La Festa di Maria Santissima della Civita

(Patronal Feast of Madonna della Civita; This homily was given 21 & 22 July, 2007, at St. Mary Church, Cranston, R.I.; read Luke 1:39-56)

Today we celebrate our patronal feast, La Festa di Maria Santissima della Civita. What is at the heart of our feast is an image of the Blessed Virgin Mary and her Son, our Lord, Jesus Christ. It is an image we have come to know so well: Mary’s hands raised in prayer and adoration, her infant Son seated upon her lap.

The history of that image dates back to nearly apostolic times, finding its roots in the region of Antioch, later known as Constantinople. This beautiful image, lost and found down through the centuries, was finally re-discovered in the 8th Century, more than 1200 years ago, on July 21, 796.

It was then that the deaf and mute herdsman from Itri, that small Italian village, followed a wandering ox to a field atop Mount Civita and came upon the tree that held in its branches that image of Maria Santissima and the child Jesus. Suddenly he was cured and ran back into the town to declare the great things God had done for him.

And so it is this image that, down through the centuries, has gathered together the people of Itri, and subsequently their descendants—so many of you—who have come to settle here in the Knightsville section of Cranston.

As we sing each year with great solemnity during this week of celebration in the beloved hymn Evviva Maria:

Immagine santé che gente raduna.
The holy image that gathers the people.

Of course, that sacred image comes to us from none other than St. Luke himself. Again, as we sing each year:

San Luca dipense l’amabil’ ritratto.
St. Luke painted this loveable portrait.

It is fitting that this painting should come to us from St. Luke, for it is that “dear and glorious physician” who always paints for us the most beautiful portraits of Mary in the New Testament.

The portrait of the Annunciation—that great visit of the angel Gabriel to the Blessed Virgin Mary announcing the child to be born—is found only in Luke.

And the Visitation, which we heard today on our patronal feast, Mary’s visit to her cousin Elizabeth and Mary’s song of praise, the Magnificat, are found only in St. Luke’s Gospel.

In his encyclical on the Blessed Virgin Mary, Redemptoris Mater, John Paul the Great links these two beautiful portraits together. He says that both the Annunciation and the Visitation, together, reveal to us the greatness of Mary as one who both receives the gift of God, and responds to that gift in faith:

“Both of these texts reveal an essential Mariological content, namely the truth about Mary, who has become really present in the mystery of Christ precisely because she “has believed.” The fullness of grace announced by the angel means the gift of God himself. Mary’s faith, proclaimed by Elizabeth at the visitation, indicates how the Virgin of Nazareth responded to this gift.”
—Redemptoris Mater, # 12 (emphasis his)

As we heard in the gospel today, Elizabeth proclaims:

Blessed are you who believed that what was spoken to you by the Lord would be fulfilled.
—Luke 1:45

Mary’s Motherhood, therefore, is not just a physical act; it is first and foremost an act of faith. The great Fathers of the Church, St. Augustine and St. Leo the Great, tell us that Mary conceived Christ in her heart before she conceived Him in her womb.

This is something that we find all throughout the life of Mary. She is constantly conceiving Christ, and then continually giving birth to Him in this world we live in. Even at the hour of His death, Mary stands at the foot of the cross and gives her “Yes” to God. She continues to receive that gift of God which is Christ her son, and by faith she offers Him to the world and participates in His radical gift of Himself for the salvation of us all.

We, as followers of Christ, and as men and women who look to Mary as our Blessed Mother, are called to do the same. We are called to constantly receive the gift of God, in silence and in prayer, and through our faith and our assent to Him, to give birth to Christ; to give flesh to Him in the world we live in.

I think that all of us are quite familiar with the extraordinary life of service and compassion that Blessed Mother Theresa of Calcutta exemplified in our own lifetime. Yet few people know of her total dedication to the spiritual life and prayer as the top priority for herself and her sisters, the Missionaries of Charity.

Blessed Mother Theresa of Calcutta would insist that they begin each day with Mass, and then spend one hour minimum before Christ in the Blessed Sacrament before they ever went out to serve the poor. She would say to them:

Until we can learn to recognize Jesus here in the Eucharist, then we will never be able to recognize Him in the lives of the poor.

Today, on this feast of Maria Santissima della Civita, how is God challenging us to imitate Mary, and Blessed Theresa of Calcutta, in receiving the gift of God in silence and in prayer, and then to respond to that great gift through lives of service and love?

In the year 796, that deaf and mute herdsman from Itri saw an image of Mary and her son, our Lord, Jesus Christ, which healed him. He went in haste to announce that image and the message of Jesus and Mary to all who would listen. May we bring that same message to a world that desperately longs to hear it.

Evviva Maria!

Adam, Embryos and the Good Samaritan

(15th Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year C; This homily was given 14 & 15 July, 2007, at St. Mary Church, Cranston, R.I.; read Luke 10:25-37)

The parable we hear this weekend—The Good Samaritan—is one of the most familiar parables in the gospel. Even non Christians are quite familiar with the image of the Good Samaritan. We see it in organizations of good will and even in the CVS Samaritan Van that often lends a helping hand to motorists in need.

Precisely because the Good Samaritan is so familiar, there is a risk of losing the meaning Christ intends when He gives us that moving tale; there is a risk of reducing this parable to particular incidents or roadside accidents.

Yet to the particular question asked by the scholar in our gospel: “Who is my neighbor?” (Luke 10:29), Jesus Christ offers an answer that is universal: Everyone is my neighbor. Every man, woman and child is neighbor to the follower of Christ.

St. Augustine, commenting on this very parable, says that the victim of the robbers is Adam: He is every single one of us, wounded by original sin. Augustine says that it is Adam who has been attacked by Satan and his legions; as a result of original sin he is stripped of his immortality and lies helpless on the side of the road.

It is Christ who comes along as the Good Samaritan, that Outsider and Divine Visitor, who comes to rescue Adam. He looks upon that fallen and broken man and is moved to compassion.

Think of all the many times we see this replayed in the gospels. Christ looks lovingly upon the sinful woman, caught in the act of adultery, and has compassion. He looks with compassion on the sinners and tax collectors, and constantly seeks to draw them to Himself and heal them as the Divine Physician.

Here in the parable of the Good Samaritan, says Augustine, it is Christ Himself who lovingly picks Adam up and places him on his own animal. He brings him to the inn—which represents the Church—and provides him with refreshment and healing through the Sacraments, symbolized in the oil and wine poured over his wounds.

Our response to this beautiful story of our redemption should be two-fold. First and foremost we should allow Christ to truly become the Good Samaritan in our own lives. Where have our sins, and the sins of others, wounded us and left us broken and in need? Have we allowed Christ to enter deeply into those hurts, those wounds, and to heal us through the sacramental life of the Church?

But more than that, we are called to follow the command that Christ issues at the end of that inspiring parable: “Go and do likewise” (Luke 10:37). Where do we find Adam, helpless on the side of the road, in our own lives? How is God calling us to care for those who are weak or helpless and in need, those we encounter everyday?

One of the great crises of our culture, one that we cannot help but notice, is the great lack of care that we have for the weak and the vulnerable. What Pope John Paul II referred to as the “Culture of Death” is evident on many levels in the world we live in.

Abortion on demand remains one of the tragic legal choices open to the very mothers and fathers who are most in need of care and support. How many lives have been lost and broken—not just the unborn, but also the mothers and fathers of those children—and all in the name of freedom, in the name of choice.

When we look to the other end of the spectrum, to those who are preparing to enter into eternal life, we find this same lack of respect for the dignity of the human person. Many people facing the twilight of life and the prospect of death are tempted, and even at times encouraged, to consider Euthanasia or “mercy killing.”

It is a false solution and a misplaced compassion which robs the person of the dignity owed them as a child of God. This was once an isolated issue, involving some other country or another state, and one that did not really seem to concern us. The national attention given to the case of Terri Schiavo a few years ago changed all that. That young woman literally died of de-hydration as a result of the choices of supposed caregivers, doctors and lawyers, who never even really seemed to know her. That tragic outcome is one that should concern each one of us.

But much closer to home for us today is the issue of aggressive embryonic stem-cell research. This is something that is in the news constantly, and there is a great lack of understanding for many Catholics and non-Catholics alike when it comes to stem cells and stem-cell research.

Firstly, stem-cell research is a very good thing; it provides a tremendous amount of hope for those with any number of diseases and illnesses and the Church certainly supports it. Stem cells taken from the human body have the potential to regenerate and form new cells which may be able to cure someone who has been afflicted with diabetes, Alzheimer’s disease, and Parkinson’s disease, to name just a few.

And there are legitimate, ethical ways of obtaining these cells. They can be found in bone marrow, various tissues and organs, and in the umbilical chord after the birth of a child. These are what are commonly referred to as adult stem cells—taken from the bodies of those who willingly offer them—and there have been hundreds of successful cures from these stem cells to date. We should, by all means, thank God for that.

Just yesterday, in the Providence Journal, there was an editorial written by Lieutenant Governor, Elizabeth Roberts, mentioning this hope for breakthroughs in the research and medical application of stem cells. But the Lieutenant Governor greatly confused the issue by failing to distinguish the nature and methods of adult stem cells over and against embryonic stem cells and embryonic stem-cell research. She wrote about both together, and strongly advocated for the research and use of each.

As the name indicates, embryonic stem cells are taken from human embryos, human beings in their tiniest and most vulnerable form. What was also missing from the lieutenant governor’s editorial is what happens to those human embryos after they have been harvested for their stem cells: they are destroyed, discarded as mere medical waste.

This is not, and never will be, ethical or humane. One of the foundational moral principles that applies to all people of all times and cultures is that one cannot do evil so that good may come about. The destruction of a human embryo—human life having both a body and a soul—can never be justified, no matter how hopeful the outcome or possibility of good that it may entail.

The lieutenant governor is undeterred by this sound and clear ethical principle. In fact, she is determined to use our tax dollars to fund research that will deliberately involve the destruction of innocent human life. As she stated unabashedly in that editorial:

“I want to expand Rhode Island’s share of research dollars and scientific contributions immediately.”

It should be the hope and prayer of every Catholic and person of good will in the State of Rhode Island that her wish for aggressive embryonic stem-cell research using our tax dollars never becomes a reality.

But a bit closer to our gospel this weekend, we can ask: How are we called to be Good Samaritans in the face of these challenging issues? Above all else, we should be available to help heal those who place so much of themselves in these poor and unethical choices.

When these terrible abuses of freedom fail…and they will… we need to be there to help people find true meaning and well founded hope for their future with God.

When the choice of abortion fails...and it will, and there are broken persons and broken lives, when people turn to Euthanasia as an option and discover that they have made a terrible and irrevocable choice, or when the empty promise of embryonic stem-cell research fails…and it will …there has not been one single cure from embryonic stem cells. There have been hundreds of cures, tremendous results from adult stem cells, the obtaining of which are perfectly ethical and morally sound, but none whatsoever from embryonic stem cells. So when these choices end in failure and brokenness, then we have to be there to look upon our brothers and sisters with compassion and help them to come here.

We are called not to condemn them, but to love them, to look upon them with compassion and to bring them here, to the one place where Jesus Christ, the Good Samaritan, can pour oil and wine over their wounds and bring them healing, restoration and peace.

Reversal of Fortune

(14th Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year C; This homily was given 7 & 8 July, 2007, at St. Mary Church, Cranston, R.I.; read Luke 10:1-20)

We are continuing, in this period called Ordinary Time, to hear from St. Luke’s Gospel. One of the themes we find throughout that gospel is what we could call “reversal of fortune.”

Over and over again, St. Luke shows us how those who are small, insignificant and unimportant in the eyes of this world are often the very people who are great, magnificent and beautiful in the eyes of God.

In the second chapter of his gospel, St. Luke sets the historical scene by mentioning the Roman Emperor, Caesar Augustus. At the time, Caesar was the king of the world as they knew it. But the Emperor quickly fades into the background as St. Luke moves on to announce the newborn baby king in Bethlehem. It is Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who is the true king of the world and master of the universe, not Caesar Augustus!

We find the same “reversal of fortune” in the person of the Blessed Virgin Mary. She discovers that she will be the Mother of God. She, the lowly handmaid of the Lord, will be the one to bear Christ in her body and bring Him into this world. St. Luke describes her reaction to that remarkable news as he gives us Mary’s song of praise, her Magnificat (Luke 1:46-56):

The Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is His name…He has cast down the mighty from their thrones and has lifted up the lowly…He has filled the hungry with good things and the rich he has sent away empty…

God has turned the tables! With the coming of Jesus Christ everything has changed. And one of the greatest reversals of all is the Kingdom of God itself: that we here on this earth can attain to the very heights of heaven.

In our gospel today, Christ sends out the 72 disciples to announce that message. It is a message of hope for those who were in despair and truly the Good News that they longed for. Finally those disciples return to Christ with great rejoicing:

Lord, even the demons are subject to us because of your name.
—Luke 10: 17

Jesus quickly responds:

I have observed Satan fall like lighting from the sky
—Luke 10:18

Yes, the time of the Devil and his minions is at an end. But Christ goes on to say:

Nevertheless, do not rejoice because the spirits are subject to you, but rejoice because your names are written in heaven.
—Luke 10:20

In the upper level of the Basilica of St. Francis in the City of Assisi there is a painting by Giotto of a vision one of the friars had while St. Francis was still alive. In that vision the friar saw numerous thrones set up in heaven. Some were larger and more ornate than others, but one of them stood out among them all. A voice then said to that friar:

“This throne belonged to one of the angels cast out of paradise; now it is reserved for the humble Francis.”

That story is the very image of the great “reversal of fortune” that the gospel brings to our fallen world. God loves us just as we are…but far too much to leave us there!

Today we can ask ourselves: of all the thrones that appeared in that friar’s vision of heaven, which one belongs to us? Which throne is God calling us to occupy when our earthly life is complete? How is God calling us to walk in the footsteps of the humble St. Francis of Assisi and to follow the example of those 72 disciples whose “names are written in heaven” in our Gospel today? We are all called to do the work of the Gospel. We are all called to be saints.

One of the more traditional titles for the Catholic priest is that of alter Christus: another Christ. Because he uses the words of Christ and acts in the person of Christ when celebrating the Eucharist and absolving sins in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, and because he is called upon to image Christ throughout his life and ministry, the priest must surrender himself continually so that he may truly be an alter Christus.

Yet the first person to be called an alter Christus was not a Catholic priest. The first person who was given that title was St. Francis of Assisi himself. He so lived out the gospel call to holiness and proclaimed God’s saving message in word and deed that when people looked to him they saw another Christ. Is that what they see when they look at us?

We are all called to be Altri Christi: other Christs. The 72 disciples sent out to proclaim the Kingdom of God are representative of all disciples; they could be any one of us. How is God challenging us to walk in their footsteps this week, to announce the Kingdom of God in our own towns, workplaces, and families?

This week might we rejoice in that work of the Gospel that God has called each one of us to…and one day may we also rejoice not only because of what God is doing here on this earth, but also because our names—please, God— will be written in heaven.

Discipleship

(13th Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year C; This homily was given 30 June & 1 July, 2007, at St. Mary Church, Cranston, R.I.; read 1 Kings 19:16-21 & Luke 9:51-62)

It is good to be back at St. Mary’s parish! You may remember me from the time I was here as a seminarian about four years ago…or maybe not. Certainly much has taken place since that time.

I dropped by the parish just a couple of weeks ago and Fr. Angelo took me to a local restaurant to eat. While at table, a gentleman came over and welcomed me back to the parish. He said, “You look like you’ve lost some hair since the last time you were at St. Mary’s.”

While I was still recovering from that comment, he added, “And the hair that is left looks like it’s starting to turn gray.” I tried to make excuses and said, “It’s the priesthood! Three years as a priest and this is what happened. The priesthood will do that to you!”

But if we look at our readings for this weekend we can see that it is not only the priesthood that is tough. Discipleship itself is tough. It is not easy to be a disciple of Jesus Christ. It requires sacrifice. Discipleship can be demanding.

Jesus, in our Gospel today, is demanding! One would-be follower says to Him:

I will follow you wherever you go.
—Luke 9:57

Jesus responds to that wide-eyed enthusiasm with the sobering reality of His own personal life:

Foxes have dens and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man has nowhere to lay his head.
—Luke 9:58

Jesus is saying, essentially, “Get ready! Being a disciple is not easy. You will encounter difficulties. You will have to make sacrifices. You will have to make God the top priority in your life, above your own desires and even above the people you love.”

As He says to another would-be disciple:

Let the dead bury their own dead;
but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.
—Luke 9:60

Does that sound harsh? Christ is not saying that we should ignore the needs of those we love, nor is He saying that we should take no heed to bury our deceased loved ones (to bury the dead is, in fact, one of the Corporal Works of Mercy). He is simply saying that the kingdom of God takes precedence even over that! Discipleship places God and His kingdom as priority number one.

But the good news is that when it comes to following Christ and being a disciple, however demanding it may seem, we are never alone. Tertullian, one of the early Church Fathers, said “A Christian alone is no Christian.” We need each other; we are called to encourage and strengthen one another.

The communal aspect of discipleship is one that we see beautifully expressed in our first reading from the First Book of Kings. Elisha the prophet is being called by God to succeed the prophet Elijah. To be a prophet in Israel at that time was demanding! The prophets called the people, and especially the king, to account for their decisions and actions. As one would imagine, they were often quite unpopular. It was a difficult and demanding ministry.

And so when God calls Elisha to be a prophet, He does not give him a letter of appointment. He does not send him an email! He sends him, instead, the prophet Elijah. Very beautifully, we are told how Elijah approached Elisha and “threw his cloak over him” (1 Kings 19:19).

Elijah “clothes” Elisha with his prophetic office. He will remain with Elisha in the days ahead to instruct and encourage him in this new and challenging role as a prophet of Israel.

If you have ever been to a priesthood ordination before then you know how moving the ceremony can be. Four men were recently ordained in our diocese just a month ago, and as they entered the Cathedral they were each wearing a white garment called an alb. Immediately after the priest is ordained he is clothed with the chasuble, the outer vestment that is worn whenever the Eucharist is celebrated.

When I was ordained to the priesthood three years ago, the alb that I wore was a personal gift to me from Fr. James Verdelotti, the pastor of this parish. The first chasuble I ever received was from Fr. Angelo Carusi, the priest who I am replacing here today. There are no coincidences in the work of God. These two men, who have served the parish of St. Mary’s faithfully for the past five years, were instrumental in “clothing” me in the priesthood. They supported me in my time here as a seminarian, as did so many of you. Today it is a joy for me to be your new associate pastor.

Let us continue to pray for and encourage one another as we grow in our own discipleship. Whatever the demands and sacrifices God is calling us to make, might we experience the fullness of what it means to be a follower of Christ as we walk with Him on the way to eternal life.

The Birth of St. John the Baptist

(Solemnity of the Birth of St. John the Baptist; This homily was given 23-24 June, 2007, at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; read Luke Chapter 1)

Upon my arrival here at Our Lady of Mercy, three years ago, Fr. Lolio told the story about a phone call he received about a month earlier from Monsignor Evans, who at that time was still in Rome. I also was in Rome, completing my exams and preparing for ordination to the priesthood. I had just finished celebrating my birthday and so Monsignor phoned Fr. Lolio to say:

“Congratulations! You are now the proud father of a brand new 34-year-old baby boy!”

It is fitting that on this, my last weekend here at Our Lady of Mercy, we celebrate the birthday of another baby boy: St. John the Baptist.

The celebration of a person’s birthday in the Church’s Liturgical Year is a rare thing. In fact, there are only three such celebrations: The Nativity of Christ (Christmas), the Feast of the Birth of the Most Blessed Virgin Mary on September 8, and today’s Feast: The Solemnity of the Birth of St. John the Baptist.

Keeping company with the Son of God and the Blessed Mother is no small thing! Then again, St. John the Baptist is no ordinary man. Remember it was Christ Himself who said:

Among those born of women there has been none greater than John the Baptist.
—Matthew 11:11

St. Augustine writes about how the Word was coming into the world, and how St. John the Baptist was the Voice announcing that Word. He is the forerunner of the Christ, the one who prepares the entire world for the coming of the Messiah.

If we look at the life and mission of St. John the Baptist, it becomes clear that in many ways he is a very “priestly” figure. To be certain, he was not a priest. John was beheaded long before Christ instituted the priesthood at the Last Supper. Nonetheless, there are a number of aspects about the Baptist’s life that are quite priestly.

St. John’s father, Zechariah, was a priest of the temple. His mother, St. Elizabeth, we hear in the Gospel of St. Luke, was “from the daughters of Aaron” (Luke 1:5). She was a descendant of the priestly family in Israel. And there are three specific aspects about the mission and ministry of St. John the Baptist that I believe every priest should try to emulate. I pray to God that I have been able to do that in these last three years at Our Lady of Mercy.

Firstly, St. John the Baptist is one whose entire life was dedicated to preparing the way of the Lord. His entire vocation was one of clearing the way so that people could be more closely connected to Jesus Christ. The priest, in his life and ministry, is called to do the same.

Pope John Paul II, in his document on priestly formation, talks about how the priest is called to be a bridge connecting others to Christ (Pastores Dabo Vobis, #43). He also warns, however, that the priest may also become—through his own human weakness—an obstacle instead. If that has happened at all in these last three years, I would certainly like to express my apologies at this time. But if I have been able to be that bridge in some small way, connecting you more closely to Jesus Christ and His Church, then I thank and praise God for that grace and opportunity.

I know I have mentioned before that being called to the priesthood is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. To be able to preach the Gospel and serve the people of God is a tremendous gift in my life, so I am grateful today for the chance to have done that here at Our Lady of Mercy in these past three years.

The second aspect of the ministry and mission of John the Baptist that I would mention today is that he is the one who points out the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world (John 1:29).

In my ministry here at OLM I have tried continually to do just that. In preaching the Gospel, celebrating weddings, baptisms, and even at funerals and moments of tragedy, I have tried to always help the people of God to see Christ in their lives. So many times I have pointed to the cross in our sanctuary and drawn your attention to the Lamb of God, who suffers and dies on the cross to save us from our sins.

But certainly pointing out Christ, the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world, is a two-way street. It is not the case that I alone have shown you where Christ is in your life; so many of you have shown me where Christ is present and active in my own life. Today I would like to thank you for doing that.

In my very first homily here in June of 2004, I spoke about how I had received already everything necessary for beginning the ministry of priesthood, but that you would be the ones to teach me how to be a good, joyful, and faithful priest. Thank you so much for helping me to do that in these past three years! I am grateful to all of you, and to Fr. Lolio for his help and patience with me in this, my first assignment in the priesthood.

But I also asked you to pray, on that first weekend in June, one specific prayer for me: that I would become a holy priest. Three years later I am still convinced that it is the single most important prayer you could make for any priest, and I ask you to continue to pray it for me.

Which brings us to the final aspect of the life and ministry of St. John the Baptist: that after preparing the way of the Lord, and pointing out the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world, he knew how to get out of the way!

Remember that scene in St. John’s Gospel, when people from all over Judea were flocking to Christ after He was made manifest following His baptism by John in the Jordan. The disciples of St. John the Baptist come to him and complain about this newcomer from Nazareth: “here he is baptizing and everyone is coming to him” (John 3:28). Very beautifully the Baptist reassures them all, while at the same time acknowledging his own true identity and mission. He says of Christ:

He must increase and I must decrease.
—John 3:30

It is my sincere prayer that you will not remember so much me personally, or the words that I have spoken here, as much as Jesus Christ and how He is increasing in your families and in your own personal lives. Thanks for a remarkable and beautiful three years here at OLM!

The Extraordinary Gospel of Mercy

(11th Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year C; This homily was given 16-17 June, 2007, at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; read the Gospel of St. Luke)

We have just finished, in the liturgical life of the Church, a long season of celebration. Throughout the seven weeks of the Easter Season we celebrated the resurrection of Christ, right up until the Feast of Pentecost. These past two weekends we have explored two of the greatest mysteries of our faith: God as Father, Son and Holy Spirit on Trinity Sunday, and the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist on the Feast of Corpus Christi.

This weekend, for the first Sunday since last February, we come together to celebrate "Ordinary Time." That designation—Ordinary Time—can be a bit misleading. Certainly there is nothing ordinary about the mysteries we celebrate here. There is nothing ordinary in the Gospel we listen to; nothing ordinary about the body and blood of Christ and the sacramental life that we enter more deeply into each week.

On this Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, St. Luke reminds us of that extraordinary love we find so abundantly in the forgiveness and mercy of God. For these next five months of “Ordinary Time,” we will be hearing from the Gospel of St. Luke. That Gospel, more than all the other three says Pope John Paul II, has earned the title “Gospel of Mercy” (Dives in Misericordia, # 3). Why is that?

St. Luke is careful to include several parables and details of the life of Christ that are not found in the other gospel accounts, all of them focused on the abundant mercy of God.

Only St. Luke gives us Jesus’ parable of the Prodigal Son, that moving story of the young man who comes home ragged and ruined, deserving nothing, only to be welcomed lovingly with open arms by a Father whose love knows no limits.

Only St. Luke includes the parable of the Good Samaritan, that outsider who becomes a true neighbor to the Israelite who had fallen into the hands of robbers, giving generously from his own resources to restore that Israelite to health once again.

And only St. Luke tells us the story of the Good Thief, who dies on the cross beside Christ. Acknowledging the Kingship of Christ and expressing faith in Jesus, despite his own unworthiness, he receives the greatest promise attainable in this life: “Today you will be with me in Paradise” (Luke 23:43).

In our “Gospel of Mercy” today, St. Luke tells us the story of the sinful woman with the alabaster jar (Luke 7:36-50). It is one of the most visual, sense-heavy gospel accounts we have. You can almost picture yourself there in the house of Simon the Pharisee. You can see that woman kneeling before Christ. You can hear her sobbing and weeping as she wipes His feet with her hair. You can smell the ointment that is in that room.

That powerful scene fits well the image of mercy that John Paul II offers in his encyclical, Rich in Mercy (Dives in Misericordia). He describes how true love, real mercy is effective; it has effects in the world we live in. Those effects are revealed, Pope John Paul II says, in two very specific and concrete ways.

Firstly, we see the mercy of God as it is revealed in the person of Jesus Christ Himself:

"Especially through His lifestyle and through His actions, Jesus revealed that love is present in the world in which we live—an effective love, a love that addresses itself to man and embraces everything that makes up his humanity."
—Dives in Misericordia, #3

In the Letters of St. Paul, God is described as “the Father of mercies” (2 Corinthians 1:3) and the “God who is rich in mercy” (Ephesians 2:4). We would have no way of grasping what that means if it were not for Christ. When we look to Christ and see His love, His forgiveness of sinners, His willingness to give His very life for us on the cross, then we come to recognize the effects of God’s mercy.

But the effects of mercy cannot remain there. Mercy is not just an image of the cross or a story that remains on the pages of the Bible. We should also see the effects of God’s mercy in our own lives. Christ “demanded from people that they also should be guided in their lives by love and mercy” (Dives in Misericordia, #3). Having received so great a gift as God’s merciful and forgiving love, we should be able to then see its effects expressed in ways that others around us can recognize and experience.

Which brings us back to our Gospel and the woman with the alabaster jar. No one in that room could have doubted that she had been touched by the merciful love of Christ. Whether they liked it or not (as was the case with Simon, the Pharisee), they could never deny that the mercy of Christ effected that woman. Do we allow ourselves to be so effected by that same mercy?

In these next five months of “Ordinary Time”, how is God calling each of us to celebrate His extraordinary love, His extraordinary mercy in our own lives?

How are we called to first acknowledge and receive the mercy of God? To acknowledge our faults and sins and our own need for God’ mercy, seeking His forgiveness and being open to the way His mercy is lavished upon us through Christ? How are we called especially to receive and celebrate that great mercy by receiving the sacrament of mercy, the Sacrament of Reconciliation?

And finally, where do we ourselves need to express that same mercy in the world we live in? Where are the places that God is calling upon us to break open those alabaster jars and pour out more freely the ointment of mercy in our families, workplaces, and wherever we find ourselves?

Today we ask God for all the oil we can hold in our alabaster jar, and for His help and assistance to break that jar open, and pour it out everywhere in the world we live in.

Corpus Christi: Offering

(Feast of Corpus Christi-Year C; This homily was given 10 June, 2007, at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; read Genesis 14:18-20, 1 Corinthians 11:23-26 & Luke 9:11-17)

Why do we pray and ask God for good things when He already knows what we want, or more importantly, exactly what we need?

Why are we encouraged, all throughout the Scriptures and especially in the Book of Psalms, to praise and worship God, although there is nothing we could ever say that would add a single thing to His glory and majesty?

And why does God constantly challenge us, in the Bible and in the person of Jesus Christ, to give generously of ourselves to those around us and in particular to Him, even though we have nothing that He could possibly need?

The answer is rather obvious: when we do those things, we are the ones who benefit. That is why God wants us to pray, worship Him, and give.

When we pray, we are the ones who are sanctified and made more holy. We grow in our relationship and friendship with God.

It is when we praise and adore God that we are most reminded of who we are as children of God, His sons and daughters created to do that very thing.

And it is only when we give of ourselves that we are complete and fulfilled in our own personal lives. One of the most often quoted expressions of the Second Vatican Council is a line that is referred to as the “Law of the Gift.” Simply stated, it says:

Man can only fully discover himself through a sincere gift of himself.
—Gaudium et Spes, #24

We find that “Law of the Gift,” in all the lives of the Saints, and hopefully in our own lives as well. We only become complete, whole and fulfilled in this life when we learn how to offer ourselves freely and generously to God and to those around us.

Today, on this Feast of Corpus Christi, we find that theme of offering in all of our readings and in the Eucharistic Prayer itself.

In St. Luke’s Gospel Jesus performs the miracle of the feeding of the five thousand in that deserted place, but Christ is not doing some magic trick here. He doesn’t just pull that food out of thin air. In fact, He pulls it out of the disciples! They come to Him with the desperate situation of the crowds, and Jesus offers them the solution:

“Give them some food yourselves.”

It was not the solution they were looking for. They quickly complain that “Five loaves and two fish are all we have” (Luke 9:13). Yet Christ is able to take that simple and seemingly insignificant offering and feed the multitudes.

When I was first ordained, one of the biggest struggles for me was preparing the weekly homily. I would look over the readings each week, pray over them, and feel so inadequate and unprepared to present the fullness of the Gospel message. I complained to a priest friend of mine, who is an excellent preacher, and he said to me:

“You never really have to worry about that. All you have to do is give to God five loaves and two fish, and trust in Him to do the rest.”

He was obviously referring to this very passage we heard from St. Luke, and I think his advice applies to all of our lives, no matter who we are or what we do. We simply give to God what we have, however inadequate we might feel or how insignificant we may think our offering is. We give God what we have, and trust in Him to do something truly beautiful.

In our first reading this morning, from the Book of Genesis, we hear of that mysterious person Melchizedek. Melchizedek appears only once in all the Scriptures, in this brief passage from Genesis, and as “priest of God Most High” (Genesis 14:18) he offers to Abram gifts of bread and wine. Then just as quickly he disappears.

Melchizedek is a mere blip on the radar screen of the Old Testament, and yet he is mentioned specifically in the Responsorial Psalm this morning: “You are a priest forever, in the line of Melchizedek” (Psalm 110:4).

He is given an elaborate description in the New Testament Letter to the Hebrews, and he is mentioned by the Fathers of the Church and by scriptures scholars across the centuries as a pre-figuration for Christ, an archetype for Christ in the Old Testament.

St. Paul, in our Second Reading from the First Letter to the Corinthians, talks about the Last Supper, and how Christ Himself offered bread and wine in a whole new way. He relates how Christ took the bread and said:

“This is my body that is for you . . .” and how He took the cup and said, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood . . .”
—1 Corinthians 11:23-26

It was the greatest offering that has ever been made, the offering of Jesus Christ Himself, the Son of God, poured out for the life of us all. It is the sacrifice of Himself, offered to them and to us, on the night before He suffered and died, to be celebrated as an everlasting memorial uniting us to Him forever.

Today on this Feast of Corpus Christi, we reflect upon and enter deeply into that offering, which will be made present here at this altar…but it will not be made present without that seemingly insignificant offering on that little table in the center isle this morning. There we have the gifts of bread and wine.

God expects us, like those first disciples at the miracle of the loaves and the fish, to bring something here to this altar. He expects us to offer the bread and wine, but more importantly, to offer ourselves along with Christ here in the Eucharist this morning (Sacrosanctum Concilium, #48). This is the place where our offering is united to the one perfect offering and sacrifice of Christ.

In the Eucharistic Prayer we will hear this morning, the Roman Canon, the word “offering” is used 10 different times. It is like a mantra running throughout that entire Eucharistic Prayer. What are we offering here at this Mass, on this Feast of Corpus Christi?

What are the five loaves and two fish we are bringing to this celebration? Our sufferings, our disappointments, our prayers for loved ones, for guidance, for strength? Our desires for the present, hopes and joys regarding the future. What are we bringing to this altar today, along with that bread and wine?

And what is it that God wants us to receive from this altar? Nothing less than the offering of Jesus Christ Himself, the Corpus Christi, everything we need to sustain us and strengthen us on our journey home to Him.

R.I. Catholics and the Holy Trinity

(Trinity Sunday-Year C; This homily was given 2 & 3 June, 2007, at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; read Proverbs 8:22-31 & Romans 5:1-5)

Just the other day I was able to talk with our Third Graders next door at the school, to take some time for questions and answers. They asked me a question that almost always seems to come up on those occasions:

“Father, what exactly do you do all day?”

You would think that after three years I would have a clear answer to that question! Actually, each day can be so different that it is not so easy to summarize what an “average” day is like for a priest.

Nonetheless, I was reminded of a conversation that my sister had with one of her friends while I was still a seminarian. Her friend said to her: “You brother is going to be a priest, isn’t he?” After my sister answered in the affirmative, her friend went on to say:

“You know, those guys have it made. They say a couple of Masses on the weekend, and then they do absolutely nothing all week long.”

Well, that is certainly not what I do all day! But today, on this Trinity Sunday, as we celebrate the mystery of God—Father, Son and Holy Spirit—we can ask ourselves: What about God? What does He do all day?

Theologians tell us that, for certain, God does one thing from all eternity: He loves. The Father loves the Son and the Son loves the Father. They love one another totally, completely, truly. Does that sound boring to you? Far from it! The love between the Father and the Son is so powerful, so explosive, so awesome and beautiful, that it is itself another Person: The Holy Spirit.

The Father, Son and Holy Spirit live together, from all eternity, in a communal relationship of total, self-giving love. What does that mean? What does that look like? We would never be able to answer those questions if God had not suddenly chosen to do something completely different, something He had never done.

Our readings for this Trinity Sunday tell us what that “something” is. The Book of Proverbs speaks about how God created the earth; how He delights in that creation and with great love lavishes all that He has upon us. The Wisdom of God says:

I was beside him as his craftsman, and I was his delight day by day, playing before him all the while, playing on the surface of his earth; and I found delight in the human race.
—Proverbs 8:30-31

St. Paul, in our second reading, talks about how God then redeemed us after we had fallen. He talks about Jesus Christ, the Son of God who became man and dwelt among us. It is Jesus Christ who comes to walk through our streets and takes on our burdens, and dies on the cross in our place.

Now we can say with certainty that we know exactly what the love of God looks like. To the question: “What does God do all day?” we need look no further than Jesus Christ.

It is Jesus Christ who comes among His people and proclaims to them the Good News, God’s eternal plan of salvation.

It is Jesus Christ who speaks out boldly for those who are weak and exploited. He is a voice for those who have no voice in this world.

And on every page of the Gospels we find Christ living among ordinary people with extraordinary love.

He even gives His life for us, on the cross and in His body and blood in the Eucharist and in the Sacraments that He institutes in the Church.

Finally, along with the Father, He sends us the Holy Spirit. As St. Paul tells us in the second reading: The love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us (Romans 5:5).

And that is where our lives become intimately connected to this Feast of the Most Holy Trinity. We are not mere spectators or observers of the life of Christ. We do not take Him simply as the most important person in history, and seek to imitate Him.

No, much more than that! Because of the gift of the Holy Spirit—which we celebrated last week at Pentecost—and because of our own baptism, God lives in us. The Holy Spirit lives in us. The power of the Holy Trinity is at work in our lives and in our Church. The very same things we saw in the life of Christ can, and should, be found today in His body, the Church.

I mention that specifically because in this week’s issue of the Rhode Island Catholic—the new name for our old diocesan newspaper—we see all those things taking place in our diocese.

There is an article about the priests in West Warwick and their work of evangelization, reaching out, just like Christ, to those who long for the Good News of God’s plan of salvation.

In several places the voice of the Church speaks out boldly for those who have no voice in this world. Bishop Tobin, in a very clear and distinct manner, speaks out for the unborn and decries the hypocrisy of Catholic politicians who have failed to take a stand against the practice of abortion. On the front page of the Rhode Island Catholic there is an article on Human Trafficking, a huge problem in our state; again, the Church speaking out for the weak and the exploited.

There are many articles about those who—just like Christ—are living among ordinary people with extraordinary love: Kindergarteners, parishioners celebrating their faith, even biker priests!

And finally, there is an article on the four men who were just ordained to the priesthood in our diocese; men who, like Christ, have given their lives for the work of sacrifice and service, and to bring the Gospel and the Body and Blood of Christ to the parishes of our diocese.

This is the power of the Holy Trinity, alive and at work in our diocese. How is God calling each of us to live like that, to become swept up in the power of God and to allow Jesus Christ to live in us, so that when people ask us:

“What do you do all day?”

We can honestly say:

“I am one who is caught up into the very life of the Holy Trinity. God lives in me and I, to the best of my ability, try to love as God loves.”

Because that is what we are called to do all day.
That is what we are called to do everyday.

Re-Creation and the Holy Spirit

(Pentecost Sunday-Year C; This homily was given 27 May, 2007, at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; read Acts 2:1-11 & John 20:19-23)

One of the first stories we learn from the Bible as children is the Story of Creation that we find in the Book of Genesis. We are all familiar with those opening words: In the beginning.

The author of Genesis relates how:

In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless wasteland, and darkness covered the abyss, while a mighty wind swept over the earth.
—Genesis 1:1-2

The Hebrew word for that mighty wind is ruah, and it means spirit or wind of God. By no means is it merely a strong gust of wind. The ruah, or the wind of God, has the power to enter directly into that formless wasteland, that primordial chaos and the abyss of darkness, to bring order and light.

Genesis continues to describe how God then separates the light from the darkness, the night from the day, the land from the sea. He makes the plants and various animals and creeping things. But finally, as the capstone and the pinnacle of creation, he fashions man.

We read about how God personally creates man out of the clay of the ground, and then He breathes into him the “breath of life;” God puts His own life-breath into the man, and he becomes a living being.

The Story of Creation is a powerful and beautiful story of God’s plan for the human family; it evokes a sense of that original paradise right here on earth.

But we also know the rest of the story: How that paradise was lost through original sin. Suddenly sin and death entered into God’s perfect creation, and the chaos and darkness crept in as God had never intended. Our human nature, and creation along with it, had become tainted.

The Gospel of St. John is, in many ways, a response to that fall of man and corruption of creation. It has been referred to as the “Story of the Re-creation,” because of the similarities to the Book of Genesis.

St. John begins his gospel with the very same words we find in that original creation narrative: In the beginning.

In the beginning was the Word,
and the Word was with God,
and the Word was God.
—John 1:1

Then John describes how “the word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14). God became man and suddenly everything changed. He brought hope where there had been despair and order where chaos reigned. Christ restored our vision when He opened the eyes of the blind (Chaper 9), and showed Himself master over the chaos of this world by walking across the stormy sea (Chapter 6).

But the high point of the story of re-creation for St. John is found in the gospel for this Feast of Pentecost. The disciples are in the upper room, huddled together behind locked doors. Most of them have failed Christ in one way or another. They are filled with fear of what may happen to them.

Suddenly Jesus enters into their own private darkness and says to them, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you” (John 20:21). Even as Christ was the light of the world and the source of hope and promise of peace to the world, even so will these disciples be.

Jesus then does something that, at first, would seem very odd to us. St. John says, “He breathed on them and said, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.’” (John 20:22).

The word St. John uses for Christ breathing on the disciples is the very same word used in Genesis to describe how God breathed new life into man. John wants to make sure that his audience understands that Christ is re-creating the disciples, and then through them, renewing the face of the earth.

We see that even more powerfully in the first reading for this weekend, from the Acts of the Apostles. The disciples are all gathered together in one place when a strong, driving wind rushes upon them. Reminiscent of the ruah, the wind over the earth at the dawn of creation, the Holy Spirit comes upon the early Church with great power. God sends the Holy Spirit upon them in the appearance of those tongues of fire, and then sends them out to proclaim the Good News to all the nations.

This is Pentecost, the power of God and nothing less than the re-creation of the world. On that day the Church was born, the hearts of the disciples were set ablaze, and God changed the course of human history.

But as we celebrate this great Feast of Pentecost here in 2007, we can ask ourselves:

Where do we most need the Holy Spirit in our world today?

Where do we find the chaos and the darkness in our own world and in our own lives?

In Iraq, and in the Middle East?

In the United States?

In our own families and our own personal lives?

Where has the darkness and the chaos crept into our own world? We need that same power of God in the Holy Spirit, the power that alone brings light, peace and order to a world that has slipped off-course in so many ways. Are we open to the Holy Spirit in our own lives and willing to seek Him out incessantly for that great Gift of Himself?

Just yesterday we celebrated the feast of St. Philip Neri. St Philip is a sixteenth century priest who is often referred to as the Apostle of Rome because of his role in God’s work of renewal in the Eternal City at a time when many had lost their focus. Clergy, as well as laity, were much more concerned with the things of this earth, to the detriment of their spiritual lives. The importance of the Sacrifice of the Mass and the life of devotion were all but lost. Yet, St. Philip, through his apostolic zeal and radiant joy, was able to turn countless souls back to Christ.

There is a great story about St. Philip, who on the vigil of Pentecost had gone into a small cave or grotto and began to pray for an increase in the gifts of the Holy Spirit. He wanted to experience more powerfully the Spirit of God in his life. Suddenly there appeared before him a globe of fire. It entered his mouth and then expanded his chest as his heart beat furiously within him.

St. Philip cried out for God to stop that experience, not because he was in pain, but because he was overwhelmed by joy. After his death, it was discovered that two of his ribs had been broken above his heart when it had expanded. They had re-formed, creating a lager space for the beating of his enlarged heart.

Today, on this Feast of Pentecost, we pray for that same increase in the power of the Holy Spirit in our own lives. Not that God would break our ribs, but that He would break open our hearts and souls, and fill them with that same fire of love that burned in the hearts of St. Philip Neri, and all the disciples on the first day of Pentecost.

We pray:

Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful
and enkindle in them the fire of your love.

Send forth your spirit and they shall be created.
And you shall renew the face of the earth.

Unity and Communion

(Seventh Sunday of Easter-Year C; This homily was given 19 & 20 May, 2007, at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; read Acts 7:55-60 & John 17:20-26)

Our readings for this weekend focus on the theme of unity, what it means to be joined together as one. As we look at the Acts of the Apostles and the Gospel of St. John, it becomes clear that we are seeing two very different kinds of unity.

In the Acts of the Apostles we hear the account of the stoning of St. Stephen. St. Stephen was one of the first men to become a deacon in the early Church. He is also the first Christian martyr, the very first one to die for his faith in Christ.

St. Luke, the author of Acts, writes about how St. Stephen had been witnessing to the risen Christ and relating to the scribes and the religious leaders that the person of Christ was the one sent by God for our salvation. Finally, at one point, they had heard enough. St. Luke then describes how, suddenly:

They all “rushed upon him together. They threw him out of the city and began to stone him.”
—Acts 7:57-58

One of the older translations says that they rushed upon him “as one man”; they were that united against him in anger and hatred. And because they were so united, so completely of one accord, they were able to accomplish what they set out to do. They were able to kill St. Stephen…but that’s all they were able to do!

They had the power to kill his body, but it becomes remarkably clear in that description from the Acts of the Apostles that his soul is perfectly intact. He prays, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit” (Acts 7:59), and he even prays for those who are stoning him to death.

As powerful a scene as that is regarding St. Stephen’s faith and the quality of his soul, it is just as revealing with regard to the unity of his attackers. The Crowd mentality or the mob mentality that can be seen all throughout human history—from the time of Christ, when they cried “crucify him”, even into our own time, with terrorism—is essentially a weak unity. It can take away life, but that is all it can do.

How different, the unity Christ calls us to! The oneness Christ calls us to—in Him and with each other—has the power not to take away life, but to bear fruit and bring new life to the world we live in. In His beautiful oration to the Father, Jesus prays for His disciples and for all of us:

That they may all be one, as you, Father, are in me and I in you, that they may also be in us, that the world may believe that you sent me.
—John 17:21

Our unity in Christ is the same unity that Christ shares with the Father in the Holy Spirit. As we know, that unity was able to bear fruit by shedding forth the mercy of God, the love and the grace of God in the world we live in. Our unity in Christ, likewise, is able to bring new life where no life had been before. It is that fruitful, that powerful.


Obviously, that is a spiritual reality. Jesus says that we will live in Him and He will live in us (John 15:4; 17:23,26). The Holy Spirit lives in us by virtue of our Baptism. It is a deeply spiritual reality.

But Christ is not just a spiritual being. He is not a spirit or a ghost. In addition to being fully God He is also fully man, flesh and blood, body and soul, like us. Therefore the unity He calls us to is also a physical reality. It is a unity that we should be able to see, feel and experience.

That physical unity finds its greatest expression whenever we gather together here to celebrate the Eucharist. The reason why Christ gives us His body and blood is to make us one in Him, in the Eucharist.

St. Paul, writing to the Church at Corinth, says it all when he describes how they drink of the one cup, and eat of the one bread, and so become one in Christ (1 Corinthians 10:16-17).

About six months ago, the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops wrote a document entitled, Happy are Those Who are Called to His Supper. It explores this very mystery of the Eucharist, the Sacrament of unity in the life of the Church.

One of the topics covered in that document is a question many Catholics are sometimes asked: Who is able to receive communion in the Catholic Church? The document goes on to explain how those who are not in communion with the Catholic Church are not able, therefore, to receive the Sacrament of Communion for that reason. We share a common Baptism with our brothers and sisters of other Christian faith communities. We share their same love for Christ in the Scriptures and hold so many beliefs and doctrines in common.

However, we are not united in our understanding of the foundation of the Church by Christ. They do not accept the role of St. Peter as the head of the Apostles, and the successor of St. Peter in the Pope. They do not accept that structure of the Church regarding the Apostles and their successors in the bishops of the Church, from which we receive the gift of the Eucharist itself. Therefore, while we invite all to join with us in prayer at the Eucharistic table, not all are able to receive Communion in the Catholic Church.

For that matter, the bishops go on to say that there are certain circumstances in which even Catholics should refrain from receiving the Eucharist:

If we are no longer in the state of grace because of mortal sin, we are seriously obliged to refrain from receiving Holy Communion until we are reconciled with God and the Church.
— Happy are Those Who are Called to His Supper.

To go back to our CCD classes growing up, mortal sin is not something that simply happens to us by accident. It involves three things. Firstly, it must be what the Church refers to as “grave matter,” something serious enough to break our communion with God and with each other. Secondly, we must be aware that it is grave matter, to have the knowledge that we are dealing with something that serious in the moral life. Finally, we must be free to chose not to commit that sin, but nonethless go ahead and do so anyway.

We do not usually need a religion textbook or a course in moral theology to tell us when this has happened in our lives. We know when we have sinned against God or others in a serious or grave way. The Holy Spirit is the one who convicts us of sin and moves us towards repentance. That is why the bishops continue by saying:

Catholics who are conscious of committing any mortal sin must receive the Sacrament of Penance before receiving Holy Communion.

It is important to understand what is being said there. They are not saying that those in a state of mortal sin should stay away from Christ in the Eucharist. No, they are saying to those in a state of mortal sin: Be reconciled! Be reconciled to God and to each other, and then come to receive this great Sacrament of Communion.


One final aspect that is not mentioned in the bishops’ document on the Eucharist—I believe because it is rather obvious and perhaps goes without saying—is something that I mentioned at the beginning of this homily. Our communion and unity in Christ, far different from the crowd mentality that took away the life of St. Stephen, is able to bear fruit and bring new life to the world.

That is the reason we come together in the first place: so that we can be strengthened in the Eucharist and then go out and bear fruit in the world we live in. It is the reason why we hear those words at the end of every Mass:

“The Mass is ended, go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”

How is God challenging us to be more united, more completely one than ever before, as we gather together for the Eucharist? And how are we called to bring the fruits of that unity to a world that desperately needs the new life of Jesus Christ?

Time in the City

(Feast of the Ascension-Year C; This homily was given 17 May, 2007, at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; read Acts 1:1-12 and Luke 24:44-53)

In just a few short days we will celebrate the Feast of Pentecost, the “birthday of the Church.” The Feast of Pentecost is about the power of God in the life of the early Church; it is about the gift of the Holy Spirit and the remarkable work of God that coincides with that.

Today’s Feast of the Ascension is different. The Ascension is not so much about the power of God in the lives of the Apostles or the power of the Holy Spirit in the life of the Church. The Ascension is about the promise of power, and the promise of the Holy Spirit. Jesus Christ, in our readings this morning, teaches us the difference.

In both the Acts of the Apostles and St. Luke’s Gospel, Jesus tells the disciples that they will receive from God “power from on high” (Luke 24:49) and the unprecedented gift of the Holy Spirit (Acts 1:5,8)… but not yet…not now.

Instead, He tells them to wait:

Stay in the city

until you are clothed with power from on high.
—Luke 24:49

He tells them

“not to depart from Jerusalem, but to wait” (Acts 1:4).

Wait in the city.

Wait for the coming of the Holy Spirit.

And it is there in the city, while they wait without Christ and without yet the promised Holy Spirit, that they come to discover their own weakness; their own powerlessness; their own fear; and their own utter dependence upon God…so that, when the promised Holy Spirit does come, and sends them out to set the world on fire, they will remember that it was not their own power, but the power of God shining through their human weakness.

In these next few days we too will prepare to celebrate the great day of Pentecost, and the coming of the power of God from on high. But God invites us, too, in this next week and a half, to spend time in the city; time to recognize our own weaknesses, our own fears, our own powerlessness and our own utter dependency upon Him.

Let us pray for the grace to spend well this time in the city, that we may also come to appreciate the great power of God at work in us, and the power of the Holy Spirit shining through our human weakness.

What's in Your Temple?

(Sixth Sunday of Easter-Year C; This homily was given 13 May, 2007, at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; read Revelation 21:10-23 & John 14:23-29)

One of the greatest opportunities of my life was the time I spent studying for the priesthood in the city of Rome. Living in the heart of Europe, I had plenty of chances to travel and see so many historic places.

I would always make it a point to spend some time in the basilicas or cathedral churches of the various cities I was able to visit. I remember the first time I entered St. Peter’s Basilica; I was overwhelmed by the size of it, the beauty and the majesty of the place. It gave me a remarkable sense of God’s presence and an awareness of the lives of the saints, many of whom were memorialized in that very Church.

You can tell a lot about a city from the cathedrals and churches that are found there. If you have ever been to any major city, in Europe or right here in the United States, you know that is true. But not all cities are alike, and not all churches are either.

I remember once, in my third year as a seminarian, I had the chance to travel with some classmates to Southern France. We came to the ancient city of Arles, which was in the midst of celebrating its annual festival, but the central focus was certainly not Christ or the lives of the saints. In fact, one of the main attractions of that city was bullfighting!

On the day we arrived a bullfight was taking place and thousands of people in that city had gathered in the local arena to watch it. Yet as we walked through the streets of that city over the course of the next several days, we were not able to find a single open church or Mass anywhere.

Finally we saw what appeared to be an old cathedral, but as we entered we realized it had long ago ceased to be an active church and had been turned, instead, into a museum. All of the side altars were still present, but the sacred altar stones had been removed and the altars were now covered with plywood.

But most disturbing of all was that each of the altars now displayed photographs of bullfights, depicting the various stages of that rather graphic sport as it was taking place. You could make out clearly where statues, icons and images of Christ would have been, but now there was quite a different focus and very different priorities in that “church.”

You really can tell a lot about a city by the churches and the places of worship that are found there!

In our second reading this morning, from the Book of Revelation, St. John describes the vision he had of heaven, and the capital city, the heavenly Jerusalem. He says:

The angel took me in spirit to a great, high mountain and showed me the holy city Jerusalem coming down out of heaven from God.
—Revelation 20:10

He describes that city in great detail, how magnificent, brilliant and radiant it was. But then he goes on to say:

I saw no temple in the city…
—Revelation 21:22

No temple?! How is that possible? The capital city of heaven and there is no temple whatsoever, no place to worship God. But St. John continues to explain that there was no temple because:

…its temple is the Lord God almighty and the Lamb.
—Revelation 21:22

God Himself is the temple. God is the place of worship for the people of the heavenly city. In the end, there will be no pilgrimages to St. Peter’s Basilica; we will not gather in cathedral churches at all. Those who worship God will dwell in Him. We will have a real and intimate relationship with God and that will be our worship.

But that real and intimate relationship is not one that begins at the end of this life, or the end of this world. We begin right here and now to dwell with God and to worship Him “in Spirit and in truth” (John 4:24). Jesus Christ, in the gospel this morning, puts it this way:

Whoever loves me will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our dwelling with him.
—John 14:23

And so, with that in mind, we can ask ourselves this morning: “What’s in your temple?” We have all heard the question on the TV commercial asking, “What’s in your wallet?” Well, today we can ask ourselves: What’s in your temple?

Are there things in our temple that do not belong there? Maybe not pictures of bullfights, but are there things that would distract us from that intimate relationship God is calling us to? Are we holding onto any habits or personal sins that keep us from growing in our faith? Is there anything in our temple that needs to go?

Secondly, is there room for prayer in that dwelling place that we have with God? How important is prayer in our daily lives? Do we set aside time each day to be alone and quiet before God?

Finally, no cathedral or basilica would be complete without some special place for the Blessed Sacrament. Here at Our Lady of Mercy the tabernacle is right in the center of our church. The Catholic Church teaches that the Eucharist is the center of our lives; the Blessed Sacrament is the “source and summit of the Christian life” (Lumen Gentium, #11). Is He at the center of your life, guiding everything you do?

Once again, on this Sixth Sunday of Easter, we take a moment to answer that one simple question:

“What’s in your temple?”

The Good Shepherd: Commitment & Sacrifice

(Fourth Sunday of Easter-Year C; This homily was given 28 & 29 April, 2007, at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; read Ezekiel 34 & John 10:1-18)

Today we celebrate Good Shepherd Sunday, and that title, of course, is taken from the tenth chapter of St. John’s Gospel. Jesus announces to the people of Israel, and to all of us, “I am the Good Shepherd.”

That title for Christ may be very familiar to us as Christians, but for the people of Israel the image of a shepherd would have been literally charged with meaning. Remember it was Moses who led the people of Israel from slavery in Egypt, across the desert, and into the Promised Land. But long before that, he had been a shepherd, “tending the flock of his father-in-law Jethro” (Exodus 3:1).

King David, the greatest king in the history of Israel, was called by God when he was just a shepherd boy; God called him to be the shepherd and leader of the people. He would later reflect on the tender care and providence of God in his own life, and write “The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I shall want.”

Yet it was the prophets who would eventually connect that image of shepherd not to a single man—Jacob, or Moses, or David—but to all the leaders of the people of Israel. One of the great promises of God in the Old Testament comes to us through the prophet Jeremiah, regarding the shepherds whom God will always provide for His people. God says, “I will give you shepherds after my own heart” (Jeremiah 3:15).

But Ezekiel brings into sharp contrast, around the time of the Babylonian Exile, how those shepherds of Israel, which God had appointed, were bad shepherds. They had not cared for the flock or looked after the people. Instead, they had only looked after themselves. God cries out to them, through the prophet Ezekiel:

You did not strengthen the weak nor heal the sick nor bind up the injured. You did not bring back the strayed nor seek the lost…
—Ezekiel 34:4

They had not led the people; as shepherds, they had not fed the people. Instead, they had only fed themselves. With a deep and haunting sense of justice, God says, “I swear I am coming against these shepherds.” No longer will they lead this people. Instead, God says, “I myself will do it!” I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep (Ezekiel 34:11).

I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the crippled and I will strengthen the weak (Ezekiel 34:16).

And then He offers, through the prophet, a promise that would have been breathtaking to the people of Israel: I will appoint one shepherd over them to pasture them, my servant David; he shall pasture them and be their shepherd (Ezekiel 34:23). It was the promise of the Messiah, born of the house of David.

Into this context Jesus Christ comes and announces to the people of Israel: “I am the Good Shepherd.” It was the fulfillment of everything they had hoped for, everything God had promised.

In Jesus Christ, the Good Shepherd, they saw a man totally committed to the people of Israel, to feeding not Himself but the people with the word of God and the Bread of Life. Thousands came out to hear Him explain the Scriptures and proclaim the kingdom of God. He was totally committed to the people, and gave them His own body and His own blood in the Eucharist.

And in Jesus Christ they saw a shepherd willing to sacrifice Himself for the sheep. In that same tenth chapter of St. John’s Gospel, Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd. A good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep” (John 10:11).

He was willing to sacrifice His own life on the cross, to suffer and die so that we could be forgiven, and so that He could say what we heard in the gospel this weekend:

I give them eternal life and they shall never perish (John 10:28).

That is the fullness of what Jesus means when He says, “I am the Good Shepherd,” and it is at the heart of what we celebrate today. It is also why the Church throughout the world today observes the 44th World Day of Prayer for Vocations. We believe that the same God who cared for and lovingly guided the Church at its foundation will continue to do so in our own day by providing the vocations to the priesthood and religious life that sustain the Church in every age.

In 1993, Pope John Paul II wrote the foundational Apostolic Exhortation on priestly formation called Pastores Dabo Vobis: I Will Give You Shepherds. He begins that document by quoting God’s great promise from the prophet Jeremiah: “I will give you shepherds after my own heart” (Jeremiah 3:15). It is a promise we can count on, and one that gives us tremendous hope. In fact, says Pope John Paul II, the commandments of God depend upon Him answering our prayers for more vocations!

God has commanded the Church to preach the gospel to all nations and to celebrate the Eucharist; to “do this in memory of me.” Those commandments are dependent upon the gift of the priesthood, which God has given, and will continue to give, to the Church (Pastores Dabo Vobis, #1). And in many places throughout the world, the Church is teeming with vocations.

In Africa, parts of Asia and South America, and in countries like Poland, there are so many priests that some are sent here to the United States to lead and guide our churches. In reality, we are experiencing here in our country what has often been called a “vocations crisis.” Why is that?

I do not think there are any easy answers to this question, but I would suggest that part of the problem has to do with the lack of value we place in our culture at this time on two of the things so evident in Christ, the Good Shepherd: commitment and sacrifice.

There is a lack of commitment in the culture we live in, and not just in relation to the priesthood. There is a lack of commitment in marriage between a man and a woman, “until death do us part.” There is a lack of commitment in relationships, in business, and in many other areas. Where there is a crisis in commitment, there is bound to be a crisis in vocations.

Secondly, our culture places a very low value on sacrifice. We live in a hedonistic society that places pleasure on a pedestal. It’s me first, and sacrifice second. It should not surprise us in the least that in a country where sacrifice and commitment are not valued enough, neither will there be much regard for vocations to the priesthood and religious life.

With that said, I would like to bring things to a much more personal level. I love being a Catholic priest! I love everything about it. Each day I thank God for the gift and call of the priesthood in my life. There are a thousand things about the priesthood that I love, but today I would like to share with you only two of them (I'll try to cover the other 998 next week!).

The first is commitment. I love being totally committed to Jesus Christ, and His Bride, the Church. I love being committed to teaching at the school next door, to visiting the hospitals and the homes of the people of this parish whenever I am called upon to do that. I love being totally committed to celebrating the Eucharist and proclaiming the Gospel of Jesus Christ here in this place, day in and day out, week after week. I love that commitment. I am not constrained by that in the least. In fact, to be committed to those things gives me tremendous freedom and an indescribable joy!

The second thing I love about the priesthood? Sacrifice. I love the fact that my sacrifice means something to God. I love the fact that my “Yes” to God’s call in my life, and all the challenges that sometimes entails, that means something to God and to the people I serve. I love the fact that my struggles, my difficulties, my sufferings, together with your struggles, your difficulties, and your sufferings, can be united on that altar and joined together with the one sacrifice of Christ, and that means something.

I love the priesthood because that commitment and sacrifice gives meaning and purpose to my life and to the lives of those I am called to serve. And so today we join the Church throughout the world in praying to God for an increase in vocations to the priesthood, for all of the men whom God is calling to make that same commitment and that same sacrifice, which leads in the end to freedom and joy in Christ.

We also pray for all the men and women that God is calling to serve Him in religious life. In a particular way, we pray that God would continue His promise of providing the Church with “shepherds after [His] own heart,” and that He would help us all to place a greater value on commitment and sacrifice in our Church, our families, and in our own personal lives as we continue to listen to the voice of the Good Shepherd and follow Him to eternal life.

Restoration & Mission

(Third Sunday of Easter-Year C; This homily was given 22 April, 2007, at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; read John 21:1-19)

We celebrate this morning the Third Sunday of Easter, continuing to read the Gospel accounts of the appearances of Christ in the days immediately following the resurrection. The Easter mystery of the resurrection—Jesus Christ risen from the dead—is so central to our faith that the Church takes fifty days just to celebrate and ponder it.

In all the appearances of Christ to His disciples following the resurrection, there are always two things taking place: restoration and mission. Whether it be to Mary Magdalene at the empty tomb, the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, or the disciples gathered together in the upper room, Jesus begins by restoring them from the state they are in, often one of brokenness and unbelief. Then He prepares them for mission, to go out and proclaim to the world that He is risen!

Our Gospel this morning—the third time Jesus appears to His disciples, according to St. John—reveals those aspects of restoration and mission in a powerful way in the life of St. Peter.

Ah, proud Peter! Remember it was Peter who had said to the Lord, at the Last Supper, “Though all may have their faith in you shaken, mine will never be” (Matthew 26:33). But then he had stood by the fire, warming himself along with the enemies of Christ, and had proceeded to deny his Lord and God three times. It was a bitter moment that he would never again forget.

However encouraged Peter may have been by the previous two appearances of the resurrected Christ, it is clear in our gospel that he is simply not himself. He is moving not forward in faith to proclaim the resurrection but backwards instead, retreating into what would have been most familiar to him. He says to the other disciples: “I am going fishing.” That is what Peter knew best; it was what he did before he met Jesus. Many of the other disciples were also fishermen. They respond, in turn, “We also will come with you” (John 21:3).

And it is right there, in the midst of all that is familiar, that Jesus Christ reveals Himself to them…yet they do not know that it is Jesus. They encounter that Stranger on the shore, who tells them to cast their net off the right side of the boat. They had been fishing all night and had caught nothing, but they listen to Him anyway.

Suddenly their nets are at the point of breaking and all the disciples are amazed at that tremendous catch of fish…except for St. John the Beloved Disciple. He alone is not caught up with the fish because he alone is able to recognize that this has happened once before!

Remember when St. Peter, St. John and many of the disciples had first met Jesus? It was in Peter’s boat. Jesus had come aboard and began to teach the people standing on the shore. Then He turned to Simon Peter and said, “Put out into deep water and lower your nets for a catch” (Luke 5:4). On that occasion, Simon had at first protested: “Master, we have worked hard all night and have caught nothing, but at your command I will lower the nets” (Luke 5:5). Then they had caught so many fish that the nets were tearing and Simon Peter was hooked! He, and the other disciples along with him, began to realize just who this Stranger was.

And now, in this morning’s Gospel, St. John remembers that remarkable day. He sees it taking place all over again and he immediately cries out to Peter: It is the Lord (John 21:7). Peter, it’s Him! It is Jesus Christ, risen from the dead, and He is appearing to us again! Suddenly the entire direction of that Gospel changes. St. Peter is no longer going backward and withdrawing. Now he dives right in, literally!

All the disciples go ashore, and no one questions any longer who this Stranger is. They all know that it is the Lord. That is when Jesus invites them to “Come, have breakfast” (John 21:12). He invites them to share in an intimate meal with Him. And suddenly, at that meal, Jesus again does something very familiar, something they all would have recognized. St. John tells us He:

“Took the bread and gave it to them” (John 21:13).

Just as He had done in the miracle of the loaves and the fish. He took the bread and gave it to them, and they, in turn, fed over 5,000 people. Just as He had done on the night before He died, at the Last Supper. He took the bread, broke it, and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body…” They would never have forgotten how He gave Himself to them on that night, and here He is, doing that very same thing again, restoring those disciples at that meal and preparing them to go forth on the mission of proclaiming the Good News of the resurrection.

And finally, Jesus enters into that beautiful dialogue with St. Peter: “Peter, do you love me?” Three times He asks Peter that question, one for each of the times that Peter had denied Him! Jesus restores St. Peter, and then He sends him out on mission: Tend my sheep. Feed my lambs. Peter, if you love me, then go where I am sending you! Go and serve those whom I have entrusted to you!

This is a very powerful gospel, and a very timely one, as well. The world we live in is in desperate need of being restored. Now, more than ever, are we in need of the restoration and new life that God alone can give.

Our country has just experienced, in this last week, the worse shooting tragedy in our nation’s history. It would be impossible to express the amount of pain and suffering that is pouring out from the community at Virginia Tech. And yet, even in the midst of that, we should not be surprised to find Jesus Christ entering directly into that sorrow and grief. We should not be surprised to see Christ entering into the things most familiar to the families and loved ones of the victims there—friends, family members, communities, churches—and restoring broken hearts, restoring new life and restoring hope. He does it all the time.

The people of Virginia Tech. have not been forgotten by God. And neither have we. We gather here this morning, in what is for us the familiar place. How many times have you listened to the Gospel proclaimed here? Or knelt here in prayer to ask for help for yourself or your family, to give thanks to God, to lift up your heart to Him?

This is the familiar place where God comes to us, and makes Himself known. It is where He enters directly into our lives and says to us what He says to the disciples on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias:

“Come, have breakfast” (John 21:12). Come, and share in this meal together. Come, eat My Body and drink My Blood. Come here to this place, and experience the power of the Eucharist, the power of the resurrection, and be restored…and then go out and share that new life and new hope with a world that is in desperate need of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

2,000 years ago Christ came among His first disciples and He restored them to Himself and then sent them out to set the world on fire. Where is He sending us this week, as we leave this place restored and renewed and ready to proclaim—with our words and actions—that Jesus Christ is risen from the dead?