Two Women and a "muy determinada determinación"

St. Teresa of Avila

(13th Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year B; This homily was given on 28 June, 2009 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Mark 5:21-43)

Our Gospel this weekend is a compelling and intriguing passage from St. Mark. He provides us with two very different situations, two separate story lines that collide in the life and ministry of Jesus Christ.

The first one—the story of Jairus and his daughter—is a powerful tale in its own right and could quite easily stand alone as the central plot (the short version of this weekend’s Gospel allows for exactly that option). Jairus, we are told, is a synagogue official; he was a man of considerable importance among the people of Israel. Nonetheless he is in dire straits as we discover his daughter is at the point of death.

Jairus is a man of faith, and he truly believes that if Jesus lays His hands on this little girl that she will be healed. Christ agrees to come to the man’s house, and we are perhaps almost as eager as Jairus is to see her cured. But then, seemingly from out of nowhere, the forward motion of that scene is interrupted!

A woman sneaks up behind Jesus and intentionally touches his cloak. St. Mark says that she was a woman afflicted with hemorrhages; to be clear, she suffered from a difficult menstrual problem. Obviously she would have been through a great deal of physical pain from that condition. But to grasp the gravity of her situation we have to understand that for a Jewish woman at the time of Christ, this condition would have set her apart from the rest of the community.

A woman, according to the Mosaic Law, could not participate in the communal worship during the time of her period (Leviticus 15:25-30). It was not a moral judgment, but certainly it would have been an inconvenience. Nonetheless, for this woman it would have been much more than that. With her specific condition she would have been indefinitely separated from gathering together with the community. She no doubt suffered physically, spiritually, and emotionally. She, too, is desperate to be healed.

Both these stories are filled with pathos and emotion, and although they are distinct and separate scenarios, they also have a lot in common. Firstly, both stories have at their very core the dignity of woman. If ever we wanted to know what Christ thinks about women, and how very loving, compassionate and involved He is in the lives of women, we do well to pay attention to these details. Secondly, in both situations the women encounter Jesus Christ physically; He speaks directly to them but in each case He also touches them (or they touch Him, as in the case of the woman afflicted with hemorrhages). Thirdly, and this follows directly from the second, they are healed and made whole from that encounter.

But there is one more important point these two stories have in common; St. Mark is telling us much more here than the fact that two women were healed. If he wanted he could have told us that in two sentences. Instead he goes on and on—for nearly two pages—about all the details that led up to those healings. The point he is making is that these events did not just happen. These people did not simply sit back and wait for something to occur that would change their lot. They persisted, they persevered, they had a holy determination despite tremendous obstacles, and in the end they experienced the healing power of Jesus Christ.

It has been said before that the road to healing is always blocked; there are always obstacles. These two situations this weekend show us that a holy determination can open the way for the power of God to work deeply in our lives and touch us in places we could not have imagined possible.

The woman afflicted with hemorrhages had suffered for twelve years. She had been to doctor after doctor and instead of healing she had only gotten worse! Why not just give up? But still she seeks healing and wholeness; she reaches out for Jesus Christ not with blind faith but with her eyes and heart wide open. That is holy determination! We get the impression that if she had not been able to take hold of Him there, perhaps she would have followed Him to the next town. Maybe she would have sought Him for weeks, months or even years. This woman had an indomitable spirit!

And so did Jairus. He was a man of faith who believed that Jesus Christ could heal his little girl. He sought out Christ; he was ready for almost anything. But then the worse thing imaginable had happened. He discovers that his daughter is not merely sick, but that she is dead. He could only have been devastated, ready to simply give up. But Christ must have sensed that, for He immediately says to Jairus: “Do not be afraid; just have faith” (Mark 5:36).

It is as if Christ is saying to him: You believed that I could heal her, now believe that I can raise her from the dead. You have come this far, do not give up! See this thing through! Believe in me! Jairus presses on and experiences something beyond what he could have possibly imagined when he left his house earlier that day.

Holy determination. Where is God calling us to have that same holy determination in our own lives at this time? I would answer that question and say—first and foremost—God is challenging us to have a holy determination in the foundational relationship we share with Him in prayer. Prayer is the foundation of our lives, the essential core of our existence in God. Through the intimate relationship we share with God in prayer we draw close in fellowship and communion with the one who St. Augustine says is “more intimate to me than I am to myself.” But that kind of intimacy is by no means automatic!

St. Teresa of Avila, who is amazing, wrote to her sisters that God has so much in store for us in prayer, but we will never arrive there unless we have a muy determinada determinación, “a very determined determination” (The Way of Perfection, Chapter 21, #2). We come to the chapel to pray and what we feel is...nothing. We sense that we are spiritually in the dark or that we are not praying properly, and we are tempted to give up. Don’t! The saints, and especially the mystics, tell us that is exactly where God is: in the silence, near; He is very, very near to us.

How is God calling us to a “very determined determination” in our prayer lives right now? We ask our seminarians here to pray for one hour minimum each day. For you, maybe that time is different. Maybe God is asking you to pray a little less than that…or maybe more. Whatever He is asking of us, we need to have a muy determinada determinación, a very determined determination in our daily prayer lives, knowing that here, perhaps more than in any other place, God can reach us, transform us and set our hearts on fire.

Secondly I would suggest that God is calling us to a very determined determination in our relationship with Him in the sacraments. In the sacraments of the Church we encounter Christ in a spiritual and physical way, and it is the touch of Christ that we truly long for. Both Jairus’ daughter and the woman afflicted with hemorrhages encountered Christ physically in our Gospel today, and they were healed. The Catechism of the Catholic Church reminds us that He has not relinquished that role! We are told that “in the sacraments Christ continues to ‘touch’ us in order to heal us” (CCC, #1504).

When we receive the Eucharist we touch and encounter the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ. When we celebrate the Sacrament of Reconciliation we hear the voice of Jesus Christ speaking through the priest, saying, “I absolve you from your sins…” But we have to be determined to place ourselves in an openness and receptivity to fully embrace Christ when He comes to us in these encounters. Do we seek out reconciliation with a very determined determination? Do we prepare well for that encounter with Christ in the Eucharist, by praying before, obviously during, and also after we receive Him here?

Finally, do we have a muy determinada determinación when it comes to the relationships God has brought into our lives? Whether we are here today as seminarians, priests and religious, married couples or single persons, God has brought various relationships into our lives, but those relationships do not just happen. They require effort, sacrifice, and forgiveness. We need to have a very determined determination to see them through, to be faithful when we can be and to be sorry when we’re not.

May God give us all a muy determinada determinación in our lives of prayer, in our encounter with Him in the sacraments, and in the relationships we have been given, so that we might also experience His healing power and the fruits of determination in the life of grace.

Horton and the Dignity of Human Life

(Saturday of the of the Tenth Week in Ordinary Time-Year B; This homily was given on 13 June, 2009 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Matthew 5:33-37)

I do not know if you are a Dr. Seuss fan or not, if you have perhaps read the “classics,” like The Cat in the Hat, Green Eggs and Ham, or How the Grinch Stole Christmas. But there is a movie that came out about a year and a half ago called Horton Hears a Who, and it is based upon the Dr. Seuss book with that same title.

It is the story of Horton, the Elephant. Like all elephants, Horton has great big ears and so he is able to hear things that most people cannot; he can tune into all kinds of sounds. Towards the beginning of the story he stumbles upon a small clover and suddenly hears something…In fact, that something is more like someone as Horton soon discovers a whole world which exists upon that little flower! There are thousands of tiny, little people, called Whos, that live on that clover.

From the very start Horton commits himself to protecting those people and to guiding them to a safe place where they can thrive and flourish (and not get stepped on!). Unfortunately he quickly runs into opposition as the other characters in the story begin to become suspicious of his strange new endeavor. They think he is either lying or delusional. They cannot hear any Whos, and they certainly cannot see any little people living on that clover. It must be a farce!

Undeterred, Horton devotes himself to safeguarding and protecting that clover and the tiny people that exist on it. He states, emphatically, that “a person’s a person, no matter how small,” and repeats many times throughout that movie and in the book:

“I meant what I said and I said what I meant,
an elephant’s faithful one hundred percent.”

No matter what happens, and regardless of the opposition, he has vowed to watch over those little people and he means to follow through on that promise. Horton is crystal clear about what he intends to do and to carrying out this new found responsibility.

“I meant what I said and I said what I meant,
an elephant’s faithful one hundred percent.”

It is a delightful children’s story, but that same attitude is what Christ is highlighting in the Gospel this morning. He says:

Let your ‘Yes’ mean ‘Yes,’ and your ‘No’ mean ‘No.’
Anything more is from the Evil One.
—Matthew 5:37

In essence, Jesus is saying, “Be clear! Say what you mean and mean what you say. Be clear about your intentions, your will, your desires. Don’t waffle!”

That kind of clarity is desperately needed in the world today, and especially in the area of expertise that our friend Horton was a specialist in: the protection of life in its most minute form. Each one of us began as a tiny embryo. Before even your own mother knew it, you were an embryo inside her body, and God brought that new life into being with the cooperation of your parents. Life is sacred to Him, and to everyone of us, as well.

Today that sacred gift of life at its beginning is more vulnerable than at any other time in the history of civilization. Through embryonic stem-cell research, the human embryo is regarded as a means of experimentation and a mere instrument for scientific and medical progress. But every scientist will tell you that every time embryonic stem-cell research is undertaken—every time and without exception—the human embryo is destroyed. Human life comes to an end.

Abortion is being practiced legally in almost every country today, where the human embryo is intentionally destroyed in the name of human freedom and under the banner of “Choice.” Even artificial contraception, which is considered by some to be a perfectly acceptable and normal practice, often acts as an abortafacient. That means that, perhaps completely unknown to the person using it, the newly conceived human life is suddenly snuffed out and destroyed before he or she had the chance to be born. Is it any wonder that the Church has been fundamentally opposed to these practices and will consistently remain opposed to them?

But the culture we live in needs clarity on these issues, a clarity that is not always present even among the members of the Church. Catholic politicians will sometimes say, “No, I am personally opposed to abortion, but my constituents want to have a right to it, so I will say, 'Yes,' on this issue.” They say one thing, and then choose something else. Christ is clear in the Gospel:

Let your ‘Yes’ mean ‘Yes,’ and your ‘No’ mean ‘No.’
Anything more is from the Evil One.
—Matthew 5:37

And so, my brothers, as we continue the work of formation for the priesthood we are reminded of how very important it is to be clear and decisive when it comes to these essential areas of human life. We are the ones who study these important questions, and spend years learning the theology regarding the dignity of the human person. We are called to articulate—in the parish and in all the places God sends us to after ordination—the great value and dignity of human life from conception until natural death.

Let us ask God for the grace to do that; to study well, learn well, and teach well the beauty and dignity of life in the face of so much opposition. No matter what, let us protect, safeguard and celebrate human life by our preaching, teaching and way of life, so that we can say, along with Horton: “A person’s a person, no matter how small,” and

“I meant what I said and I said what I meant,
a Christian is faithful one hundred percent.”

Sancta Maria, Omnibus et Singulis

Our Lady of Fatima

(Wednesday of the 5th Week of Easter, Our Lady of Fatima-Year B; This homily was given on 13 May, 2009 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Acts 15:1-6)

What do you need to do to go to heaven? What has to happen for a person to be saved?

Those are the questions being asked in our first reading this morning from the Acts of the Apostles (Acts 15:1-ff). Apparently some believers from Judea had come to the Church where Paul and Barnabas were teaching the Gospel, and had insisted on circumcision as a necessary part of being saved and going to heaven.

Now, before we judge these people too hastily, let us look first at the context of that situation. These were Jewish believers. They had already been circumcised and so they had already met the “requirement” that they were proposing. They were seeking to resolve that question about salvation not for themselves but for the others in that Church who had just come to believe in the Gospel.

Of course, they were wrong! Paul and Barnabas are adamant about that from the beginning. The decision which will come from Jerusalem (this coming Friday’s reading) will clarify the matter for good. But we have every indication that at least some of these Jewish believers were genuinely concerned, and perhaps even deeply so, for the salvation of those around them. Are we?

Jesus says to us in the Gospel this morning: “Remain in me,” and “Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit.”

It is the same beautiful Gospel we heard this past weekend. When we listen to those words, “Remain in me,” it is as if Jesus is speaking them directly to each one of us. Remarkably, God’s word to us is that personal, that intimate.

But the word Christ uses when he offers that invitation is addressed in the second person, plural! He is saying “You, all of you, remain in me!” He is concerned for the salvation of each individual soul, but He offers the promise of salvation and the invitation to eternal life to all of us. There is a wonderful saying that if you were the only one in the world, then Jesus still would have come to suffer and die on the cross to save you. I believe that. But, of course, you are not the only one in the world! Jesus did not come to suffer and die for you alone, nor for just me. He came for us all.

The sacrifice of Calvary-and the sacrifice of the Mass, for that matter-is offered for each individual, and also for all of us collectively. As we say in the sacristy at the end of each Mass, referring to that great sacrifice of Christ:

Priest: Pro sit (May it—this sacrifice—be to your benefit)
Acolyte: Omnibus et singulis (For all and for each one)

We should be concerned for our own salvation, by all means. We should prayerfully consider if we are in the right place before God and being made fit for heaven by a living faith in Christ. But we should also be concerned for the salvation of those around us. For omnibus as well as for singulis.

This morning we celebrate the Feast of Our Lady of Fatima, remembering the appearances of Our Lady—the Patroness of this College—to three children in a small village in Portugal. Our Lady visited them and they—so much like little children—were fascinated by her! They asked her two important questions, one after the other: “Are you really from heaven?”, and then, with childlike wonder and innocence, “Will we be in heaven some day, too?”

Our Lady responded in the affirmative, but then became more serious and made it clear that little Francisco would make it there only after a great many rosaries (apparently Francisco was a tough little customer)! Nonetheless, they were encouraged by that good news. Then she went on to ask them to pray, offer sacrifices and consecrate themselves to her Immaculate Heart. They were to love the hearts of Jesus and Mary with deep devotion and make reparation for the love that was so often neglected and even out rightly refused to God.

You might ask yourself: why would they ever bother to do that? Were they not just told about their place in heaven? What would be the point of prayer, sacrifice and devotion to the Immaculate Heart of Mary?

But of course they did not ask those questions. Like children, they trusted and gladly offered their lives and prayers for the salvation of those around them. And that is the point of Fatima. It is the point of our readings this morning, and it is the reason why Jesus Christ suffered and died on the cross: not just for my salvation, but for our salvation. Omnibus et singulis.

Today, on this Feast of Our lady of Fatima, may we heed well Our Lady’s request to those three small children, and to all of us:

1. To pray for souls and pray for peace; especially to pray the rosary.
2. To offer sacrifices, fasting in particular.
3. To consecrate ourselves to the Immaculate Heart of Mary, and seek to love deeply the hearts of Jesus and Mary.


May we offer ourselves lovingly to God today, not just for our own salvation, but for the salvation of those around us: omnibus et singulis.

Blessed Damien and the Call to Holiness

Blessed Damien of Molokai

(5th Sunday of Easter-Year B; This homily was given on 10 May, 2009 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See John 15:1-8)

Five months from now, on October 11, 2009, Pope Benedict XVI will canonize Blessed Damien of Molokai, acknowledging him as a Saint in the Roman Catholic Church. This morning, May 10, the Feast day of Blessed Damien, as we celebrate Mass only a few blocks away from Damien’s tomb, I would like to reflect on one simple question: Why?

Why is Blessed Damien being recognized as a Saint? The answer to that question is not as obvious as it may seem. If you asked ten people why Father Damien is being recognized as a Saint I would be willing to bet that many would say something like this: “He was a courageous and generous person who gave his life to serve the lepers on the Island of Molokai.” While those things are certainly true they are not the entire reason why he is being canonized on October 11. A lot of courageous and generous people served the lepers on Molokai. They are not being canonized this fall. Maybe some of them should be. Maybe someday they will be, but on October 11 it will be Father Damien. Why?

There is really only one reason why Blessed Damien will become Saint Damien, and it is the same reason why all the Saints receive that singular distinction: because he was holy.

The word saint, literally, means holy. Sanctus in Latin. Hagios (αγιος) in the Greek. Those words are used—in the Liturgy and in the Scriptures—to describe God Himself. In the Eastern Church they proclaim: Hagios O Theos, Holy is God! Here at this Mass this morning we cry out, “Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus, Dominus! Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord!”

God is holy, and we as believers and followers of Christ are also called to that same holiness. It is the goal of each and every baptized Christian: to be holy. That is what it means to be a saint. That is why the church recognizes men and women as saints; because they were holy.

This past week, the General Superiors of Blessed Damien’s order, the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary, sent a letter to their community in preparation for Father Damien’s canonization. In it they acknowledged:

“Holiness is the work of the Lord. His love is what justifies us. From this perspective, the canonization becomes a confession of hope-filled faith. The love of God is at work among us, as it was active in the life of Damien. The love of God can continue to transform us in spite of our weakness and our shadow side.”

There is tremendous hope in that reality for every one of us. Blessed Damien was a courageous and generous man who did great things for God and other people, but he also had a “shadow side,” like the rest of us. Father Damien did not get along well with everyone all the time, and perhaps at times that was not only their fault, but his as well. He had the same struggles that you and I have, but at the very foundation of his life he was holy, and “holiness is the work of the Lord.” He allowed God to work in and through him, in spite of his “shadow side,” and throughout his life the holiness of God shone through. Father Damien was holy.

In our Gospel this morning Jesus teaches us how that happens. He says it happens when we remain in Him:

Remain in me, as I remain in you. Just as a branch cannot bear fruit on its own unless it remains on the vine, so neither can you unless you remain in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit, because without me you can do nothing.
—John 15:4-5

Nothing? What a remarkable statement! Do we truly believe that? Without God we can do nothing. How’s that for a reality check! Without Christ we can never be saints. Without Him we cannot accomplish anything of lasting value for the Kingdom of God. Jesus is the vine, not us! We are the branches, called to remain in Him. We become holy when we remain with Christ, when we dwell with Christ, when Christ dwells in us and lives in us. We become holy because He is holy, and when we remain in Him, we become like Him and then we bear fruit. That is when we bear much fruit.

Pope John Paul II, in a homily he gave here in Belgium in 1995 on the day Father Damien was beatified (the stage just before one is canonized a saint) said that Damien “lived a particular form of holiness in the course of his ministry; he was at the same time a priest, a religious and a missionary. Through these three qualities he revealed the face of Christ, indicating the way of salvation, teaching the Gospel and being a tireless instrument of development. He organized the religious, social and communal life of Molokai, an island banned from society at that time; yet with him everyone had a place, everyone came to be recognized and loved as his brothers and sisters.”

This is the fruit that Damien de Veuster bore on the Island of Molokai. He surrendered his own will to God over and over again, and became an instrument through which the holiness of God shone through; he was able to do so because he remained in Jesus Christ. He bore great fruit because he was holy.

Pope John Paul II went on to say that we are all called to that same holiness. We are all called to place ourselves before God and at the service of the Church, at the service of our brothers and sisters, like Blessed Damien did. He said:

“Holiness is not perfection according to human criteria. It is not reserved for a select number of exceptional individuals. It is for everyone. It is the Lord who gives us the ability to enter a life of holiness, when we accept that collaboration for the Glory of God and the salvation of the world, in spite of our sin and—at times—our rebellious temperament.”

We all have a “shadow side,” and at times we all have “a rebellious temperament.” But we also have the ability to cooperate with God and to remain in Him. We all have the desire and the capacity to be holy, and to bear much fruit for God and to make a difference in this world we live in. The people of this world are crying out for the kind of holiness that Blessed Damien lived and the way he allowed the love and mercy of God to shine through him. God is calling each one of us to this, and inviting us this morning: Remain in me. Remain in me. And if you do, “you will bear much fruit.”

Dynamic Duo: Barnabas and Paul

(Wednesday of the 4th Week of Easter-Year B; This homily was given on 6 May, 2009 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Acts 12:44-50)

Batman and Robin. Bert and Ernie. Laverne and Shirley. Siskel and Ebert. Sonny and Cher.

Why do we remember these dynamic duos so well, and why were they able to entertain thousands of people for so many years? It was because they were able to work together and had what it takes to stand the test of time (OK, maybe not Sonny and Cher, but the rest of them did!).

In our first reading this morning, from the Acts of the Apostles, we hear of another dynamic duo that far exceeds them all. They were a pair that God Himself had brought together right at the outset of the early Church.

We read in the Acts of the Apostles that the Church in Antioch had gathered together to praise and worship God. Suddenly, right in the middle of their assembly, the Holy Spirit spoke to them and said, “Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them” (Acts 13:2).

We find that combination repeated time and time again in Acts: Paul and Barnabas, Barnabas and Paul. They proclaimed the Gospel to thousands and brought the Christian message to the ends of the earth.

But why were they able to work together so well? We are never really told, exactly, but I think we are given a clue in the fourth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, when Barnabas is first introduced to us. We are told of this generous man who owned a field which he sold, and that he brought the proceeds to the apostles and donated it to the Church. Acts tells us that his name was Joseph, “to whom the apostles gave the name Barnabas (which means ‘son of encouragement’).”—Acts 4:36

That was the kind of person Barnabas was: a man who encouraged those around him. He was able to build up the community; he knew what to say and when to say it. All throughout the Acts of the Apostles we find him doing just that.

Yesterday we heard about the foundations of the Church at Antioch, a new community that was on fire with love for Jesus Christ. But, like any new community, there were bound to be challenges and difficulties. We are told that Barnabas was sent to Antioch by the Church of Jerusalem, and when he arrived there he did two things: He rejoiced in all that God was doing among them, and he encouraged them!

Therefore it is no wonder the Holy Spirit places Barnabas and Paul together in our first reading today. Who would have needed more encouragement than St. Paul, who proclaimed the Gospel message tirelessly, without reservation and with heartfelt conviction; Paul, who was rejected by many of the Jews, and more than a few Christians. Paul, who was rejected time and time again by the Greeks and the Pagans; Paul, who was dragged out of cities, stoned and left for dead; Paul, who was dragged before governors and kings, beaten with rods, and scourged. This man would have encountered overwhelming discouragement on a regular basis! So God sends him Barnabas, son of encouragement. Barnabas knew how to support Paul and help him in the difficult task of founding Churches and spreading the Gospel.

Nowhere in the Acts of the Apostles do we find that Barnabas resented that aspect of his ministry. He was a remarkably gifted man, but undoubtedly he would have stood in the shadow of St. Paul (like everyone else that ever worked with that great Apostle). Nowhere do we find that Barnabas felt the need to compete with St. Paul. He would have understood that the gifts given to Paul were not in competition with his own gifts; they were given to build him up, and Barnabas’ gifts were given to build up those around him.

Competition—while great on the sports field and intrinsic to the business world—is the death of relationships and fruitful ministry in the Church. Competition among followers Christ, whether it be in the seminary, in the parish, or in the domestic Church of the family, sets up walls and barriers that even inhibit the work of God among His people. It can be that damaging.

So what is the antidote to such poison? Encouragement!

The Church desperately needs men and women who are able to grow in this skill of encouragement so masterfully taken up by St. Barnabas. Our seminary, our communities and parishes, are in great need of Barnabites, sons and daughters of encouragement, who are able and willing to build up and encourage the people around them.

Barnabas and Paul, Paul and Barnabas. The dynamic duo of the early Church. Who’s to say that God cannot still work in that way even now, when we are open to this gift of encouragement and willing to use it for the greater glory of God?

The Witness of the Empty Tomb

(Easter Sunday-Year B; This homily was given on 12 April, 2009, at St. Mary's Church, Cranston, R.I.; See Colossians 3:1-4 and John 20:1-9)

Each Sunday, week after week, we gather together in this Church to listen to the Gospel. That word, Gospel, literally means “Good News,” and it is the expression of all that we have received from God in the person of His Son, Jesus Christ.

We hear that good news announced from St. Paul in the epistles, and in various way through the Apostles of the early Church. We listen to the Gospel especially from Matthew, Mark, Luke and John—the Four Evangelists—who relate everything we long to hear about Jesus Christ, for He Himself is the Gospel, He is the good news of our life and our salvation.

So, isn’t it a little odd that in the Gospel passage we just listened to, on one of the greatest feasts of the entire liturgical year, He is not even there at all? We do not listen to His life-giving words or see His saving actions, because the greatest witness to the good news that God provides for us this Easter morning is the empty tomb itself. That empty tomb proclaims a powerful message indeed, if we are open and able to hear what God is trying to communicate to us through it.

You may have seen the movie Good Will Hunting. It came out several years ago, and won all kinds of awards. This young man named Will is a born genius, a brilliant child prodigy, but he has grown up in the streets of South Boston, so he is constantly getting into trouble with the law, constantly in and out of the courts. Some influential people discover his incredible gifts and talents and they try to give him an opportunity to get out of “Southy” and offer him a whole new lease on life.

At one point in the movie, Will is working construction with his best friend, who suddenly realizes that Will, despite the opportunities he has been given, has no intentions of leaving South Boston. The friend, recognizing that Will has the ability to accomplish things that they could never even dream of, becomes quite serious and says to him:

“Every day I come by to pick you up, and we go out together, we have a few laughs. But you know what the best part of my day is? The ten seconds before I knock on the door, ‘cause I let myself think I might get there, and you’d be gone. I’d knock on the door and you wouldn’t be there. You just left.”

***Spoiler Alert***

And if you have seen the movie then you know that is exactly what happens at the end. His friend goes to pick him up, but he finds an empty house instead. Good Will Hunting is gone. He had made it out of South Boston and, in a certain sense, had taken all of his friends with him.

Mary Magdalene and the other disciples come to an empty tomb this morning and, without realizing it yet, they stand before the greatest event that has ever taken place. The empty tomb is the doorway, the entrance through which all of us now have access to eternity. Jesus’ resurrection affects us all.

Christ came and destroyed sin and death by rising from the dead, just as he said he would. That fact changes everything . . . or at least it should. It should move us to look at death, and even at life, in a whole new way.

That is the good news of the Gospel: that all the economic problems of this world, all the financial and familial difficulties, all the injustices and sufferings of this present life WILL NOT LAST. We can live in this world and have hope even in the midst of trials and difficulties, for we belong to Jesus Christ, the Risen Lord. That changes everything!

St. Paul, in our second reading this morning, reminds us of the focus we must have as followers of Jesus Christ and those who have understood the witness of the empty tomb. He says:

If then you were raised with Christ, seek what is above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Think of what is above, not of what is on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ your life appears, then you too will appear with him in glory.
—Colossians 3:1-4

The empty tomb challenges us to see everything in that eternal perspective. It challenges us to seek reconciliation with those we are in conflict with; challenges us to evaluate our lives and be willing to change anything that is incompatible with this heavenly calling, because this world is not all there is and heaven simply cannot wait.

Just a few days ago I was able to visit my grandparents in St. Anne’s Cemetery just a few feet from where we celebrate this Mass this morning. I knelt down in the grass before that stone which marks so many of the people who have passed on the faith that I live and profess today. I am a priest of Jesus Christ today because of them, and because of all those faithful souls in my family who have passed the faith down to my parents, who taught that faith to me. It was a privilege and a joy to be able to pray there and to spend some time remembering them. I know that so many of you have loved ones in the very same place, and in cemeteries throughout this state and beyond.

But the witness of the empty tomb reminds us today that those graves will not always be places of remembrance; they are not the final resting place for the ones who have gone before us marked with the sign of faith. At the heart of our Christian faith is the belief that those graves will one day all be empty! Have you ever thought about that?

When Jesus Christ returns—and He will, because He said He would—this cemetery here will be the busiest and liveliest place in the State of Rhode Island! The place of greatest activity and abundant life will not be Fenway Park or Gillette Stadium; it will not be the Providence Place Mall or Showcase Cinema. It will be right here, in St. Anne’s Cemetery, where thousands of souls and bodies will suddenly be raised from the dead to be joined to Christ forever. That is what the witness of the empty tomb challenges us to acknowledge this morning.

There’s a very moving passage in the Confessions of St. Augustine in which Augustine’s mother, St. Monica, is about to die. They are in a foreign country, far from home. Augustine and his brother are standing by the bedside, and the brother says to Monica that he would like her to be brought back home so that she might not die in a strange country. Monica—who was a tough woman, even on her deathbed—reproaches him, and says to both him and St. Augustine:

“Bury my body wherever you will. One thing only do I ask: that you remember me at the altar of the Lord wherever you may be.”

Monica understood the meaning of the resurrection; she listened well to the witness of the empty tomb. This is not our home; it is not our final destination. This is just a stop along the way and the greatest thing that we can do while we are on our way home to God is to remember each other “at the altar of the Lord.”

That is what we are doing here this morning. We gather around this altar because we have the answer to Mary Magdalene’s dilemma: she thought that someone had taken the Lord and she did not know where they had put Him. We know where He is: He is in that tabernacle, and in a moment He will be here on this altar.

We are never closer to our deceased loved ones, and to each other, and to our Lord, than when we gather together here at the altar of the Lord. We come here today as we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and we are strengthened in the Holy Eucharist so that we can say, with St. Paul and all those who have gone before us marked with the sign of faith, that we “seek what is above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God.”

We are called to “think of what is above, not of what is on earth.” For we have died, and our life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ our life appears, then we too will appear with him in glory (see Colossians 3:1-4).

Good Friday, Gethsemane and the Garden of Paradise

(Good Friday-Year A; This homily was given on 10 April, 2009, at St. Mary's Church, Cranston, R.I.; See John 18:1-19:42)

If you go all the way back to the beginning of the Scriptures, to the opening pages of the Book of Genesis, you will find there God’s dream for the entire human family. It is God’s one great desire for the whole created world, presented to us in the image of a garden.

In that garden we discover a man and a woman, and they are in love; they are in love with each other, and in love with God. There is perfect harmony between the man and the woman; between them and our Lord, and there is a deep harmony between them and all creation.

But we need only look a few pages further, and in the pages of the Scriptures after that, to see God’s dream shattered and broken by selfishness and sin (see the Catechism of the Catholic Church, #400).

Suddenly Adam and Eve are cast out of that lush and fertile garden and introduced to a very different landscape. It is one marked by resistance and toil; there is pain and sorrow and the ground is stained with blood as Cain kills his brother Abel. Soon nations rise up against nations; there is destruction, devastation, division. It is a very dark place indeed compared to that Garden of Eden where it all began.

That is where our story picks up this evening as we read St. John’s account of the Passion of Christ. John begins by saying “Jesus went out with his disciples across the Kidron valley to where there was a garden” (John 18:1).

Matthew, Mark and Luke have already told us how Christ knelt down in that garden, called Gethsemane. He knelt down in the dark and in great anguish and surrendered Himself to the will of His Father in order to regain all that had been lost by sin.

Recall back in Genesis how Adam and Eve had been told that they could eat from any of the trees in the garden, except one. God forbade them to eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, but they had defied Him and done so anyway. In essence they had said, “No, this is what we want, and we will do what we have chosen, not what you want.”

Now Jesus Christ kneels down in the Garden of Gethsemane and expresses from the depths of His being that He does not want to suffer and die…but, He says to His heavenly Father, “nevertheless, not my will, but thine, be done” (Luke 22:42).

We gather together on this Good Friday night to kneel down with Christ in that garden and recommit ourselves to Him. There is a beautiful poem written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox that describes the unavoidable encounter with the will of God that we must all face in that garden. The poem is called Gethsemane, and Wilcox begins:

Down shadowy lanes, across strange streams
Bridged over by our broken dreams;
Behind the misty caps of years,
Beyond the great salt font of tears,
The garden lies. Strive as you may,
You cannot miss it on your way.
All paths that have been or shall be,
Pass somewhere through Gethsemane.

All those who journey, soon or late,
Must pass within the garden’s gate;
Must kneel alone in darkness there,
And battle with some fierce despair.
God pity those who cannot say,
“Not mine but thine,” who only pray,
“Let this cup pass,” and cannot see
The purpose of Gethsemane.

—Ella Wheeler Wilcox

We are here tonight to recognize and acknowledge the purpose of Gethsemane and to recommit ourselves to that beautiful plan and dream of God that began so long ago. We are here to do what we could never have done before, but now have the power to do as baptized Christians: to say most completely, “Yes,” to the plan of God for our lives. We come here to be strengthened by Christ in the Eucharist and to echo His words to the Father: “Thy will be done.”

We must be careful, however, not to think that this is a one-time effort. God challenges us to constantly recommit ourselves to Him and to be open to His will every moment of each day in our lives.

About a year and a half ago I had one of the greatest opportunities of my priesthood, to go on pilgrimage to the Holy Land with a group of very dear friends, the Franciscan Sisters and Brothers of the Eucharist. At one point in the pilgrimage we were able to go inside the very Garden of Gethsemane, and it was there that I chose to kneel down and pray, wide open to whatever the Lord wanted to say to me in that moment.

What a privilege, I thought, to kneel right here in this place and say those same words of Christ. And do you know what I felt at that exact moment? Nothing! I did not have a supernatural experience or an overwhelming emotional sensation.

Surrendering ourselves to the will of God is not about feelings and emotions, nor is it a one-time event that we can go through, and then be done with it. No, we must repeat to God, thousands of times throughout our lives, “Thy will be done.” It is within a lifetime of surrender, in particular situations and across many years, that we submit ourselves to the grace of God and allow Him to regain in us all that has been lost by selfishness and sin.

Nor should be surprised when things do not immediately get better when we do so! We may not experience the fruits of our surrender to God in a quick and obvious way. Surrendering to God’s will is sometimes difficult and challenging. Sometimes it may seem that things have become worse.

Look at Christ in the Gospels. No sooner has he spoken the words, “Thy will be done,” then Judas enters to betray Him. He is dragged out of the garden, beaten, mocked and scourged. Finally, they crucify Him between two thieves. And just when things could not possibly seem worse, we are told by St. Matthew that the thieves themselves began to revile Christ, even as they were dying next to Him!

But suddenly, in that darkest moment, hope springs eternal. One of the thieves has a change of heart. He turns to Christ in a moment of faith and says, “Remember me when you come into your kingdom” (Luke 23:42). And Jesus’ response, of course, is both breathtaking and life-giving: “Today you will be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:43).

That word, paradise, comes from the ancient Persian culture (modern day Iran) and means, literally, a walled-in garden or enclosed park.

It was customary for the Persian King to allow only a select few subjects of the kingdom to walk with him in that enclosed garden; such intimacy was reserved for only those closest to him. It was a great honor to walk with the king in paradise.

Jesus Christ is inviting that thief into the garden of eternal life, to an eternal relationship of love with Him. It is the same invitation that He is extending to us this evening, and one that He desired for all of those at the foot of the cross that Good Friday afternoon.

But, sadly, they missed it. They did not understand what He was doing or all the things He had told them about His suffering and death. So they did the very best thing they could do; in great sorrow they took His dead body down from the cross, and because it was late, they laid Him in a tomb nearby.

St. John tells us, at the very end of that passion narrative, that the tomb where they laid Him was located in, of all places, a garden. There they placed Him, in the ground, in the midst of a garden…

But of course, that is not the end of the story. There is so much more to the story than that, and if we want to hear the rest of it, we have only to wait three days.