Most Excellent Theophilus

(3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year C; This homily was given on 21 January, 2007 at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; See Nehemiah 8:2-10 and Luke 1:1-4)

Have you ever been disconnected—physically—from the places and people that you feel closest to? I think many of us have had that experience; whether it be going away to college, or perhaps our profession takes us away from our home for long periods of time.

One of the opportunities I am most grateful for is to have studied four years in Rome in preparation for the priesthood. I consider it to be among the happiest years of my life. And yet, there were also many challenges that accompanied that experience, being so far away. While I was there, both my parents had emergency open-heart surgery. Thankfully they made out all right, but it was hard to be so far away, missing so many events—good and bad—and missing so many people.

I remember the first time I came back, on break, after about two years of being away. I stood on the back deck of our house, and looked out into my own back yard: I was looking at a lawn, trees and a home that I had grown up with. And I had this overwhelming sense of peace, this sense of joy. I was finally re-connected with the people and places that were most dear to me.

That is something like what we find in the first reading this morning, from the Book of Nehemiah. The people of Israel had just returned from Babylon. They had not been studying abroad and they weren’t there on business. They had been dragged off in exile, and they lived as slaves for over 50 years. Finally, when the Persians came and defeated the Babylonians, the Jews were allowed to return to Jerusalem; they went home to a land that was so familiar and so sacred to them.

But nothing in that place could signal their re-connection and their identity as a people more than the book of the law: The Torah, the writings of Moses, the prophets, the covenant and the promises God had made with them.

Nehemiah describes their reaction to that reading of the book of the law, how they became emotional. They began to weep. They recognized that they, and their fathers before them, had not listened to the word of God, they had not been faithful to the covenant. That is the reason they had been in exile.

But Nehemiah and Ezra the scribe intervene and say to the people: “Do not weep.” The time for sorrow and sadness is over. The period of exile is over. You were not faithful to the covenant of God . . .but He was! This word of God is meant for consolation. It is given to them to build them back up again, and reconnect them to God and to each other. And so, Nehemiah and Ezra say to the people:

Do not be saddened this day, for rejoicing in the Lord must be your strength.
—Nehemiah 8:10

Our readings for this Third Sunday in Ordinary Time speak to us about the power of God’s own word in the midst of our everyday lives. Like the people of Israel, we, too, need to listen to God’s word and let it transform us and reconnect us to God and to each other. God’s word to us is every bit as personal and intimate as it was to the people of Nehemiah’s day. In the Scriptures, God speaks to us as children; He speaks to us as friends.

St. Luke, in the gospel this morning, begins his account of the life of Christ in the form of a personal letter. He writes:

Since many have undertaken to compile a narrative of the events that have been fulfilled among us . . .

He is referring to the events of the life, death and resurrection of Christ.

. . . I too have decided, after investigating everything accurately anew, to write it down in an orderly sequence for you, most excellent Theophilus, so that you may realize the certainty of the teachings you have received.
—Luke 1:1-4

Theophilus. That is a strange name, isn’t it? Many scholars say that Theophilus is perhaps the name of the person who is sponsoring St. Luke as he writes his Gospel, the one financing the project. The name “Theophilus” means, literally, “friend of God” or “Lover of God.”

St. Ambrose is quick to point out that the Gospel of St. Luke can be understood as a personal letter to anyone who is the friend or lover of God. All of us are Theophilus, if we are open to and respond well to the word of God and His message of salvation.

I would suggest this morning three ways that we can do that, three ways we are called to be lovers of God by responding well to His personal word for us.

Firstly, we come here to Mass each week fully expecting God Himself to speak to us. Do we do that? Do we really expect God to speak to us in the readings, in the responsorial psalm, and in the Gospel? This word proclaimed has the power to change our lives. Do we come here expecting God to do exactly that?

Secondly, we set time apart each day to read and listen to the word of God. A friend of mine has a great expression he uses to describe this commitment to spending time with God’s word each day, in the morning and in the evening. He says:

No Bible, no breakfast. No Bible, no Bed.

Are we able to spend even a small amount of time each day, perhaps a couple of minutes, reading the word of God and opening ourselves up to what God is trying to say to us?

And finally, something very practical and even entertaining: Christian music. There are so many different Christian artists out these days. Many of them are Evangelical Christians. Several are Catholic, as well. But nearly all of them are entirely focused on the Scriptures. The songs are often renditions of the psalms, or some passage from the New Testament. We can listen to that message in the car on the way to work, or on our ipod when we exercise, or when we are simply sitting around the house.

Just like secular music, that often gets stuck in our heads and bounces around in there, instead of having the Beatles or the Red Hot Chile Peppers, we have the word of God echoing within us. It is another way of exposing ourselves to the transforming word of God, the word that has the power to change us and reconnect us to God and His people.

These are just three suggestions of how we can respond well to God’s word in our own daily lives. Might we continue to open ourselves up to Him and His personal word to each of us as we come to recognize, more and more, that we are “Theophilus,” the friend of God and the lover of God, whenever we hear and respond to that life-giving word.

God Saves the Best for Last

(2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year C; This homily was given on 13 & 14 January, 2007 at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; See Isaiah 62:1-5 and John 2:1-11)

It is called dramatic irony, and we see it all the time on television and in the movies. It is what happens when the entire audience can see what is happening in a particular scene, even though one or all of the characters in that scene cannot. It’s what makes sit-coms work, and leaves us on the edge of our seat, yelling into the TV set, because we can see exactly what is taking place while they don’t seem to have a clue.

St. John the Evangelist uses dramatic irony in today’s gospel to tell the story of Jesus’ first miracle. Jesus changes the water into wine at that wedding in Cana, and immediately He gives it to the servants to bring to the headwaiter. The headwaiter, of course, has no idea what just happened. He tastes that wine and is thoroughly impressed. He calls the bridegroom over, and proudly announces:

Everyone serves good wine first, and then when people have drunk freely, an inferior one; but you have kept the good wine until now.
—John 2:10

Of course, he’s wrong. Everyone, including the bridegroom, knows that. But without even realizing it, he praises not the bridegroom but Jesus Christ, and expresses one of the deepest truths of the gospel: that God really does save the best for last!

The fathers of the Church comment on the miracle of the water into wine and they say it represents the relationship between the old covenant—the Mosaic Law and the precepts that followed it—and the new covenant that is Jesus Christ Himself.

St. John describes the scene at the wedding in Cana, and how there were six stone water jars for ceremonial washings. They represent the old covenant, and how the Jewish people would wash and purify themselves in preparation for the wedding feast.

Jesus comes and changes that water into wine, because He is the new and everlasting covenant. He comes to suffer and die on the cross to obtain for us the forgiveness of sins and new life in the Holy Spirit. His sacrifice cleanses not our hands and bodies, but our souls as well. Jesus, who is that new covenant, cleanses us from sin.

Just as wine is so much more substantial than water, even so is Christ more substantial than the old covenant. He is that new wine, flowing in abundance from the merciful heart of God. He really does save the best for last!

It is significant, though, that Jesus reveals this new covenant at a wedding. There is a deeper dramatic irony being played out here, because the theme of the wedding is one of the richest biblical themes in both the New and Old Testaments. Isaiah the prophet, in our first reading today, talks about the marriage between God and the people of Israel.

The background is that Israel has just returned from exile in Babylon. They return to a land that is desolate, abandoned. Many of them had felt abandoned, and struggled to trust in the promises of God. Did God still want them for His chosen people? Would He join them now that they had finally returned home? God answers those questions through the prophet Isaiah:

No more shall people call you “forsaken,” or your land “desolate,” but you shall be called “my delight,” and your land “espoused.” For the Lord delights in you and makes your land his spouse. As a young man marries a virgin, your builder will marry you; and as a bridegroom rejoices in his bride so shall your God rejoice in you.
—Isaiah 62:4-5

Of course God has not forgotten them. He will always be their divine Husband, watching over them with care. It is truly beautiful imagery, but could it ever be more than that? Israel could never really be married to God. None of us could ever be joined to God in that way. We are not divine. In order for that to be a true spousal relationship, a real and living marriage, God Himself would have to become human . . .and that is what we just celebrated two weeks ago.

God has become man in the person of Jesus Christ so that we could be wedded to God for all eternity. All throughout the New Testament this spousal imagery is used to describe how we, the Church, are the Bride of Christ, and how we are called to an eternal union with our divine Bridegroom. That’s the goal of the Christian life.

Now, that sounds very theological; it sounds like something beyond us, out of this world and our own everyday experience. In some ways, it certainly is. Yet God gives us signs right here on earth that remind us of that union that we are called to in heaven with Him. One of the clearest signs is celibacy.

Celibacy is not a sign that is welcomed or appreciated in the world and culture we live in. People often ask the question: Why can’t priests be married? They want to know what the value or purpose is for celibacy. Whenever I am asked about that, I mention the practical aspects of celibacy. Celibacy allows the priest or religious to be radically available to serve God and His people.

Priests are sometimes called in the middle of the night to go to the hospital and anoint those who are dying, or to pray with a family that has just lost a loved one. Other times circumstances might warrant the priest or religious to drop everything and take care of some pressing need that simply doesn’t fit into the average daily schedule. As a priest I am “on call” 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. To be honest, I love that about my life. That is part of what it means to be a priest. And so radical availability is a very practical and relevant aspect of celibacy.

But when Jesus Christ talks about celibacy—and He does talk about celibacy—he doesn’t mention any of the practical aspects at all. When Christ talks about celibacy, He talks about the Kingdom of God; He talks about heaven; He talks about eternal life.

In chapter 19 of St. Matthew’s Gospel, verse 12, Jesus mentions three reasons why some people remain in a celibate state. He says:

Some are incapable of marriage because they were born so.

On account of some defect from birth, there are some who simply are unable to have marital relations. They remain, from birth, celibate. Secondly He says:

Some, because they were made so by others.

Jesus lived in the time of kings, and the king would often have servants whose entire work was to wait on the queen and serve her hand and foot. Naturally, he wanted to make sure that was all they did! Therefore, these servants would be “made” celibate. They called them eunuchs. But finally Jesus says:

Some, because they have renounced marriage for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. Whoever can accept this ought to accept it.

Celibate men and women are a sign of the Kingdom of God. They are a reminder to us that God’s plan for redemption and to make us His own forever begins here in this world, but that it doesn’t end there. Celibacy is a sign—and right now, in the midst of the world we live in, a very loud and clear sign indeed—of the eternal relationship and the heavenly calling we all share with God.

This week is Vocations Awareness Week, a time when we focus in a particular way on the vocations to the priesthood and to religious life that God has never ceased to bring forth in every age and time in the Church. I would ask you this week to please pray for two things:

Please pray for the men and women of this parish whom God is calling right now to serve Him in the Church as priests or religious. Secondly, please pray in gratitude to God for all of the men and women whom God has given to this parish in great abundance as priests and religious throughout the years. We are blessed at Our Lady of Mercy to have many religious sisters, Brother Roger who leads us in music so faithfully each week, and the numerous priests that have served here in this parish.

Let us thank God for that, because they are signs pointing us to eternal life. They remind us that this world is not all there is. This is not the final chapter of our lives. We have a place in heaven, and a Divine Bridegroom who is waiting for us. Because God has saved the best for last.

Journey of the Magi

(Feast of the Epiphany; This homily was given on 6 & 7 January, 2007 at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; See Isaiah 60:1-6 and Matthew 2:1-12)

Today we celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany. That word means manifestation or appearance, and what we celebrate is the appearance of Jesus Christ here on earth, the Son of God and Savior of the world.

In our first reading this weekend, Isaiah the Prophet describes that appearance and sums up God’s entire plan of salvation: That Christ, the Son of God and Light of the World would come to redeem and illumine the nation of Israel, and then from there to shine out to all the nations of the world:

Rise up in splendor, Jerusalem! Your light has come, the glory of the Lord shines upon you. See, darkness covers the earth, and thick clouds cover the peoples; but upon you the Lord shines, and over you appears his glory. Nations shall walk by your light, and kings by your shining radiance. Raise your eyes and look about; they all gather and come to you.
—Isaiah 60:1-4

This coming of the nations, the great gathering of kings to adore the Christ, the glory of Israel, is the scene we are given in St. Matthew’s Gospel today. The Magi travel a great distance from the east to see that manifestation, that appearance of Christ.

And if it can be said that Christmas is God’s coming to us in the person of Jesus Christ, then Epiphany in many ways indicates our coming to Him. Like those Magi from the east, we come out of ourselves and set out on that journey towards Christ, responding to the manifestation of the Child born for us in Bethlehem.

But one of the challenges to a gospel passage like the one we hear today is that it can become almost too familiar. We have all heard the story of the Magi since we were children. We have seen hundreds of Christmas cards with the three Wise Men on them. But that journey we hear of in St. Matthew’s gospel would not have been an easy one. It would not have been a Christmas card. It would have been long and arduous, a journey involving sacrifice and determination.

And so is the story of our own journey of faith. It is never easy to let go of the things of this world and to seek out Christ. The journey of faith is often a difficult one, involving sacrifice and ongoing conversion.

One of the more famous converts to the Christian faith in the last century was the great author and poet T. S. Eliot. Born in St. Louis Missouri, he enjoyed tremendous success as a writer both here and throughout Europe. He was a student of Hindu and Buddhist philosophy, yet converted to Christianity in his late 30’s. That conversion took many of his contemporaries by surprise. Perhaps many of them were not ready for that T.S. Eliot.

Whatever his personal experience might have been, it is a well-known fact that his initial conversion was not an easy one. Less than two months after he was baptized into the Anglican Church, he wrote one of his most profound and personal poems, “Journey of the Magi.” Generally accepted as an autobiographical account of his own conversion to the Christian faith, he describes that journey we heard about from St. Matthew’s gospel:

'A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.

Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.

It is a sobering account indeed of how those Wise Men may have experienced that journey on their way to Bethlehem. It describes T.S. Eliot’s own difficulty, letting go of a world that was so familiar, and embracing an entirely new way of life in Christ. He encountered trials and difficulties within and without; opposition from the people around him who no longer understood him, and opposition from within, having to embrace that internal struggle of faith that is indicative of every disciple of Christ. He continues:

At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Did the magi ever think to themselves: “This is all folly”? Did they ever doubt the decision they made to follow that star and leave everything else behind? Did they ever ask themselves: “Is it all worth it?”

As a priest, not infrequently people will say to me, “I am trying to follow Christ, and trying to do the right thing, but it seems so often that things get more complicated and difficult instead. Why are things so hard, then, if I am trying to follow Christ and do the right thing?”

I always want to say—I usually don’t, but I want to say, “Maybe things are sometimes difficult because you are following Christ.” Jesus always did the right thing. He always said what needed to be said. And look what happened to Him! They crucified Him! That’s the truth. That is the reality of the Christian life. Maybe not all the time, but often when we follow Christ the road for us is not at all easy. That journey can be a painful and difficult one. Jesus Himself tells us in the gospel:

Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself,
take up his cross, and follow me.
—Matthew 16:24

He was not being cynical or negative. He was being real. The Christian life involves suffering. It is worth noting that T.S. Eliot came to that conclusion so early after his initial conversion and baptism. He realized almost immediately the truth that we can never separate the crib of Christ from the cross of Christ. Those two mysteries are always taken together.

He continues that poem by describing the descent into the valley, into Bethlehem. The Magi are approaching the manger and the birth of the Child, but off in the distance they recognize three trees standing out on the horizon. It is a clear reference to Calvary, to the death that awaits that Baby who came for the very purpose of redemption and atonement for sin. We can never separate the birth of Christ from the death of Christ.

The conclusion of Eliot’s poem is haunting, as one of the Magi looks back on that journey with troubled introspection:

All this was a long time ago,
I remember, And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt.
I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

What the Magi in Eliot’s poem experienced was the death on an entire way of life. All they had previously believed, about gods and religion and their own lives, had come to an end. They had met the God-Man, Jesus Christ, and nothing was the same.

So it is with us. Once we have truly encountered Christ we must inevitably come to see that our old self, our old way of living, our old way of looking at life, must die. We come to the end of our own life, and then see that new life in Christ is just beginning. When we meet God, everything changes. We are never the same again. And that is where St. Matthew ends his own biblical description of the journey of the Magi. He tells us that:

Having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they departed for their country by another way.
—Matthew 2:12

Once we have encountered the Living God, we are never the same again. We walk “by another way.” Like those Magi, we do not walk the same way; we do not follow the same paths we used to. We do not see things the same way. We are changed, because we have met Jesus Christ, the Living God.

We come here to this place today, like those Magi, to adore and worship Christ. We bring here to this altar not gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh, but the gift of ourselves. We bring before God all the struggles and difficulties that make up our own journey of faith. We bring those things in our lives that need to die in order for Christ to truly live in us.

Might we make that offering to God this day, and receive from this altar the strength we need in the Eucharist to follow Christ with newness of life. May we leave this encounter with a new perspective, walking in a different way, for we have met Christ and been touched by Him.

Integritas and the Mother of God

(Solemnity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God; This homily was given on 1 January, 2007 at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; See Luke 2:16-21)

Today we celebrate the Solemnity of the Blessed Virgin Mary under the title Mother of God. That title is one that goes back to the early centuries of the Church, and was disputed towards the beginning of the 5th century.

At that time there was a great deal of controversy about how we should refer to Mary. Some said that she was the mother of Christ, the Son of God, so she should rightly be called the Mother of God. Others said that “Mother of God” was going too far. She gave birth to His human nature, and should simply be called Mother of Jesus of Mother of Christ.

To resolve that dispute and answer that question of what title we should use to refer to Mary, they recognized that what was needed was to go back one step further. They needed to ask the question not “Who is Mary?” but “Who is Jesus Christ?”

In our gospel this morning, the shepherds make haste to see the child born in Bethlehem. Who did they go out to see? Or, as the Christmas carol asks, “What child is this?” Was he just a man? Was He God? Perhaps half man and half God? Who is this child born in Bethlehem?

The Fathers of the Council of Ephesus, in the year 431, looked to the creeds and the foundational beliefs that had been developed centuries earlier. They looked to the Council of Nicea, in the year 325, from which we derive the Nicean Creed which we recite each week; they looked to the Apostle’s Creed. Jesus Christ is not simply human; nor is He only divine. He is fully human and fully divine, true God and true Man.

Furthermore, whenever we look at the person of Christ, we never do so in slices or in pieces. We never say, “Here is His human nature. That belongs to Mary. Now, here is His divine nature and divine personhood. That belongs to God.”

No. We look at Christ in His entirety: fully God and fully man. In Latin, the term for that is integritas. It means whole, sound or complete, and it is where we get the words integrated and integrity.

When we look at Christ we look at the whole person, in all His integrity. Mary conceived and gave birth to a child, and that child was the eternal Son of God. Therefore Mary is the Mother of God.

But when we reflect on Christ and Mary as persons of integritas, we need to look much further than their titles, how we refer to them. They were the most integrated persons who ever walked the face of the earth. In everything they did, Jesus and the Blessed Virgin Mary were persons of integrity.

Look at the gospels. Jesus always does the right thing; He constantly speaks and acts in the most necessary and integrated way. He knew when to be patient, and when it was time to act. He knew how to be silent, and still, and at prayer; and He knew when it was time to speak up and be heard. He knew how to challenge and exhort, and how to listen and welcome and forgive. He was the most integrated man who ever lived.

Mary herself was also a woman of integritas. She always knew when and how to say “Yes,” to God. She knew just how and when to support Christ and to be involved in His life. She was the one who initiated His first miracle at the wedding in Cana. She said to Him, “They have no more wine.” When He replied, “What has that to do with me?” she deferred to the waiters and focused the attention on Christ. She knew when it was time to speak, and time to stand by in quiet attention and love, like at the foot of the cross. Jesus and His Mother were the epitome of integritas.

Today we begin a whole new year in 2007. how is God calling us to be people of integrity? Where do our lives need to be more fully integrated?

One of my favorite theologians and authors is a priest from the Archdiocese of Chicago named Fr. Robert Barron. Many times in his books and talks he uses the example of the rose windows that we find in medieval cathedrals.

Many of the old churches and cathedrals contain large, stain-glassed windows with the image of Christ in the center, often seated on the lap of His Mother. All around that central image are oval medallions, like petals, depicting the virtues of faith, hope, and love, or the prophets of the Old Testament, or other great biblical figures. The rose window represents the well-ordered soul. We are called to put Christ in the center of our lives, and look to Mary for the supreme example of how to live a well-ordered life. The virtues, our plans, our will, our actions and words, these should all be ordered around our relationship with God. That is integritas.

How is God challenging us this New Year to be men and women of integritas? Are there times in our lives that we experience dis-integration, or dis-order when it comes to our relationship with God and others?

This morning we gather around this altar to celebrate the Eucharist, and to give ourselves completely to God in 2007. Might we receive from Him all that we need to live a well-ordered life in this New Year. May we be persons of integrity, following in the footsteps of Jesus Christ, and His Mother, Mary, the Mother of God.

The Holy Family

(Feast of the Holy Family-Year C; This homily was given on 31 December, 2006 at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; See Luke 2:41-52)

One of the most popular movies we this time of year, every year, is the film “Home Alone.” You have probably seen that movie about the mischievous boy, played by Macauley Culkin, who gets lost in the shuffle as his family leaves for a Christmas vacation. As the title suggests, he is left home alone, and comically defends the house against robbers, gets into all kinds of trouble, and has an all around great time. In the end, it becomes an endearing Christmas story about a young boy who comes to appreciate his family in a whole new way.

A few years after “Home Alone,” that same child actor, Macauley Culkin, starred in a very different movie, called “The Good Son.” He played a troubled child who was typified by violence and dysfunction; it was a very dark story indeed. The title, “The Good Son,” was meant to be ironic, since he was about as far from a good son as one could get.

Those two films offer us two very different perspectives on the family, two very different views of family life. This morning we celebrate the Feast of the Holy Family—Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—and we are reminded that we take our definition of family from no particular aspect at all in the culture around us.

We do not derive our vision of the family from popular opinion and beliefs, from the multitude of sit-coms we find on TV, nor from any of the movies in Hollywood, be they endearing tales like “Home Alone” or dysfunctional and violent stories like “The Good Son.” We receive our definition of the family from God himself, the author of life, and the founder of the family.

It is so important that we recognize that this morning, since we are living in a culture that has begun to redefine the family on every level. Many couples today are choosing to take children for themselves, as a right, through such means as in-vitro fertilization (IVF), instead of receiving children as a gift from God. Children are given by God as the natural fruit of married love or through adoption, not through any means legally and medically available.

On other end of the spectrum, many couples choose to limit the size of their families through artificial contraception, blocking God out of the equation entirely. Instead of seeking God’s plan for family life, based on his design of the human body, they decide upon an alternate plan that goes against the way God intended us to live and love.

Finally, we can see in almost every state throughout the country a redefining of the traditional understanding of marriage. No longer is it a covenant of love between a man and a woman; now it is being changed to include a relationship of love between any two persons at all: two men, or two women.

None of these are the design or definition of the family that God has given to us; none of them are based upon God’s design for our temporal and eternal happiness. In our gospel this morning we see God’s vision for family life based upon the person of Jesus Christ, His Son.

St. Luke describes the scene of the finding of the child Jesus in the temple. In many ways, it could be seen the Biblical version of “Home Alone.” Jesus is the child who is lost in the shuffle, inadvertently misplaced by Mary and Joseph, who think He has been left with someone else. They finally journey back to Jerusalem itself, and after searching for Him for three days they find Him teaching in the temple.

Jesus’ response is very revealing. He says to them:

Why were you looking for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?
—Luke 2:49

Jesus is focused first and foremost on His heavenly Father, and the Divine Family of the Holy Trinity. Another translation of His response says, “Did you not know that I must be about my Father’s business?” Jesus is obedient to His heavenly Father first, above all things . . . but NOT to the exclusion of his earthly family in Joseph and Mary.

St. Luke tells us that, after that scene in the temple, “He went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them” (Luke 2:51). Jesus Christ is The Good Son in the fullest and most beautiful sense of that expression. He is faithful, obedient and true to His heavenly Father, and faithful, obedient and true to Joseph and Mary here on earth.

There is no separation for Christ between those two realities, because that is God’s definition of the family: our family life here on earth is the very reflection of the Divine Family that we find in the Holy Trinity.

Just as the Father, Son and Holy Spirit pour themselves out to each other completely, loving each other completely, willing the good in the other completely, even so we care called to live in our own families. We, too, are called to live for the other, to give and forgive and seek the good of the other members of our family. Our families should reflect the same love that we see in God.

Does that sound a bit overwhelming? Does it seem like too exalted a view of the family, perhaps one that is unattainable? I would suggest that it is not only challenging and difficult, but that it is impossible, without the help and the grace of God.

One of the greatest gifts that I have received personally as a priest is to be able to celebrate Mass for my parents, to give the Bread of Life to the man and woman who gave me the gift of life. My father, a number of years ago, built a small chapel in our basement. With the permission of the local pastor, I am able to celebrate Mass there for my parents whenever I am home on my day off. It is a gift that has brought us closer together and helped us to experience the truth of what our faith teaches is the “domestic church.” In a real and practical way it has helped us to live out our family life on a whole new level.

I mention that because each week we gather here around this altar as a parish family to receive that same gift of God Himself in the Eucharist. We are given that same supernatural help and strength to live out our own family life as a reflection of the love within the Divine Family of the Holy Trinity. Strengthened in that sacrament, might we continue to follow God’s plan, God’s design for our human family, as He continues to lead us ever closer to the Trinitarian love of heaven itself.

Christmas and The Happy Prince

(Solemnity of the Nativity; This homily was given on Christmas Morning, 2006 at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; See John 1:1-18)

There is a beautiful short story written by Oscar Wilde called “The Happy Prince.” The Happy Prince is a statue that stands on top of a tall column overlooking the city. He is magnificent, covered in gold leaf, with sapphires for his eyes, and there is a large red ruby that is set in the hilt of his sword. All the people of that city have great admiration for the Happy Prince.

As the story begins, a small swallow is flying through the city on his way to meet his friends in Egypt for the winter. He decides to rest for the night and so he sets himself at the feet of the Happy Prince. Suddenly a drop of water falls upon him, and he looks up, only to discover that the Happy Prince is crying.

“Why are you weeping?” he asks him.

The Happy Prince goes on to explain that while he was alive he used to live in the Palace and he never saw what life was like in the city. But now that he is high above the city, he can look out and see all of the misery and suffering that are there, and he cannot help but weep.

Far away he can see a woman who is poor and in need, unable to help her family; but he is fastened to the column and can do nothing to give her any assistance whatsoever. He asks the swallow to bring her the ruby from the hilt of his sword. Although the swallow complains that he has to be going, and cannot be delayed by such errands, the Happy Prince prevails over him and the swallow brings the ruby to her.

When he returns the Happy Prince tells him of another person in that city, a young man trying to write a play. He is poor and hungry, and there is no heat in the place where he lives.

“My eyes are all that I have left,” he tells the swallow. “Pluck out one of them and take it to him.” The swallow reluctantly does so, and finally the Happy Prince sends him on another errand, this time with the other sapphire.

When he returns, the Prince thanks him and tells him that he may go now and join his friends in Egypt. But the swallow says to him: “You are blind now, so I will stay with you always.”

The Happy Prince then tells him to fly throughout entire city, and to return and describe what he sees. The swallow witnesses all the suffering and pain that the Happy Prince had seen, and when he returns and tells the Prince about it, he is sent out again and again, to bring the people all the gold leaves that had covered him so decoratively.

By the end of that story the Happy Prince is looking quite shabby, and the little swallow has lost the opportunity to join his friends, but the entire city has been changed and transformed. Not everyone recognizes it, and not everyone appreciates it, but things are different. They will never be the same again.

In many ways that story of the Happy Prince is what we celebrate this morning on the Solemnity of the Nativity. Jesus Christ is the Happy Prince who is not content to remain in His palace in heaven. God looks out and sees all of the suffering, sorrow and pain in the world, and he sends Christ to come and take on our human nature, to take on our sufferings and our sorrows.

Jesus Christ is the Happy Prince who is stripped not of gold leaves, sapphires and rubies, but is stripped of glory and stripped of heaven in order to come among us here on earth. In the end, He is stripped of His garments and nailed to a cross, in order to bring us forgiveness and the hope of eternal life. That is the miracle we celebrate this morning on the feast of Christmas.

And that is the miracle that God wants to continue right here among us even now. Like that swallow in the story about the Happy Prince, we are called to be the eyes of Christ looking out upon the suffering and pain of this world. It can be so discouraging sometimes to see all of the darkness in the world, and feel like things are never going to change. But St. John reminds us in the gospel this morning that Jesus Christ is “the light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5).

We are called to bring that light to a world that desperately needs to hear the gospel message. Like the swallow, we are called to bring the treasures of our faith and the vision of hope and love to the world around us.

What are the very practical ways that God is calling us to do that this Christmas? As we look out “over the city,” what do we see? Where are the places that sorrow and pain have entered the relationships, families and people around us? How is God calling us to carry His message of mercy and forgiveness to a world that so often sits in darkness? Might we leave this Church this morning, carrying the treasures of God to those who long for Him.

Bethlehem and the Baptist: Finding God in the Small Stuff

(4th Sunday of Advent-Year c; this homily was given 23 & 24 December, 2006, at Our Lady of Mercy Church, East Greenwich, R.I. See Micah 5:1-4 and Luke 1:39-45)

Does today’s Mass “count” for Christmas?

How many times do we have to go to Mass this weekend?

If I go on Christmas, does that count for the Sunday Mass too?

These are the questions that people have been asking all week, and for the most part they have been asked by people sincerely looking for the right answers! They are not looking for loopholes, but for some clarity on what to do, since Christmas this year falls on a Monday. Sometimes, when a Holy Day of Obligation falls on a Monday, it is not an obligation. How do we sort all of that out?

In 1991, an assembly of the National Conference of Catholic Bishops for the United States approved changes in the way we observe certain Holy Days of Obligation. They specifically looked at January 1, the Solemnity of Mary the Mother of God, August 15, the Solemnity of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and November 1, the Solemnity of All Saints.

It was decided—on account of the shortage of priests in some places and a number of other factors—that if these days fell on a Saturday or a Monday, then they would no longer be obligatory. We were certainly encouraged to attend Mass, but not obliged to.

But the Solemnity of the Nativity of Christ does not fall under that rubric. Along with Easter Sunday, it is one of the most important days of the year for us as Catholics. Therefore, whichever day it falls on, we are obliged to gather together and celebrate that great event.

Now, with all of that said, some people have asked one additional and very important question: Does God really care about all those details? Does it make a difference whether we come to Mass once or twice this week? Do these things really matter? Based upon our readings for this Sunday and the teachings of our faith about how God continues to guide the Church, I would say, unequivocally, YES! All of these things matter to God a great deal.

If we seek and search for God in the small things of life, than we will find Him also in the greater things, as well. But if we are not attentive or faithful in the small things—like how and when we come together for Mass on Sunday and Holy Days of Obligation—then chances are that we will not be faithful in the larger matters of our faith lives, as well.

Now that is not just pop-psychology, and it is not simply my own personal opinion. Those are the words of Jesus Christ Himself, from the Gospel of St. Luke. He says:

He who is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much; and he who is dishonest in a very little is dishonest also in much.
—Luke 16:10

Our readings this Sunday challenge us to see, in that message from Christ, not so much a juridical statement about a God who is hovering over the most minute details of our lives, as much as it is an invitation to discover God in the small things of life.

Our first reading is from the Book of the Prophet Micah. Micah is one of the smallest books of the Old Testament; it’s about 5 pages long. And in that book we hear about the little town of Bethlehem. All of us are familiar with that beautiful Christmas carol; we all know the story.

But it reminds us of the fact that God could have been born anywhere in the world that He wanted to: in Rome, the center of the Empire; in the great cultural centers of Egypt or Greece. But He chose to be born, instead, in the little town of Bethlehem, because God delights in the small stuff. He is celebrated in the little things, and if we want to recognize Him in the greater designs of the world we live in, then we have to be attentive to God in the little things.

In the gospel we heard the moving story of the Visitation, when Mary went in haste to see her cousin Elizabeth, who had herself conceived a child in her old age. Suddenly, as that story unfolds, John the Baptist recognizes the presence of Christ and he begins to rejoice! He is not yet born, and he is able to discern the presence of God in the voice of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and He is filled with joy. Are we that attentive to the presence of God in our own lives?

One of the great classics of Western spirituality is a small book by a 17th century monk named Brother Lawrence. The name of that book is “Practicing the Presence of God,” and it was inspired by an event that happened when Brother Lawrence was 18 years old. He was looking out into a field in winter, and noticed a large tree covered in snow.

It occurred to him, as he meditated on that scene, that in a few short months that tree would take on leaves and it would look fully alive and fruitful. He suddenly felt the overwhelming sense of God’s presence, as if God were showing him how life and fruitfulness is the very work that takes place deep within the soul touched by God.

Brother Lawrence was transformed by that experience; from that day forward he set out to daily practice the presence of God in the smallest and most ordinary experiences of life: cooking in the kitchen, walking outdoors, or sitting quietly in the chapel.

Our challenge for this 4th Sunday of Advent, in these few short hours before Christmas, is to search for and find God in the small stuff. Like Brother Lawrence, and John the Baptist, and the Little Town of Bethlehem, we are called to find the presence of God in the most ordinary and often remarkable circumstances of our lives.

Which brings us back to one of the questions from the beginning of this homily: Why does coming here two days in a row really matter? Why do we come here for the 4th Sunday of Advent, and then again on Christmas itself? Because God Himself is present here in a way that He is not fully present anywhere else this Christmas. He is present here—body and blood, soul and divinity—in the Eucharist. The God of the universe will become present here in the form of bread and wine. We will receive that tiny piece of bread, and receive the same Christ who was recognized by John the Baptist and born in the Little Town of Bethlehem (which means, literally, “house of bread”).

May we open our eyes and our hearts to recognize the presence of Christ in that great mystery of our faith, and so be open to recognizing Him everywhere God sends us in the days and weeks ahead.

Harmony, Joy and the Holy Spirit

(3nd Sunday of Advent-Gaudete Sunday-Year C;This homily was given 17 December, 2006, at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; read Zephaniah 3:14-18, Luke 3:10-18 and CCC #376)

It has been said that the easiest teaching of our faith to prove is the doctrine of original sin. All one has to do is read the morning paper or watch the evening news—or, perhaps at this time of the year, take a nice ride up and down Bald Hill Road and the Mall parking lot—and you can’t help but see the effects of original sin. It can become so familiar, in fact, that we sometimes forget that God never intended for us to live that way.

If you go all the way back to the Book of Genesis and the story of creation, there is a description of the original state of man, what the Council of Trent calls “original justice” or “original holiness.” That state has often been described quite beautifully and even musically as a state of harmony. There was harmony between the created world and God; there was harmony between the first man and first woman; and there was harmony deep within the human person (Catechism of the Catholic Church, #376).

Think, for a moment, how many times in a day you feel yourself being pulled in a hundred different directions; that is not the way God intended us to be. We were created for harmony. Perhaps you have been to a philharmonic orchestra before, or something like it. Dozens of different instruments and a cacophony of notes and chords all combine to produce a magnificent symphony that reaches right into the depths of our souls. That is an image for the way we were created.

That harmony, of course, was shattered by original sin. Suddenly there was discord, disharmony in the universe, in our relationships, and deep within our own souls. Yet at this time of the year, in a particular way, we celebrate the God who chose to enter directly into that discord. Jesus Christ is the one who enters into the world torn by original sin in order to bring us back into harmony with God and with each other.

We can see that musical story of salvation played out in a wonderful way in our first reading this morning, from the prophet Zephaniah. The Book of Zephaniah is one of the shortest books of the Old Testament, and it carries a hard message indeed. Against the backdrop of Israel’s idolatry, Zephaniah announces the impending judgment of God and the imminent Day of the Lord.

But the section we hear this morning comes at the end of that book, and Zephaniah announces to the people that the judgment of God is now over, and the time has come to sing. He says,

Shout for joy, O daughter Zion! Sing joyfully, O Israel! Be glad and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem! The Lord has removed the judgment against you.
—Zephaniah 3:14-15

But more than that, Zephaniah announces that God Himself will come among them, and He Himself will sing!

The Lord, your God, is in your midst, a mighty savior; he will rejoice over you with gladness . . .he will sing joyfully because of you.
—Zephaniah 3:17

It is a prophesy about the Messiah, who would come to bring harmony between God and His people once again. It is the song of salvation, and one that all of us are called to participate in. We are all called to sing that song.


St. Paul, in our second reading, says:

Rejoice in the Lord always. I shall say it again: Rejoice!
—Philippians 4:4

The Latin word for “rejoice” is Gaudete, and it is where we get the title for this Third Sunday in Advent, Gaudete Sunday. This Gaudete Sunday, we can ask ourselves: What does St. Paul mean when he tells us to “Rejoice in the Lord always”? What does it mean to say that we should all “sing the song of salvation”?

What if we do not feel like singing? What if we have seen and experienced enough of the effects of original sin in our own lives that we scarcely feel like rejoicing? Is St. Paul encouraging us to have a Pollyanna-type attitude, to pretend that we do not live in a world where there is suffering and pain? I would suggest today that St. Paul is talking about something much deeper than that.

I was at a party recently, and a person asked me quite directly: “Are you happy?” There were several other people standing nearby, and most of them stopped what they were doing to hear the answer to that question. There is an expectation (obsession?) in our culture that we should all be happy, all the time, and that if we are not happy then there must be something wrong. I thought about the question for about 5 seconds, and then I answered: “No, I am not happy. I have had a number of events happen in my life today that are not “happy” things, so I am not happy . . . but I am joyful.”

He asked me, “What’s the difference?” And I went on to explain that happiness comes from the circumstances we find in our lives; it happens as a result of the people around us, or it can be based upon the way we feel at any given moment of the day. But joy is different. Joy does not come from us, or from the people around us, or from the circumstances of our lives. Joy is a supernatural gift, and it comes from God.

God is able to give us joy regardless of the circumstances of life. God can give us joy in the midst of all kinds of situations and experiences that are not “happy.” Joy is a supernatural gift that comes to us from God Himself.

St. John the Baptist, in the Gospel this morning, talks about that supernatural gift. He denies that he is the Messiah, and is quick to point out that he himself has come only to baptize with water. But with the Messiah, it will be different:

He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.
—Luke 3:16

Think about the day of Pentecost, when the disciples received those tongues of fire and were filled with the gift of the Holy Spirit. God set their hearts on fire with the gospel, and they rejoiced abundantly in Him. Following that day, they were to go through all kinds of trials and tribulations.

All of the Apostles—with the exception of St. John—were martyred. The Church was persecuted without mercy. They were despised by everyone in the world around them. But they were absolutely filled with joy! They had been given the supernatural gift of the Holy Spirit, the gift of God Himself, and they overflowed with joy.

St. Philip Neri, the great Italian priest who has often been called the “Apostle of Joy” has a great way of expressing this very truth. He says, “Joy is the infallible sign of the presence of the Holy Spirit.” When you see joy in the life of a Christian, then you know that the Holy Spirit is alive and active in that person’s life.

The Christian preacher and author, Walter B. Knight, put it this way: “Joy is the flag that flies over the castle of our hearts, announcing that the king is in residence today.” What a beautiful way of acknowledging that the joyful life of the Christian has its point of origin not in us, but in God. The people of Israel in the Book of Zephaniah do not sing because they are happy. They sing because “the king is in residence,” because He has come among them and brought harmony and joy into their lives.

This Gaudete Sunday, we ask God for that same grace and that same supernatural gift in our own lives. Might God raise the flag over the castle of our hearts, so that those around us may recognize that the King lives here. And may we listen and heed St. Paul’s exhortation to "rejoice in the Lord," not just when we are happy, but to "Rejoice in the Lord always."

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel!

(2nd Sunday of Advent-Year C;This homily was given 10 December, 2006, at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; read Baruch 5:1-9 and Luke 3:1-6)

One of the themes we see in the liturgy all throughout the year, but one that is more pronounced in the season of Advent, is our spiritual connection to the people of Israel. Just as they were longing and yearning for the coming of the Messiah, for a Savior, a Redeemer, even so we wait for and long for the coming of Christ.

Every year at this time we sing anew that hauntingly beautiful 9th century hymn:

O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear


Captive Israel . . . in lonely exile . . . Those words, of course, allude to the Babylonian Exile, one of the darkest and most traumatic events of the Old Testament. To Israel, brought into the Promised Land so long ago, to be taken away from that land was unthinkable.

Yet, because of their sins, their infidelity to God, their lack of faithfulness to His covenant and His commandments, they fell further and further away from Him. Time again God sent them the prophets, trying to draw them back to Himself. But they had not listened. Finally, He allowed the Babylonians to conquer Israel, and they carried them away captive. Only those who were too weak or unable to make the journey were left behind.

And along with them was left everything Israel cherished: the temple and everything that was so central to their worship and faith; their entire way of life. For years they were held captive in Babylon . . .

In our first reading today, from the Prophet Baruch, the Lord announces that Israel’s captivity is at an end; her time of exile is over. Speaking to the people of Jerusalem, the ones who were left behind, Baruch exclaims:

Look to the east and see your children gathered from the east and the west at the word of the Holy One, rejoicing that they are remembered by God. Led away on foot by their enemies they left you: but God will bring them back to you born aloft in glory as on royal thrones. For God has commanded that every mountain be made low, and that the age-old depths and gorges be filled to level ground, that Israel may advance secure in the glory of God.
—Baruch 5:5-7

God will create a direct route through the desert, a straight path for the people to return. He will level the mountains and fill in the valleys and make a level road for them to come back to Jerusalem. Baruch says “God is leading Israel in joy” (Baruch 5:9).

No longer is it Moses who leads the people through the desert and into the Promised Land. Now it is God Himself who enters into the desert and brings Israel back home, rejoicing.

The return from exile is a remarkable journey of hope; it speaks of the majestic and extravagant love of God, of His tender and merciful care for His people. And that is the very same message we celebrate each Advent.

Whether we realize it or not, we ourselves are in Exile. Even when things are going well for us, even when we experience relative peace and joy, even then we long for something more. We yearn for something beyond this place, a better life and a permanent home with God. We are in exile.

So often the sins of others, and the faults and failures of those around us cause us sorrow and pain; we realize all too well that this world we live in is far from home.

But never is that exile, that captivity, felt more than when we separate ourselves from God by our sins. Because of our own faults and failings, because of our own sins against God and against each other, we exile ourselves from God. We are held captive by our own words and actions, and we remain there, in exile.

The Good News of the gospel is that God doesn’t leave us there! God Himself becomes an exile from Heaven, in a certain sense. God becomes man, and enters directly into our captivity in order to set us free. Jesus Christ is captivated by His own love for us, and surrenders Himself into the hands of wicked men. He is bound and brought before Pontius Pilate, and badly mistreated. He is bound to the wood of the cross so that we might be set free from our own captivity to sin and death. This is the message of the gospel! This is the God who saves us and redeems us!

O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear

Advent is a time of celebrating the answer to that prayer, that cry of the heart. Jesus Christ is the Son of God who has come and will come again. This morning, St. Luke announces His arrival. He sets up quite beautifully the historical context.

Tiberius Caesar was the Emperor of Rome, the king of the world as it was know at that time. Pontius Pilate was the governor of Judea; and then he names the local kings, Herod, Philip, and the other tetrarchs. These were the secular rulers. He goes on to name the religious leaders, the high priests, Annas and Caiaphas. And the word of God came to none of them! Instead, St. Luke tells us,

The word of God came to John, son of Zechariah, in the desert (Luke 3:2).

In the desert! In the desert, where God had met the people of Israel to lead them back from exile. And the message of the Baptist is the same message we hear from the Prophet Baruch: that God wants to make a direct route and a straight path for His people to walk on. Quoting the prophet Isaiah, St. Luke relates the mission of John the Baptist with the deepest yearning of God Himself:

Prepare the way of the Lord,

make straight his paths;

every valley shall be filled, and

every mountain and hill shall be made low.

The Lord is coming, and He expects us to be ready for Him when He arrives. John came “proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins” (Luke 3:3). Our preparation this Advent cannot be anything else than that: repentance and the forgiveness of sins.

What are those sins that have placed us in exile from God? Where do we feel that exile the most at this time in our lives? Where is God calling us to turn away from sin and turn back again to Him? We ask for the grace of repentance in our lives, and a return from the exile of sin.

God wants to grant us the forgiveness of those very things that have separated us from others and separated us from Him. But He will never do that, He will never grant us His forgiveness, if we do not ask Him for it!

He has prepared a way in the desert, a place for the forgiveness of those sins, in the Sacrament of Reconciliation. When is the last time we made a sacramental confession? When was the last time we heard the words:

God, the Father of Mercies,
through the death and resurrection of His Son,
has reconciled the world to Himself
and sent the Holy Spirit among us
for the forgiveness of sins;
through the ministry of the Church
may God grant you pardon and peace,
and I absolve you from your sins
in the name of the Father, and of the Son,
and of the Holy Spirit.

Christ is coming. Whether we are ready or not, He is coming. God comes to us in our exile, but we must be prepared. He comes to us today in the Eucharist. He will come into our bodies this Mass in the Blessed Sacrament. He will come into our lives this Advent. Are we ready for that?

The God who comes to us in the desert, and who makes a way for us to return home to Him, reminds us today that we are not made for exile. We are not made for captivity. We are made for God. We are made for Heaven. And that is something to rejoice in. As that 9th century hymn tells us:

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emanuel

Shall come to you O Israel.

The Immaculate Conception

(Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception; This homily was given 8 December, 2006, at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.)

We are still just at the beginning of Advent, that time of preparation for the coming of Christ into our world. Today on this Solemn Feast of the Immaculate Conception we are reminded that we are not the only ones who celebrate Advent. God Himself prepares, in a particular and beautiful way, for the coming of Christ into the world. His preparation is Holy Mary, the Immaculate Conception.

Now, the Immaculate Conception is often mistaken for the conception of Christ in the womb of Mary. That is a popular mis-conception. The Immaculate Conception refers to Mary’s being conceived in the womb of her mother, St. Ann. We believe, as Catholics, that Mary was preserved free from all stain of Original Sin because of the merits of Christ, who suffered and died on the cross to defeat sin and death for us all.

The question we can ask ourselves today on this feast is: Why? Why did God choose to do that? What is the reason for the Immaculate Conception?

Centuries of the Church’s teaching and wisdom have given us two distinct and fitting replies to that question. Firstly, when God was preparing to send His Son into the world, He desired for Christ to be untouched by sin. He wanted Jesus to be born of a woman who was not just really good, or even 90% free from sin. He wanted the person who gave life to Christ in this world to be a virgin totally free from all stain of sin. “And that virgin’s name was Mary” (Luke 1:27).

But more than that, there is a second fitting reason for the Immaculate Conception. Mary is free from Original Sin and all actual sins so that she would be totally free to say “Yes” to God’s plan at all times. Mary did not just say, “Yes,” to be the mother of Christ and give birth to Him. She said, “Yes,” to caring for Him and raising Him with great love and devotion. She said, “Yes” all throughout her life, and perhaps never more than when she stood at the foot of the cross. Mary stood in the icy shadow of the cross and cried out with her whole heart, “Yes,” while her Son was giving life to the world.

That is Mary, the Immaculate Conception! And that is God’s Advent, God’s preparation for the coming of Christ into this world. It should come as no surprise that our Advent and our preparation for the coming of Christ is very much the same thing.

God wants to come into our lives, just as He came into Mary’s. The same body of Christ that entered into Mary’s body, will enter our own body in the sacrament of Holy Communion. Have we truly prepared for that? God’s desire for us is the same as it was for Mary. He wants to enter into a person who is free from sin.

Obviously, that is—in a certain sense—a problem. You and I are not the Immaculate Conception. We have all been born with Original Sin. But God has taken care of that, hasn’t He? Through the gift of baptism, we have been cleansed of Original Sin.

And for the sins we have committed since then, God has also provided. He has given us the Sacrament of Reconciliation, by which we are forgiven of actual sins committed against God and one another.

As we enter more deeply into the season of Advent, have we taken the time to make a good confession? Have we given God the opportunity He desires to make us more completely free from sin and totally open to His call and His work in our lives?

Through the prayers of Mary Immaculate, may we continue to open our hearts up more and more completely to God. May our lives be free from sin and free to follow God’s plan for our lives and for all that He wants to accomplish in the world around us.

Waiting and Watching for Christ

(1st Sunday of Advent-Year C;This homily was given 3 December, 2006, at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; read Luke 21:25-36)

Today we begin the holy season of Advent, four weeks of preparation for the celebration of the birth of Christ; we celebrate with great joy the coming of Christ among us. This Advent we can ask ourselves one important question:

Are we waiting for Christmas, or are we waiting and watching for the coming of Christ? There is a difference.

Most of the people in the world around us are waiting for a chance to come together with family and friends. It is a time when we all give gifts to the ones we love and care about; and this time of year is always filled with a sense of joy and tremendous expectation.

Hopefully we will all be able to experience those things in these days to come. But none of these things are distinctively Christian. You could belong to any faith denomination—Jewish, Muslim, you could even be an Atheist—and still wait for and enjoy those things.

This Advent the Church reminds us that, for those who belong to Christ and follow Him, we are not just waiting for a holiday or merely anticipating a joyful season. We are waiting and watching for a person. That person, of course, is Jesus Christ.

In the Gospel this morning Jesus challenges us to do more than wait. He calls us to “Be vigilant!” He says,

“Be vigilant at all times and pray” (Luke 21:36).

Against a spirit of malaise and spiritual laziness, Jesus cautions us to be alert and ready. Be vigilant! Be watchful!

Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy from carousing and drunkenness and the anxieties of daily life, and that day catch you by surprise like a trap.
—Luke 21:34-35

Advent is a time that we wait and watch for the coming of Christ, because He has already told us clearly that He is coming.

There is a true story about a small farming town in the Midwest that was experiencing a severe drought. It had not rained in weeks, and they were afraid of losing the entire crop for that year. The pastor of the local church called for a prayer meeting, and encouraged all the people to come together and pray to God for rain.

On the night the service was held, the church hall was full. The pastor was pleasantly surprised to see so many of his parishioners gathered together; many were talking and catching up on old times. There was a genuine sense of community and even some laughter in that place.

He made his way to the podium to call the meeting to a start, when suddenly he stopped right in his tracks. There, on the front row, was a little 8 year-old girl, and she wasn’t talking to anyone. She was sitting, by herself, with her head bowed in prayer, and she was wearing a little red raincoat. In her small hand she clutched a little red umbrella.

Suddenly the pastor began to realize that all those people had come together, with great sincerity and faith, to ask God for rain. But this girl had come expecting God to answer. She had come to that place expecting God Himself to show up.

When we pray, do we have that kind of faith? When we spend time alone with God, do we expect Him to show up? Do we have that same humility and trust in the promises of God, who tells us “Where two or more are gathered in my name, there am I in the midst of them”?

In Israel, in the time of Christ, how many people were waiting for the Messiah? They knew the promises of God; they knew that He had said He would come among them. Suddenly He appeared and walked through their streets; He taught in their synagogues and in their towns and villages. But so many of them missed Him! They were waiting for the Messiah, they were waiting for God, but they were not watching, they were not vigilant.

This Advent we ask God for the grace not to make that same mistake. Might we remain vigilant, watchful, and ready for the coming of Christ. The first and most important way we do that is prayer.

But we cannot simply remain there. We are called to put our prayer and our faith into action. Part of being vigilant and watchful for the Lord means being busy. We need to be about the business of the Gospel.

I saw a bumper sticker not too long ago that was referring to the second coming of Christ. It said: Jesus is coming back . . . Look Busy! There is some truth to that. We need to be vigilant as we wait for His return, and one of the ways we do that is by responding, in our families, our workplace, and everywhere God sends us, to the needs and the demands of the Gospel.

I worked for Stop & Shop, in the Produce Department, for 9 years. One of the first things we would do each day was to call the voicemail of the district manager for Produce. He was the one in charge of the entire Rhode Island division, and he would record instructions each day about which items needed to be on sale, what to watch out for, things of that nature.

But ultimately, we would call that voicemail because he would always end by giving a list of the stores he was going to be visiting that day. And if we were on that list, then we better be ready! If not, experience taught us all too well, things would be very unpleasant for us indeed!

And so we would do almost anything to make sure that we were ready: we would sacrifice coffee breaks, sometimes lunch breaks. We would call in extra help from outside, so that when he arrived, the apples and oranges were all stacked meticulously; every leaf of lettuce was perfect!

This Advent we are not waiting for the district manager of Produce for Stop & Shop; we are waiting and watching for the coming of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. What are the sacrifices that we need to make in our own lives as we prepare for that coming? Where is God calling us to be more vigilant, in prayer and in our personal lives this Advent? How are we called to be busy about the Gospel wherever God directs us this week?

We ask Him here, in this place, for the grace to be vigilant and watchful; here, where we gather and pray together each week, we know that God Himself shows up. Here, on this altar, He becomes present to us—body and blood, soul and divinity. Might we be strengthened in this Blessed Sacrament today, so that we will be more vigilant, more watchful for His coming in our lives this Advent.

Christ the King, Redeemer of Man

(Feast of Christ the King-Year B;This homily was given 25 & 26 November, 2006, at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; read Revelation 1:5-8 and John 18:33-37)

Our Gospel for this Feast of Christ the King is the mysterious passage from St. John’s Gospel, where Christ is questioned before Pontius Pilate. It is mysterious because it involves the Son of God being interrogated by a man, but it is also mysterious because it is difficult to understand just where Pilate is coming from.

Is he serious and sincere as he questions Christ? Is he simply curious about who this Jesus of Nazareth is, or is he outright sarcastic? Whatever the case may be, one thing is perfectly clear: Pontius Pilate does not realize who Christ really is.

Christ describes Himself as a King whose “kingdom does not belong to this world” (John 18:36). He certainly is a King in the world, but His kingdom is not of this world. With that, a light seems to dawn for Pilate. He asks, “Then you are a king?” And Jesus responds:

For this I was born and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.
—John 18:37

It is a response that is unfortunately lost on Pilate, but it stands at the heart of today’s Feast of Christ the King, and is fundamental for understanding who Christ really is: the one who “testifies to the truth.”


In 1979, just a few months after being elected Pope, John Paul the Great issued his first encyclical letter: Redemptor Hominis—The Redeemer of Man. Re-iterating many of the foundational principles of the Second Vatican Council, he described how the key to understanding the history of humanity, and to understanding humanity itself, is found completely only in Jesus Christ. He alone is “the center of the universe and of history” (Redemptor Hominis, #1).

Directly paraphrasing Vatican II’s Gaudium et Spes, he went on to describe Christ as the one who reveals who God is, since He is fully Divine, and who also reveals the truth about man, since he is also fully human (Gaudium et Spes, #22, Redemptor Hominis, #8).

Again, we can listen to the words of Christ to Pontius Pilate:

For this I was born and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.

Christ comes to testify to, or bear witness to, the truth about God and the truth about man. That truth is this:

That God created us, He loves us and has redeemed us in Christ; even when we had turned away from him, even when we had sinned, God still sent Christ to suffer and die on the cross to save us so that we might live with Him forever in heaven . That is who God is, as revealed by Christ.

The truth about man is directly related to that. Because Christ came and took on our human nature, He has also raised us “to a dignity beyond compare” (Redemptor Hominis, #8). We who have been baptized into Christ have been made a part of God’s own Kingdom: Sons and Daughters of God, kings and queens in a sense, as members of His kingdom.

These are not just the pious thoughts and sentiments of Pope John Paul the Great, nor are they merely theological reflections from the Second Vatican Council. They are truths that are found all throughout the Scriptures.

In our second reading for the Feast of Christ the King, from the Book of Revelation, we hear that:

Jesus Christ is the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead and ruler of the kings of the earth. To him who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood . . .
—Revelation 1:5

That is the first truth Christ reveals to us, about who God is: The one “who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood.” The second truth follows directly after that: He is also the one “who has made us into a kingdom, priests for his God and Father” (Revelation 1:6).

We have been made into a kingdom, raised to “a dignity beyond compare.” Because of our baptism, we share in the very life of God. What more could we possible want than that?

You may have read the book “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,” from C. S. Lewis. It is one of the books in a series called The Chronicles of Narnia and was recently made into a movie.

The story—an allegory for the Christian faith—is an endearing tale of four children who enter the mystical Land of Narnia, and meet there a lion named Aslan, who is the King of Narnia. He is the one who will eventually give his life for the sake of the people, and obviously represents Christ.

These four children serve along side Aslan, and they, too, give completely of themselves for the sake of the King and for the Land of Narnia. In a very moving scene at the end of the book, Aslan has them sit in four thrones, and he places a crown on each of their heads. With great solemnity he says,

“Once a king or a queen in Narnia, always a king or a queen.”

C. S. Lewis, a devout Christian, understood the dignity of Baptism. It is not something that can easily be revoked when we fail; it is not something we can easily lose because of our sins and weaknesses. But it is something we are called to live up to.

That is our challenge today on this Feast of Christ the King, to fulfill what John Paul II calls our “kingly service” (Redemptor Hominis, #21), following in the footsteps of Christ the King, who came “not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45).

We do that—Redemptor Hominis continues—in two very practical ways. First and foremost, by being faithful within our own vocation. Whether we are called to the priesthood, religious life or the married life, we are called to be faithful and fruitfull right where God has called us.

Secondly, we fulfill our “kingly service” by using our freedom wisely. We are called to use our freedom, not for selfish gain, but to love and serve God and others. “Christ teaches us that the best use of freedom is charity, which takes concrete form in self-giving and in service” (Redemptor Hominis, #21).

Might we be found faithful in following the footsteps of Christ the King in our own kingly service here on earth, and come to discover the truth that: “Once a king or a queen in the Kingdom of God, always a king or a queen.”

It's A Wonderful Thanksgiving

(Thanksgiving-Year B;This homily was given 23 November, 2006, at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; read Luke 17:11-19)

There is a very powerful line in one of T.S. Eliot’s famous works called the “Four Quartets.” It is found in the final poem, “Little Gidding,” and it has to do with pilgrimages and journeys of faith.

The point that Eliot makes is that the purpose of a pilgrimage is not to change the way we look at the place we are traveling to, be it Jerusalem, or Rome, or even someplace local, like LaSalette Shrine. The purpose of a pilgrimage is to change our perspective about our point of origin. It is to return back to the place we began, and see that place with new eyes; to have a renewed vision of who and where we are.

The line is both powerful and beautiful. He writes:

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
—T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding” (No. 4 of ‘Four Quartets’)

We find that journey of faith in our Gospel this morning in the story of the ten lepers healed by Jesus. St. Luke tells us they began that journey in a very awkward, even painful, position before Christ. He says “they stood at a distance from him” (Luke 17:12). They were not allowed to approach him, on account of their disease and condition; they were social outcasts who could only stand “at a distance.”

And yet they were close enough to cry out for help, and to ask Christ for healing. Jesus quickly answers that prayer. He says to them, “Go show yourselves to the priests” (Luke 17:14), and in that very act of obedience they come to experience the healing so desperately longed for.

One of them, recognizing not only what has happened but Who has brought about that tremendous gift, returns to the place he started. But now everything has changed. He no longer stands off “at a distance” from Christ. He draws very close indeed, and falls down at the feet of Jesus in praise, adoration and overwhelming gratitude. He has come to understand what T. S. Eliot meant:

The end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

It is during this time of the year that we begin to hear the same story, told in so many different ways. Whether we like it or not, the Charles Dickens classic, “A Christmas Carol,” is already showing in theatres. And how many times in the days and weeks ahead will we see the movie “It’s a Wonderful Life,” playing on TV? Really it is just the same story, with the names and the places changed.

Ebenezer Scrooge makes that journey through Christmas past, present, and future, only to come right back again to where he started on that cold Christmas Eve. But he suddenly sees the world he lives in a whole new light. He has a new understanding of himself and is overwhelmed with joy.

George Bailey, in “It’s a Wonderful Life,” comes to the end of himself and regrets that he was ever born. He thinks he has no reason to live and makes a decision to end his life entirely. And yet suddenly he is shown what life would look like without him, and everything changes. He comes back, in the end, right to the place where he started and has a renewed sense of gratitude for his job and his own place in that small town. He is filled with love for his family and all that he has been given.

This Thanksgiving, God invites us to make that same journey of faith and that pilgrimage of gratitude, to come to a new vision of all that we have received from Him. We do that in a very practical way. Sometime today, I would suggest that we find some quiet place to sit down in the presence of God and to thank Him for five things that we have been given.

It might be our family, our friends, or our Catholic faith. We may have had a great year filled with many blessings, so we should be thankful to God for that gift. Or perhaps we have had the worse year ever. Maybe we have experienced tragedies or difficulties, but we made it through. Because of our faith, or our friends and family, we were able to move forward with hope. Today, thank God for that. Whatever it may be, think of five things that you are thankful for today.

And then, in the days and weeks ahead, whenever the movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life,” or Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol,” comes on the TV or you hear them advertised on the radio, thank God for five more things. Or maybe you just remain thankful for the same five things.

This day we simply ask God to guide us more completely into that journey of faith and pilgrimage of gratitude, that we may come to realize, along with George Bailey, Ebenezer Scrooge, and the leper in St. Luke’s Gospel, that:

The end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

Schindler's List and the Law of the Gift

(32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year B;This homily was given 11 & 12 November, 2006, at Our Lady of Mercy, East Greenwich, R.I.; read 1 Kings 17:10-16 and Mark 12:41-44)

It is perhaps the most beautiful and profound statement of the entire Second Vatican Council. It would later become one of the major themes of the life and pontificate of John Paul the Great; and it provides the only context that allows us to understand the radical generosity we find in the first reading and in the Gospel this morning.

It is called the “Law of the Gift” and it is found in Vatican II’s Gaudium et Spes:

“Man cannot fully find himself except through a sincere gift of himself.”
—Gaudium et Spes, #24

Describing how God is a Trinity of persons, each of them giving themselves to the other in love from all eternity, Gaudium et Spes went on to proclaim how we—made in that very same image and likeness—are created for love and to give ourselves away in love. By nature, we are creatures who are fulfilled only by giving to others: our families, those around us, and most especially, God Himself.

“Man cannot fully find himself except through a sincere gift of himself.”

We discover the “Law of the Gift” in the first reading this weekend, in that widow from Zarephath. Far from sitting down with her son to starve to death (as she laments to the prophet Elijah), she gives generously everything she has and instead continues not only to live, but the thrive and flourish. She has life abundantly, because she gave with great abundance to the man of God, Elijah.

The widow in the Gospel, who “contributed all she had” (Mark 12:44), is held up by Christ as the very icon of generosity and faithfulness.

And if we take a moment to consider this Veteran’s Day Weekend, and all the men and women who served and continue to serve our country so faithfully, we discover that they, too, live by the “Law of the Gift.” We honor and remember them today, not because of what they kept for themselves or what they accomplished for themselves, but for what they gave to obtain the freedoms we celebrate and enjoy today.

“Man cannot fully find himself except through a sincere gift of himself.”

You may have seen the movie, Schindler’s List, which tells the remarkable and true story of Oscar Schindler. Born in Czechoslovakia, as a young man Schindler followed the coattails of the German army into occupied Poland at the start of the Second World War. He quickly enmeshed himself in the ranks of the Nazi party, not because he espoused their ideals or wanted to follow their way of life, but because he saw a tremendous opportunity to make an awful lot of money.

He was placed in charge of a factory located about 60 kilometers from Auschwitz, where he “employed” over a thousand Jews. Basically, it was slave labor; he had to pay them next to nothing and he hardly fed them anything. He made a mint in that place.

Yet, somewhere in the middle of the war Schindler began to realize the absolute brutality of the Nazis, that they had no intention of merely holding the Jews captive or exploiting them. Their “master plan” was to simply exterminate them, every Jewish man, woman, and child. That shocked Oscar Schindler into reality.

He began to use his influence and contacts in the Nazi party, as well as his money, to save the lives of the very people he had exploited. It was dangerous business, entailing that he risk not only his resources and his name, but also his very life.

Twice Oscar Schindler was arrested under suspicion that he was working to save Jews. Both times his influence, and his money, got him out of it. Each time he immediately returned to that factory and continued what he had been doing: literally buying time, and buying Jewish people from the Nazis.

If you have seen the movie then you remember the haunting final scene, when the war ends and Schindler takes account of the whole ordeal. He gets out of his car, along with his friend, Stern. The factory and all the workers are off in the background. He turns to his friend and he says:

“I could've got more. I could've got more, if I'd just...I could've got more...”

His friend says, “Oscar, there are eleven hundred people who are alive because of you. Look at them.”

But Oscar Schindler won’t hear a word of it. He continues:

“If I'd made more money...I threw away so much money, you have no idea. If I'd just ...I didn't do enough.”

His friend continues to argue, in vain, as Schindler begins to look around him at the car they drove up in. “This car,” he says. “Why did I keep the car? Ten people, right there. Ten people, ten more people.”

He rips a swastika pin from his lapel, and says, “This pin, two people. This is gold. Two more people…At least one. One more. One more person. A person, Stern. For this. I could've gotten one more person and I didn't. I didn’t...”

Of course, no one would fault Oscar Schindler for keeping his car or a gold pin. But the point is, he convicts himself. He is himself convinced that he could have and should have given more. He was aware of the “Law of the Gift,” that we are made to give ourselves completely to others, to God. He had come to understand that “Man cannot fully find himself except through a sincere gift of himself.”

In the New Testament, in the Acts of the Apostles, there is a compelling and rather disturbing story about a married couple named Ananias and Sapphira (Acts 5:1-11). It occurs at the very foundations of the early Church, when many were selling off their lands and property and laying the money at the Apostles’ feet.

Now, nobody was under an obligation to do that. Nevertheless, many willingly gave all they had to benefit the work of the Gospel. Ananias and Sapphira had sold their property, and they, too, chose to bring their money to the Church. But they decided to keep some of it for themselves, and simply tell the others that they had given all.

St. Peter confronts Ananias and explains how the money was his, before and after he sold his property. He could have done anything he wanted with it. But what he chose to do was lie, and for what? St. Peter says to him, “You have lied not to men, but to God” (Acts 5:4). At that, Ananias drops dead!

A few hours later, his wife Sapphira comes before St. Peter, completely unaware of what just happened. He asks her about the amount, and she confirms that her and her husband have given over the whole thing. St. Peter replies: “The footsteps of those who have buried your husband are at the door, and they will carry you out” (Acts 5:9). And then she drops dead! Again, a very disturbing story.

Yet that scene is displayed, in living color, near a side altar, in St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. A friend of mine gives tours of St. Peter’s, and one day he was doing that very thing and explaining what is called “The Altar of the Lie.” A woman in the group seemed a bit upset, and asked,

“Why on earth would the Church include that scene in a mosaic for this basilica? Of all the beautiful scenes in the Acts of the Apostles or the rest of the New Testament, why that one?”

My friend didn’t miss a beat, but simply responded that the reason for that scene in this church was because of its location. He motioned to a doorway across from the “Altar of the Lie,” and said:

Those doors over there are the doors to the sacristy, where every priest—whether he be newly ordained or a cardinal of the Church—gets ready for Mass. And every priest who comes out of that sacristy door, no matter which altar he is heading to, must first look at that scene of Ananias and Sapphira before he celebrates the most sacred mystery of our faith. And he must ask himself: ‘Have I given everything? Have I given everything, like I said I would on the day of my ordination, or have I held something back from God, or from the people of God.’

Each one of us, whether priest or not, must ask that same question before we approach the Eucharistic table this morning. Not because God will strike us down, like Ananias and Sapphira; and not because God is greedy and wants to take from us the very things we are reluctant to give.

But because we are created to give completely of ourselves and we will not be fulfilled nor complete until we do so; like the Trinity, three Persons eternally giving themselves to each other in love, we are made to give ourselves completely away, to our families, to the people around us, and to God Himself. Might we look into our hearts and into our lives this day, and simply give everything—our will, our desire, all that we can muster—because “Man cannot fully find himself except through a sincere gift of himself.”