Are You Resolved?

(Tuesday of the Twenty-Sixth Week in Ordinary Time; This homily was given on 28 September, 2010 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Luke 9:51-56)

We hear in our Gospel this morning that, “when the days for Jesus to be taken up were fulfilled, he resolutely determined to journey to Jerusalem” (Luke 9:51). He was completely and totally resolved to go to that place where He would suffer, and die, and rise again.

Yet as Luke continues to describe that scene we discover that it is not merely the iron will of Christ, not sheer determination alone that drives Him towards the Holy City. There is something else which undergirds that will and supports His resolution, His intense desire to accomplish all that the Father has entrusted to Him. That “something else” comes to be revealed, oddly enough, in the midst of opposition.

It is an unwritten law of the spiritual life that when we are resolutely determined and totally resolved to accomplish the work of God in this world, we will encounter opposition. It was no different for Christ. The moment that He “resolutely determined to journey to Jerusalem,” he was literally, even physically so, opposed by the Samaritans. They would not let Him pass through their village to get to the place where His mission would be accomplished.

The response of His disciples is as shocking as it is disappointing:

Lord, do you want us to call down fire from heaven to consume them?
—Luke 9:54

Yet suddenly, in Jesus’ rebuke and rejection of this simplistic suggestion, we catch a glimpse of what is behind the resolute determination of Christ. He quickly sets aside any sense of retaliation. The very reason He is making the journey to Jerusalem in the first place is to offer Himself on the cross for the sake of mercy, forgiveness and love. He is resolutely determined to suffer and to die so that the very people who oppose Him can be forgiven and receive a second chance, and a new life with God. The iron will and unbreakable resolve of Christ, therefore, is undergirded, is strengthened and supported, everywhere and always by love.

We come to see this perhaps even more so in His response to the disciples themselves. These are the very men whom He has chosen to carry on the ministry of reconciliation; the ministry of mercy, compassion and love. Yet here they are resolutely determined to carry out the ministry of vengeance; the ministry of retribution, even to the point of violence. It would not have been surprising in the least if Christ had simply rebuked them and cut them loose. He could have easily chosen other men to continue the work He had in mind; He could have built His Church with other stones which would fit more easily in their place. But He did not.

Christ was resolutely determined to use these men, to mold and form and guide these very men to be the foundation on which our faith would rest. In time they would become the very paragon of virtue, living out completely the message which He worked so hard to communicate to them on earth. St. John will later become the “Apostle of Love” modeling perfectly that great virtue and writing magnificently about it. His Gospel will describe it so eloquently in the life and mission of Jesus Christ.

Saints James and John, in the end, got it. They finally understood who Christ was and what He was calling them to, and all of it was made possible through Christ, who was resolutely determined to use them to accomplish great things in this world. Christ was totally and completely resolved, and that resolution was undergirded and supported always and everywhere with love.

This gospel passage is important and instructive for each and every follower of Christ, but in a particular way it is essential for the men here in this seminary whom God is calling to the priesthood; the men who, in a few short weeks will be ordained to the diaconate. A few short months later these same men will be ordained to the priesthood. Between both of those ordinations—to the diaconate and to the priesthood—each candidate will be asked 11 separate times: “Do you resolve to…?”

• Do you resolve to discharge the office of deacon with humble charity…?

• You who are prepared to embrace the celibate state: Do you resolve to keep forever this commitment as a sign of your dedication to Christ the Lord for the sake of the Kingdom of Heaven, in the service of God and man?

• Do you resolve to maintain and deepen the spirit of prayer that is proper to your way of life and, in keeping with this spirit and what is required of you, to celebrate faithfully the Liturgy of the Hours with and for the People of God and indeed for the whole world?

—From the Rite for the Ordination of Deacons


• Do you resolve to exercise the ministry of the word worthily and wisely, preaching the Gospel and teaching the catholic faith?

• Do you resolve to celebrate faithfully and reverently, in accord with the Church’s tradition, the mysteries of Christ, especially the sacrifice of the Eucharist and the sacrament of Reconciliation, for the glory of God and the sanctification of the Christian people?

• Do you resolve to be united more closely every day to Christ the High Priest, who offered Himself for us to the Father as a pure sacrifice, and with Him to consecrate yourselves to God for the salvation of all?

—From the Rite for the Ordination of Priests


The responses to those questions cannot come from an iron will alone; they must come from so much more than a sheer determination to bring oneself into conformity with a series of requirements and obligations. Because if that is all they are, then in more difficult times the priest or deacon will become frustrated and discouraged and may even begin to feel that he is burdened and bound to a life which is lacking in freedom.

But if there is love to undergird that resolution, if the priest or deacon allows himself to be immersed in the love of God and responds generously to that love, then those same promises and resolutions can become a source of great joy, done with passion and fervor, and in a way that will bear tremendous fruit for the Church and for the world we live in. And that is the stuff that transforms the lives of those we are called to serve. That is the stuff that transforms the Church and the heart of one’s own vocation.

Whoever we are and whatever God is calling us to do, may we seek not only to be resolved to accomplish His work and to respond with an iron will to please Him and serve His people; may we also receive the gift of God that allows that resolution to be undergirded with love, strengthened and supported with the mercy and grace of Christ, so that we ourselves may be transformed, and become instruments of transformation in the Church and in this world that so desperately needs God.

The Good Samaritan and Works of Mercy

Michelangelo's Madonna and Child

in Church of Our Lady in Bruges, Belgium

(15th Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year C; This homily was given on 11 July, 2010 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Luke 10:25-37)

Our parable from the Gospel of St. Luke this weekend is one of the best known parables Christ ever told: the Good Samaritan. Christians and non-Christians alike are familiar with that parable. Often it is the person who will stop to assist a stranded motorist on the side of the road or the volunteer at a hospital or nursing home who is referred to as a “Good Samaritan.” In fact, that is one of the points of the Gospel. It does not matter where one is from—either Israel or some rival nation—or what our faith background may be. We are all called to show mercy and compassion to others; everyone is a neighbor, especially the person in need.

Nonetheless, St. Augustine offers a classic interpretation of this parable in which he says that Christ Himself is literally the Good Samaritan. Augustine says that the man who has been robbed, stripped of all that he has, and left for dead on the side of the road is Adam, all humanity; you and I are the ones who, through Original Sin and our own consequent sins, have been stripped of immortality and are helpless to change the course of our lives.

Suddenly we discover that Christ, the Divine Outsider, has come upon us to provide for our deepest needs. He does not come from the next country over but from the next world over! He comes from eternity into time and from heaven to this earth and takes on our human nature to save us and set us free. Christ does not pour oil and wine over our wounds and then provide money for us to recover in some wayside inn. No, He pours out His own body and blood for us on the cross and gives everything so that we can be healed, recover and discover a new life in God. Now that’s a Good Samaritan!

Our response to so great a gift should be twofold. Firstly, if it is true that Christ has done so much to seek us out and provide the healing that only God can give, then we need to make sure we get ourselves “in the way” to encounter the source of that healing.

St. Augustine says that Christ continues to provide the healing and restoration we read about this weekend through the sacramental grace of the Church. It is in Baptism that we are washed clean and set free from Original Sin; in the Sacrament of Reconciliation we are freed from mortal sins which have the power to keep us separated from God for all eternity; in the Eucharist we are sanctified and renewed, given God’s own Divine life and the strength to continue on the journey through this life to eternal life with God.

How eager we should be to become immersed in such grace! In the words of C.S. Lewis: “If you want to get warm then you have to stand near the fire; if you want to get wet, then you have to get into the water.” Our first response is to encounter this Good Samaritan every single chance we get.

The second response we should have is to follow the words of Christ at the end of that parable. When he finally gets the Scholar to understand that it was the Good Samaritan who showed mercy and compassion, Christ turns to him and says: “Go and do likewise” (Luke 10:37). You, also, treat those around you with mercy and compassion and help them when they are waylaid and helpless on the side of the road.

Where is that need most urgent today, though? In Belgium in 2010, where is the Good Samaritan most needed and how can we discover our role in responding to the greatest challenges of our time?

I would suggest that the answer to that question is embedded in the architecture and the spiritual legacy provided for us by countless faithful men and women down through the centuries. When you walk down the street here in Leuven, or in Ghent, Bruges, Brussels and many other cities in Belgium, undoubtedly you discover small statues and images on buildings and in doorways of the Blessed Virgin Mary holding Christ out to the passersby on the street. Our Lady is always ready to offer them her Son, who alone can meet the deepest longing of the human heart. We do well to offer the same Christ to a world of suffering when we follow Him faithfully each day.

Just a few days ago we were in the City of Bruges with the participants of our Summer Institute and a local guide was giving us a tour of that beautiful and enchanting place. Of course, we are all familiar with the painful events of the Church in Bruges and throughout Belgium which have been publicized everywhere in these recent weeks. Our guide, thankfully, did nothing to disguise that pain and sorrow. What he did do, however, was point out these many statues and images found throughout the city, reminding us of a faith that dates back centuries and of the presence of Christ who alone can save and heal us.

At one point our guide showed us an old brick building façade—not a church or a chapel, but just a regular building—that displayed sculptures of the Severn Corporal Works of Mercy. You may remember these from your catechism classes:

1. To feed the hungry
2. To give drink to the thirsty
3. To clothe the naked
4. To shelter the homeless
5. To visit the sick
6. To visit the imprisoned
7. To bury the dead

To perform the corporal works of mercy is to provide for and assist those who find themselves physically desperate and alone, very much like the man in Jesus’ parable this weekend. The great American advocate for the poor and foundress of the Catholic Worker movement, Dorothy Day, said that the life of every baptized Christian should reveal—either directly or indirectly—the corporal and spiritual works of mercy. To reach out and assist those in need is intrinsic to the Christian life. That is what we do as Christians.

And while there is constantly a need to provide for the physical needs of those around us and that is something we all need to continually strive for, is it not also the case that in the culture we live in the spiritual needs of so very many people go uncared for? There are not many social programs seeking to care for people’s souls today. So if Christians will not care for the spiritual lives of those in need of healing and help, who will?

I would suggest that we take this week to reflect, above all, on the Seven Spiritual Works of Mercy and ask God how He can help us to perform these works for our own benefit and most especially for the sake of those around us.

The Seven Spiritual Works of Mercy are:

1. To counsel the doubtful
Are there any people in our lives who right now doubt their faith in God or their ability and desire to live out that faith in the Church? Are there people in our lives that are no longer convinced that God is close to them and really wants to lead them to joy and peace? We should never underestimate what a word of encouragement or counsel can do for them.

2. To instruct the ignorant
Are there people today who are ignorant of the greatest truths that God has revealed to us through Christ, truths that have been passed down to us through the apostles and have the power to lead us to eternal life? By all means, yes. Is there some small way that God is challenging us to share that faith and those truths with those who do not know them?


3. To admonish sinners
I think most people recoil at this one. We care more about how others perceive us than we do about our neighbor’s spiritual well-being and salvation. To admonish one who is in sin means firstly to pray hard for them, and then with great charity and humility to take a chance and share with them an aspect of their lives that-if unchecked-will not only bring them unhappiness and sorrow but may even cause them great spiritual harm. To admonish is an act of love, not of judgment.


4. To comfort the afflicted
Aren’t there countless people in our lives who are afflicted emotionally? Physically? Psychologically? How are we called, in some small way, to comfort them this week?


5. To forgive offenses
There are often times that we feel offended by the words and actions of others. Doing everything we can to forgive them is a spiritual work of mercy.


6. To bear wrongs patiently
Who among us doesn’t need to be more patient with the faults and weaknesses of those around us? When we are able to bear those everyday slights and quirks of others, and perhaps even some of the more serious grievances of our neighbor with patience, we perform a service that may go unnoticed by many but not by God.


7. To pray for the living and the dead
Finally, when we continue our daily conversation with God, are we attentive to bringing before Him the persons who are a part of our daily lives and intentions? Do we remember always those who have “gone before us marked with the sign of faith,” knowing that our prayers can do so much for the ones we love?

How is God challenging us to perform the Corporal and Spiritual Works of Mercy this week, and to discover how His grace and the power of His love can work through us to bring healing and consolation to so many who are broken and in need.

Sacred Spaces

Tabernacle and Sanctuary of the

Amercian College Chapel in Leuven, Belgium

(Wednesday of the Seventh Week of Easter; This homily was given on Wednesday, 19 May, 2010 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Acts 20:28-38 and John 17:11-19)

Nature abhors a vacuum. If there is a space, a gap, an empty place in the world, nature abhors it and wants to fill it in and smooth it out. Just so, there is a spiritual principle at work in our readings for today, and it goes something like this:

Just as nature abhors a vacuum, evil—and especially the Evil One who Christ names directly in our Gospel—loves a vacuum. Evil seeks out and searches for the empty places and desires to take up residence there.

Remember the parable Jesus tells in the Gospel of Luke?

When an unclean spirit goes out of someone, it roams through arid regions searching for rest but, finding none, it says, “I shall return to my home from which I came.” But upon returning, it finds it swept clean and put in order. Then it goes and brings back seven other spirits more wicked than itself who move in and dwell there, and the last condition of that person is worse than the first.
—Luke 11:24-27

Evil loves a vacuum and searches out the gaps and spaces. In our Gospel this morning Jesus is continuing that intimate priestly prayer to His Father and he indicates, before the disciples, that He is about to leave that place. He is returning to the Father in Heaven and notes how He has cared for and protected each of those entrusted to Him while He was here on earth:

When I was with them I protected them in your name that you gave me, and I guarded them, and none of them was lost except the son of destruction, in order that the Scripture might be fulfilled. But now I am coming to you.
—John 17:12-13

Jesus is leaving but He will not take them out of the world with Him; as the Father has sent Him into the world, even so, now He sends them (John 17:18). But in that prayer His continued care for them is clear:

I do not ask that you take them out of the world but that you keep them from the Evil One.
—John 17:15

The Evil One desires to come into the sacred space and Jesus Christ, in the hearing of His disciples, prays to the Father to insure that will not happen. He expects those same disciples to cooperate in every possible way to make sure the sacred space is filled with the power of faith, holiness and love.

St. Paul, in our first reading this morning, does the same. Paul is bidding farewell to the presbyters of the Church of Ephesus, and as he stands by the ship in the port city of Miletus he shares with them what the Holy Spirit has revealed to him: that they will never see his face again. Their time together in the work of the Gospel has come to a close. In that bitter sweet moment Paul says to them:

Keep watch over yourselves and over the whole flock of which the Holy Spirit has appointed you overseers, in which you tend the Church of God that he acquired with his own Blood. I know that after my departure savage wolves will come among you, and they will not spare the flock.
—Acts 20:28-29

St. Paul has the wisdom to understand that in his absence evil will desire to occupy the space that he has left behind. Therefore he exhorts them to be vigilant! He reminds them of the way he preached the Gospel to them; of how he worked among them night and day for three years; of the way he acted and spoke and how he lived his life (Acts 20:31-35).

Do the same, Paul is saying. Live a holy life in Christ Jesus; occupy well the space that God has given to you, and thus you will spare the flock and provide care and protection for the ones that God has placed among you. Evil wants nothing to do with the space that is filled with faith, holiness, charity and truth. Paul knew that…Do we?

This morning we can ask ourselves:

How are we occupying the sacred space that God has entrusted to each one of us? Are we seeking to live a holy life in Christ Jesus, to be His true disciples and care well for those entrusted to us?

Because it is not enough to remain quiet and still, avoiding evil as much as possible without ever seeking out the virtues and doing the good Christ calls us to in this world. We must avoid complacency, self sufficiency, and the mediocrity that is anathema to the spiritual life. But we must also seek out the virtues, perhaps even courageously so, in order to insure that evil has no place in our lives.

You have heard the expression, “The only thing that needs to happen for evil to conquer is for good men to do nothing.” How true that is. Please God, we are doing more than nothing in the spiritual life. But are we also seeking out holiness and virtue on a daily basis?

In 2010, to live chastity can be considered a heroic virtue; with so much to distract and tempt us, we must be all the more active and eager to cooperate with the overwhelming grace of God and live a holy life in Jesus Christ. In the culture we live in, that is so very critical, living a life of charity can be considered a heroic virtue. We are oftentimes too critical, even of each other; to live a life of forgiveness, mercy, charity in such circumstances requires even heroic virtue. Are we seeking that out and desiring—even when it is painful—the holiness of life and charity in truth without which we remain Christians in name only?

Because it is true that nature abhors a vacuum, and evil seeks out the gaps and spaces, but it is also true that we, by virtue of our Baptism, have the power of God that can fill those places with love, true freedom, virtue and the faith that has the power to change the world we live in. May we truly occupy the sacred spaces that God has entrusted to us, for our own sanctification and for the transformation of the world we live in.

Listening to God

(Wednesday of the Fourth Week of Easter; This homily was given on Wednesday, 28April, 2010 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Acts 12:24-13:5 and John 12:44-50)

In our Gospel this morning Jesus Christ speaks a message to all—and, in particular, to those who have already made the decision to reject Him—that may have astounded them. In fact, it may even be surprising to many of us (although it should not be). He says, essentially, that everything He is accomplishing in the world, His mission and ministry, and His words in particular; all of those things, are not His own.

“Whoever believes in me,” Christ cries out, “believes not only in me but in the one who sent me” (John 12:44). But then He goes on to say:

Whoever rejects me and does not accept my words has something to judge him: the word that I spoke, it will condemn him on the last day, because I did not speak on my own, but the Father who sent me commanded me what to say and speak.
—John 12:48-49

All that Christ does, what He speaks, and the work of salvation He accomplishes in this world; all of this comes to Him from His Father. He listens to the Father, and then does what the Father tells Him. Therein lays the power of Christ. Christ’s power is not made manifest by imposing Himself over and above everything and everyone (although He could very well do that; He is the eternal Son of God and would have every right to do so). Instead, the power of Christ is revealed in His willingness to surrender Himself in humility and in loving obedience to another: His heavenly Father. The power of God is revealed in the Man who will kneel down in the dark, alone, and say: “Father…not my will but yours be done” (Luke 22:42).

Therein lays the power of Christ. Therein lays the power of the Christian. There is the power that we discover at work in the early Church, among the men and women who turned the world they lived in upside down. But they did not accomplish such a powerful transformation of their world through savvy ingenuity and a well-placed work ethic. They were powerful and effective witnesses because they listened to the voice of God and, with great love, obeyed it.

In the Acts of the Apostles, we are told this morning, the disciples were worshipping and adoring the Lord in the Church at Antioch. Suddenly, in the midst of that outpouring of praise to the Holy One, God spoke to them:

While they were worshipping the Lord and fasting, the Holy Spirit said, “Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them.”
—Acts 13:2

We do not know how that happened; we do not know whether the Holy Spirit spoke to them out loud, or in a vision, in the form of a dove, or if someone simply discerned that God was speaking. St. Luke does not include that information as necessary in Acts. But what he does make perfectly clear is that they heard the voice of God, they listened to the Holy Spirit, and they did what God was asking. That is the power of God which allowed the early Church to set the world on fire.

That same fire is what God desires for every Christian: “I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!” (Luke 12:49). But that fire will not happen, cannot happen, until we can kneel down, silent and alone with God, and listen well to Him. We must have the humility to be still and listen to what God is saying to us—in the midst of our own sins and difficulties, trials and the many challenges of life—but listening nonetheless to what God is trying to communicate to us. And then we must carry it out.

One of the great dangers and occupational hazards of the priest—and certainly of any vocation in the Church, as well—one of the great sources of pain, sorrow and division, is that we may begin to listen only to ourselves. Then, essentially, we say to God: “This is how it will be,” and we welcome Him to ratify that.

That is not the power revealed to us by Christ. It is not the power so evident in the lives of the Apostles and martyrs who gave everything in loving obedience to God and those they were called to serve.

And so this morning, for God’s sake; for the sake of the Church which is in tremendous need of renewal; for the sake of the men and women in this world who may never come to know the person of Jesus Christ except through us; and for our own sake, let us ask ourselves (and not be too quick to answer the question):

Who am I listening to?

Easter: Shocked, From the Inside Out

The Resurrection, by Peter Paul Rubens,
the Cathedral of Our Lady in Antwerp, Belgium

(Easter Vigil; This homily was given on Saturday, 3 April, 2010 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Genesis 1:1-2:2; 22:1-18, Exodus 14:15-15:1, Ezekiel 36:16-28 and Luke 24:1-12)

This is the first time I am able to proivide an audio recording of the homily (including the part where I almost knock over the Easter candle). I thank Mark Bentz, one of our fine seminarians here at the American College studying for the the Diocese of Portland in Oregon, for his expertise with the sound system (and for saving me the time of writing out a text for the blog!).

Please also check out the audio file of the Ave Maria, performed by the very gifted members of our music ministry here at the American College.

As always, continue to keep us all in your prayers, especially the 18 men studying here for the priesthood. A holy, blessed and happy Easter to you!

Laetare Sunday: An Image to Rejoice In

(4th Sunday of Lent-Year C; This homily was given on 14 March, 2010 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Luke 15:1-32)

Why do soldiers going off to war, to a place far away, carry a photo of their wife or girlfriend with them at all times?

Why do college students keep pictures of their loved ones, family and friends, maybe even the family pet, in their dorm room or in the place where they study?

Why do the seminarians here at the American College keep, in their rooms, a picture of me…Okay, maybe they do not do that! But why do they also keep pictures of family and friends in their rooms?

I would suggest this morning that there are two important reasons why these images are so important for us. Firstly, they are an inspiration. When times get difficult and we are struggling to find hope and courage in a place far from home, we look to these faces of the people we love and we are inspired to go on; to move ahead; to push forward even when times are tough.

Secondly, we keep these images nearby because they give us a foretaste of what we have to look forward to in the days ahead. We look at a picture of the person we love, someone who also loves us—and maybe they are also looking at our picture in the same way—and we remember that it will not be long before we are with them once again.

Even if we have a picture of a loved one who has passed away and gone home to the Lord, we remember the promise of the resurrection and are reminded that one day we will be together with them forever, please God. The seemingly infinite distance will no longer separate us.

Images of our loved ones inspire us, and they grant us a foretaste of all that lies ahead. And that is what is at the heart of the feast we celebrate this morning, Laetare Sunday. Our entrance antiphon for the Mass this Sunday, in Latin, announces:

Laetare, Ierusalem, et conventum facite, omnes qui diligitis eam.

Rejoice, Jerusalem! Be glad because of her, all you who love her.

We rejoice with Jerusalem, for her redemption is at hand! We do not wait until Easter Sunday to celebrate the mystery of our redemption in Christ. The Church teaches us that every Sunday is a celebration of Easter, whether it is in Advent, Lent or Ordinary Time. Every Sunday celebrates the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

This Laetare Sunday we are reminded that even in the midst of our desert experience, even in the middle of Lent, we have great reason to celebrate and rejoice: Jesus Christ has come, He has suffered and died for us, and is risen from the dead. Even now we anticipate that joy of Easter.

That news inspires us to push ahead and keep moving forward, no matter how difficult or discouraging things have been. But more than that, this glimpse of the resurrection, this image of Jesus Christ, risen from the dead and calling us to eternal life with Him, is but a foretaste of all that He has in store for us in the days ahead.

God wants to make sure we do not miss that picture this Laetare Sunday. Look lovingly upon our Lord today; be inspired and encouraged for all that He is planning for you!

But in our Gospel this weekend we discover one of the greatest truths about our faith and the amazing, unfathomable love of God: that long before we kneel down in prayer, before we ever raise our eyes to heaven, He is already looking upon each one of us with great love.

This weekend’s Gospel, the Parable of the Prodigal Son, is such a familiar and beautiful story. That young man demands his father’s inheritance and soon goes and squanders it all on a life of dissolute living, finding himself in a foreign land; he is hungry, alone and in dire need. It is a tragic picture of sin and one we have all experienced in one way or another. And the son does what, hopefully, all of us have done before. He comes to his senses and decides to go back home. Realizing how very well he had it in his father’s house, he makes his way back…but before he ever reaches that destination, before he ever sets his eyes upon his father, his father sees him!

Jesus, in St. Luke’s Gospel, tells us:

While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him and was filled with compassion.
—Luke 15:20

While he was still a long way off…

There are really only two possibilities for what Jesus describes in this Gospel. Either the father got lucky; he just happened to be looking out the window at the exact moment the son came around the bend or up over the hill (not very likely).

Or, the father stood by that window every day…waiting…Every day he stood by that window and looked out over the pathway that led to the horizon…everyday, he watched and waited, saying to himself, “Today. Maybe today my son whom I love, who has become lost, will be found and come back home…Maybe today.”

And so, suddenly, when that son finally appears, the father simply cannot help himself! He rushes out to meet that young man and embraces him, welcoming him back home.

Brothers and sisters in Christ, the Father gazes upon you and I in the same way. He sees us long before we ever see Him. He is gazing on you here. Even now.

I believe the challenge our Lord offers to us this Laetare Sunday is simple. If it is true that He is gazing at us, if He is truly looking at us even now, even here, with great love…don’t move! Do not move away at all from that gaze! Remain under the loving gaze of God the Father and ask for the grace to stay there throughout the rest of this Lenten season.

When we pray, we remain under the gaze of our loving Father. St. Teresa of Avila—whom I love because she is amazing—writes to her sisters that God is constantly looking at them with great love and when they pray, they should simply look back at Him, love for love. Prayer keeps us under the gaze of God.

So do the Sacraments. Remain close to God this Lent through frequent reception of the Eucharist, and through frequent confession. St. Paul encourages us this morning, in our second reading:

We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.
—2 Corinthians 5:20

When is the last time you made a good sacramental confession and allowed the love of God to renew and cleanse you, to forgive you and set you free to forgive those around you? God challenges us, through prayer and the Sacraments, to remain close to Him, to look upon Him who continually looks at us with great love.

Secondly, if it is true that God desires to look upon you with love, than certainly He also desires to look upon your neighbor in the same way; your spouse; the people you encounter each day. Let us not be like the older brother in the Parable of the Prodigal Son, getting in the way of the Father’s love for our brother. God desires to gaze with love upon those around you, and the challenge is clear: stay out of the way of that gaze!

Do everything you can to facilitate the relationship God desires with those around you and ask for the grace not to get in the way of that love through words and actions that might keep others from looking at the God who is always looking upon them.

Let us continue to rejoice together in this gaze of infinite love that the Father has turned upon us, always being inspired by His presence and encouraged in all that He has in store for us in the days ahead.

Laetare, Ierusalem, et conventum facite, omnes qui diligitis eam.

Rejoice, Jerusalem! Be glad because of her, all you who love her.

Rejoice, for her redemption is indeed at hand.

Two Paths, and One of Them Leads to Life

(6th Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year C; This homily was given on 14 February, 2010 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Jeremiah 17:5-8, Psalm 1 and Luke 6:17-26)

We are so blessed in the Catholic spiritual tradition to have a multitude of saints—doctors of the Church and teachers of the faith—who show us what it means to walk daily in the footsteps of Jesus Christ. They teach us how we can live in this life with our hearts and minds set on eternal life with God.

So often it is the mystics—St. Teresa of Avila, St. John of the Cross, St. Catherine of Siena, and even local spiritual masters from the Low Countries like St. Beatrice of Nazareth or St. Jan van Ruusbroec—that teach us about the way God works in the soul desiring to walk with Him. Very often they will mention the three ways or paths of the spiritual life: the purgative, the illuminative, and the unitive.

In the purgative way God purifies and purges our souls from the attachments we have to sin. Those sins—many perhaps even mortal which could cause us to lose our eternal salvation—which we cling to or otherwise find ourselves falling into from time to time are cleansed from our souls and we become more and more free to choose God and say no to the enticements of evil. For most of us this is a lifelong process that will be complete only in our final purification in purgatory, but God invites us to begin already that spiritual cleansing which will draw us more completely to Him.

Then, made more free and purified, we are prepared for the illuminative way; God sheds His light into our souls and illumines the path before us. We desire not only to avoid sin and the occasions which lead us away from God but, more than that, we desire and long for virtue. We seek the theological virtues of faith, hope and charity; we fall deeper in love with Christ and want to live like He lived; to love like He loved. The Holy Spirit is living and moving in us and we are being led, willingly and with great earnestness, into eternal life and ever deeper into a real and growing relationship with the Holy Trinity.

Finally, at the end of our journey, we enter the unitive way. This is not a unique status offered to a few select individuals; union with God is the call and the goal of every single one of us baptized in Jesus Christ and living in Him. In heaven, please God, each of us will be united to God—Father, Son and Holy Spirit—in an intimate and eternal relationship of love.

But the mystics teach us that we can share in that life already, even here. In their writings and poetry, their experiences of prayer (and even their sufferings) shared with us, they show us how God purifies and illumines, and can unite Himself to a soul even here, even now. Their words and examples are inspiring and they increase our own desire for the things of heaven right and a happiness that far transcends the limits of this earth.

If we look at the writings of St. Teresa of Avila we can see even more detailed descriptions of the spiritual life. In her book The Interior Castle she describes the soul as a crystal globe containing a magnificent castle. Deep within the heart of that castle resides the King of Kings, Jesus Christ.

Outside that castle, beyond the spiritual life of the soul, one finds vermin, snakes and creeping things squirming around inside the moat and in the darkness surrounding the castle keep. But once we have engaged our spiritual lives and entered within the confines of the castle we have turned from sin and begin to experience the life of grace. That is the first dwelling place. From there we journey, progressively deeper and deeper within, towards the very center or the seventh dwelling place where Christ resides. St. Teresa only reached this intimate of all unions towards the end of her life, but her account and her descriptions—like those of the purgative, illuminative and unitive ways—are remarkably inspirational.

Nonetheless, these descriptions of the mystical life can also become a difficulty and even a distraction on our spiritual journey. We can be all too tempted to gauge ourselves and try to guess exactly where we fit in at any given moment. Am I in the third dwelling place, or perhaps moving into the fourth? Am I beginning to experience illumination or am I still experiencing the purgative way at this time?

Another tendency—and never a good one—is to look at those around us and try to guess where they are in the spiritual life. We see someone who does not appear—to our own sensibilities and determinations—to have their spiritual act together. We might think, Ah, that person is definitely out there in the moat! Or maybe we will look at another person’s external tranquility and peace of soul and decide, Yes, she is certainly walking in the unitive way with God.

In my fourth year of theology I was able to take a course on the spiritual life with a very wise and holy Dominican priest. He shared with us an experience he had while still in the novitiate, preparing for priesthood. The novice master said to them:

There are only two ways and two levels in the spiritual life.
You are either in a state of GRACE…or you are NOT!

How vital is that very distinction! Everything else is gravy. Either we are in a state of sanctifying grace and God is drawing us into a deeper relationship with Him; the Holy Spirit is living and acting in and through us and preparing us for eternal life…or we are not in a state of grace but have fallen into sin and are in danger of being separated from God for all eternity.

We used to refer to that eternal separation as hell. Nowadays we do not refer to it at all. We do not talk about hell in the classroom or in the homily (God forbid). It does not come up in our social discourse or spiritual conversations. But that does not mean that it is no longer a real possibility and a danger for each one of us.

Jesus Christ talked about hell. Often. He did not talk about eternal separation from God because He was itching to shout out condemnation. He talked about it as a warning, to signal that there is indeed a path that leads away from God. If you are walking on that path, He tried to convey, then get off it! Get on the path and follow the way, instead, that leads to eternal life (see John 14:6).

If you look at the readings that we are given for this weekend—from Jeremiah the Prophet, the responsorial psalm, Psalm 1, and the Gospel of St. Luke—all of them distinguish clearly between these two paths.

Jeremiah begins with the unhappy statement, “Cursed is the one who trusts in human beings, who seeks his strength in flesh, whose heart turns away from the Lord” (Jeremiah 17:5). Cursed. That is a very stark way to begin our readings this weekend, no? He says that such a one, who leaves the Lord behind and places all his trust and efforts in the human family alone, will be like a “barren bush” in the dessert which will simply wither away and die. That is not the right path, Jeremiah is communicating in the strongest of terms!

But, he goes on, “Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose hope is the Lord” (Jeremiah 17:7). Then using the same words and imagery that we find in Psalm 1 this weekend he beautifully describes that person as a fertile tree planted beside the running water (Jeremiah 17:8; Psalm 1:3). It bears fruit in season and out of season. In the heat of the day or the dead of winter, that tree gives life in abundance, expressing the life of God and the life of grace to any and all that come in its path.

This is the tradition, says our Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI (in his book Jesus of Nazareth) that Jesus Christ is drawing off this morning in St. Luke’s account of the Beatitudes. You may notice that St. Luke’s account is different from St. Matthew’s. In St. Matthew’s Gospel Jesus goes up on the high mountain and gives the people eight Beatitudes, eight blessed ways of following Him. In St. Luke Jesus does not go up the mountain but He remains on the plain. He is on level ground—leveling with His disciples, and with us, about the spiritual life—and he gives us not eight Beatitudes but only four. And then He gives us four “woes.”

Beginning with the blessings, He says, “Blessed are you who are poor…Blessed are you who are now hungry…Blessed are you who are now weeping…Blessed are you when people hate you…” (Luke 6:20-22). His words are somewhat disturbing. We do not usually think of these things as blessings. But they are not nearly as disturbing as the following statements:

Woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are filled now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who laugh now, for you will grieve and weep. Woe to you when all speak well of you, for their ancestors treated the false prophets in this way.
—Luke 6:24-26

“These words,” says our Holy Father, “terrify us” (Jesus of Nazareth, pg. 96). If you are disturbed by Jesus words this morning, then, you are in great company! And the reason why they disturb and terrify us is because most all of us want those things. What on earth is so wrong with wanting to be filled and content in this life? What could possibly be wrong with laughter? Why would we not want a bigger bank account to take care of our families and loved ones? What is wrong with these things?

To understand the “woes” and the beatitudes in St. Luke’s Gospel we have to look at the second “woe.” He says, “Woe to you who are filled now, for you will be hungry.” The word for “filled,” in the Greek language, denotes an action that is completed and can never be increased further. To be filled in the sense that Christ is speaking of means to have a bank account that, however substantial it may be for now, can never be added to again. It is like having a brand new computer that is fast and effective, but can never again be upgraded or replaced. In ten years it will be slow and useless.

So Christ is not saying “woe” to these people simply because they have money or laugh or are filled with many good things. He is saying “woe” to them because that is all they have! They are so filled with the things of this life that they have left no room at all for the things of eternal life. They have left no room for the spiritual life or the Kingdom of God. Woe to them!

But blessed are the ones who are poor and needy, and who know it. They have lots of room for God. Blessed are the ones who are weeping and struggling and know that this world alone can never satisfy them. They are wide open to the life of grace that God offers and the promise of an eternal life of infinite bliss. Blessed are they! Blessed are they who are hungry and who thirst for a better life than this one. They have plenty of room to be filled completely with the Bread of Life and the Living Water of salvation. Blessed are they who are hated by others for the sake of Jesus Christ. They will be in the best of company with the saints and the angels when they are counted among the faithful in the presence of God.

Brothers and sisters in Christ, where are we walking in the spiritual life at this time? Jesus Christ calls out to each of us this weekend and beckons us on the path that leads to beatitude, to blessings and eternal life with Him. May we have the courage to leave all behind that does not lead us to this path, and may our interior castles be filled with light as Christ illumines us and draws us ever more deeply into a life united with Him for all eternity.

Light Through A Window

(5th Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year C; This homily was given on 7 February, 2010 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Luke 5:1-11)

In our Gospel for this weekend we have what may very well be the most insincere prayer recorded in Sacred Scripture. I do not mean that the person praying it is insincere. On the contrary, St. Peter is one of the most sincere followers Christ encountered on this earth. Yet the plea he offers to Christ in St. Luke’s Gospel this morning is one that he, in his heart of hearts, would never, ever, have wanted Christ to answer.

The scene is compelling. Peter and his confreres have been fishing all night; they have caught nothing and they are tired. Christ urges them on nonetheless: “Put out into deep water and lower your nets for a catch” (Luke 5:4). Peter heeds that call…perhaps reluctantly…and then suddenly upon seeing such a miraculous return, and finding both boats filled with fish, he begins to understand: this is no ordinary teacher, no mere prophet. This is the Christ, the Lord!

His reaction is understandable and not at all surprising as he recognizes Who this man is and how very unworthy he himself is. And then he prays:

Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.
—Luke 5:8

Now how realistic is that prayer? Remember, this is before St. Peter has seen Jesus walking on the water. They are in a boat! Where does he expect Christ to depart to? All he knows, in the immediacy of the moment, is that he is in the middle of the sea, in a boat, with God! He is overwhelmed by the recognition of his own sinfulness and the splendor and majesty of Christ. His voice pleads with Christ to leave him alone but we know, deep inside, what Peter is really thinking: Lord, please do not ever leave me! Please, Lord, do not ever go away!

It is, in many ways, one of the great paradoxes of the spiritual life: the closer we get to Christ the more we come to realize our own sin and unworthiness before Him…and the more we long, deep in our hearts, to never, ever be separated from Him, even for an instant.

Thank God that not all our prayers are answered! Christ has no intention of answering St. Peter’s request for even the slightest bit of distance or a single moment of time. He does not move one millimeter away from the fisherman from Galilee, but instead draws him into a life that will be intimately connected to Himself from that day forward.

But how do we react when our desire to be close to Christ, and the fruits of our growth in the spiritual life, reveal our sinfulness and how very far we are from the perfection God is calling us to? Do we perhaps, like St. Peter, respond by a withdrawal on the surface level? How very important that we “put out into deep water,” and go deeper with Christ so that He can reveal in us what is deep within the human heart: that innate longing we have for intimacy with Him.

St. John of the Cross, in The Ascent of Mount Carmel, talks about the soul’s union with God and beautifully describes it as light coming in through a window (Ascent, Book II, Chapter 5, #6-8). The cleaner and clearer the window, he says, the more complete the transformation of that soul will be in God.

Think about what it is like to look out into your back yard early in the morning or late in the day, with the sun shining on the grass or on the trees outside. The window looks clean enough. But let that same sunlight shine directly into that window at just the right angle and you can see all too clearly the smudges and streaks that have been there all along.

That is what it is like when Jesus Christ shines His light into our souls. The closer we get to the Light the more we can see all the smudges. But that is not the final goal of the spiritual life! We are not supposed to see all the faults and failings in our lives and then pull down the window shade in shame and disappointment (“Depart from me, O Lord!”). No, we are called to clean the window:

A soul makes room for God by wiping away all the smudges and smears of creatures, by uniting it’s will perfectly to God’s; for to love is to labor to divest and deprive oneself for God of all that is not God.

When this is done the soul will be illumined by and transformed in God. And God will so communicate His supernatural being to the soul that it will appear to be God Himself and will possess what God Himself possesses…Yet truly, it’s being (even though transformed) is naturally as distinct from God’s as it was before, just as the window, although illumined by the ray, has being distinct from the ray’s.

—The Ascent of Mount Carmel, Book II, Ch. 5, #7

Is not this what we have always longed for deep within our heart of hearts? To be fully illumined and enlightened by the merciful love of God? To be totally transformed in Him? This is the Light that St. Peter longed for, even on that boat in Galilee, despite the words that came from his lips on that miraculous and meaningful encounter with Christ.

The same Christ is calling out to each of us today. He calls us to “put out into deep water” to go deeper with Him than ever in the spiritual life. Will we cling to Him in this coming week? Will we allow Him to clean our windows through prayer, the Eucharist, perhaps through a thorough and heartfelt sacramental confession? The light is shining on us this day. May it transform us into His very likeness and lead us on to the radiance of Christ.

Hope: The Killer of Giants

David Dispatches Goliath
by Flemish painter Peter Paul Rubens

(Wednesday of the of the Second Week in Ordinary Time-Year 2; This homily was given on 20 January, 2010 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See 1 Samuel 17:31-51)

What would have possibly possessed young David, in our first reading today, to believe that he could come up against such a lethal, malicious enemy as Goliath…and win? How could he have entered into combat with that mighty Philistine so completely sure of the victory?

Was it perhaps the recklessness of youth? His radical inexperience? Maybe he simply had not seen enough of the battlefield to know how very dire his situation was?

Was it perhaps supreme confidence in his own skill and ability? Remember, this is the same David who will quickly become a leader of men on the battlefield; he will soon become a brilliant tactician and general; a great warrior king. Perhaps he sensed that already within himself, beckoning him on to excellence and honor in battle.

Or was it raw courage? Was he simply the most courageous man in Israel? Was that what compelled him to act so boldly against the insolence of the Philistine?

I am sure that all of those things would have played some part in his battle with Goliath. Yet I would argue, above all else, that David acted the way he did because he was one who practiced the theological virtue of hope.

Now allow me to qualify what I mean by that. I do not mean that he really, really “hoped” he would not get squashed like a watermelon! It was more than mere wishful thinking that ushered David into battle. I mean that he practiced hope in the deepest and most theological sense of the word.

St. John of the Cross, in many of his works, writes about the theological virtues of faith, hope and love. He says that these are what enable us to be united to God. Hope, he goes on to describe, is the virtue that is most closely connected to the faculty of the soul we come to know as the memory.

That sounds a little strange, at first. Hope—the longing and desire deep within us which reaches out to grasp that which has not yet happened, that which lays in the future—this hope is connected to the memory we have of the things of our past.

Think about the people in your life that have been most faithful and loving, those gifts of God who have always been a source of comfort and strength. We look back and see that, time and again, they have been there for us and have never let us down. Suddenly we find ourselves in a difficult situation and we hold on unwaveringly to the belief that they will continue to remain with us and be there for us even now. That is the theological virtue of hope.

Of course, St. John of the Cross would insist that all our faculties—the memory, as well as the intellect and the will—are in constant need of purification. We must purge our memories, and allow God to purify them, of all that is not from Him, letting go of all that gratifies the self without God. Then we will have a pure hope which longs for and desires not many good things without God, but God first, and then all things in union with Him. We hope for the things that matter most because we recall that all the best things we have ever encountered come to us from God and the greatest of all these things is God Himself. That is a more complete picture of what St. John of the Cross would describe as hope.

David, in our first reading from 1 Samuel, practices that virtue beautifully. He stands before the king and tells him “Let your majesty not lose courage. I am at your service to go and fight this Philistine” (1 Samuel 17:32).

King Saul, for his part, is incredulous:

“You cannot go up against this Philistine and fight with him,” he tells David, “for you are only a youth, and he has been a warrior from his youth” (1 Samuel 17:33).

But David explains what he is convinced will happen by looking back to all that has happened in the past. He recalls how he would lead the flock of God and tend the sheep, and how the lambs were sometimes attacked by lions or bears. He defended them and always came out victorious.

But David is careful to see those moments of the past with his memory purified. He does not say, “I had the strength and skill to defeat those beasts, and so watch me wipe out this Philistine!” No, he does not insist on his expertise with a sling and a stone, even though that is ultimately what he will use to defeat the enemy. Instead David looks back and recalls things as they really were and insists that the victory is one that belongs to God: “The Lord,” he says. That is who will make all the difference:

The Lord, who delivered me from the claws of the lion and the bear, will also keep me safe from the clutches of this Philistine.
—1 Samuel 17:37

It is not David’s strength or his ability which will make the decisive difference here, but the Lord. Goliath may have the experience and power to crush young David but he is no match for almighty God! He discovers that quickly. David’s undying hope is the killer of giants, and the one weapon that no enemy can withstand.

Where do we most need to grow in the theological virtue of hope in our own lives right now? We, who have so many enemies in the Christian life, so many distractions and setbacks that keep us from growing in Christ and living for His Kingdom, are called to have a mighty hope which has the power to anchor our souls in God (see Hebrews 6:19).

How is God challenging us to purify our memories and to recall more deeply all the moments of His faithfulness and love toward us? We who have been forgiven so often by God, who have always been granted the grace and help we needed, who are constantly given light and peace when we need it most, whenever times are dark or difficult; we can trust most assuredly that the same God will be there for us now and always in the days to come.

May we learn well from David that—whatever insurmountable obstacles are before us, whatever Goliaths we encounter—hope is the killer of giants and the surest path to the promises that God offers to us today and always.

Advent...Yum!

(Wednesday of the of the First Week of Advent-Year C; This homily was given on 2 December, 2009 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Isaiah 25:6-10, Psalm 23 and Matthew 15:29-37)

Our readings for this Wednesday of the First Week of Advent are absolutely delicious! The Church provides for us this morning scrumptious Scriptures, delectable tidbits to munch on as we begin this Advent Season.

In Isaiah the Prophet, our responsorial psalm and in St. Matthew’s Gospel the focus today is on food. If you are hungry and thirsty for God then you have come to the right place!

Isaiah, who is our great prophet of hope every Advent, talks about the banquet of our salvation. He says that God will provide for us a delicious banquet “on this mountain” (Isaiah 25:6, 7, 10). What mountain is that? The one great mountain for the people of Israel to which Isaiah is referring is Mount Zion, Jerusalem:

Great is the Lord and greatly to be praised
in the city of our God.
His holy mountain, beautiful in elevation,
is the joy of all the earth.
Mount Zion, in the far north,
the city of the great King.
—Psalm 48:1

Isaiah speaks of the "veil that veils all peoples, the web that is woven over all nations" (Isaiah 25:7). He calls it by name: death. Death, in all its sorrow and despair, all its darkness and discouragement, God will destroy all of that “on this mountain.” And in its place He will provide for us a banquet:

On this mountain the Lord of hosts will provide for all peoples a feast of rich food and choice wines, juicy rich food and pure, choice wines.
—Isaiah 25:6

Yum! Isaiah reminds us that our salvation from death and the banquet of eternal life is not just a theological principle nor is it only a spiritual promise; it is something palpable, even physical. The God of heaven takes on human flesh and dwells among us. Isn’t that what we are celebrating here this Advent? Our salvation comes walking—quite literally—into our lives and takes His place “on this mountain.”

St. Matthew tells us this morning how Christ, the great King Himself, stands on the top of the mountain and breaks the bread that will be miraculously multiplied to feed the hungry crowd. It is a foreshadowing and a preparation for the gift of His body and blood to us in the Eucharist. Yet it is also a symbol for the sacrifice that He will make for our salvation on another mountain, Mount Calvary.

On that mountain Christ will allow His body to be broken on the altar of the cross and His blood to be poured out in love for the life of the world. That is the mountain where death is destroyed forever, the place where the veil which had veiled all peoples is lifted once and for all. Each time we gather for the celebration of the Eucharist we remember and truly make present that sacrifice. The sacrifice of Jesus Christ on the cross is re-presented to the Father and we come to recognize what the Psalmist meant this morning when he said:

You spread the table before me
in the sight of my foes…my cup overflows.
—Psalm 23:5

While the powers of darkness, the powers of Satan and of evil are constantly surrounding us and working so very hard to separate us from each other and separate us even from God, even then Christ the great King is spreading a table before us to nourish us and give us strength.

Have you thought of that lately? Has it occurred to you that in the midst of so many discouragements, so many disappointments and amidst all the tensions and difficulties that surround us all each day, God breaks into our lives to give us His strength? It is in the presence of those foes—whatever burdens we face each day—that God has set up His table on this mountain to give us His body and His blood; to provide a banquet of salvation even here, even now.

An important question we must ask ourselves this morning, though, is:

Am I prepared for that banquet?

Am I acquiring a taste for the things of God in my life?

Because the banquet of salvation and the things of God do not come automatically. They are indeed an acquired taste. We cannot drink deeply of the things of this world and eat richly from the table of this world and then also expect to be fully nourished at the banquet table of Christ.

Where are we being called to let go of the world and its pleasures a bit more this Advent? It might be a good thing, or even many good things that we are eating and drinking, but too much of a good thing can sometimes take us further away from the good God!

How is God challenging us to acquire a taste for the things of heaven and the drink deeply from this well and eat eagerly from this table where we are fed, nourished and strengthened with the bread of life and the cup of our eternal salvation?

How are we being called to acquire a taste for that heavenly banquet by being more attentive to the things we say to, or about, one another? Does our language and our speech build up the people around us or does it tear them down and devour?

Today let us be fed by Christ and strengthened in the Eucharist so that we may be all the more prepared to receive Him in the many ways He will come to us this Advent.

St. Catherine of Alexandria and Sedes Sapientia

St. Catherine of Alexandria by Caravaggio,
from the Thyssen-Bornemisza Collection, Madrid, Spain

(Wednesdayof the of the Last Week in Ordinary Time-Year B; This homily was given on 25 November, 2009 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Daniel 5:1-28 and Luke 21:12-19)

This morning the Church celebrates the Feast of St. Catherine of Alexandria. A fourth century virgin and martyr, St. Catherine not only had a great love for Christ and great love for the Church; she was also a brilliant philosopher, a true lover of wisdom. She is the patron saint of philosophers.

There is a remarkable story about St. Catherine who denounced the emperor (Maxentius, or perhaps his father Maximian; hagiographers are not quite sure) for persecuting Christians. Although the emperor could have killed her on the spot, instead he tried to refute her arguments but found himself unable to match her sharp intellect. Therefore he gathered fifty philosophers, intelligent minds from throughout the kingdom, thinking they would be able succeed where he had failed. He was wrong.

When the arguments were all over and the conversation complete, they all converted to the Christian faith! In retaliation the emperor had them burned alive before executing St. Catherine, as well. The words of Christ spoken in this morning’s Gospel can be applied quite directly to St. Catherine of Alexandria:

They will seize and persecute you, they will hand you over to synagogues and to prisons, and they will have you led before kings and governors because of my name. It will lead to you giving testimony.
—Luke 21:12-13

In a real and vital way, we also see Jesus’ words on wisdom taking flesh in the person of St. Catherine:

Remember, you are not to prepare your defense beforehand, for I myself shall give you a wisdom in speaking that all your adversaries will be powerless to resist or refute.
—Luke 21:14-15

St. Catherine was not able to testify and bear witness to Christ or convert her adversaries because she was the brightest girl in the kingdom (although she probably was). She was a powerful and effective witness for Christ because she was open to the wisdom of God which comes from above. She was docile to a divine knowledge which enabled her to speak courageously and clearly in the midst of trial and tribulation.

Is that not what we find in the first reading this morning in the prophet Daniel? He is the man who can read the writing on the wall. He knows how to unlock the secrets hidden in dreams and visions and to understand the difficulties and complexities of his time. But he did not accomplish all those things because he was the most intelligent captive in Babylon (although he probably was). In fact, it is King Belshazzar himself, who does not even believe in the God of Daniel, who tells us why Daniel has such wisdom:

I have heard that the Spirit of God is in you, that you possess brilliant knowledge and extraordinary wisdom.
—Daniel 5:14

Daniel had the Spirit of the living God in him. He was a man docile to the power of the Spirit and, like St. Catherine of Alexandria, he was able to surrender himself to a wisdom which was beyond him. Only when we can do that will we fully realize the potential of what God wants to reveal to, and in, us.

In his encyclical Fides et Ratio, our late Holy Father, John Paul the Great, spoke of the beauty and the dignity of philosophy and of holy wisdom. Philosophy is able to unlock so many of the secrets about humanity; it contributes greatly to the building up of the culture and serves to guide and order magnificently our way of life on earth.

But one of the challenges that philosophy faces is the temptation to separate itself from the ultimate truths revealed to us by God:

The Church considers philosophy an indispensible help for a deeper understanding of faith and for communicating the truth of the Gospel to those who do not yet know it…I wish to reflect upon this special activity of human reason. I judge it necessary to do so because, at the present time in particular, the search for ultimate truth seems often to be neglected.
—Fides et Ratio, #5

When philosophy and human wisdom set aside the ultimate truths revealed to us by faith and by God, then they themselves become impoverished. There is no competition between philosophy and theology, faith and reason. In the beginning of that encyclical, John Paul the Great says that faith and reason are like two wings upon which the human spirit soars to the heights to contemplate the truth. If we set aside the ultimate truths about who God is, who we are in the image of God, what the dignity of every human person is, then we are left with only one wing and as a result we remain earthbound.

At the end of the encyclical we are given a beautiful image that is near and dear to each of us in this chapel this morning: Sedes Sapientia. Our Lady, Seat of Wisdom. John Paul the Great says that is an image which helps us to understand what he is trying to communicate in Fides et Ratio.

The Blessed Virgin Mary was a woman completely docile to the Word that came to her. She did not fully understand it nor could she plumb the depths of all that God was beginning to reveal to her. Nonetheless she surrendered herself to God and, far from being less free and shackled, she became the very icon of freedom, fidelity and fruitfulness. Her “Fiat voluntas tua, Be it done to me according to thy word” (Luke 1:38), is the word surrendered in freedom which brings Christ into the world we live in.

Even so, says our late Holy Father, “when philosophy heeds the summons of the Gospel’s truth its autonomy is in no way impaired. Indeed it is then that philosophy sees all its enquiries rise to their highest expression” (Fides et Ratio, #108).

This is the goal of all philosophical thought and all theology, too: to be lifted up to the heights of all that God’s truth has in store for us here and in the world to come. Yet at times even theologians consider themselves or their own thought to be above the truths that have been revealed to us by God through the Magisterium, the teaching office of the Church. Here, too, does theology become impoverished.

Any theologian who considers himself or herself to be brighter than the teachings of the Church, above the wisdom which comes to us in a particular way through the Church’s Magisterium, is not doing theology; it would be closer akin to folly.

This morning we reflect upon our readings and ask ourselves:

Am I seeking the wisdom which comes from above?

Am I docile to the way that the Holy Spirit is leading me to enter more deeply, through philosophy and theology, into the mysteries of the Christian faith revealed to me by God?

Let us also long for and cry out for that same wisdom which came to the prophet Daniel and St. Catherine of Alexandria. May their merits and prayers, and those of Our Lady, Seat of Wisdom, Sedes Sapientia, help us to soar upon the heights of God’s truth and allow us to testify to it and share it with a world that is constantly seeking and searching for God.

Conquered by Christ

The Ressurection of Christ, by Peter Paul Rubens.
This magnificent Flemish masterpiece is found in

the Cathedral of Our Lady in Antwerp, Belgium.

(Monday of the of the 33rd Week in Ordinary Time-Year B; This homily was given on 16 November, 2009 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See 1 Maccabees 1:10-63 and Luke 18:35-43)

This morning’s first reading, from the First Book of Maccabees, relates to us a rather tragic series of events. We hear about King Antiochus Epiphanes and his ruthless opposition to the people of Israel. In the days to come we will hear in great detail about the torture and malevolence of his regime. His plan was for nothing less than the utter obliteration of the chosen people of God.

But that is not the tragedy I am referring to this morning. There is another, related tragedy mentioned in our first reading: that before Antiochus ever set out against the people of Israel there was already opposition from within, and a plan for their own demise:

In those days there appeared in Israel men who were breakers of the law, and they seduced many people, saying: “Let us go and make an alliance with the Gentiles all around us; since we separated from them, many evils have come upon us.”
—1 Maccabees 1:11

They saw, in the political climate of their day, an opportunity for advancing their own ends, even though it would come at the expense of the way of life God had called them to. 1 Maccabees relates how “they covered over the mark of their circumcision and abandoned the holy covenant” (1 Maccabees 1:15), taking on the way of life of the Gentiles among whom they lived.

This clever and advantageous way of life was then introduced to King Antiochus, who was more than willing and able to carry it out. The tragedy, of course, is that the people of Israel should have known better. They knew full well they were called by God to be holy. Instead they chose themselves over the way of life God had shown them, and soon the entire nation would suffer.

In our Gospel this morning we find that same internal dynamic, albeit to a much lesser extreme, in the story of the blind man who calls out to Christ for healing.

“Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me!” (Luke 18:38), that man cries out as he hears that Jesus is passing by. “Son of David,” of course, is a Messianic title; this man knew his theology! He knew that Jesus of Nazareth was the Messiah, the One who would come to save Israel; to open the eyes of the blind and set the prisoners free.

Nonetheless, the blind man cannot see the Messiah. He cannot reach out and touch Him or find his own way to the Christ, so he does the only thing he can: he cries out, over and over again, for help.

Tragically, the very people walking with Christ, the ones right out in front, do not do a single thing to help him. Instead, we are told, they try to stop him. They rebuke him and tell him to be silent. St. Augustine says that these represent our fellow believers in Christ who can sometimes become obstacles in the spiritual life (St. Augustine, Sermon 351). Through their discouragement or perhaps their actions and decisions they block the way for us to reach the source of healing and strength in Christ.

Yet at this point in the Gospel Christ does something that could easily go unnoticed. In response to that blind man calling out for help, Christ initially does…nothing. He does not reach out to him, nor does He move an inch in that blind man’s direction. No, instead, perhaps sensing a deeper crisis of blindness in the people walking with Him, He suddenly turns to them and orders them to bring the blind man to Him. He wants them to reverse the direction they are moving in and to go, spiritually speaking, in the opposite direction.

The great Protestant theologian, Dietrich Bonheoffer, says that on the battle field of life there are no rusty swords. We are either fighting for Jesus Christ—in all of the little and big decisions of our lives—or we are fighting against Him. The way we live and how we choose to treat those around us makes a difference in our spiritual lives and in our relationship with God.

This morning we can ask ourselves, “Which side am I fighting for? Which direction am I moving in?” Because when we look at these readings today and reflect carefully upon them, we should be able to recognize that the greatest enemy and adversary of our spiritual lives is not necessarily the one we find hardest to love or the person we seem to always be “bumping into” every day. Very often the enemy keeping us, and perhaps others, from spiritual growth is us.

That is the enemy who needs to be conquered, over and over again, each and every day, by Jesus Christ. We must allow ourselves to be conquered by Him and even long for it, because He is the only one who can truly conquer us with pure love, however painful that healing may be.

This morning Christ comes to us in the Eucharist to conquer us with His radical self-gift, His own body and blood which he sacrificed on the cross and now gives to us so that we, too, may become true gifts to the Father and to those around us.

Are we willing to be conquered by Christ?

Are we willing to allow Him to transform us in the furnace of His divine love?

If so then we, too, can be the people to whom Christ speaks in the Gospel this morning, the ones called to bring to the Messiah all who are blind, broken and hurting. May we bring them, and ourselves, before the Son of David so that our eyes may be opened and we may truly be made new in Him.

Saint Charles Borromeo and Counting the Cost

Painting of St. Charles Borromeo by Orazio Borgianni;
an altarpiece for San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane in Rome.

(Wednesday of the of the 31st Week in Ordinary Time-Year B; This homily was given on 4 November, 2009 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Luke 14:25-33)

Jesus Christ, in our Gospel this morning, talks about the cost of discipleship. By the end of that passage there is one thing that is perfectly clear: the price is a steep one. We must be willing to sacrifice everything:

If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.
—Luke 14:26-27

Nothing should keep us from following Jesus Christ; neither good things nor bad, neither obstacles nor difficulties, neither distractions nor discouragement. We reach out and cling to Christ, allowing Him to move us forward by His infinite grace and mercy.

The Church, in Her providence, has seen fit to give us today the Feast of St. Charles Borromeo as a tremendous example of what it means to count the cost and follow Christ.

St. Charles, at the age of 23, was created a cardinal of the Catholic Church by the newly elected Pope Pius IV, who was his uncle. You might be thinking, “Wow! Good for him,” but it wasn’t. It was a burden and a weight of responsibility which included the administration of the Church in Milan, care and protection of the Low Countries (today Belgium and the Netherlands), as well as Portugal, the religious orders of the Franciscans and the Carmelites, just to name a few.

But perhaps the heaviest burden was his inability to fulfill his deepest desire to serve the people of God in Milan. Instead he was kept in Rome, where his uncle had placed him in charge of the management of the papal court, the household, palaces and a great deal of other tasks. Having dispatched these responsibilities with due diligence and fervor, he was also more than aware of the dangers and temptations that could accompany life in those circumstances.

He confided in friends and leaned on them for support and prayers yet he was ever faithful and undistracted by the trappings of the world and society around him. He was undeterred in his ministry of service regardless of the time or place. St. Charles became one of the chief architects of the final sessions of the Council of Trent and a force for reform in everything he did. He put Jesus Christ first.

And so it was that he was finally able to attend to the Church at Milan and his reception was overwhelmingly positive. The people recognized the love he had for them and they responded in kind, love for love. He was thought well of and esteemed, and that too never became a distraction for St. Charles. He never became lost in the desire to be liked by everyone around him; he remained focused on Jesus Christ putting Christ at the center of his life, and for that reason he was able to effect change and bring about a much needed restoration of the Church in that place. He loved his people, as they say, "just as they were, but too much to leave them that way."

But his efforts and passion for reformation were met with much opposition. Many people loved St. Charles and revered him; many people also hated him. Some of them even tried to kill him. He was shot at twice. One time it was a near miss that struck the cross he was holding instead. The other time he was shot while praying in his own family chapel. The bullet hit him square in the back but miraculously did not enter his body and he was spared.

Not even that kind of opposition was able to distract nor discourage St. Charles from the ministry that God had called him to. He was indefatigable because he was keenly aware of the cost of discipleship and in every situation he placed Jesus Christ first, before those he loved most, before his own gifts and abilities, before all of the offices and responsibilities he possessed, before all the frustrations and difficulties he encountered on a regular basis, and before his very own self.

Brothers and sisters in Christ: what are the obstacles and difficulties, distractions and discouragement that you are experiencing right now? What are those crosses and sufferings which you have carried and labored under up until now? And what do you do with them?

Hopefully you are able to talk to brothers and sisters in Christ about those struggles, and hopefully that conversation takes place in a spirit of charity and not one of grumbling. God wants us to help each other carry the burdens and the crosses of life.

And hopefully you have also talked to God about those very same things. There is nothing wrong with asking God for a different cross, or a lighter one.

But ultimately we are called, when all is said and done, to do what Jesus Christ is asking each of us in the Gospel this morning when it comes to our crosses:

To pick them up,
and follow Him.