Socially Distant, Spiritually Close

 

(Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year A; This homily was given on August 9, 2020 at Church of Santo Spirito in Sassia in Rome, Italy; See 1 Kings 19:9-13 and Matthew 14:22-33)

Our readings for this weekend begin in a very dark and lonely place.  In 1 Kings we find Elijah the prophet on the top of Mount Horeb, in a cave, by himself.  He could not be any more isolated than that!  Elijah, of course, is there for a very good reason.  The previous chapters of 1 Kings describe the epic struggle he had been engaged in with King Ahab and his wife Jezebel.  The king, led astray by his wife, had forsaken the covenant with God and gone over to the worship of Baal.  Ahab had commissioned 450 prophets to spread that idolatry throughout Israel.  Elijah the prophet had stood before these false prophets and humiliated them.  He extinguished them from the land of Israel.  Jezebel did not take the defeat of her prophets lightly.  She threatened to take the life of Elijah, and so for good reason he fled.     

This morning he is in that cave, alone.  What must he have been thinking?  He had been faithful, seeking only to bring the people back into a right relationship with the living God.  Yet suddenly, in his loneliness and isolation, God comes to him.  That epiphany happens in a most peculiar way.  At first there is a strong driving wind, but we are told that God was not in the wind.  Next there was an earthquake, but God was not in the earthquake.  Finally, there is fire, but God is not in the fire.  

It is interesting to reflect on the fact that God is present, in a certain sense, in all three of these manifestations in the New Testament.  When Christ dies on the cross, accomplishing our salvation, St. Matthew writes that “the earth shook, and the rocks were split” (Matthew 27:51).  On the day of Pentecost, the disciples heard the sound of a strong driving wind, and saw tongues as of fire as the Holy Spirit descended upon them.  But not here.  

In the cave on Mount Horeb, Elijah hears only a tiny whispering sound.  A whisper is intimate, close.  We know well from Sacred Scripture that God is transcendent.  He is totally other, and we could never reach Him or approach Him as He is.  But in 1 Kings we are also reminded that God is imminent.  He is as close as a still, small voice.  St. Augustine, in his Confessions, reflects upon the God who is “intimior intimo meo,” more intimate to me than I am to myself.  God comes to Elijah this morning in the intimacy of a whisper, and in essence tells him, “Do not be afraid.  I am with you.  I love you.  You are not alone.

In the Gospel, we find Christ in perhaps one of the loneliest moments of His public ministry up to this point.  He has just learned of the death of His cousin, St. John the Baptist.  Having fed the people with the miracle of the loaves and the fish, we are told, “He went up on the mountain by himself to pray.  When it was evening he was there alone” (Matthew 14:23).  Very much like Elijah, He is there on that mountaintop by Himself.  But also like Elijah, we know well that He is very much not alone.  He is there with the Father.  He is in prayer and He is intimately near the Father and the Holy Spirit.  Because He is so close to God, He is also even closer to the disciples than if He were only physically in their presence.  Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI, in his second volume of Jesus of Nazareth, writes about how Jesus is able to see these disciples through the eyes of the Father while He is up on that mountain.  He sees them struggling against the wind and the waves and so He comes to them.  He was already spiritually close, but now He will draw physically close, because He loves them.

One of the great challenges of the current global pandemic is that we are often socially distant.  In fact, we are governed by laws that ensure that social distance, and for our own health and wellness we abide by those laws.  But even though we are socially distant, as a Church we can be, and should be, spiritually close.  As Bishop Michael Burbidge of the Diocese of Arlington has said, “we are socially distant but our goal is to be spiritually close in the Eucharist.”

There is a beautiful story about St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross (Edith Stein), a Jewish convert to Catholicism who died a martyr in Auschwitz in 1942.  When she was still a young convert, and before she entered the Carmelite monastery, Edith Stein was living with Dominican sisters in a convent near where she was a professor.  She was fond of a small niche not far from the tabernacle, where she could remain in prayer and adoration of the Blessed Sacrament in relative isolation and privacy.  One Christmas Eve, when the Mass had concluded, she was in that little space and praying her thanksgiving to God for the gift of the Eucharist.  Unseen by those who were responsible for closing the Church down for the evening, they unintentionally locked her in!  Early the next morning, when one of the sisters came in to open the doors and turn on the lights, she saw Edith kneeling in adoration before the Christmas creche.  Thinking that perhaps her mistake of the night before had been a difficult experience and ruined a night of peaceful sleep for the young professor, the sister apologized.  Edith replied, “Who can sleep during the night that God became man!”  

St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross had been socially distant from that religious community all night, but because she was with our Eucharistic Lord, she was spiritually close.  She reminds us this morning that we are never closer to God and to each other than when we are united in the Blessed Sacrament of the Eucharist.  

In these days of adjustment and even sacrifice of many things while we continue to face the COVID-19 crisis, we remember that the Eucharist is the place where we experience the intimacy of God.  As Churches begin to open, and that Gift becomes more and more available, we do well to make the Eucharist the center, font and culmination of our entire lives, as the Church has always taught us.

Hope, De Profundis

Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes 

(Unknown artist, Church of St. Appolinare in Ravenna, Italy)

 

(Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year A; This homily was given on August 2, 2020 at Church of Santo Spirito in Sassia in Rome, Italy; See Isaiah 55:1-3 and Matthew 14:13-21)

It can happen sometimes, in the darkest moment, when all hoped seems lost, that a ray of light can shine into our lives and change everything.  It can happen, that the voice of God can speak to us and suddenly bring new life . . . And it does happen, in our first reading this weekend.

We listen to that beautiful reading from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah.  It is a very positive and encouraging message, and yet the context Isaiah is addressing could not be any further from that reality.  He is speaking to the People of Israel, God’s chosen.  God had entered into a covenant relationship with Israel which the prophets describe as spousal.  He had espoused Himself to them, to be their faithful husband and that they would be His bride.  

At one of the highest points in that relationship we find the Davidic Covenant, God’s promises for the nation under David the King.  God had said to David, “I will raise up your offspring after you, who shall come forth from your body, and I will establish his kingdom.  He shall build a house for my name and I will establish the throne of his kingdom forever” (2 Samuel 7:12-13).  We understand this covenant as containing the promise of the Messiah, and the establishment of a kingdom that would never be destroyed (Daniel 2:44).  It was one of the highest points in the history of that nation.

And yet, as Isaiah speaks to them this morning, they are at the lowest point.  So far from being a strong and established nation, they are a nation enslaved.  So far from being that fruitful spouse of God, they have been carried off into exile in Babylon because of their infidelity.  Precisely at that moment, however, God speaks to Israel and gives them a message of hope.  He calls out to them, and invites them to share in a new beginning and the fullness of life:

All you who are thirsty, come to the water!  You who have no money, come, receive grain and eat; come without paying and without cost, drink wine and milk!

—Isaiah 55:1

He has so much to offer, and they will never want for anything if they will only heed, only receive Him!  He assures them that, in Him, they will have life.  And then God makes the most astounding promise:

I will renew with you the everlasting covenant, the benefits assured to David

—Isaiah 55:3

With that God has made it clear that He is not finished with them, and the covenant He made with David is far from over.  He will bring them back into the Promised Land and give them a King who will reign over the nations, and His kingdom will last forever.  In the darkest moment, when all hope seemed lost, God reignited hope and prepared the way for the Messiah.

It can happen.  It can happen precisely in the most vulnerable moments, when sorrow seems overwhelming, that God can provide for us and give us new life.  It happens in the Gospel of St. Matthew this morning.  The opening lines of that passage are significant:

“When Jesus heard about the death of John the Baptist, he withdrew in a boat to a deserted place by himself.”

—Matthew 14:13

It had to be one of the lowest points in Jesus’ public ministry to that point, the death of his own cousin.  John the Baptist was the precursor of the Messiah, the faithful friend of the Bridegroom that had prepared the way for the coming of the kingdom.  But the way he had died!  Beheaded at the behest of a selfish king in the stale darkness of the palace prison.  Rightly does Christ withdraw, in that time of sorrow, intending to be alone.  What must He have been thinking, as His own death now seemed so much closer than it had a few moments before.

The crowds, however, hearing all this, followed Him and sought Him out. St. Matthew’s description of what happened next is remarkable.

When he disembarked and saw the vast crowd, his heart was moved with pity for them.

—Matthew 14:14

He was filled with pity and compassion, not for Himself but for them.  Even in the midst of His own sorrow, he had compassion on these people and He healed them; He fed them with the loaves and fish, performing a miracle of love.

The miracle of the multiplication of the loaves and the fish, of course, foreshadows how Christ will feed us with His body and blood.  The very words He uses—He took the loaves, He blessed them, He broke them, He gave them to the disciples—are the very same words used to describe the institution of the Eucharist (see Matthew 26:26).  

We can reflect for a moment about how the total generosity of Christ in the Eucharist comes to us from the point of greatest vulnerability.  It is on the cross, where Christ is wounded and pierced, that He offers up His body for the salvation of the world, and pours out His blood for the forgiveness of sins.  It is at the Last Supper, immediately after He has announced that He will be betrayed, and with His own violent death looming before Him, that He says, “I have earnestly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer” (Luke 22:15).  As His own passion is beginning, He lovingly and generously gives us His own body and blood in the Eucharist.  

One of the earliest images for our Lord in Christian iconography is the pelican.  Back in the 2nd Century, the pelican was often depicted as a symbol for Jesus in the Eucharist.  Christians would observe that large-billed bird, and the peculiar way it fed its young.  It appeared to be piercing its own breast with its enormous beak, staining its feathers with blood, and then giving its own flesh to the hungry nestlings (ornithologists would later understand that, in fact, pelicans press small fish against their bodies in order to provide manageable portions for the young).  This image of the pelican is found all throughout the churches of Europe as a rich symbol for Christ, who allows Himself to be pierced and wounded so that He may feed us and give us new life.

We come here this morning, to this celebration of the Eucharist, all of us with our crosses and vulnerability.  Here, God meets us at the point of our greatest need and gives us new life.  But there are people in each of our lives right now, people that we encounter perhaps on a regular basis, who are almost without hope.  There are people in the midst of this global pandemic who cannot see what tomorrow will look like and have considered the very real possibility of giving up.  There are people in our world today that are very much in the dark . . . 

But it can happen, in the darkest moment, when all hope seems lost, that a ray of light can shine into their lives and change everything.  It can happen, that the voice of the Holy Spirit can speak to them a word that gives new life.  It can happen that you and I—coming here to feed on Christ in the Eucharist, to be strengthened by Christ in the word of God, and deepening our lives with Christ in daily prayer— can become instruments of God and communicate the message of hope in a world that desperately longs to see the face of Jesus Christ.

The Kingdom: Surprises and Searches

Saint Teresa of Calcutta (1910-1997)

(Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year A; This homily was given on July 26, 2020 at San Gregorio Magno al Cielo and the Church of Santo Spirito in Sassia in Rome, Italy; See 1 Kings 3:5-12 and Matthew 13:44-52)

For the past several weeks we have been listening to St. Matthew’s Gospel and the parables of Jesus on the kingdom of heaven.  In the parable of the sower, it is the word of God that can find rich soil and bear tremendous fruit for the kingdom (Matthew 13:3-9).  Then Jesus teaches that the kingdom of heaven is like a field filled with wheat, but suddenly there appear weeds along with the wheat; through patience and discernment the wheat grows and is later sifted and gathered for the kingdom, while the weeds are collected and burned (Matthew 13:24-30).    This morning Jesus gives us the final three parables in that series.  We hear that:

The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure buried in a field, which a person finds and hides again, and out of joy goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.  Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant searching for fine pearls.  When he finds a pearl of great price, he goes and sells all that he has and buys it.

—Matthew 13:44-46  

Both of these parables are very similar.  As soon as the treasure is discovered, or the pearl is found, the person sells everything in order to fully possess that awesome gift.  There is a sense of joy and transformation that accompanies the kingdom of God, changing one’s entire outlook and experience.  

At the same time, however, those two parables are quite different.  We can begin with the treasure found in the field.  Firstly, how likely is that to happen?  Actually, in the time of Christ, it would not have been uncommon.  This parable is being told in Roman-occupied Palestine.  In many places in the world at that time, and even in places in our own world today, there was instability and the possible threat of invasion and forced migration.  If you were a wealthy land owner, and had many possessions and personal items of great value, you might put them all together and bury them somewhere on your property.  The hope would be to flee from the imminent danger, and return afterward and take up your treasure once again.  For many, perhaps that day would never come.  It would not have been so uncommon, in Jesus time, for a person to find treasure in a field.

The point of the parable is that the discovery of the treasure comes as a total surprise.  Indeed, when the man finds it, he quickly hides it again, and with great joy he goes and sells everything he has so he can buy that entire field (why take a chance?!) and have that treasure forever.

How different is the parable about the pearl of great price.  There was not so much surprise as a profound sense of wonder and satisfaction when the merchant finally discovers what he has longed for all along.  He had been searching for precisely a pearl such as this one!  Perhaps he had traveled far, and at the great expense of time and money.  No matter!  He sees that pearl and is completely captivated by its beauty.

In our own lives, the kingdom of heaven captures both of these dimensions.  When it comes to our faith, or our experience of God at the core of our vocation, there is something there of a total surprise.  To suddenly recognize who we are in Christ, and how much value God places on us, is astounding.  Who among us could have ever imagined that God would offer His only Son so that He could have us with Him in heaven for all eternity?  It is an incredible and amazing surprise, a treasure stumbled upon in the field.  

Even so, deep within our hearts we have always longed for a love like this.  We yearn and pine for the kind of relationship that accepts us unconditionally, that cares for us and challenges us to become all that we were always meant to be.  Even once we have discovered our vocation, and heard the voice of God calling us into a deeper relationship with Himself, we continue to search all the more deeply.  We want to know, to discern as many details as possible to find out what will please God and how we can become more completely those fruitful and faithful disciples of Christ that we hear about in the Gospel.

An excellent example for us this weekend is found in the first reading, from the First Book of Kings.  We hear about King Solomon, who at a very young age finds himself as ruler of one of the greatest nations in the world.  Indeed, he prays to the Lord, “I serve you in the midst of the people whom you have chosen, a people so vast that it cannot be numbered or counted” (1 Kings 3:8).  Solomon had done nothing to receive this remarkable privilege and responsibility.  His father, King David, had amassed tremendous wealth and resources so that Solomon could build the temple.  On one level, he possessed everything a man could want to be happy.  Nonetheless, he had the humility to realize that there was still more that he needed to discover.  When God comes to him and invites him to ask for anything (imagine!), he responds:

O Lord, my God, you have made me, your servant, king to succeed my father, David: but I am a mere youth, not knowing at all how to act . . . Give your servant, therefore, an understanding heart to judge your people and to distinguish right from wrong.  For who is able to govern this vast people of yours?

—1 Kings 3:7-9

It is a beautiful prayer that begins Solomon’s journey into a world of sagacity and insight.  God responds to him, “I give you a heart so wise and understanding that there has never been anyone like you up to now, and after you there will come no one to equal you” (1 Kings 3:12).  But it could not have been automatic.  Solomon did not download a lifetime of wisdom.  He would have had to apply himself to long hours of study, and it would take years for him to learn all that was necessary to govern God’s people.  Of course, we also know that one of the greatest “teachers” is failure.  How many humiliations and failings did young Solomon experience before he gained the interior knowledge of the heart that alone is worthy of guiding God’s own people?  This young man, who had found the treasure in the field, also sought passionately for the pearl of great price.

Closer to our own time, we can reflect on the life of St. Teresa of Calcutta.  As a young religious she had answered the call of God and was faithful, content and fruitful.  At the age of thirty six, on her way by train to make her annual retreat about 100 miles north of Calcutta, suddenly she received a profound “call within a call.”  Jesus was crying out to her, inviting her to discover Him in the poorest of the poor.  He revealed to her that He was hiding in the darkest holes of the earth, naked, hungry, rejected and alone.  “Come, be my light,” He beckoned her.  She would spend the rest of her life discovering what that meant and how God was inviting her to answer this mysterious invitation.  

For all of us, we have stumbled upon the treasure in the field, an identity and meaning in life that goes beyond anything we could have ever imagined.  Still, we are invited to explore that reality more and more deeply each day, to truly seek out the pearl of great price in the heart of our vocation. 

In conclusion, Jesus offers one final parable, the net cast into the sea, capturing fish of every kind, and a lot of other sordid things.  Once the net us full, what is good is placed in buckets and what is bad is thrown away.  It is a parable about the final judgment, and Jesus offers the clearest of interpretations for us all: 

Thus it will be at the end of the age.  The angels will go out and separate the wicked from the righteous and throw them into the fiery furnace, where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.

—Matthew 13:49-50

We are all called by God, all given the amazing invitation to discover and embrace the riches of the kingdom.  Yet Jesus teaches us also that we will stand before Him and give an account at the end of our lives for how we have received—or not—that kingdom.  St. John of the Cross writes that, “at the twilight of life, we will be judged by love.”  There is something very comforting and consoling about that reality.  At the end of our lives, we will be judged by the God who is Love, who gave His only Son to save us and give us new life.  Still, we are called to receive and then offer that same love to both God and neighbor.  That is what it means to be part of the kingdom of heaven.

This morning we can ask ourselves, how have we appreciated and offered thanksgiving for this treasure we have discovered as a total surprise and an overwhelming gift?  How are we continuing to seek and search for the fulfillment God’s kingdom each day, bearing the fruit of love in what we say and in all that we do?  This is the gift of God, and it is worth everything if we may only recognize it, embrace it and spend all eternity entering into it more deeply.

Patience of God in the Face of Evil

St. Maria Goretti (1890-1902)

(Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year A; This homily was given on July 19, 2020 in Rome, Italy; See Matthew 13:24-43)

Our Gospel for this weekend touches upon the question of evil.  Theology sometimes refers to it as the scandal of evil, because it is a reality that causes many to stumble in their faith and to become confused in their relationship with God.  The Catechism of the Catholic Church insists that there is no quick answer or facile solution to this question.  Instead, it provides a more comprehensive and even expansive explanation, one that includes the entire story of creation, the fall, redemption and the final judgment:

Only Christian faith as a whole constitutes the answer to this question: the goodness of creation, the drama of sin, and the patient love of God who comes to meet man by his covenants, the redemptive Incarnation of his Son, the gift of the Spirit, his gathering of the Church, the power of the sacraments, and his call to a blessed life to which free creatures are invited to consent in advance, but from which, by a terrible mystery, they can also turn away in advance.

—CCC, #309

 So much for quick solutions or easy answers!  Basically, the entire Christian faith is alone sufficient to answer the question of evil.  Importantly, the Catechism goes on to phrase that same answer, negatively, in a manner that is even more compelling: “There is not a single aspect of the Christian message that is not in part an answer to the question of evil.”

An essential way of engaging that mystery, then, would be to avoid any immediate or hasty solutions and basically to live fully the Christian faith in the particular circumstances of one’s life.  That sounds rather simple, but in fact it is a very challenging thing to do.  In particular, when we encounter the crosses of life or experience the question of evil in a particularly painful way, it requires faith and trust in God and dependency upon His amazing grace.  

The Church gives us a remarkable example of this response in the life and canonization of St. Maria Goretti.  Maria was born in Ancona, here in Italy, in 1890.  The Goretti’s eventually moved to Nettuno where they shared a house with Giovanni Serenelli and his son, Alessandro.  The arrangement allowed both families to share the expenses while maintaining together the farm connected to their property.

Alessandro, although 8 years older than Maria, developed a sinful desire for her and harassed her often with his unwanted sexual advances.  Seeing her alone one day, he threatened her with violence if she did not give in to him.  Maria outrightly refused, insisting, “It is a sin, and God doesn’t want it.”  She also insisted that this sin would destroy him, and he would go to hell.  In a rage, Alessandro turned on her and stabbed her multiple times, leaving her for dead.  

Finding Maria bleeding to death on the floor of the house, the family brought her to the hospital where they operated on her without anaesthesia.  At one point, when asked about Alessandro, she replied, “I forgive him out of love for Jesus.  I want Alessandro to join me in heaven.”  Maria died the next day.  She was eleven years old.  

Although Alessandro was convicted and sentenced to thirty years in prison, he remained impenitent.  Far from showing any signs of remorse, he was menacing to the guards that watched over him.  One evening, about six years after he entered the prison, Alessandro had a dream where Maria appeared to him and offered him a bouquet of lilies.  Receiving those flowers, which are traditionally a symbol of purity, they immediately burst into flames and turned to ashes in his hands.  When he awoke, his life began to change completely and he took responsibility for what he had done.  

After 27 years, Alessandro was released from prison and he sought out Maria’s mother, Assunta, to beg her for forgiveness.  Assunta considered how Maria, even as she lay dying, had forgiven Alessandro.   She made the challenging decision to follow that same example.  It was Christmas Eve, 1937. Not only did Assunta forgive him, but she also attended Midnight Mass with Alessandro, and the two knelt side-by-side at the communion rail to receive the Blessed Sacrament.

In 1950 Pope Pius XII Canonized St. Maria Goretti, at that time one of the largest canonization celebrations in the history of the Church.  Both Assunta and Alessandro were present.  Alessandro entered a Franciscan monastery after his imprisonment, and spent the rest of his life caring for the garden there and seeking to devote himself to the Christian faith.  He certainly would have been told about  St. Maria Goretti’s dying words, “I forgive him out of love for Jesus.  I want Alessandro to join me in heaven,”  and he spent the rest of his life seeking to make her desire a reality.

In the Gospel of Matthew this weekend, we listen to the “Parable of the Weeds and Wheat.”  The servants of the field go to the owner, recognizing that there are weeds in the midst of the wheat  that he had sowed.  The owner responds, “An enemy has done this.”  The servants are all too eager, of course, to solve that problem immediately:

'Do you want us to go and pull them up?'  He replied, 'No, if you pull up the weeds you might uproot the wheat along with them.  Let them grow together until harvest.

—Mathew 13:28-30

The owner goes on to say that the harvesters will do the sifting at the harvest time, and they will separate the weeds from the wheat.  Later, in the interpretation of that parable, Jesus indicates that the harvesters are the angels.

Imagine, for a moment, if the angels did not have the chance to sift through the life of Alessandro Serenelli because those around him already did it for them!  It would have been very easy, and perhaps would have even seemed just, if he had been condemned and forgotten in those years following the death of St. Maria.  How much patience and forgiveness did Assunta have to have to remain steadfast in her own faith, and then to forgive the man that had taken away her daughter?  How many others had looked upon Alessandro simply as a monster, and not a man worthy of life?  Yet the drama of the Christian faith, in all its many facets, was being lived out in the circumstances that unfolded.  It is no different in the drama of our own lives.

In his inaugural homily in April 2005, Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI reflected on the mystery of evil and our need for patience when we encounter the trials of life.  He spoke of how painful it can be to endure the misfortunes of evil, and how tempting it is for us to seek quick solutions:

“How often we wish that God would show himself stronger, that he would strike decisively, defeating evil and creating a better world.  All ideologies of power justify themselves in exactly this way, they justify the destruction of whatever would stand in the way of progress and the liberation of humanity. We suffer on account of God’s patience.

And yet, we need his patience. God, who became a lamb, tells us that the world is saved by the Crucified One, not by those who crucified him. The world is redeemed by the patience of God. It is destroyed by the impatience of man.”

Here at this altar, we draw near to Jesus, the lamb of God, who comes to take away the sins of the world.  We come to receive Him, and ask for the grace to enter more deeply into the patience of God.  May our lives, united to Christ in the power of the Eucharist, continue to be a living witness to God’s response to the problem of evil.  

Faith Over Fear

(Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year A; This homily was given on June 21, 2020 at San Gregorio Magno al Celio in Rome, Italy; See Jeremiah 20:10-13 and Matthew 10:26-23)

Our readings for this weekend are about faith and trust in the face of fear.  There is much, it seems, for Jeremiah to fear in the first reading.  He has heard the whispering and murmuring of those he had once been quite close to.  “Terror on every side!  Denounce!  Let us denounce him!”, they cry (Jeremiah 20:10).  Of course, we know that not long after this initial hostility, Jeremiah will be threatened, mistreated, imprisoned and thrown into a cistern!  He has every reason to fear, but instead he chooses to trust and have faith:

For to you I have entrusted my cause.  Sing to the Lord, praise the Lord, for he has rescued the life of the poor from the power of the wicked!

—Jeremiah 20:12-13

The Gospel foretells similar woes for the Apostles, yet Christ urges them, “Fear no one” (Matthew 10:26).  While He will go on to speak of “those who kill the body,” the exact context at the beginning of the Gospel for this weekend is a continuation of the earlier reference He has made to calumny.  He had said to them, “If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household” (Matthew 10:25).  This weekend He  begins by exhorting the Apostles not to fear those who maliciously lie with the intent of causing harm, either to one’s reputation or to one’s physical life.  

These are very challenging readings and they make a strong appeal to faith and trust in God.

Listening to these readings this morning, the person of Cardinal George Pell easily comes to mind.  Like Jeremiah, he also was denounced by calumnious voices set only on his demise.  Unjustly accused, he was convicted in a court of law and imprisoned.  By the grace of God, the truth prevailed and he was exonerated, but not before undergoing an ordeal that would require tremendous faith and trust in the promises of Christ.  

Focusing only on the element of fear, one could be tempted to live one’s faith in Christ a bit more, well, "carefully."  Perhaps it would be better, based upon these events, to not be so ready to witness to Jesus Christ or to follow the teachings of the Church where they come into conflict with the current culture.  Fear often tries to force such compromises.  

In his book, An Exorcist Tells His Stories,” Fr. Gabrielle Amorth (at that time the chief exorcist of Rome) writes about a question he had been asked many times.  Are not priests afraid to say yes when the bishop asks them to take on the responsibilities of an exorcist for the diocese?  After all, would not agreeing to be an exorcist anger the devil and make them more vulnerable to attacks?  Amorth answers that, in fact, there are two things that priests do frequently that anger the devil more than exorcism and do more to diminish the works of evil: Absolving sins in the Sacrament of Reconciliation and preaching the Gospel (he naturally takes the Sacrament of the Eucharist as a given).

The first one is rather obvious.  To absolve sins in the Sacrament of Reconciliation does much more than drive away evil (it certainly does that).  It also restores the soul to sanctifying grace for those who were in mortal sin.  In a moment, a soul that is in danger of being lost forever because of mortal sin is suddenly brought back into a relationship with God that opens up to eternal life.  

Preaching the Gospel may come, perhaps, as a bit more of a surprise.  Preaching more powerful than an exorcism?  Really?  But Amorth goes on to describe the power of the word of God, and how preaching helps to form the soul in the virtue of faith.  Faith builds an environment around the believer that destroys ignorance and vice.  It helps one to trust in the promises of God, and inspires the soul to virtue and good works.  The devil thrives in ignorance and fear; faith allows the believer to understand that God is very, very near when trials come, not far away.  It allows one to live not by feelings and external appearances, but in the reality of God’s never-changing love.  The devil’s hands are tied by faith, because the power of God is very much at work in that environment.  

It is precisely for this reason—because of the power of the preaching of the Gospel and the faith that is generated—that Christ exhorts the Apostles this morning to “fear no one” and to get that message out!  He continues, “What I say to you in the darkness, speak in the light; what you hear whispered, proclaim on the housetops” (Matthew 10:27).  We are here today because these men listened to the words of Christ and put them into practice.  They did so with words, their actions, and even by offering their very lives as martyrs.

What are these reading and the teachings of Christ challenging us to do this week?  First and foremost, we are called to embrace the virtue of faith and, like Jeremiah, entrust ourselves to the power of God.  Whenever we encounter fear or evil (and we will), we entrust ourselves to the providence and the power of God.  We seek to live not by feelings but by faith, and strive to grow in that virtue.  Like all virtues, faith is a gift.  If we want more faith, we need to ask God for it, and know that He is so very prepared to increase that theological virtue in us.

Secondly, we proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  The priest preaches by virtue of his office but every believer is called to proclaim the Gospel message of salvation.  We are all called to make the message of mercy known to a world that desperately needs to hear it.  When we do that, we create an environment of faith for those around us.  So many times there are people we encounter that do not have an experience of the Sacraments, they do not know how very much God loves them and is ready to forgive and draw them close to Him.  But we do know and experience those things all the time.  When we make that truth known, we help to create an environment of faith and allow God to destroy the works of evil.  

Finally, we acknowledge how very effective the Sacrament of Reconciliation is, not only in driving away evil but also allowing sanctifying grace to create a wellspring of goodness in our lives and in the world.  Particularly for those of us who seek to embrace this sacrament frequently, we trust that God is continuing to form us in a way that makes us more faithful, more effective and more joyful disciples of Jesus Christ.  We all want that!  

Today we seek faith in the face of fear, and ask for the power of God to continue His amazing and glorious work in us.

Economy and COVID-19

(Trinity Sunday-Year A; This homily was given on June 7, 2020 in Rome, Italy; See Exodus 34:4-9 and John 3:16-18)

Today we celebrate the greatest, most central mystery of the Christian faith, God who reveals Himself as Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  The Catechism of the Catholic Church explains how the Trinity is the source of all the other mysteries of our faith, and is itself the mystery that enlightens all the others (CCC, #234).  At the heart of our faith in the Holy Trinity we find two essential dimensions: theology and economy.  

Theologically, we understand God as an eternal exchange of love.  Within the Holy Trinity, and from all eternity, is the most intimate and powerful outpouring of love, an amazing reality that we could ponder for our entire lives and never fully grasp. This eternal exchange is something which we could never discover or come to know of our own accord.  It could only be known through God’s free decision to reveal Himself.

This revelation is intimately connected to what theologians call the “economy of God.”  That word, “economy,” is one that we use all the time.  It has become central in the discussion and activity of our world system in light of the global pandemic.  We can come back to that in a moment.  The word “economy,” in fact, goes back much, much further than our modern economic system.  It comes from the Greek word, oikonomia and essentially means “management of a household.”  A family of five persons has an economy, a way in which they govern and manage their household.  A polis in ancient Greece or any modern city has an economy.  Even so with God.  His creation and the way that He governs and directs the world is oikonomia.  In that external work and management, the inner life of God is made manifest.

The readings for this weekend, and this wonderful feast that we celebrate today, illustrate this in a beautiful way.  In the first reading, God gratuitously reveals Himself to Moses:

The Lord, the Lord, a merciful and gracious God, slow to anger and rich in kindness and fidelity.

—Exodus 34:6

That eternal exchange of love is being shared with Moses, so that he may know Who it is that he is relating with.  In the Gospel of St. John this morning, that revelation is made even more explicit:

God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.  For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him.

—John 3:16-17

Those are really beautiful words, but in many hidden ways and also in very obvious ones God has acted in human history, and continues to act each and every day, in such a way as to make present that love.  Those actions are also His revelation, and they give meaning and a deeper interpretation of the words.  

The Second Vatican Council expresses it in terms of economy: 

“This ECONOMY of revelation is realized by deeds and words, which are intrinsically bound up with each other.  As a result, the works performed by God in the history of salvation show forth and bear out the doctrine and realities dignified by the words; the words, for their part, proclaim the works, and bring to light the mystery they contain” (Dei Verbum, 2).

When God tells Moses that He is merciful and gracious, how He is slow to anger and rich in kindness and fidelity, He also reveals that holy love by forgiving, listening, guiding and shepherding His people through countless trials and conflicts.  At the Red Sea, He is faithful; after the people fall into the sin of idolatry, He is merciful and gracious; as Israel strives with God century after century, He is slow to anger and rich in kindness.  When we hear how God sent His only Son into the world save it, we recognize that Christ was crucified for love, and willingly poured Himself out on Calvary for the forgiveness of sins and the salvation that we so desperately need.  That eternal exchange of love which we could never know or discover is now unmistakably manifest in the words and actions of almighty God.

The remarkable truth of the Christian faith is that God now wants us to enter into that exchange.  One of the most stunning lines in the Catechism states, “By sending his only Son and the Spirit of love in the fullness of time, God has revealed his innermost secret: God himself is an eternal exchange of love, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and he has destined us to share in that exchange” (CCC, #221).

Of course, the reality is that we are not God.  We do not naturally pour ourselves out in love, nor are we always ready to receive it.  We require grace.  We need the supernatural help of God to live within the amazing love of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  In Baptism, we are given that supernatural grace to love in an entirely new way.  When we are cleansed of Original Sin and the Holy Spirit begins to live in us and is made manifest in the Church—which is the gift of God we just celebrated last week at Pentecost—we are able enter into that eternal exchange of love and we are transformed.  

Before we say or do anything, we are changed and renewed in the inner life of God.  But in order for that reality to reach its final end, we must be fruitful.  We must cooperate with God’s grace and make that love effective in the world we live in.  In other words, who and what we are, theologically, must also be expressed in oikonomia.  This is what the world longs for, now more than ever.

The world as we know it is suffering.  We are struggling on every continent right now in the wake of this global pandemic.  The effects of the coronavirus, as we well know, are more than just physical; COVID-19 has affected us economically, as well.  Because of the lockdowns and isolation measures, the world’s economy is struggling.  

The World Economic Forum has recently introduced the need for what they refer to as “The Great Reset” of the economy, to begin anew with a focus that will benefit the ecology, address global inequalities, and build the sustainability and resilience that will endure well beyond the COVID-19 crisis.  We can and should pray for the success of this plan.  It is a very positive proposal for change, but no world economic plan can fully reset the world we live in.  Only love can truly reset the world, and our faith teaches us that Christ came into the world to do exactly that.  The Holy Trinity has the power to reanimate the culture we live in and reset the oikonomia.  But God is depending upon us to cooperate with His plan to do that.  

The secret to resetting the economy is found in the heart of our faith, and in the central mystery of God Himself: “By sending his only Son and the Spirit of love in the fullness of time, God has revealed his innermost secret: God himself is an eternal exchange of love, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and he has destined us to share in that exchange” (CCC, #221).

May we allow God to penetrate every dimension of our lives, being transformed in that eternal exchange of love that is already present in the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  We pray this week to fully participate in the economy of God, expressing that love in all that we say and in all that we do.

The Ascension: Through the Eyes of the Father

Rembrandt-The Ascension (1636)

(Solemnity of the Ascension-Year A; This homily was given on May 24, 2020 in Rome, Italy; The original text in Italian is included; See Matthew 28:16-20)

We celebrate once again the Solemnity of the Ascension.  Jesus is returning to the Father and we can imagine well the emotions and concerns of those first disciples.  

The Gospel this weekend begins, “The eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which he had ordered them” (Matthew 28:16).  Galilee is the place where Christ had called His first disciples.  It was there that they had seen Him perform miracles.  They listened to Him teaching about the Kingdom of God in that place.  Now He was going to leave them  . . . in Galilee.  Mysteriously, He had even indicated in the Gospel of St. John, “It is better for you that I go” (John 16:7).  How is the Ascension better for us than if Jesus had remained?

In his book, “Jesus of Nazareth-Part Two: Holy Week,” Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI explains why the Ascension of Jesus is actually an expression of His closeness to them, and not His absence.  

He refers to the beautiful story of the disciples in the storm on the Sea of Galilee (see Matthew 14:22-33; Mark 6:45-52, and John 6:15-21).  

Jesus had just performed the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves, feeding 5,000 people.  He sends the disciples before Him in the boat, while He goes up on the mountain to be alone in prayer with the Father.  Suddenly the disciples encounter a storm; they are threatened and afraid.  It seems that Jesus is far away and unable to help them.  

“But because he is with the Father,” Benedict explains, “he sees them.”  He is not separated from them.  Because Jesus is with the Father on that mountain, He is even more available to these disciples.  

Continuing his reflection, he says:

This is an image for the time of the Church—intended also for us.  The Lord is “on the mountain” of the Father.  Therefore he sees us.  Therefore he can get into the boat of our life at any moment.  Therefore we can always call on him; we can always be certain that he sees and hears us.  

In our own day, too, the boat of the Church travels against the headwind of history through the turbulent ocean of time.  Often it looks as if it is bound to sink.  But the Lord is there, and he comes at the right moment.  “I go away, and I will come to you”—that is the essence of Christian trust, the reason for our joy.

We can see this mystery at work all throughout the history of the Church.  It is never our strength, our wisdom or our power that saves us.  It is always God.  The Ascension of Jesus that day in Galilee was the greatest thing that could have happened for those disciples.  It is also a wonderful gift of God for us.

As we face so many challenges in the world, and in the Church, do we believe this?  Do we believe that Christ is right now with the Father, and that He sees us through the eyes of the Father?  Do we have faith that we are cared for at every moment of our lives?

Pope Francis, in his Urbi et Orbi Message and Extraordinary Moment of Prayer this past March, reflected on this same passage of the disciples in the storm at sea.  He invited the Church, in this moment of trial that the world is facing amidst the pandemic of COVID-19, to place our faith and trust in God.  Taking the words of our Lord from St. Mark’s Gospel, “Why are you afraid?  Have you no faith?”, He said:

Faith begins when we realize we are in need of salvation.  We are not self-sufficient; by ourselves we founder: we need the Lord, like ancient navigators needed the stars.  Let us invite Jesus into the boats of our lives.  Let us hand over our fears to him so that he can conquer them.  Like the disciples, we will experience that with him on board there will be no shipwreck.  Because this is God’s strength: turning to the good everything that happens to us, even the bad things.  He brings serenity into our storms, because with God life never dies.

As we celebrate the Ascension, we thank God for His providence, His abundant care in our lives.  We know that Jesus sees us with the eyes of the Father, and that He is ready to come to us at any moment.  He comes to us now, in the Blessed Sacrament of the altar.  May we never cease to welcome Him, to love Him and entrust our very lives to Him.

Testo Originale

Celebriamo ancora una volta la Solennità dell'Ascensione.  Gesù sta tornando al Padre e possiamo ben immaginare le emozioni e le preoccupazioni di quei primi discepoli.  

Il Vangelo inizia questo fine settimana: "Gli undici discepoli andarono in Galilea, sul monte che Gesù aveva loro indicato" (Matteo 28:16).  La Galilea è il luogo dove Cristo aveva chiamato i suoi primi discepoli.  È lì che lo avevano visto compiere miracoli.  Lo ascoltavano mentre insegnavano il Regno di Dio in quel luogo.  Ma ora, Egli stava per lasciarli . . . in Galilea.  Misteriosamente, aveva indicato nel Vangelo di San Giovanni: "È bene per voi che io me ne vada" (Giovanni 16,7).  In che modo l'Ascensione è migliore che se Gesù fosse rimasto? 

Nel suo libro "Gesù di Nazaret -Seconda parte: Settimana Santa", Papa Benedetto XVI spiega perché l'Ascensione di Gesù è in realtà un'espressione della sua vicinanza a loro, e non il suo allontanamento.  

Benedetto si riferisce alla bella storia dei discepoli nella tempesta sul mare di Galilea.  

Gesù aveva appena compiuto il miracolo della moltiplicazione dei pani, nutrendo 5.000 persone.  Egli manda i discepoli davanti a Lui nella barca, mentre sale sulla montagna per essere solo in preghiera con il Padre.  Improvvisamente i discepoli incontrano una tempesta; sono minacciati e impauriti.  Sembra che Gesù sia lontano e non sia in grado di aiutarli.  

"Ma perché è con il Padre - spiega Benedetto - li vede".  Li vede!  Non è separato da loro.  Poiché Gesù è con il Padre su quel monte, Lui è ancora più disponibile a questi discepoli.  

Continuando la sua riflessione, dice:

Questa è un'immagine per il tempo della Chiesa, voluta anche per noi.  Il Signore è "sul monte" del Padre.  Per questo ci vede.  Perciò può entrare nella barca della nostra vita in qualsiasi momento.  Perciò noi possiamo sempre invocarlo, possiamo sempre essere certi che ci vede e ci ascolta.  

Anche ai nostri giorni, la barca della Chiesa viaggia controvento della storia attraverso l'oceano turbolento del tempo.  Spesso sembra destinata ad affondare.  Ma il Signore è lì, e viene al momento giusto.  "Vado via, e verrò da voi" - questa è l'essenza della fiducia cristiana, la ragione della nostra gioia.

Possiamo vedere questo mistero in tutta la storia della Chiesa.  Non è mai la nostra forza, la nostra saggezza o la nostra potenza che ci salva.  È sempre Dio.  L'Ascensione di Gesù quel giorno in Galilea è stata la cosa più grande che potesse accadere a quei discepoli.  È anche un meraviglioso dono di Dio per noi.

Mentre affrontiamo così tante sfide nel mondo e nella Chiesa, crediamo a questo?  Crediamo che Cristo sia in questo momento con il Padre e che ci vede attraverso gli occhi del Padre?  Abbiamo fede nel fatto che siamo assistiti in ogni momento della nostra vita?

Papa Francesco, nel suo Messaggio Urbi et Orbi e Momento Straordinario di Preghiera dello scorso marzo, ha spiegato su questo stesso passaggio dei discepoli nella tempesta in mare.  Ha invitato la Chiesa, in questo momento di prova che il mondo sta affrontando in mezzo alla pandemia di COVID-19, a porre la nostra fede e la nostra fiducia in Dio.  

Prendendo le parole di Gesù nel Vangelo di San Marco, "Perché avete paura?  Non avete ancora fede?", Il Santo Padre disse:

L’inizio della fede è saperci bisognosi di salvezza. Non siamo autosufficienti, da soli; da soli affondiamo: abbiamo bisogno del Signore come gli antichi naviganti delle stelle. Invitiamo Gesù nelle barche delle nostre vite. Consegniamogli le nostre paure, perché Lui le vinca. Come i discepoli sperimenteremo che, con Lui a bordo, non si fa naufragio. Perché questa è la forza di Dio: volgere al bene tutto quello che ci capita, anche le cose brutte. Egli porta il sereno nelle nostre tempeste, perché con Dio la vita non muore mai.

Mentre celebriamo l'Ascensione, ringraziamo Dio per la sua provvidenza, per la sua abbondante cura nella nostra vita.  Sappiamo che Gesù ci vede con gli occhi del Padre e che è pronto a venire da noi in ogni momento.  Egli viene a noi ora, nel Santissimo Sacramento dell'altare.  Che non smettiamo mai di accoglierlo, di amarlo e di affidare a Lui la nostra stessa vita.