Sundays after Epiphany

Third Sunday in Ordinary Time
    In the 1962 liturgical calendar, these Sundays after Epiphany are called, inventively enough, Sundays after Epiphany, rather than what we call them now after Vatican II, Sundays in Ordinary Time, or Sundays through the year.  And while the pre-Vatican II name didn’t require much imagination, it also didn’t require any serious study to know what the focus of these Sundays would be: the unpacking of the mystery of the Epiphany.
    I bring this up because the theme of the Epiphany is how Christ reveals Himself as well as how Christ is the Light to the Nations.  And even though we call these Sundays the Sundays in Ordinary Time, the theme or focus is also how Christ reveals Himself.  Last week we heard St. John the Baptist point to Jesus and reveal Him to John’s disciples.  This week we hear how Christ reveals Himself as a light to the land of Zebulun and Naphtali, the area that we commonly refer to as Galilee, as well as how Christ reveals Himself to His first apostles: the brothers Peter and Andrew and the brothers James and John.
    First, we heard Isaiah and the actual prophecy that, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom, a light has shone.”  God promises to bring his people to the light and bring them joy, rather than gloom.  When Isaiah wrote this, guided by the Holy Spirit, the immediate context was the return of the Jewish people from exile in Babylon.  But the Holy Spirit intended so much more than just a word of hope for a people who had lost their earthly homeland.  The Holy Spirit, the Divine Author of the Scriptures, intended to prepare the Jewish people for the day when the Messiah would come who would open up the possibility that those in exile from union with God in Eden, could return to an even better place than Eden, and could dwell with God in heaven.  At the Easter Vigil, which we will celebrate in about 10 weeks, we will hear in the Exultet how Christ is the light that dispels the darkness of sin and death, as the new Paschal Candle shines through the dark church and then we share its light to illuminate this temple.  
    How do we follow that light?  How do our lives go from exile from God to union with God?  Jesus proclaims the way in our Gospel: “‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.’”  God’s grace gives us the power to turn away from the darkness of sin, sin which causes death, and turn towards the light of grace and holiness, which gives us eternal life.  God offers a lit candle to us to give us light, but we have to choose to accept it.  When we choose our own will over God; when we choose whatever makes our bodies feel good, without reflection on God’s plan; when we seek to dominate others, we reject the light and continue to live in darkness and exile.  When we say with our actions, along with our words, “Thy will be done”; when we submit our earthly desires to what leads to heaven; when we see how we can serve others, even if we do exercise legitimate authority over them, we allow God to light our candle and move towards heaven, our true home.

    But Christ also revealed Himself to the apostles, Peter and Andrew, James and John.  And He called them to become fishers of men, rather than simple fishermen.  Having encountered Christ and accepted His light, God sends us on a mission.  That mission is to share the light and show others the way to heaven, rather than just keeping it for ourselves.  
    When we hear Apostles, we tend to think of bishops, and maybe even priests.  And that is a good instinct, as the bishops are the successors of the apostles, and the priests cooperate with the bishops in continuing the priestly ministry of Christ.  However, in the same way that we talk about St. Mary Magdalene as an apostle, we can also recognize our own call to be an apostle: to be someone who is sent out, as I mentioned last week, to proclaim the good news, the Gospel, to those who are still sitting in the shadow of death.  By Confirmation especially, we are called to share the light of Christ in our daily lives.  That might happen as a student in the way we treat fellow classmates; it might happen in the way that children obey their parents when told to do the dishes or clean their room; it might happen by parents who instruct their children in the faith and show them the love of God the Father; it might happen by sharing our faith at work to give guidance to a person searching for truth; it might happen by a small act of kindness for a person at a restaurant or on the street.  There are millions of ways that we can share the light of Christ, each tailored to the vocation to which God has called us.  
    In these first weeks of Ordinary Time, the first weeks after the Epiphany, I pray that we will continue to meditate on how Christ reveals Himself as the Light of the World.  I pray that we recommit ourselves both to receiving more light from Christ and sharing that light with others.  And through our reception and sharing of the Light of Christ, may we know abundant joy and great rejoicing, as the Prophet Isaiah prophesied!

The Light

Solemnity of the Epiphany of the Lord
    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.]  Probably most of the time when we think of the Epiphany, we think about giving gifts, especially the gifts that the magi gave to Christ: gold, frankincense, and myrrh.  In some countries, Epiphany is the day that people exchange gifts more than Christmas.  And the Christmas carol, “The Twelve Days of Christmas” are actually about the twelve days after Christmas, and sing about giving gifts leading up the Epiphany.  

    And focusing on gifts at the Epiphany is well and good.  However, there is another aspect to the Epiphany that we probably miss: the theme of light.  The word epiphany finds its root in the Greek word 𝜙𝛼𝜄𝜈𝜔, which means to reveal or to shine.  We hear it in John 1:5 [every Sunday]: “the light shines (𝜙𝛼𝜄𝜈𝜀𝜄) in the darkness.”  We hear it in Isaiah, chapter sixty, our (first) reading: “the glory of the Lord shines upon you.”  And the star that the magi follow shines upon the place where they could find the King of the Jews.  We hear it in the Collect, the opening prayer: “O God, who on this day revealed your Only Begotten Son to the nations by the guidance of a star.”  Light is as big a part of this day as giving gifts.
    And as we think of Christ as He reveals Himself as the Light of the World, we see the light growing.  Think of Christ like a candle: first it was simply one light.  As the Blessed Virgin Mary conceived Him in her virginal womb at the Annunciation, her candle was lit.  As Elizabeth and St. John the Baptist in her womb recognized the Lord at the Visitation, their candles were lit.  At the Nativity, the angels shared the light of Christ with the shepherds.  And now, as the magi come to visit, seeking by the light of a star the new born King of the Jews, they receive the light of Christ, and then take it back with them to the east, whence they came.  
    The light allows us to see well.  So light is connected with truth, which helps us understand the way the world works.  When we know the truth, we speak of being enlightened.  And besides the visit of the magi, the Epiphany also celebrates Christ shining during His baptism as well as at the wedding at Cana.  In these three events, others come to know the truth that Jesus is no mere mortal: the magi as they bring their gifts of gold for a king, frankincense for God, and myrrh for one who is to be buried; the people at the River Jordan as the Holy Spirit descends and the voice of the Father is heard; the disciples and servants as they realize that Christ has changed water into wine.  Pope St. John Paul II, wrote an Encyclical called Veritatis Splendor, the splendor (or illumination) of the truth, which is also a definition of beauty.  
    So for us today, Christ invites us to receive His light.  When we are baptized, the priest lights a candle from the Paschal Candle, the candle that represents Christ, and are invited to walk in the light.  Christ shares His light with us, as He did with the Blessed Mother, St. Elizabeth and St. John the Baptist, the shepherds, the magi, and the Apostles and disciples.  “The light shines in the darkness,” and with each person who chooses to live in the light, in the truth that God has revealed through His Church, more people see more clearly how true happiness can be found.  
    It is like at the Easter Vigil, at the beginning rites called the lucenarium, the ritual of light.  At first the Paschal Candle alone shines in the darkness of the church.  Then the priest lights his candle from the Christ Light.  Then the rest of the people begin to receive the light, until the entire church shines with the light of Christ that He has shared with others, one by one.
    Our Lord tells us that people don’t light candles to put them under a bushel basket.  So we should not hide the light that Christ has given to us.  Christ invites us to share that light with others.  He gives us grace, a form of His life and light, to allow us to live holy lives and follow Him.  But He also wants us to share that grace with others by the way we speak to them and the way we treat them.  King Herod remained in darkness because He feared the Lord as a threat to his earthly power.  Herod plunged himself deeper in darkness as he tried to snuff out the Light of Christ as young child and killed numerous innocent children, which we celebrated on 28 December.  When we don’t live as a disciple, especially when we commit mortal sins, we also go deeper and deeper into darkness.
    Instead, though, Christ invites us to love others in word and deed, and to share the Gospel with them in word and deed.  Maybe it’s a donation made to a food pantry, or, even better, time actually spent with the poor at a food pantry, serving them food and talking with them as we would talk to Christ.  Maybe it’s hugging a person who had a rough day.  Maybe it’s asking someone to pray with them after they tell us about a family member who has gone on the wrong path, or a scary medical procedure, or even just when they are tired of doing their job.  Maybe it’s inviting a person to come to Mass with you, or sharing an important Gospel passage that helps you to make sense of life.  In these ways and more, we take the light that Christ gave to us at our baptism, and we share it with others.  Sometimes the other person won’t be accepting of the light of Christ, or their light will blow out due to the winds of fear, pride, or error, but at least we did our best to share it with them, and maybe it will take a few times for the light to catch, like it sometimes takes a few strikes before a match begins to burn.  
    So as we celebrate Epiphany, may we remember and put into practice the words of our Lord from the Gospel: your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father, who with the Son and the Holy Spirit is God, for ever and ever.  Amen.

Darkness and Light

First Sunday of Advent
    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.]  I don’t know about you, but during these winter days, I feel like it’s ten o’clock at night, based upon how dark it is outside, and then look at my watch and it’s only 7 p.m.  Others will mention how they long for the season when they don’t both go to work and return home in the dark.  

    Darkness is, however, a natural theme of Advent.  Not darkness for its own sake, but how the birth of Christ scattered the darkness.  We see it in the candles on our Advent wreath.  We will see it especially during our Rorate Coeli Mass on Saturday, which is held entirely in candlelight and with the growing light of the dawn.  Zechariah, the husband of St. Elizabeth and father of St. John the Baptist, notes in his canticle, that “the dawn from on high shall break upon us,” prophesying Christ as the light that makes the darkness flee away.
    And yet, our Lord’s words in the Gospel today may seem a bit dark.  He says that “on earth, nations will be in dismay….People will die of fright in anticipation of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.”  Talk about dark.  Just as the light of prophecy ceased some hundreds of years before Christ came as an infant at Bethlehem, so the preparation for His return in glory will be a dark time with much tribulation.  Perhaps, whether for us as individuals, or even the way the world seems to be going now, we can identify, maybe not with dying of fright, but with a darkness that seems to have swept over much of the world, and even, in some ways, into the Church itself.
    I don’t know when the end will come, but it is coming, and that is a large part of what the Church prepares us for in Advent.  Not just between nations, but even the entire trajectory of our human race seems to be in the midst of a great battle between good and evil, truth and lies, love and hate.  

    While I was in Alabama, I had a chance to read a Catholic novel called The Sabbatical by Michael O’Brien.  It’s about an Oxford professor who gets involved with a family whom other mysterious, evil forces seek to destroy.  I certainly don’t want to give away the book, and I encourage you to read it if you’re looking for good, Catholic literature.  Towards the end of the book, there is a dialogue between an elderly wise priest, Fr. Turner, and the protagonist, Professor Owen Whitfield:
 

[Father Turner said,] “You have come through a great stress–and sorrow.  You are very tired, and you are asking yourself if all the effort of your life is useless.”
[Owen responds] “At times I do feel that.  Of course, I know it’s not true.  But the battle seems interminable, and the gathering forces of darkness go from victory to victory…the captive minds of a generation and those who rule them are now beyond numbering.”
“Minds can be illuminated.  Providence is ever at work.  Love does not abandon us.  He never abandons us.”
“It certainly feels like abandonment, and looks very much like it too.”
“The enemy taunts you, Owen….He insinuates in your heart that he is winning this war, and you wonder whether he is right.”
[…]
“I do feel defeated,” Owen admitted.
“That is the enemy’s provocation.  If you leave your station in the battle line, you break the line of defense and weaken the lines behind you.  But if you stand firm, if you hold your position, even though you do not understand its purpose or usefulness, when it comes time for the King to tell you what to do, you will be ready for it and you will be effective.”

I’m sure my reading of this dialogue doesn’t do it justice, but you can see how it aligns with our readings today.  And I imagine it speaks to some, if not all, of you, at least at one point of your life or another.
    So, what do we do?  How do we keep our station in this battle between light and darkness?  A battle, I might add, that has already been won, but in which the “minor” skirmishes are still being fought on the field until the fullness of victory comes forth.  Owen’s monologue illumines this point.  He says to himself:
 

You do the duty of the tasks at hand….You keep faith with your responsibilities and your vocation, and you love the souls you’ve brought into the world and the souls God brings into your life.  You work and you pray.  You try to turn everything into prayer, and you practice hope.  You keep your eyes trained on the true horizon.

Because the dawn is coming, the dawn that shall break from on high, the rising Son who is not an orb of burning gas, but God Himself who took on our human nature.  He is coming, and the time is now to prepare for that return.  It is like Gandalf coming with Éomer to relieve the beleaguered forces at Helms Deep: “Look to my coming at first light….At dawn, look to the East.”  The Lord will return and will forever put to flight the forces of darkness by the rising of His Light, the Light from Light, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit live and reign for ever and ever.  Amen.  

The Last Gospel

Nativity of the Lord: Mass during the Day/Third Mass
    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen].  There are so many beautiful images that the Scriptures bring to our imaginations about the Nativity of the Lord.  Maybe we think of Joseph leading Mary on a donkey as she travels to Bethlehem while being nine months pregnant.  Or maybe we think of them going up to inns, trying to see if there’s room, but not finding anything.  Because of St. Francis of Assisi, we may think of them in a barn-like structure, though the older tradition is that our Lord was born in a cave.  We may think of the shepherds seeing the angels, hearing them sing the Gloria, and then going to find the Christ Child.  Based upon the Christmas carol, we might even think about a little boy with his snare drum playing for the Holy Family (which is probably not what a woman who has just given birth wants to hear).    So which of these accounts do we hear as we come to Mass today on Christmas morning/afternoon?  “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was God, and the Word was God….And the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us, and we saw his glory, the glory as of the Father’s only Son, full of grace and truth.”  And yet, according to one scholar, John’s prologue was the traditional Gospel for Christmas Day from the time of the earliest lectionaries, or collections of readings for the Mass. 
    So why this Gospel?  Why this elevated reflection Christ as the Logos, the Word?  This prologue is really the Gospel writ small.  It precedes, in a sense, Genesis, and concludes, in a sense the Book of Revelation.  It starts at the beginning, but even before “In the beginning” from Genesis, because it speaks of the time when there was simply God, and nothing else.  It talks about the perennial back and forth between light and darkness, an unequal battle that entered humanity’s realm by the disobedience of Adam and Eve.  But it also talks about those who belong to God, are enabled to become His children, through this same Logos, this same Word, Jesus Christ.
    All of the stories with which we are familiar–Mary and Joseph, the inns, the stable or cave, the shepherds–John encapsulates in the pithy phrase, “And the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.”  John, who wrote this Gospel around the year AD 90, already had the witness of Matthew and Luke giving their own infancy narratives.  But there is more to Christmas than just a baby.  There is also the aspect that this baby brought us the grace to be freed from the slavery to the law.  Christ gave us more than just a new law.  He gave us Himself: “From his fullness…grace in place of grace.”  And John, even in just this first part of the first chapter, is able to start to tease out the invisible realities which this visible baby brought forth.
    Other than today and on Holy Thursday, in the Extraordinary Form, this Gospel passage is read at the end of each Mass and is called the Last Gospel.  This practice began in England in what is called the Sarum Rite from the twelfth century.  Between the eleven hundreds and the fifteen hundreds, it was a private prayer for the priest to say after Mass.  Pope St. Pius V added it to every Mass (with few exceptions) in 1570.  It was eliminated in the post-Conciliar changes to the Missal in 1965.
    But the value is that, at the end of each Mass in the Extraordinary Form, priest and people are reminded of this overarching theme of salvation: God in Himself; God in the Incarnation; God’s grace and truth given to us to become children of God, a revelation only made possible by the Incarnation of the Eternal Word.  And the Eucharist, just received at the time of the Last Gospel, is precisely the same Word, who strengthens the individual Catholic in the Theo-drama of God’s victory of light over darkness and holiness over sin. 
    This focus on the divinity of Christ also reminds us of the power of Christmas over all the other ways that God communicated.  The Letter to the Hebrews adeptly reminds us that God has spoken to us in partial and various ways.  He walked with Adam and Eve in the cool of the evening.  He spoke to Noah and commanded him to build an ark to save the righteous.  He called Abraham out of Ur of the Chaldees.  He called Moses to free His people from bondage in Egypt to freedom in the Promised Land.  He anointed David to be the king and shepherd of His people, Israel.  He gave Solomon the plan for the Temple and dwelt there.  He sent prophets to remind the people of their commitment to follow God and the consequences if they did not.  And all of those were good.
    But at that first Christmas, God chose to speak for Himself.  An ambassador is a good communication of the wishes and expectations of a ruler.  But the ruler himself communicates in a way that far surpasses a spokesman.  A picture or a painting can capture some of the beauty of a landscape.  But to be in the presence of the reality far surpasses any representation of that beauty.  Our Lord is the ruler.  Our Lord is the beautiful landscape.  And in encountering Him, in the Incarnation, we have the chance to appreciate the reality beyond the shadows the prefigured it. 
    This may not be the Christmas Gospel we anticipate.  But it’s the Christmas Gospel that explains not just that day, but all of salvation history.  This Prologue reminds us that Christmas is not just about the baby that we see with our eyes, but the God that we see with our faith.  May our appreciation of the Word made Flesh, spur us on to live in the grace and truth that come from Jesus Christ, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit are one God, for ever and ever.  Amen.

Illuminating the Night

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

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

Actions & Consequences and A Freely-Given Gift

 Fourth Sunday of Lent

    When I was growing up, if we were flirting with trouble (mostly my sisters, because I was a perfect angel, of course!), my parents would say things like: if I have to pull this car over…; don’t you even think about it…; or other such tried and true methods.  They were not cruel, it was just a very direct form of discipline.  As all of us kids turned our pretty well, I’d say it worked.  But my sister Amanda, the only one with kids right now, often uses the phrase, “Make good choices.”  I’d call that the softer approach, but my nieces are also pretty well-behaved (at least, as far as I know), so that approach apparently can work, too!
    One major aspect of raising children is to help them to understand the consequences of their actions.  If you draw on the wall with crayons, you get time-out.  If you touch the hot stove, you get burned.  If you don’t do your homework, you don’t get to play outside (nowadays it’s more likely play video games or play on your phone).  If you break curfew, you’re grounded.  These small lessons about actions and consequences are meant to help young people understand that if we make good choices, there are, generally, good consequences.  If we make bad choices, there are, generally, bad consequences.
    We see that in the first reading today, and even, to an extent, in our Gospel.  The Books of Chronicles of the Old Testament are the abridged versions of the Books of Kings, explaining the actions of the kings of Judah and Israel.  The lesson at the end of the Second Book of Kings, our first reading today, is that the people made bad choices.  They worshipped foreign gods, they mistreated the poor, they trusted earthly riches and powers more than God, they did not live as God’s Chosen People.  God sent them messengers to tell them to make better choices, but they never listened.  And what was the consequence?  The Temple, the great house of God, was destroyed, and the people were exiled into Babylon.  To echo Bishop Barron, there’s a sort of spiritual mathematics going on.  If you add sin upon sin, you get death, like 2 + 2 = 4.  Notice, that death doesn’t only come because of sin (we see that in other books of the Old Testament), just like 4 can be added to with a few different combinations.  But certain actions have certain consequences, or, to put it in St. Paul’s words, “The wages of sin is death.”  
    Jesus, too, and John the Evangelist, give us this same idea in the Gospel.  “Whoever believes in [Jesus] will not be condemned, but whoever does not believe has already been condemned.”  Again, the spiritual mathematics of the importance of believing in Jesus.  Or, later on, John continues that evil means darkness, whereas God means light.  If we do evil things, we envelope ourselves in darkness.  If we do good things, we are surrounded by light.  This is part of the push to the New Evangelization.  We who have received the light (which will be powerfully demonstrated at the Easter Vigil, as we enter into a dark church, at first only illumined by the Paschal Candle which represents Christ), have a responsibility to share it with others.  And we should not prefer darkness to light, because otherwise we’ll find condemnation.
    But this can tend us to the idea that, if we just check off the right boxes, then we’ll be good.  It makes us the author of our salvation, rather than God.  It pretends that we have what it takes to save ourselves.  If that were so, certainly Abraham, or Moses, or Isaiah would have been in heaven as soon as they died.  But they couldn’t be in heaven without Jesus' saving Death and Resurrection.  Even those just men and women of the Old Testament couldn’t get to heaven on their own.  They, and we, are saved by grace, by the gift of God; it is not earned.
    But Fr. Anthony, you may be saying, you just got done saying that good choices lead to good consequences.  Yes, I did.  But all the good choices in the world couldn’t open up heaven.  It was the consequence of the death of Jesus on the cross that allowed us to enter heaven.  His good choice led to our good consequences.  “God, who is rich in mercy,…” says St. Paul, “brought us to life with Christ….For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from you; it is the gift of God.”  Try getting to heaven without Jesus; it’s impossible.  You might be able to get halfway there every day, but you’ll never get all the way there.  Jesus is the only one who makes salvation possible.  And He’s the only one who gives us what we need to accept that gift of salvation.  If those in other religions are saved, the Church says, it’s still only because of Jesus.  Moses does not save people (nor did he claim to).  Mohammed does not save people.  Buddha does not save people.  Only Jesus does.  And anyone who is saved, is saved only through the Passion, Death, Resurrection, and Ascension of Jesus.  
    God invites us to salvation.  He invites us to open the gift that He has prepared for us.  But, as with any gift, we can choose whether or not to accept it.  In that way, we’re back to actions and consequences.  If we accept God’s free gift of salvation, heaven is for us.  How do we know that we have accepted that gift?  By the way we live our life; by the good choices we make in response to that gift, because of our love for God.  We can’t earn it, but neither can we receive it without responding to it.  God did not come to condemn us; He sent Jesus to save us.  But the way that we can grab ahold of that salvation is to respond to the gift, to live as Jesus invites us; to make good choices when presented with the free gift of salvation.

Follow the Light

 Solemnity of the Epiphany of the Lord

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

Remember the Poor

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time
    When it comes to preaching homilies, in seminary we were jokingly (but also a little seriously) told two keys: the 5 Bs and KISS.  The 5 Bs are: Be brief, boy, be brief; KISS stands for Keep It Simple, Stupid (Stupid being directed at the preacher).  I don’t know how brief I’ll be, but I can keep it pretty simple today.
    The readings today focus us on serving “outsiders.”  By outsiders I mean those about whom we heard in the first reading–the hungry, oppressed, homeless–but also anyone who is poor or marginalized.  As followers of Jesus, it is not enough to simply believe the right things (though that is important).  How we live, and how we treat others is also key.  We might say that those are the two parts of the greatest law (Love of God as right belief and right worship, and Love of Neighbor as right actions and morality). 
    This call by Jesus to change the way we treat others is part of what Jesus meant in the Gospel, that we are to be the “salt of the earth” and the “light of the world.”  By following Jesus, and living according to His way of life, we are to preserve what is good in society, and enlighten the parts of the world that are darkened by sin.  By being salt and light, we glorify our heavenly Father.
    St. John Chrysostom, one of the saints depicted in our icons, put it this way:

If you cannot remember everything, instead of everything, I beg you, remember this without fail, that not to share our own wealth with the poor is theft from the poor and deprivation of their means of life; we do not possess our own wealth but theirs.  If we have this attitude, we will certainly offer our money; and by nourishing Christ in poverty here and laying up great profit hereafter, we will be able to attain the good things which are to come, by the grace and kindness of our Lord Jesus Christ…

Chrysostom means golden-mouthed, and though it might not seem so golden, he is certainly right.  As followers of Jesus, as Catholics, we have an obligation to the poor and marginalized, to help them as much as we can.  “Not,” as St. Paul says, “that others should have relief while you are burdened, but that as a matter of equality your surplus at the present time should supply their needs.” 
    Some would suggest that we don’t need to help the poor, because that’s what our taxes supply.  And certainly, there are some ways that the government can help in ways that individuals cannot.  It would be very difficult, if not impossible, to provide public housing based on personal generosity.  It would be very difficult, if not impossible, to take care of basic health needs for people who have no real means of income, without some sort of larger program.  But it is also true that a perennial teaching of Catholic social morality is that individuals or smaller entities that can provide for a need should be allowed to, and only when individuals or the smaller entities cannot should a larger entity or government step in (we call this subsidiarity).
    I should also be clear that St. John Chrysostom is not advocating a wholesale redistribution of wealth.  We hear that a lot from politicians who openly proclaim themselves as socialists.  It is as if a political party can decide to become Robin Hood, and steal from the rich to give to the poor.  But the Church does not advocate socialism, or for people to deputize themselves to decide how much people need, and take the rest from them by force.  Private property and wealth are acceptable, as long as one realizes that the “outsiders” have a right to our assistance for anything beyond what we need for basic living.  Jesus reminds us of this fact in Matthew 25, when he says that we will be judged on how we treated the hungry, thirsty, naked, ill, and those in prison. 
    What that looks like for each person is different.  I can’t give you a dollar amount, or even a percentage, for how much you should be giving to those in need.  The number 10% is tossed around, as the idea of a Biblical tithe, and to the extent that you're able, I would encourage sharing 10% between your parish, maybe Catholic Charities and a few other charities, and having some available as you encounter the poor in your day to day life.  Catholic usually give less than 1% to their parish.  Maybe it’s time for you to consider giving 2% to St. Pius X.  Maybe you can give more.  Maybe you can’t give 2%.  Whatever it is, you’ll know what you can and can’t give, whether to your parish, to charities, and to individuals.
    But remember that, as followers of Jesus, we have a responsibility to the “outsiders.”  As we encounter the daily poor, we can decide best whether they are truly in need, or whether, sadly, they are trying to scam us.  We can decide what charities use the money best for the poor, and areas of our city, State, country, and world that we feel particularly drawn to support.  But the key is that we are committed to helping others to the extent that we are honestly able.  I’ll end here with one more quote from St. John Chrysostom:

Do you want to honor Christ’s body?  Then do not scorn him in his nakedness, nor honor him here in the church with silken garments while neglecting him outside where he is cold and naked.  For He who said: “This is my body,” and made it so by his words, also said: “You saw me hungry and did not feed me, and inasmuch as you did not do it for one of these, the least of my brothers, you did not do it for me.”

For Whom would we Give Up our Life?

Fourth Sunday of Lent

There are a few people, but probably only a few, for whom the average person would give up his or her life.  I think any parent (any good parent, anyway) would give up his or her life for the child.  Siblings sometimes would give up their life for each other.  But generally the list of people for whom another person would give up his or her life is pretty small.

That is what is so impressive about those who serve in the military, law enforcement, or fire departments: they have made a commitment to give up their lives for total strangers.  It is quite humbling for me riding along with our MSP Troopers and seeing them walk up to cars, many with guns in them, and even while they practice safe approaches to the vehicle to limit their chance of being attacked, it still has happened all too frequently that they are in a situation where they may have to lay down their life, not only for a family member or friend, but for the citizens who may not even know they exist.  

If we think about it, giving up our life for a stranger is maybe a little easier if that person is good, maybe what we consider a productive member of society.  But what our first and second reading remind us this weekend is that we weren’t good.  This is an important aspect of salvation history: God loved us and entered into covenants with us to give us life and happiness, but we never lived up to our end of the bargain.  In the Garden of Eden, before we even had sin, we disobeyed God.  God saved Noah and his family because they followed God, but not long after that, Noah’s sons messed things up again.  Abraham did pretty well, but he still had inherited the sin of Adam and Eve that we call original sin.  Moses received the Law, the Ten Commandments from God, and no sooner had God given the Law, then the people broke it.  Even Moses himself couldn’t enter the Promised Land because he had disobeyed God on their journey through the desert.  King Saul disobeyed God, so David was chosen, but even David committed murder to cover up his adulterous relationship with Bathsheba.  Solomon started worshipping foreign gods, even though he had built the temple in Jerusalem, because of the influence of his foreign wives, and most of the kings who followed him were just as evil.  And so on and so on.  No one, not even the prophets, were good enough to earn heaven.  We all were, as St. Paul said in the second reading, “dead in our transgressions.”

And that’s what makes the familiar line we hear in the Gospel so powerful.  It’s not simply a sign that people hold up at football games behind the goal posts.  “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.”  ‘Of course he did!’ we might say to ourselves.  We are so used to God dying for us, to save us from everlasting death and Hell, that we might be a little numb to the power that is in those words.  We might die for family or friends.  We may even die for a good person.  But Jesus died for those who were His enemies: those who worked against Him starting with Adam and Eve, those who clamored for His death in Jerusalem, and for us who have nailed Jesus to the cross each time we sin.  The power of what Jesus did comes from the fact that we were, before baptism, the enemies of God, working against God, happy to do our own thing, rather than follow God.  Even the most just man, because of original sin, was still an enemy of God who could not earn salvation.

How comfortable have so many of us become with the killing of God.  We take it as a matter of fact, and it is in the sense that it has happened.  But it should not have happened.  Jesus is the light of the world, and came not to condemn us but to save us, but we preferred darkness; and so we tried to snuff out the light.  But the light conquered our darkness, as light always does.  

Think of the person who troubles you the most; maybe you even hate that person.  That person has harmed you in a way you find unforgivable.  And now you have to die for that person tomorrow so that he or she can live.  Really think about it; what would be your reaction?  What would be your honest reaction?  Jesus’ reaction was love; not begrudgingly, not with caveats and conditions, not as one forced to do what is for the best, but not the best for Him.  Jesus died for us because He loved us.  He let us kill Him with our sins because He loved us.  We did not earn salvation, nor can we; “this is not from you; it is the gift of God.”  

The question is whether or not we will respond to God’s gift of salvation.  Will we choose the light, or do we prefer darkness?  Do we believe in Jesus, follow Him, and so find eternal life, or will we be condemned because we do not believe?  We are not worth dying for.  But Jesus died for us anyway.  Accept that love of God that died for you so that you may live.  

Preserving and Enlightening Society

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

The stereotypical Catholic home in the early 1960s, so I’m told, had 3 pictures in their house: one picture was of the Sacred Heart of Jesus; one picture was of the Pope (which would have been Pope John XXIII); and one picture was of John F. Kennedy.  The first two make sense without explanation.  The third makes sense to any Catholic, because John F. Kennedy was the first Catholic elected president of the United States.  

On 12 September 1960, while still running for president, JFK gave a famous address to the Greater Houston Ministerial Association.  That speech specifically touched on his religion (there was then, as there remains today, a certain popular anti-Catholicism), as well as religious liberty.  He had many good points in that speech, talking about other important issues as well, including encouraging others to work together, rather than let confessional differences tear the country apart.  Of course, in that time, there was still a general Judeo-Christian culture, prayers were said even in public schools, and many businesses were closed every Sunday and Good Friday.

But, in that speech, JFK seemed to also suggest, if not outright say, that one’s religion should not dictate how one acts in a pluralistic society.  Because there are so many religions in America, when it comes to the choices that individuals make in politics, they should check their faith at the doors of the chambers of the legislature or the doors of the oval office.

Fifty years later, Archbishop Charles Chaput, Archbishop of Philadelphia in Pennsylvania, wrote a critical response to Kennedy’s speech, which, he says, did not so much talk about different faiths and the roles they play in American society, but sought to make politics a no-man’s land when it comes to religion.  In part of Archbishop Chaput’s speech, he cites part of the Gospel we heard today when he says, “Human law teaches and forms as well as regulates; and human politics is the exercise of power – which means both have moral implications that the Christian cannot ignore and still remain faithful to his vocation as a light to the world.”

When Jesus says today, “‘You are the salt of the earth’” and “You are the light of the world’” He does not add the caveat, “unless you live in a pluralistic and polyreligious country.”  In fact, Jesus spoke these words in a country that was under foreign occupation, with only a puppet king, whose strings were pulled by a pagan, Roman government, many of whose values directly contradicted God’s revelation in the Tanakh, the Jewish Scriptures.  No, Jesus tells us that we are to give the earth a certain flavor, and we are to provide for the world a certain light, so that others may see our good deeds and glorify our heavenly Father, the true God.

Salt in Jesus’ time wasn’t just about flavor, either; it was a preservative.  It kept things from becoming rotten.  And light wasn’t as simple as flipping a switch; it didn’t exist along roadways automatically when it became dark out.  Light required fuel of some kind, but that fuel kept people from tripping and harming themselves, and guided their feet to their destination.  Light helped individuals encounter each other even as the darkness of night surrounded them.

Brothers and sisters, I don’t think it’s grossly unfair to say that, in many ways, our society has become rotten.  People no longer encounter each other in the light, but seek to control and harm each other in darkness.  Why has this happened?  It would be too facile to say that it is because so many politicians (though not all) check their religion at the door.  But think of how many Catholics are in government today, and how many of them say, “My faith says X is wrong, but I can’t force my faith on others, so I’m going to support X.”  Reasonable people can disagree on how best to implement different aspects of the Gospel, but so many today don’t even think the Gospel has any place in American society.  

But politicians are not the only ones to blame for our current state of affairs.  It is also because Christians do not always try to be salt and light.  In fact, we have, in too many circumstances, become flavored with a taste that is not from the Gospel, and have been guided by a light which does not come from Christ.  We have fallen victim to the ideology that states that we have the freedom of worship, not the freedom of religion.  We can worship God however we want in our churches, but we cannot take the teachings of Jesus out of the church buildings and into our homes, workplaces, and even our government.  I believe that Kennedy sought to assure people that Catholics could be good Americans; but the result we see today is the same that Kennedy’s Irish forebears saw when they came to the US: Catholics need not apply or be engaged in American society.

If we wish to preserve what is good in society; if we wish to be a truly enlightened society, we must first be convinced by what Jesus teaches, and then live it out in all aspects of our lives.  Do we take the Word of God seriously when it says, “Share your bread with the hungry, shelter the oppressed and the homeless; clothe the naked when you see them.  […] Remove from your midst oppression, false accusation and malicious speech”?  Or are those just pious words that are meant to do nothing else but bounce off the brick walls of this church and die in the air?

If we are not the salt of the earth and the light of the world, then our culture, our nation, our politics will continue to spoil, and will soon become rancid.  Darkness will surround us.  Our vocation, our call in Jesus, is to be salt and light.  To paraphrase Kennedy in another speech, let us not seek the Republican answer or the Democratic answer, but the Catholic answer.  Let us be salt and light.

Country Club of Heaven

First Sunday of Advent

Ever since 24 June, the Solemnity of the Birth of John the Baptist, there has been less and less daylight in our part of the world.  That changes right around 25 December, the Solemnity of the Birth of Jesus Christ, the Light of the World.  But until we get there, it’s dark.  And with daylight saving’s time having ended, it gets dark pretty early.  Today the sunset around 5:05 p.m.  Even though 5 p.m. is not late at all, with the early darkness, it just seems gloomy, especially with the usual Michigan winter cloudiness.

In the midst of this gloom, we can long for the long, warm days of summer, when all was bright and the sun was out until 9 p.m. or even later!  But it can be hard to think that those days will ever be here again when its dark so early, and certainly not as warm (though it is a warm weekend!).  

We get a sense through our weather of what the Jews were going through as Jeremiah was prophesying.  At this point in the Book of the prophet Jeremiah, the city is under siege by the Babylonians, who are about to take Jerusalem.  This will be the beginning of the Babylonian Exile, which exiles most of the Jews from Judah and Jerusalem until 587 B.C.  Those days were certainly dark, and not because of daylight saving’s time!  

In the midst of that darkness, Jeremiah speaks for the Lord a word of hope: “I will raise up for David a just shoot;…In those days Judah shall be safe and Jerusalem shall dwell secure.”  God promises that the dark days will not last forever.  He will give them new life, and a new king from the line of David, the idyllic king, who will be just.  Judah and Jerusalem shall not be besieged, but shall be safe and secure.

Jesus’ words in the Gospel do not sound so calming and hopeful.  Jesus is speaking to His disciples just before His Passion, and is warning them about the end times.  They will be so horrible that people will die of fright simply anticipating what will happen.  “‘But,’” as Jesus says, “‘when these signs begin to happen, stand erect and raise your heads because your redemption is at hand.’”  For Jesus disciples, who are following Him and His will, the terror of the end is like the birth pangs which bring about new life.  So, maybe we can breathe a sigh of relief.  After all, we are Jesus’ disciples, and we have nothing to worry about.  We go to Mass each Sunday, so we’re good.  Right?

Well, Jesus’ next words should give us a little more trepidation.  Jesus warns His disciples not to become lax so that the end catches us off-guard.  And he tells His disciples to be vigilant “‘and pray that you have the strength to escape the tribulations that are imminent and to stand before the Son of Man.’”  

Being baptized and attending Mass each Sunday and Holyday is a big deal.  It shows at least a minimal attachment to Jesus and a desire to work at our relationship with Him.  But baptism is not a membership card in the Heavenly Country Club.  It’s not like if we sign up to join (baptism) and pay our weekly dues (going to Mass) that Jesus has to let us in.  Being a disciple of Jesus is not about going through the motions.  Being Catholic is not about the rules.  Being a Catholic and a disciple of Jesus is about growing in our friendship with Jesus and making our lives more like His.  That is the sign that we have accepted God’s friendship, which is offered to all, and that we are going in our friendship with Jesus.  We cannot rest on the laurels of our past good deeds.  We are never at a point in our relationship with Jesus where we can say, “I’ve done enough; I can just coast from here on out.”  Imagine if you treated your friends that way: “I’ve spent enough time with you for a while.  I’ll see you sometime in June.”  You probably wouldn’t be good friends.  Or imagine if you treated your spouse that way (so many saints and even Jesus talk about our relationship in marriage/wedding terms): “I spent every day with you so far in 2015; I’m going to live with someone else for December, but I’ll see you again in January.”  I’m sure that marriage wouldn’t last long.  

St. Paul encourages us to conduct ourselves in a particular way, as friends of Jesus.  We see that in the love that we share with others, but especially in the love we have for God, which overflows into our love for others.  As Pope Benedict said in his Encyclical, Deus caritas est: “Being Christian is not the result of an ethical choice or a lofty idea, but the encounter with an event, a person, which gives life a new horizon and a decisive direction.”  If we love God, then we don’t simply go through the motions of the sacramental life of the Church and weekly Mass attendance, but we allow those sacraments and the Mass to propel us in loving God and our neighbor in daily life, that is to say, in growing as friends of Jesus.  

Things may seem dark during this time of year.  Things may seem dark in our lives at other times.  But God has a vision of hope for us: the hope of new life in growing in our relationship with Jesus.  That relationship gives us the true Light, Jesus Christ, and prepares us for the unending Day of the Lord in heaven when Jesus returns.

Catholic Culture?

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            What would a Catholic culture look like today?  It can often be easier to bemoan the present than to dream of the future.  But let’s take some time to dream, to hope, to imagine what life could be like.  Now, we may think it’s a little arrogant to want to the culture to reflect our beliefs.  And I’m certainly not saying that we would set up a country where you can only enter if you’re Catholic.  But I’m talking about a world where the Catholic view of the world is so well lived that it’s in the air we breathe.  And we want it to be that way, but not because we can be the most powerful.  But if, as Vatican II says, Jesus reveals what humanity is called to be, then what we have we should want to share with everyone, not keep to ourselves.

           

That’s what Jesus means when He says in today’s Gospel passage, “‘You are the salt of the earth.  But if salt loses its taste, with what can it be seasoned?  It is no longer good for anything…You are the light of the world.  A city set on a mountain cannot be hidden…Just so, your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father.’”  We are meant to give flavor and light to the culture, to the world, and the more we do that, the more we encourage people into right belief and right worship.  Our life of service is meant to help fill this church.  And our worship in this church is meant to enable our life of service.  If all we do is serve without drawing people to conversion and belief in Jesus, then our service is missing a necessary component.  If our worship and belief do not propel us to serve others, than our worship and belief are empty.  As St. John, our heavenly patron, says in his first letter, if we don’t love the brother or sister whom we can see, how can we claim to love God whom we cannot see?

            In a Catholic culture, we embrace and serve the poor, especially those at our front door.  We do pretty good work here with our St. John Food Pantry.  But it goes beyond food bank.  It is a whole way of life.  Think about your clothes: what do you need, and what is extra?  For me, I have a rule that, because I have basically what I need—my clerical attire, some spring/summer casual clothes, and some fall/winter casual clothes—whenever I want to get a new article of clothing, I also have to donate something to the St. Vincent de Paul store.  I have one daily pair of boots, one dress pair of boots, Sperry’s for the summer time, and one pair of athletic shoes.  That’s all I need.  My parents go through shoes faster than I do, because they are more active with running.  That’s what they need.  Business leaders may need more suits than I do, because they go to more dressy functions, including many major charities.  Living a simple life will look a little different for each of us.  But the key is that we don’t just buy clothes because we want them; we buy clothes because we need them.  And should we feel we need a new article of clothing, we can, in many cases, give something else away.

            Another great question for us is how we spend our time caring for those at the fringes of society?  Our first reading is just one example of how God highlights His preference for the poor and outcast.  Is it because poverty and exclusion lead to holiness?  Not necessarily.  Poverty and being excluded can just as easily lead to hatred, jealousy, and vengeful thoughts and deeds.  But the poor and outcasts have no one else to rely on, and so God takes their cause.  And when we do the same, we spread God’s love.  We live as Jesus’ disciples by following the example of the Master.  In ancient cultures, widows were often part of the defenseless because they no longer had a husband to get them food, protect them, etc.  Widows are not so defenseless and helpless now, thank God, but I was just talking to a widow from our parish the other day, and I asked her how things were going.  She said they were ok, but she was lonely.  This is a woman who goes and has gone to Church at least every Sunday certainly for all of her adult life, and, from my four years here, has gone to many weekday Masses.  And yet no one makes time to visit her.  Sadly, I have not made much time, either, so I include myself in that challenge.  Financially widows find more protection these days, but how do we do at visiting widows and making sure they are not lonely?  In a parish about 3400 families, there should be no reason for any person to feel like they don’t have someone they can turn to, or someone to check in on them to make sure they’re alright.

            On this celebration of World Marriage Day, it’s also important that a Catholic culture is one that supports marriage as created by God.  A loving marriage between a man and a woman, with children lovingly welcomed and cared for is a great way to give people a good beginning to use their gifts and talents for the betterment of their city, State, and country, and for the building up of the city of God.  And working to protect that sacred institution is part of being salt and light.  Being salt and light also means that we welcome and support our brothers and sisters who have a same-sex attraction, and help them to strive, along with all of us—married, single, priests, and consecrated people—to live the chaste life that the Gospel calls us to.  Being salt and light also means that we help women who feel like they have no choice but to abort their babies to choose life, as we assist them through the difficulties of a pregnancy which so often has no other support.

            All of these issues that I just mentioned: poverty, spending habits, marriage and family life, and working to end abortion, are all part of the church’s teaching on social justice.  We can’t just pick the parts that we like.  If we say we are for social justice, then we embrace it all.  There are many in our one parish who are working for social justice in its different facets.  But we always need to challenge each other to make sure we’re doing all we can.  Maybe as individuals we can’t do it all, but as the Body of Christ, we can join together and support another in making our world more saturated with the Gospel as a Catholic culture.