably not the way you thought the homily for Easter was going to begin, is it?).  Two of those deaths in 2020 were my grandfathers, Jesse Perez and Fred Strouse, Sr.  Twenty-seven other deaths were parishioners at St. Pius X parish.  Perhaps others were family or friends of yours.  
    I haven’t seen a number, but I have to believe that the amount of money spent on pills, creams, liquids, etc. to prolong life is a staggering amount of money.  After all, living is certainly better than dying.  And those who disagree, tend to overwhelmingly be the kind of people who are still alive (dead people tend to not respond to surveys).  
    Our bodies, too, are equipped for life.  Parents are quite good at calling the bluff of children who say that they’re going to hold their breath until they die, because parents know that, if a child did actually try to stop breathing, eventually the body will go into autopilot, restart, and get you breathing again.  While I can’t point to any science, I remember learning somewhere that the last parts of your body to shut-down, should you be in a very cold environment, are those that deal with life, especially the brain, heart, and lungs.  We are hard wired for life.  There’s even a phobia for death: thanataphobia.  
    But as Catholics, we should not fear death.  Now, to be clear, I’m not saying we should go looking for it, either.  We should not embrace euthanasia nor seek to end our own life.  But today makes everything different for us.  Easter changes our perspective on death.
    Easter, in case we have forgotten over the years, is the celebration of Jesus rising from the dead.  Jesus was truly dead; it wasn’t a trick, it wasn’t an illusion.  Jesus was dead.  But three days later, He came back to life.  There were witnesses to this, including St. Mary Magdalene, the first to see the risen Christ, St. John the Apostle, who was there at the cross when Jesus died, and a few others.  What will become clear in the Gospels over the next few weeks is that no one expected the Resurrection to happen.  This wasn’t some group psychosis from people who wanted something to be true.  If the Gospels tell us anything about the expectation for the Resurrection, they make clear that expectation didn’t exist.  If the apostles thought that Jesus was coming back, why were they amazed at the empty tomb?  Why be amazed when He appeared on the road to Emmaus, in the Upper Room, and to many others, not the least of whom was St. Paul on the road to Damascus.
    And yet, despite the disciples’ lack of hope in the Resurrection, they all say He rose.  And Jesus Himself, as we hear in the Easter Gospels, will prove that it’s Him by the wounds on His body, and by eating with them.  And from that point on, for those who believe, death has not seemed that remarkable.  
    This is not to say that death is not sad, or to make light of it.  I still can get tears in my eyes from people I’ve loved who have died.  Perhaps as a priest the waves of grief are more common, and yet less strong, because I help families grieve a death on a regular basis.  But it hurts not having a loved one around anymore.  I’ve recently tried my hand at making Spanish rice that my grandmother used to make when she was alive.  I’ve gotten decent, but it’s not the same, and there’s a certain frustration in not being able to taste it how she made it.
    But Jesus’ Resurrection is not a story from 2,000 years ago that stays in the past.  It is meant to inform our present, as well.  Jesus conquering death means that death is not the end, and we do not have to have thanataphobia, the fear of death.  Jesus’ Resurrection paves the way for ours, as well, and changes the way we look at death.  It’s possible that we can go to heaven, because Christ has shown us the way.  Through the gift of self to the Father, through laying down one’s life for one’s beloved, through following Jesus with all of who we are, death becomes a transition from this life to the life to come.  
    Again, I’m not saying that we can be reckless with life.  I wear my seatbelt; I don’t play in traffic; I don’t only eat junk food; I go to the doctor; etc., etc.  I don’t take life lightly, but I try not to give death more than its due.  Our hope in the resurrection is not only meant to help us feel better about loved ones who die.  Our hope in the resurrection is meant to give us courage to live the radical life Jesus calls us to, a life lived entirely for Him.  What gave the martyrs the ability to suffer horrible torments of body?  At the end of the day, the worst anyone could do is make them die, and death wasn’t so terrible, because Jesus had risen from the dead.  The worst that Roman officials, and barbarian kings, and tribal warriors, and heads of state, and Nazi and Communist guards could do had already been done, and Jesus had conquered it.  
    As followers of Jesus we are not to take life lightly.  We are to value and treasure every human life, and work to promote its growth and development in virtue and faith and love.  Death is not a fate to be avoided at all costs, something for which we would give up anything.  Death, as part of God’s will and according to His plan, is another part of the life that God has told us will go on forever, hopefully in heaven.  
    How does not fearing death change you today?  What do you do differently if death is conquered and has no more power?  How does Jesus’ Resurrection, which we celebrate today and every Sunday, make you live for Him?

Entrance to the empty tomb in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem

A Great Nightly Prayer

Feast of the Presentation of the Lord

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

Death and Resurrection

Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Death.  It’s scary.  It seems so final.  What is beyond death is, generally, unknown.  It is the biggest change a person goes through in life, after being conceived and born.  We do everything we can to avoid death: we create new medicines; we buy creams to try to keep us looking young; we spend lots of money to fight death.  And yet, death comes to us all, some as young people, some as old.

Fighting death is, in one sense, natural for us because we were not made for death.  In the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve cared for the Tree of Life, which would have allowed them to live forever.  But they were cast out of the garden, and banned from that tree.  And, as our first reading stated, “God did not make death.”  Death entered the world because when our first parents rejected God, they rejected life.  St. Paul says it this way in the Letter to the Romans: “Therefore, just as through one person sin entered the world, and through sin, death, and thus death came to all, inasmuch as all sinned…”  Everything in our being knows that we are made for eternal life, and yet we all have to experience death, and so we fight against it.

But, we need no longer fear death, because Jesus has conquered it by His Death and Resurrection.  Jesus gave a foretaste of that in today’s Gospel.  The woman with hemorrhages was getting worse; perhaps she was close to death.  But she went to Jesus because she had faith that He could make things better.  The little girl, the synagogue official’s daughter, was already dead by the time that Jesus got to her.  But her parents had faith, and she was returned to them.  Jesus unbound the power of death and gave new life.  Now, in both cases, the woman and the girl, they would later die.  But their faith changed the approach to death.  They followed Jesus’ command that we heard, “‘Do not be afraid; just have faith.’”

Death, for those who have faith in and follow Jesus should not be something that we fear so much.  Yes, we still may be anxious about the unknown, and we should not do anything to speed up our own death, but we need not be afraid if we have faith.  

In “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows,” a story is told about the Deathly Hallows and three brothers.  Two of the three brothers try to cheat death.  But the third brother gained Death’s cloak of invisibility, and hid from death for many years.  After a long life, the third brother gave his cloak of invisibility to his son, and, as the story goes, “greeted death as an old friend.”  That’s not quite our view of death as Christians, but there is something that rings true in that story.  As believers in Jesus, death is not something we fear, but something that we can greet as a friend, because it is the necessary transition from this life to the life to come.  St. Augustine says that the only Christian who should fear death, is the one who has not truly followed Jesus, because eternal life will not be a life of joy, but a life of eternal torment.

If we are not afraid, if we have faith in Jesus, death is that which is the conclusion of our trials and testing on earth, and the beginning of our reward.  The student who has studied is not afraid of the final exam, but sees it as the necessary way to move towards graduation.  Our final judgment is not based on what we know, but, as St. John of the Cross states, whom we loved and how we loved.  But it still can allow us to graduate, to move on, to pass over, from this Valley of Tears to the eternal banquet of the Lamb of God in heaven.  

But death need not only be thought of in terms of our final breath.  We experience little deaths throughout our life, and our approach to those little deaths should be no less occasions of faith in what Jesus can do.  There’s the little deaths that happen in our family life: when we realize that our little baby is no longer a baby and is becoming more independent; when we lose a job; when, despite years of Catholic education and formation in the home, a child breaks our heart and stops practicing the faith.  There’s also little deaths that happen in our faith life: when we lose a pastor that we love; up 75 a bit and then down 475, St. Mary in Mt. Morris announced last Tuesday that, effective immediately, the school is closed; in our own parish as we make the transition to two weekend Masses from three.  All of those and more are little deaths in our lives.  We can fear it, we can fight it, we can kick and scream about it, or we can be not afraid and have faith in Jesus, trusting that He who brought us to all those situations and more will carry us through it.

Because our faith and our hope is in what is beyond the death, and that’s new life.  When Jesus rose from the dead He blazed a trail for us so that where He has gone, we hope to follow.  And although we have never seen what is on the other side of our own death, we have seen what is on the other side of Jesus’ death, and that is new life, transfigured life, glorified life.  To gain that new, transfigured, and glorified life, we need only follow Jesus and His way.  As we face death, in its many forms, Jesus invites us today: “‘Do not be afraid; just have faith.’”

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.