Samaria, A Different Kind of Love Story

(3rd Sunday of Lent-Year A; This homily was given on 23 & 24 February, 2008 at St. Mary's Church, Cranston, R.I.; See John 4:5-42)

The Bible is a book literally filled with stories: stories of tragedy, stories of triumph; sad stories, and stories that are often filled with hope. This weekend’s Gospel, however, contains a love story…but it is a different kind of love story.

Our story begins with the person of Jesus Christ (always a good place to begin a story) who comes to a well in the land of Samaria. St. John goes on to tell us that a Samaritan woman came to that same well to draw water, and that it was about noon. Noon. The middle of the day. In Samaria, at noontime, it was extremely hot. Why would someone come at noon to draw water?

Scholars tell us that women of this region would come in the morning to draw water. It was cooler, and they would gather there and converse about social and political life. It was a place of community; but the Samaritan woman is someone who would not have been welcomed in that community.

As Jesus pointed out, she had had five husbands, and the man she was now living with was not her husband. She would not have been very welcomed anywhere. For all of the relationships she has been a part of, she is a woman who is very much alone.

And so she comes to the well at noontime—alone—because she has much to hide, and many things she wishes to keep to herself. Noontime, for her, is a safe time. But noontime, when the sun is directly overhead, is also the only time of day when there are no shadows! Everything is laid bare before the sun (Son). There is no place to hide. And it is there, in that place and at that time, that she meets a man who will change her life forever. Again, it’s a love story, but a different kind of love story.

Right there by that well Christ begins a dialogue and a conversation of love with that Samaritan woman. We know that he spoke to her with love because in the course of that conversation he lays bare her deepest secret, the one thing that she would want to hide, especially from this Stranger…and even after that, she stayed!

What kind of acceptance must she have felt in the presence of this Divine Stranger? What compassion she must she have heard in His voice, to not leave immediately when He told her everything that she had done in her life. Never had she been accepted like that. Never had she been treated with such compassion and kindness. And before long, Christ begins to draw her even more deeply into that conversation. He offers her living water and a whole new experience of life.

“Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again,” Jesus tells her. “But whoever drinks the water I shall give will never thirst; the water I shall give will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

By the time their conversation is over her entire perspective has been changed; she has been renewed there, by the side of the well, and cannot wait to go back to the town where she lives—accepted or not—to announce with overwhelming joy: “Come, see a man who told me everything I have done. Could he possibly be the Christ?”

It is a powerful and beautiful story. Again, a different kind of love story…but it is also our story! St. Augustine says that the woman of Samaria represents all of us. She is a type or image of the Church. Christ is the one engaging us in dialogue and seeking to draw us into that conversation of love.

In the Christian tradition we have a specific name for that conversation between us and God; we have a special designation for that dialogue of love: Prayer. Christ thirsts for that conversation with each one of us. The Catechism of the Catholic Church, talking about this very gospel passage, says:

The wonder of prayer is revealed beside the well where we come seeking water: there, Christ comes to meet every human being. Whether we realize it or not, prayer is the encounter of God's thirst with ours. God thirsts that we may thirst for him.
—CCC, #2560

Are we giving God that time that He wants from us, time to be alone and quiet before Him? We began our Lenten journey just three short weeks ago, on Ash Wednesday, and in the gospel on that day Christ talked about three things: prayer, fasting and almsgiving. On this, the third Sunday of Lent, we need to take a closer look at that first one.

Are we placing ourselves before Christ in that conversation of love where He can renew and revive our spiritual lives? Are we surrendering ourselves each day to Him in that place where He can expose and lay bare those things in our lives that we need to change?

Christ does not want to shame us, or reject us when those things are revealed more clearly before Him. Quite the contrary, He wants to receive us, forgive us and draw us ever more deeply into that conversation of love with Himself. He wants to give us living water welling up for eternal life!

This weekend we come to discover, more and more completely, that Jesus Christ is thirsty! With that said, there is only one question that each of us needs to answer here in the middle of our Lenten journey: If God is that thirsty, are we?

The Spiritual Legacy of Pope John Paul II

(1st Sunday of Lent-Year A; This homily was given on 9 & 10 February, 2008 at St. Mary's Church, Cranston, R.I.; See Genesis 2:7-3:7)

St. Mary's Parish Mission:

Monday through Wednesday, February 11-13

Mass begins at 7:00pm each evening

If you had to pick one person in your life that has had the greatest influence on you, who would it be? Is there someone you emulate, whose example you try to follow in your own life? Maybe a teacher, a parent, or some famous person you admire and respect?

For me that question is an easy one: Our late Holy Father, Pope John Paul II. I have said many times that one of the greatest opportunities of my life was being able to study for the priesthood in the City of Rome. In that time I was able to meet Pope John Paul II twice, to attend some two dozen Masses that he celebrated, sometimes even serving as one of his deacons.

I began reading his works well before I ever entered the seminary, and he has truly had a profound impact and influence on me personally, and on my priesthood. And so, when the pastor asked me about a month ago to give our parish mission this year, the theme that naturally came to mind was: The Spiritual Legacy of Pope John Paul II. This coming Monday through Wednesday we will gather here at St. Mary’s to look more closely at this great legacy of truth and beauty that our late Holy Father has given us.

One of the major themes of the life and writings of Pope John Paul II is something that has come to be called the Law of the Gift. Evident in the core gospel message and taken directly from the teachings of the Second Vatican Council, John Paul II quotes it often as follows: Man only truly discovers himself through a sincere gift of himself.

In other words, I only truly know who I am, and why God created me, when I am able to give myself, in love, to God and those around me. Do you want to know why God made you? Why He put you here? Do you want to know how to be happy and joyful in this world? Those questions can only be answered fully, John Paul II would say, through a life lived "outside" of oneself. Man only truly discovers himself through a sincere gift of himself.

If we look closely on our first reading this weekend, from the Book of Genesis, we find the exact opposite in the Original Sin of Adam and Eve. They are not giving anything, to anyone. In fact, what they are doing is taking, in complete disobedience to the commandment of God. God had told them they could eat from any of the trees they wanted…except the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Yet that is exactly what they do anyway.

In that Original Sin, we find a pattern for every sin, a picture of our own sins against God and those around us. It consists, ultimately, in taking, selfishly doing what we want and not what God wants for us. St. Augustine says that when we sin we are living curvatus in se, curved in on ourselves. When that happens we are often the ones that suffer the most. Sin makes us miserable; when we act selfishly and fail to love God and those around us, we are the ones that become diminished, less and less the men and women we were always created to be.

In St. Paul’s New Testament Letter to the Romans, the Apostle shares his own inner struggle with sin (see Romans 7:15-25). He describes how he recognizes a law at work within himself: The very thing he would want to do, he says, he does not do. But then he recognizes that there are things he should avoid and not do…but he goes right ahead and does them anyway! With great exasperation, he cries out in that letter:

Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?
—Romans 7:24

Who will save him from this awful struggle? And then he triumphantly answers his own question:

Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!
—Romans 7:25

The solution to the problem of Original Sin is not found in me, or you, or St. Paul. The cure for selfishness and a life lived curvatus in se is not found in that latest self-help book or on the Oprah Winfrey Show! The solution to the great struggle with sin and our incapacity to give ourselves truly to God and those around us is found in the person of Jesus Christ! I would recommend that He does that in three ways.

Firstly, God takes on a body. God becomes man and takes on our human nature. He weds His own divine life to our humanity, forming an unbreakable bond with the human race. It is in that body, then, that He teaches us how to love, how to live, and how to give. Jesus Christ loves and forgives even His enemies, and shows us what it means to give ourselves to God and neighbor. He gives His body over to be crucified in total obedience and love to His Father’s will, and for the forgiveness of our sins.

Secondly, just so that we would not miss or forget that great self-offering—as if we could ever forget something like that—He makes it a sacrament. He takes bread and wine, and says, “This is my body, which will be given up for you.” And he tells them, “This is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven.”

Yes, this total offering and gift of Himself on the cross, this gift of His body for the forgiveness of sins, is now given to His bride, the Church, in the Sacrament of the Eucharist. We become united to Him, to His body and blood, His soul and divinity; that marriage between divinity and humanity is fulfilled in us!

And finally, after God takes on a body, after He gives us His body, and is living in us, and we in Him, He sends us out to proclaim the gospel and give ourselves like we never could before. Now that God lives in us, we have the ability to fulfill the Law of the Gift and truly live like Christ in this world.

I mention those three things specifically because those are the themes that I will be speaking on for the three days of our mission.

On Monday night, we will look at John Paul II’s teachings on the “Theology of the Body,” how God becomes man and shows us, in His body, the full gift of love when He unites Himself to and marries our humanity. We will see how He has left an undeniable stamp of this desire for unity in the hearts, souls, minds and bodies of every single one of us.

On Tuesday we will look at our late Holy Father’s teachings on the Eucharist. The last Encyclical Letter John Paul II wrote was on the Eucharist. In October, 2004, he introduced the Year of the Eucharist, and he died in the middle of it. One of his last gifts to the Church is found in his teachings on the Eucharist. We’ll look at that on Tuesday.

Finally, on Wednesday night we will look at Pope John Paul II’s “plan” for the third millennium, how we are all called to go out and live the Christian message and bring the Good News of Christ to those around us.

Please consider joining us this Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday night, at 7:00pm each evening, for the Parish Mission. Each night of the mission will be in the context of the Mass, as we draw ever closer to Christ, our Bridegroom, and listen to The Spiritual Legacy of Pope John Paul II.

How is God challenging you and me to draw closer to Christ this Lent, and to live the Law of the Gift, giving ourselves more freely and completely to God and those around us?

Repentance, Renewal, New Life...Now!

(Ash Wednesday-Year A;This homily was given 6 February, 2008, at St. Mary's Church, Cranston, R.I.; read Matthew 6:1-18, 2 Corinthians 5:20-6:2)

How many times have you received ashes on your forehead and listened to the message of repentance and renewal that is proclaimed every Ash Wednesday?

How many times have you begun this Lenten journey with prayer, fasting and almsgiving, the practices which Christ talks about in the gospel this day?

So then, what is different about this Ash Wednesday, 2008, and what is different about this Lent, than every other one that has come before it? The answer, I believe, is found in our second reading, from St. Paul.

St. Paul, writing to the church at Corinth, to the church that he founded; to the church that he preached the gospel to, and taught the message of forgiveness and the mercy of God; about how Jesus Christ suffered and died for us on the cross to offer us everlasting life and an intimate relationship with Himself; to that church, and the men and women he loved, St. Paul offers a most serious and sober warning:

We appeal to you not to receive the grace of God in vain.
—2 Corinthians 6:1

In other words, St. Paul is warning them—in love—not to listen to this great message of mercy and forgiveness, not to hear God’s offer of intimacy and love, and then fail to respond to it.

It would be better to have never heard of Christ and the gospel message, than to have heard and understood it and then live as if we do not belong to Him. Do not do that, St. Paul is warning them…and us.

Continuing, he goes on to quote the words of God to His people in the Old Testament, taken from the Prophet Isaiah:

In an acceptable time I heard you, and on the day of salvation I helped you.

And then, finally, he gives the answer to the question I asked at the beginning of this homily, about why this Ash Wednesday and this Lent is different from any other one before it, and why this moment is different for the church at Corinth than any other moment:

“Now,” says St. Paul, “is the very acceptable time;
behold, now is the day of salvation.”
(2 Corinthians 6:2)

Now is the time that Christ is working in our lives.

Last year, last Lent, however well or poorly we responded to God, all that is over. We cannot change a single thing that has happened to this point.

But right now is the day of salvation, when Jesus Christ is calling us to Himself, to turn from sin and be faithful to the gospel.

Now we are called to respond to this great message of grace and mercy.

Now we are called to an intimate and growing relationship with God.

How are we called to pray, fast and give alms at this moment, at this time in our lives? How is God challenging us to make this Lent different by giving ourselves totally and completely to Him…

Now.

Beatitude Adjustment

(4th Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year A; This homily was given 2 & 3 February, 2008, at St. Mary's Church, Cranston, R.I.; Read Matthew 5:1-12)

Do you need a “beatitude adjustment?” That is the question we are forced to ask ourselves this weekend in light of Jesus’ teachings in the Sermon on the Mount. Christ begins that great oration with what we have come to know as the Beatitudes.

The word “beatitude,” is a Latin word that means “blessed” or “happy,” and we discover right away that Jesus is not talking about the blessedness or happiness that we usually hear about in our culture.

When people talk about happiness, what they often mean is someone who has the wealth, power or influence to live the way they want to; many see happiness as a life without troubles or difficulties, basically carefree. It is a life—at the very least—without pain, suffering or sorrow.

Jesus takes that vision of happiness and turns it upside down in our gospel! He stands on the mountaintop and boldly proclaims:

Blessed are the poor in spirit…Blessed are they who mourn…Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness…Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness…
—Matthew 5:3-12

We can imagine the reaction of the people listening to that message for the very first time. They must have been scratching their heads, and asking:

How on earth are these people happy?

For heaven’s sake, what kind of blessedness is that?

What Christ was challenging them—and also every one of us—to do is to make a “beatitude adjustment;” to look at happiness, blessedness, and even eternal life from a fresh perspective. Christ challenges us to see this earth and heaven itself, in an entirely different way.

One of the greatest works of Christian literature ever produced is the Italian classic, The Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri. It is a powerful story about the journey to eternal life and beatitude, but that story begins on a very sad and sorry note. Dante begins in medias res, revealing the consequences of a life poorly lived:

Midway on our life’s journey, I found myself
In dark woods, the right road lost.

He was lost, alone and in the dark, seemingly without God. But then, suddenly, he looks up and his entire perspective changes. He sees the mountain of God, way off in the distance, shining in the sun. He recognizes that this is what he has been missing, this is the vision God has called him to, and his heart quickens. He immediately makes his way towards that mountain, resolute on its ascent.

No sooner does he begin his climb, however, when he encounters three terrifying and ferocious beasts: the leopard, the lion and the she-wolf. They each represent—in Dante’s world—the things within us which are base and most opposed to the vision of God.

The leopard, beautiful to look at but very dangerous, represents all the sensual pleasures of this life. The lion, “his head held high” represents pride, arrogance and self-importance. Finally, the she-wolf embodies the cravings we have for the things of this world only: it is our greed, lust, and all those earthly vices that are never satiated, never satisfied.

Cleary Dante is no match for these creatures, and so he is forced to turn his vision, instead, downward…all the way down. He journeys into the depths of the Inferno, in the realm of Hell, and there he sees the men and women who have made the worse choices of all. He looks at sin and all its ugly consequences, and it makes him physically sick.

Eventually he makes his way up into the Purgatorio, where he begins to become purified, purged of all self love. He now understands clearly how very much he is in need of God’s mercy and forgiveness, and how willing God is to pour out that mercy!

Only now is he ready and capable of taking in the vision that captured his heart from the very beginning! He has received a “beatitude adjustment,” and he is ready to enter into the Paradiso, and to stand with all the blessed in heaven, beholding God Himself for all eternity.

Are we ready to make that same adjustment in our own life? Are we ready to adjust our vision of ourselves so that we can take in the beauty and majesty of the living God?

One of the most beloved saints down through the centuries has been “the poverello” from the small Italian city of Assisi, St. Francis. His humility and holiness are renowned. Catholic author G. K. Chesterton describes how Francis’ conversion and transformation came about through a series of ongoing humiliations. Willingly and voluntarily, as well as through the mysterious action of God, St. Francis was stripped of everything that would have given him comfort and consolation in this world.

It was, Chesterton describes, as if Francis’ life was slowly turned upside down. He was forced to see life from an entirely different perspective: one of total and absolute dependence upon God. That, describes Chesterton, is the way we should all view the world around us.

In his biography on the life of St. Francis, Chesterton says:

If a man saw the world upside down, with all the trees and towers hanging head downwards as in a pool, one effect would be to emphasize the idea of dependence… He would be thankful to God for not dropping the whole cosmos like a vast crystal to be shattered into falling stars.

Perhaps St. Peter saw the world so, when he was crucified head downwards… men have said “Blessed is he that expecteth nothing, for he shall not be disappointed.”

It was in a wholly happy and enthusiastic sense that St. Francis said, “Blessed is he who expecteth nothing, for he shall enjoy everything.” It was by this deliberate idea of starting from zero…that he did come to enjoy even earthly things as few people have enjoyed them.

That, in the words of G.K. Chesterton, is St. Francis’ “beatitude adjustment.” It is what enabled him to see that his own happiness, blessedness, and everything else in this world, was completely dependent upon God.

Now let us read Jesus’ teaching of the beatitudes in that key. Christ says:

Blessed are the poor in spirit…

Why are they blessed? Because they are totally dependent upon God to provide for them in everything…and He will!

Blessed are they who mourn…

Why are they blessed? Because they are not dependent upon the good things and good feelings of this life for happiness; their happiness, their consolation and their joy completely depends upon God…and He is so ready and willing to give them that consolation and joy!

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness…

Why are they blessed? Because they are not dependent upon the justice and satisfaction of this world only; they have a satisfaction and a justice—and mercy—that comes from God Himself. How could they not be blessed by that?


How is God challenging us to embrace these beautiful and rewarding teachings in our own lives? How are we called to make a “beatitude adjustment?”

How are we being called this week to recognize, along with Dante, that we are sinners in desperate need of the mercy of God, and that He has a desperate desire to give us that mercy?

How are we called to stand on our heads, and like St. Francis, to see the world around us as totally dependent upon God?

May we truly come to see how blessed we are by God in this life, and receive in its fullness the beatitude He is calling us to in eternal life.

Light in the Darkness

(3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year A; This homily was given 26 & 27 January, 2008, at St. Mary's Church, Cranston, R.I.; Read Isaiah 8:23-9:3 and Matthew 4:12-23)

Our gospel this weekend tells the story of new beginnings: the start of Jesus’ public ministry, the calling of the first Apostles, Peter and Andrew, James and John. In many ways it is also a very personal story for me, but we’ll come back to that.

St. Matthew tells us that it all began “in Capernaum by the sea, in the region of Zebulun and Naphtali” (Matthew 4:13). Where on earth are Zubulun and Naphtali? Those are two names we almost never hear in our Sunday readings, yet this weekend we hear them mentioned several times, in the first reading from Isaiah the prophet and in the Gospel of St. Matthew.

Zebulun and Naphtali, to go back to the Old Testament, were two of the twelve tribes of Israel. Remember that the twelve tribes were named after the twelve sons of Jacob; when they established themselves in the Promised Land, Zebulun and Naphtali settled into the region of the north, near the Sea of Galilee.

The north of Palestine was a region rich in natural resources and abundant in opportunities; they enjoyed a tremendous fishing industry on the Sea of Galilee, as we hear in all the gospels. But because that region was so close to the bordering nations, it was also the most vulnerable and exposed. Time and again in the nation’s history the land of Zebulun and Naphtali had been invaded and devastated by the enemies of Israel.

In the 8th century B.C., the nation of Assyria had come in and wiped them out, carrying many of the people into exile, and worse, repopulating the land with their own. The unity of culture and faith of the tribes to the north had been broken and dissipated. It was for that reason that Isaiah the prophet and St. Matthew both referred to it as “Galilee of the Gentiles,” and “a land overshadowed by death” (Matthew 4:15-16). It was a place of brokenness; a place of sorrow; a place of darkness.

And it is precisely in that place where Jesus Christ, the Messiah, begins to restore the twelve tribes of Israel, to heal the nation and to renew the face of the earth! I would suggest this weekend that this gospel passage teaches us three vital and important things about God.

Firstly, God comes to us in the darkness. When we are broken, afraid, confused and filled with sorrow, when the world around us turns dark and we feel most powerless, God comes to us. He brings us the light that we could never manufacture on our own, the light who comes to us in the person of Jesus Christ, the Light of the World.

Secondly, when He comes into our lives He immediately calls us out of darkness and into relationship with Himself, the Light. The first words He speaks in the land of Zebulun and Naphtali this weekend, the opening address in His public ministry, echoes the familiar command:

Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.
—Matthew 4:17

Christ calls us to leave behind everything that keeps us from drawing closer to God; to turn away from sin and from every form of selfishness and to embrace the gospel message of grace, forgiveness and new life in the kingdom of heaven. We are called to live lives of repentance and to be united to the Light that is Christ.

Finally, once the Light comes into our darkness, once He has called us out of darkness and into His own wonderful light (see Colossians 1:13), it is then that He sends us out as apostles of light to bring the good news of the gospel to those who remain in darkness.

As we hear in the Gospel of Matthew, He calls Peter and Andrew, James and John to follow Him and become “Fishers of Men.” They will bring His gospel from the lands of Zebulun and Naphtali to the far reaches of the world, giving their very lives for the message of hope, forgiveness, and new life in Christ. By all means it is a powerful story for us to reflect on this weekend.

But as I mentioned at the beginning of this homily, it is also a very personal story. For several years of my life I lived in darkness; not geographically in the lands of Zebulun and Naphtali, but spiritually in the dark because I was not practicing my faith in Jesus Christ. I was not putting God in the center of my life. Instead, I put myself in the center and did whatever I wanted to do. Because of that I was spiritually in darkness.

There were questions in my life that I did not have any answers for:

Why am I here?

Why did God make me and what am I supposed to do with my life?

At that time I was working in the dark…literally! I was working third shift at Stop & Shop, and one night a commercial came on the radio at about three o’clock in the morning (Truth be told, it was the hard rock station, because that is what we listened to at three o’clock in the morning on the graveyard shift. If you go to the supermarket near you at three o’clock in the morning, that’s what you’ll listen to, like it or not!).

The commercial went something like this:

Do you feel called to serve other people?

Do you have gifts for spreading the gospel message?

Maybe you are being called to the Catholic priesthood.

I remember standing there, listening to that commercial in the middle of the night, and thinking: “You’ve got to be kidding me. Do they have any idea who listens to this station at three o’clock in the morning? People like me! They would have a better chance getting me to become a Catholic priest!”

I had no idea that God was trying—right then—to do that very thing. It was only over the course of the next few years that I began to realize that Jesus Christ had come to me in the darkness and began to call me into the light with Him. He began to call me into a deeper and more intimate relationship with Him than I could have ever imagined.

Everything in my life began to change: my relationship with my parents, with friends, with people I worked with. Everything was different. I found myself not only at Sunday Mass, but even at daily Mass now, with my parents, strengthened in the word of God and in the sacraments of the Church.

And then He began to send me out to share that same message of hope and the same joy that I had found in Christ. He sent me into the seminary to prepare for a life of ministry, a life of service. He sent me to Rome to finish my studies and formation for the priesthood. He sent me to Our Lady of Mercy in East Greenwich to proclaim the gospel message of forgiveness, mercy and eternal life. And praised be Jesus Christ, in July of 2007 He sent me here to St. Mary’s in Cranston to announce that same message of hope. I am a Roman Catholic priest, and I love what God has called me to do and the life that I have been given by Him!

That is my story.

What I ask this weekend is: What is your story?

Where do you feel the darkness in your own life? Where are the places that you are broken, anxious or fearful and feel alone or in the dark?

God comes to us in the darkness, and calls us into a deeper, more intimate relationship with Himself. How is He calling you out of darkness and into His light?

And most importantly of all, how is He calling all of us, this week, to be sent out and to share that message of hope and the Light that is Jesus Christ with those who remain even now in the dark? How are we called to bring the Light of Christ to a world that desperately needs it?

"Behold, the Lamb of God!"

(2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year A; This homily was given 19 & 20 January, 2008, at St. Mary's Church, Cranston, R.I.; Read John 1:29-34)

When people talk about you, what do they say? That’s a dangerous question, isn’t it? When the people who know you best say something about you, what do they say?

I ask that question because this weekend we are given one of those rare gospel passages in which Jesus doesn’t utter a single word about Himself or anyone else. We are completely dependent upon St. John the Baptist to speak to us about Jesus. And what he has to say is significant.

The Baptist spots Christ at the River Jordan, and immediately upon recognizing Him declares:

Behold, the Lamb of God,
who takes away the sin of the world.
—John 1:29

It sounds familiar enough to us, but what it meant for the people of Jesus’ time was nothing short of remarkable. The lamb was central to the religious life of the people of Israel. When they were rescued from the land of Egypt, only those who had sprinkled their doorposts with the blood of the lamb, and had eaten the lamb as their Passover meal were saved. The sacrifice of the lamb would become a sign of their salvation, a perpetual remembrance of their freedom, and a sign of their new life from God.

Once they became established in the Promised Land and built the Temple in Jerusalem, every day—right up to the time of Christ—the priests would offer the sacrifice of a lamb in atonement for the sins of the people. Remember, John the Baptist’s father was a priest of the temple. John would have understood all this.

When he cries out: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world,” he is announcing that the Messiah has arrived and the time has come for the salvation of all, for forgiveness, once and for all. It’s a powerful statement: The time has come for them to be forgiven, and for all sin to be taken away!

But what kind of impact does such a statement have for us? What does it mean for us that Jesus has come to “take away the sins of the world”? In our culture, and in the world we live in, many say that there is a loss of the sense of sin. To even suggest that there is such a thing as “living in sin” or to consider that we ourselves might be in a “state of sin” at any given time is almost unheard of.

Pope John Paul the Great, in one of his earlier documents called Reconciliation and Penance, writes about this loss of the sense of sin. He talks about the weakening of the moral conscience—our ability to recognize within our hearts right from wrong—and says:

It happens not infrequently in history that the moral conscience of many people becomes seriously clouded . . . Too many signs indicate that such an eclipse exists in our time . . . It is inevitable therefore that in this situation there is an obscuring also of the sense of sin.
—Reconciliatio et Paenitentia, # 18

The Holy Father connects this loss of the sense of sin to several different factors in our contemporary culture, and you don’t need to be an expert in theology or culture to recognize them.

The first one he mentions is what is commonly called secularism. John Paul II defines it as “a movement of ideas and behavior which advocates a humanism totally without God.” We place all of our focus on this world only; all our eggs are in this one basket. We look to our own accomplishments, our own careers, and even good endeavors like work and family, yet totally without reference to God. That is secularism.

Quoting what he had said earlier in his first Encyclical Letter, Redemptor Hominis, John Paul II talks about how man can build a world without God; it is certainly possible. But that world, he says, will end by turning against him.

Isn’t that what we see on a global scale, with nations destroying each other in the absence of any real search for the will of God? Don’t we see this even on a more personal level, when we try to create our own little space or world without God in it? That world, in the end, will turn against us. Secularism, then, is the first factor which leads to a loss of the sense of sin.

The second factor that has caused a loss of the sense of sin in our culture is what could be termed “pop psychology.” It is not really psychology at all, but a mistaken understanding of the human person which “leads to a refusal to admit any shortcoming.” In other words, we simply explain our sin away and excuse ourselves as a product of our environment.

The problems in my life are because of my upbringing.

It is my parents’ fault.

My boss is no good.

It’s all because of my kids.

Everyone else is to blame for my situation; everyone but me.

To fall back on that kind of mentality is to loose all sense of responsibility for my own actions and to loose the sense and meaning of personal sin.

The third factor that John Paul II mentions is moral relativism. Relativism is to say that something certainly could not be a sin all the time. Times change, and people change. So what used to be a sin a long time ago, now that everyone is doing it, must no longer be a sin.

Perhaps an example would be helpful. It used to be a serious sin, years ago, to miss Mass on Sunday. But now we all know lots of people who miss Mass all the time. Therefore, it must not be a sin anymore…right? Wrong! Not going to Mass on Sunday is a grave sin. It was years ago, and it still is today. In fact, 20 years from now, to miss Mass will still be a grave sin, because we are called to come here to worship God.

God calls us together each week to be strengthened in our faith and in the Sacraments of the Church, and to live differently than the rest of the world around us. We are created to worship God, and to give Him the praise that is due. Failure or refusal to do that, as we are guided by the teachings of the Church handed down to us by Christ, without any legitimate excuse, is sin. Defining it as anything else, and pointing to our culture and a changing social climate as the answer, is relativism.

Finally, John Paul II points to a practical atheism as a source of the loss of the meaning or sense of sin so prevalent in our times. Few of us would ever say, “God does not exist.” But we live our lives sometimes as if He did not exist. That is practical atheism.

We live as if we will never stand before God in judgment.

We live as if we will never answer to God for the sins that we have committed.

We live as if it were not at all possible that God could deny us access to the Kingdom of Heaven because of the actions, choices, or decisions we have made here on this earth.

To live in that way is practical atheism, and it causes a loss of the sense of sin.

But why are these things so serious? Why bother spending the time trying to understand them? Because when we lose the sense of sin in our lives, we also lose the mercy and forgiveness of God right along with it.

God says to us, whenever we have sinned: “I want to forgive you; I want you to know my mercy and to know my love. I sent my Son to suffer and die on the cross so that you could be forgiven. I want you back.”

To deny the sense of sin in our lives is essentially to say, “God, no thank you. I don’t want your forgiveness. I don’t need your mercy. I’m fine just the way I am!”

The late Archbishop Fulton Sheen would often say that sin is not the worst thing in the world. The worst thing in the world is the denial of sin. He once received a phone call from a woman whose brother was dying in the hospital. She described her brother not simply as a bad man, but as an evil man. He was a very rough character. Over 20 priests had been in to see him on his deathbed, and he had thrown them all out! As a last resort, his sister asked Fulton Sheen for help.

Realizing that he would fare no better than the other priests, Sheen stayed only 15 seconds on his first visit, and said nothing. The next day he came back and stayed for 20 seconds. Again he said nothing. After 40 days he was finally staying for up to 15 minutes a visit, and it was then that he finally broke the silence:

“William,” he said, “you are going to die tonight.”

“I know,” was the man’s reply.

“I am sure you want to make your peace with God,” Sheen said to him.

“No, I do not. Get out.”

Realizing that he wasn’t going to get through, Fulton Sheen agreed to leave, but before he did he went over to the man and said to him,

“Just one thing. Promise me that before you die tonight, you will say, ‘Jesus, have mercy’.”

He said, “I will not. Now get out.”

Later that night, one of the nurses called Fulton Sheen to tell him that the man had died, and she said that he had died well.

“Why would you say that,” he asked.

She said, “Because from the moment you left the room, he began to say, ‘Jesus, have mercy,’ and didn’t stop until the moment he died.”

We can deny the sin in our lives only so much, but eventually, we must bring it before God. Now, or later, we must acknowledge that we are in need of the forgiveness of God, and when we can do that, then we will be able to recognize fully that God is so filled with mercy, so ready to embrace us, so overwhelmingly in love with us.

And the ones who are able to recognize that are the ones most qualified and capable of proclaiming it to the world we live in, a world that desperately needs to hear the message about God’s mercy.

Who will be the one to tell them? Will you be the one in your world this week to tell others that God is merciful? Will you be the one to stand up with St. John the Baptist and point to Jesus Christ, saying, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world”?

Baptism of the Lord

(Feast of the Baptism of the Lord; I did not preach this weekend, so I would like to post this homily from the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord that was given back in 2005, at my first assignment at Our Lady of Mercy in East Greenwich; See Matthew 3:13-17)

Imagine Tiger Woods asking you for some help improving his golf swing, or Donald Trump asking you for financial advice. That must have been how John the Baptist felt when Jesus came to the Jordan River to be baptized.

Think about it. People from all over Judea were coming to John to repent of their sins. Suddenly the Son of God steps into the water. John’s reaction is one we can all understand. He tries to prevent Jesus from being baptized: “I need to be baptized by you, and yet you are coming to me?” Nonetheless, Jesus insists; but why? Why does the Son of God—who is without sin—need to be baptized?

We could look to the Christian Sacrament of Baptism, which teaches us how the one being baptized receives new life in the Holy Spirit…But Christ is already one with the Holy Spirit; in fact, He can never be separated from the Holy Spirit. There can be only one reason why Jesus is baptized and why He receives the Holy Spirit. It’s the same reason He took on human nature to begin with.

St. Cyril of Alexandria says He receives the Holy Spirit in His human nature, not for His own advantage, but for ours. He says Christ “receives it to renew our nature in its entirety and to make it whole again, for in becoming man he took our entire nature to himself.”


And so, it is for our sake that Jesus is baptized in the Jordan by John. It is for us that He comes to identify Himself with sinners whom He will eventually die for. It is for us that the Holy Spirit descends upon Christ in the form of a dove, as the heavens are opened and the Father declares:

This is my beloved son, with whom I am well pleased.
—Matthew 3:17

When Christ takes our human nature and cleanses it in the waters of the Jordan, he begins the Father’s will to renew all of humanity, and in a certain sense he prepares each of us for our own baptism. Each one of us, in baptism, is cleansed of original sin, and the Holy Spirit comes upon us, and the Father claims us as His own. In a certain sense, He says to each of us:

"This is my beloved son," or "This is my beloved daughter," "in whom I am well pleased."

But this renewal and new life that begins at baptism is not something that happens without our cooperation. We need to be open to the gift of life which God gives us in Jesus, and willing to respond to the promptings of the Holy Spirit all throughout our lives. It is an ongoing process.

You might remember that in the late 1970s, in El Salvador, there was constant terror and turmoil as a corrupt military dictatorship frequently sent out death squads to punish anyone who opposed it. At that time Archbishop Oscar Romero was appointed to lead the archdiocese, and as far as the government was concerned, he was the perfect man for the job: He was a shy, timid man who kept his mouth shut.

Within a few short weeks of his appointment, though, everything changed. A very close friend of his, a Jesuit priest named Fr. Rutilio, was shot and killed by one of the death squads. It is said that when his body was brought before Oscar Romero, the archbishop wept uncontrollably, and remained that way all night as he prayed by the coffin of his friend.

The following Sunday, Romero cancelled every Mass in the archdiocese except for the one which he would say, a memorial service in the cathedral. More than 100,000 people attended the Mass, and one eyewitness described Romero as sweating, pale and nervous.

He said, “It was as if the archbishop was reluctant to go through the door of history that God was opening up for him.” But after a few minutes, the same witness said, “Suddenly, I felt as if the Holy Spirit had descended upon him.”

The archbishop then demanded an investigation into the killing. El Salvador’s military government was furious. And for the next three years, until he too was killed by the death squads, Romero broadcasted weekly homilies throughout the country, assuring the people that the Church was with them in their suffering.

Now baptism and the gift of the Holy Spirit may not lead us to sacrifice our lives in the same way Archbishop Romero did, but we, too, are called to an openness to the Holy Spirit, to be led by the Spirit, and to be moved outside of ourselves.

Because we will never be truly happy in this life until we learn how to give of ourselves. We are only fulfilled when we learn how to give ourselves away, and it is the Holy Spirit who teaches us to do that. The Holy Spirit moves us and guides our lives—if we will let Him—so that we can begin to live more completely, more joyfully, that call we received at our own baptism.

So often people are waiting for some person or event that will change their lives and help them to find true meaning and purpose. But what if that event has already happened on the day of our baptism? What if that person we are waiting for is Jesus Christ, Whose very own we became at our baptism?

This weekend we ask for the grace to recognize that we have received new life from Christ in the sacrament of baptism. We have gone down into the waters with Him; we have received the gift of the Holy Spirit and heard the voice of the Father saying, "This is my beloved son," or "this is my beloved daughter," "in whom I am well pleased."

Let us be open to this gift today, open to the direction the Holy Spirit is leading us in, and learn how to give ourselves more completely to Christ, who has given Himself completely to us.

Mary, the Beautiful Mother of God

(Solemnity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God; This homily was given on 1 January, 2008 at St. Mary's Church, Cranston, R.I.; See Numbers 6:22-27 & Luke 2:16-21)

Do you think that Mary was beautiful? I mean, would she stand out in a crowd? If she lived in our time, would she be approached by modeling agents, or asked to do commercials for Oil of Olay? Whenever Mary is depicted in Christian art she is always beautiful. Think about Michelangelo’s Pieta. Even in modern times, in movies like The Passion of the Christ or The Nativity Story, the face of Mary is always beautiful.

But whatever Mary looked like, her Son most likely had similar features. It is very likely that the face of Jesus looked a lot like the face of Mary; Jesus may have had Mary’s eyes, or her nose. She gave birth to a Son, and gave to Him everything concerning His human nature, everything that each of our own mothers has given to us. She gave God a face.

But because her child was also God, she is rightly called the Mother of God. We honor her this morning under that title, Mary, Mother of God. This young woman from the small town of Nazareth gave birth to the Son of God! God, who is invisible, pure spirit, “whom no human being has seen or can see” (1 Timothy 6:16), as Scripture describes Him, is suddenly made visible in Christ Jesus, God made flesh. He is given a body, given a face, and the invisible God is made visible through Mary.

In the gospel this morning the shepherds come to adore Him and they behold the glory of God in the face of a little baby in a manger. That beautiful blessing that God mentions to Moses in the first reading, “May the Lord let his face shine upon you, and be gracious to you” (Numbers 6:25), in a literal way that blessing is bestowed upon these humble shepherds. They went to that manger that night, and beheld the face of God!

The blessing given to those shepherds (and also to every one of us), and the face of God Himself, come to this world through Mary. But what Mary does for Christ she also wants to do in our lives, as well. She who brought Christ physically into this world continues to bring about life in the Church through her role as Mother.

This is significant for us, because we are the ones striving to become what Mary has already become, seeking to enter our true home in heaven, where Mary has already arrived. By her prayers and example, she helps us on our way. She, whose face is radiant as She beholds the face of God, helps us to become radiant as well.

Because, in a particular way, we are the face of Christ for those who are searching for God. The invisible God is made visible now through us, for we are the body of Christ on earth.

Do the people around us—those we encounter on a daily basis—see the face of God as beautiful?

Will they recognize, by our words and actions, that God is beautiful and that He is truly present in this world?

As we enter into a whole New Year in 2008, may we become that blessing which God desires to bestow on the world we live in. May we live lives that proclaim that blessing, announcing to all:

The LORD bless you and keep you!

The LORD let his face shine upon you, and be gracious to you!

The LORD look upon you kindly and give you peace!

Subordination and the Holy Family

(Feast of the Holy Family; This homily was given on 29 & 30 December, 2007 at St. Mary's Church, Cranston, R.I. Read Ephesians 5:21-33, Colossians 3:12-21 & Matthew 2:13-23)

This weekend, for the Feast of the Holy Family, there is a choice for the second reading, part of St. Paul’s letter to the Colossians: the long version or the short one. One has to wonder if the choice is there because the long version contains the often unpopular verse: Wives, be subordinate to your husbands (Colossians 3:18).

You would be hard pressed to find a more controversial passage in the New Testament than that one…or one more misunderstood. It is not the only time in the Scriptures that we hear that statement, either. In St. Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians he says almost the very same thing:

Wives should be subordinate to their husbands as to the Lord.
— Ephesians 5:22

What on earth was St. Paul thinking…twice? Believe it or not, that passage from Ephesians is one of the selections that couples can have read at their wedding. You would be surprised how often couples actually choose it…or maybe you wouldn’t. They almost never do! That is unfortunate, since it very beautifully describes how we are all called to live and love in Christ, not just wives, but husbands, single people, priests and religious sisters and brothers, all persons.

If you go back just one verse from that “controversial” one in the Letter to the Ephesians, just one verse previous, St. Paul says:

Be subordinate to one another out of reverence for Christ.
—Ephesians 5:21

That is not just an exhortation for wives; it is for all of us. We are called to be “subordinate to one another,” to submit to and defer to each other in love “out of reverence for Christ.” Only when we do that are we able to open ourselves up to the splendor and the dignity of love that we find in the person of Jesus Christ.

As Christians, we do not look at the world or each other to see how to live and how to love. We look to Christ. He is the source and foundation of love, and the love that Christ has for us is spousal. It is the love that a husband has for his wife. Now, that is not something I am simply making up; in fact, it is something that goes back even further than St. Paul. The spousal love of God is something we find all throughout the Old Testament.

God constantly refers to Himself as the divine spouse or husband of His bride, Israel. He calls her to Himself as a bride, and vows to care for her and watch over her forever. He makes promises to her, promises he intends to keep. He expresses His great desire and affection for her through prophets and poets alike.

It is beautiful and impressive imagery, no doubt. But it could never be more than that. It could never be a true marriage, since God is different from us. He is purely spiritual and dwells in heaven while we are corporal, dwelling bodily here on earth. In order for God to truly be a husband, well, he would have to become…a man. That is exactly what we celebrate in this Christmas season: Jesus Christ, the God who became man for us. God becomes man, and that man is the husband or bridegroom totally in love with His bride. In the New Testament Christ refers to Himself as the divine bridegroom (Matthew 9:15) and the true spouse of His bride, the Church (that’s us!).

Passionate is the fullness of the love He shows Her! His love for His bride takes Him to the cross, willing to die to save her and set her free. The Bride, for her part, is called to total devotion and love for her Spouse, giving her life to Him and holding nothing back.

Now that’s what St. Paul is talking about when he says, “Wives should be subordinate to their husbands as to the Lord” (Ephesians 5:22). It is precisely what he means when he says, “Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved the Church and handed himself over for her” (Ephesians 5:25). Husband and wife are called to image the very love of God and the Church, and they do so freely, joyfully and mutually. They are called to “be subordinate to one another out of reverence for Christ” (Ephesians 5:21).

One of the most sought after speakers and experts on what has come to be called the “theology of the body,” is a man named Christopher West. He has an excellent way of explaining this mutual submission of husband and wife. He says that if you break up that word—“sub,” meaning “under” and “mission,” meaning “to be sent forth with the authority to perform a specific service”—then it becomes clear that the husband and wife place themselves “under” or at the service of the mission of their spouse.

This sounds altogether too theological, no? Thanks be to God we are given a beautiful example of it in the Holy Family itself.

These past few weeks we celebrated how the Blessed Virgin Mary receives a mission from God. It is an extraordinary mission. The Angel Gabriel reveals to her that she will conceive and bear a Son, and that he will be the Savior of the world. It is a mission upon which our eternal salvation rests.

St. Joseph, for his part, must place himself "under" that mission. There is no other option. If he is to be the just man and faithful husband of Mary, then he cannot deviate from this mission in the slightest way. How remarkably he places himself under the mission of Mary, as we hear each year in the Christmas celebration!

But today, on this Feast of the Holy Family, we hear that St. Joseph himself has received a mission. The same Angel Gabriel appears to him and reveals his mission: Take this Child and His mother, and get out of town. NOW! Herod is seeking to destroy this Child.

Rise, take the child and his mother, flee to Egypt, and stay there until I tell you.
—Matthew 2:13

From that moment, Mary places herself and her Child totally under that mission. She does not say, “Egypt? Oh, the weather there is terrible this time of year. Let’s go to Jerusalem, instead.” Nor does she say, “Now? I have just had a child. We’ll go next week.” She places herself totally under the mission of St. Joseph because if she does not, the Child will die! The circumstances are that dire, that drastic. But Mary willingly gives herself to that mission, in the same way that St. Joseph had previously placed himself under her mission of bringing Christ into this world and caring for Him.

This is the way God has formed the human family. The family is a communion of persons who are constantly looking out for the best interests of the other, and seeking to place themselves at the service of the other in love.

Be subordinate to one another out of reverence for Christ (Ephesians 5:21).

How is God calling all of us—wives, husbands, priests, religious, single persons, old and young,—how is God calling all of us to do that this week?

The Perfect Christmas

(Solemnity of the Nativity; This homily was given on Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning, 2007 at St. Mary's Church, Cranston, R.I.)

One of my favorite movies is a film that came out about ten years ago called The Spitfire Grill. It’s about a young woman named Percy Talbot, who is struggling to let go of a troubling and difficult past and so she tries to make a brand new start in a small town in Maine (it could be any town, anywhere; it could be Knightsville in Cranston!). So she gets a job in that small town working at the Spitfire Grill.

But her arrival in that place disrupts everything. They don’t know a thing about her past, or what she’s doing in their lives now. The owner of the Spitfire Grill doesn’t want her. The townspeople are all suspicious of her (and it’s one of those towns where everybody knows everything about everybody else). The arrival of Percy Talbot turns everything upside down.

But before long something begins to happen in that small town. Percy begins to open up to some of the people; she begins to share her life with them. They discover that it is a life of brokenness and sorrow, but also one of hope and tremendous love. And little by little they begin to change. They start to look at her, and each other, in a whole new light; and in a very brief time the entire town is transformed. Of all the unexpected possibilities, this stranger from the outside gives them a whole new outlook on life; nothing will ever be the same since Percy Talbot entered their lives.

Today we celebrate the birth of Christ. It’s a miracle that goes beyond our ability to comprehend: God, who exists in eternity, before all things, and outside of time, suddenly enters into our world and becomes man. And His desire is that our lives will be transformed, just like those people in The Spitfire Grill, and that we, too, will have a whole new outlook on life.

We’ve all heard the story; we’ve all seen the images of the baby in the manger, the shepherds adoring Him and the angels singing. When God entered the world that night, everything was perfect . . . or was it?

Was it really perfect, or was God’s arrival here perhaps a bit more like Percy Talbot’s arrival to that small town in Maine? Jesus comes to Bethlehem, and they have no room for Him at the Inn. They don’t want Him. Most—if not all—the people in that town don’t have a clue who He is. And when King Herod hears of His birth he sends out soldiers to destroy Him. This is not a good start! St. John’s Gospel says it best: He came to what was his own, but his own people did not accept him (John 1:11).

That first Christmas was far from perfect (so if your life is not perfect this Christmas, then let this be a source of comfort and consolation. Be at peace; His first Christmas wasn’t perfect either). What Christ encountered when He came here to this earth was hostility and even rejection, but that should not surprise us. The Christian author, C.S. Lewis, in his classic book Mere Christianity, says that this world we live in is “enemy-occupied territory.” It is ruled by forces and powers that are opposed to the things of God. We do not need to be convinced of this truth; we just need to read the paper or watch the evening news.

“Christianity,” he goes on to say, “is the story of how the rightful king has landed…in disguise.” God sneaks in behind enemy lines, unknown to the “powers that be” and the rulers of this age. King Herod and Caesar Augustus have no idea that He has arrived.

But Christ has not come into “enemy-occupied territory” to do battle with them. He has come out to fight an enemy much more powerful and much more destructive than that. Christ comes to save us not from any earthly power, but the power of Satan and the forces of evil. More than that, Jesus Christ has come to “save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1:21). He comes to undue all the damage that has been caused by our sins and the sins of those around us.

And make no mistake about it: to do so will be a very messy and bloody ordeal. There is nothing sentimental about Christmas. This child born in Bethlehem will grow up and be nailed to a Roman cross. He will suffer and die…and rise again, to “save his people from their sins,” and give us a new start and a new beginning with God.

Like Percy Talbot, Christ comes to us from the outside and seeks to share Himself with us; He wants to transform us from the inside, out. We cannot have the perfect Christmas by trying to make the world we live in perfect. We cannot have the perfect Christmas by making our families or ourselves perfect. If we could do that, then we wouldn’t need Him!

We experience the perfect Christmas when we realize that He who is perfect came here for us, to reconcile us to each other and to God. We can have the perfect Christmas when we allow Him into our lives and into our hearts, and let Him do whatever it is He wants to. We ask ourselves today:

Are we able to recognize Christ and welcome Him in the ways that He comes to be among us?

What are we willing to do to acknowledge our need for a Savior, and to allow Him to save us from our sins?

How can we allow Christ to transform our small town, our families, and our lives this Christmas?

Be Not Afraid!

(4th Sunday of Advent-Year A; This homily was given 22 & 23 December, 2007, at St. Mary's Church, Cranston, R.I. Read Isaiah 7:10-14 and Matthew 1:18-24)

As we draw ever closer to the celebration of the birth of Christ and ponder the readings for this Fourth Sunday of Advent, I would invite you to reflect on the lives of three men; all of them born in different periods of history.

The first one was weak, the second was strong, and the third was, quite possibly (with the exception of Jesus Himself) the holiest man who ever lived.

The one who was weak appears in our first reading this weekend: King Ahaz. He was the leader of the people of Israel, and to understand why he was weak we need to go back a few verses before the passage that we hear this weekend. Our reading includes the middle section of Chapter 7 in the Book of the Prophet Isaiah.

But if you read the beginning of that same chapter, Isaiah describes the political and historical background: The nation was being threatened by nearby Assyria, who had made an alliance with the enemies of the king and planned to invade Jerusalem. Isaiah tells us the reaction of King Ahaz and the people when they discovered that horrific news:

The heart of the king and the heart of the people trembled as the trees of the forest tremble in the wind.

—Isaiah 7:2

The people and the king were terrified…but that is not what made him a weak leader. It was his lack of faith and trust in God in the midst of that conflict that made King Ahaz weak.

As soon as word reaches them that the attack will happen, God sends the prophet Isaiah to Ahaz to strengthen and reassure him. God wants the king to know that he will be supported; he will not be abandoned. He even tells him to ask for a sign from heaven that things will be all right, gives him permission to ask for anything at all…but Ahaz refuses!

“I will not ask,” he says. “I will not tempt the Lord!”
—Isaiah 7:12

He presumes to rely on his own strength and the strength of his allies, but not on the strength that comes from God. That was his weakness.

Thankfully God does not leave the king and his people in their weakness. He comes to them anyway, sending Isaiah out first with a reprimand for the king:

Is it not enough for you to weary people, must you also weary my God? Therefore the Lord himself will give you this sign: The virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall name him Emmanuel.
—Isaiah 7:13-14

Emmanuel means “God is with us,” and that would be the sign. God would be with the king and the people of Israel and His strength and might would see them through. Thanks be to God that our Lord does not leave us in our weakness, but comes to us anyway! That was the man who was weak.

The second man, I said, was strong. He was physically strong, growing up as an athlete and even working for a time as a laborer. But he was also spiritually and morally strong. He began studying for the priesthood around the time of the Second World War, and many years later became the Cardinal Archbishop of Krakow. We would all come to know him as Pope John Paul II, and he was one of the strongest leaders the Church had seen in centuries.

In his biography on Pope John Paul II, Witness to Hope, George Weigel tells the story about the conclave in which the cardinals of the Church elected the Polish Cardinal as our new pope. They had been praying and discerning for days when finally it seemed that God was guiding them all in the direction of the young Cardinal from Krakow. As they counted the ballots it became clear that he would be the next pope.

Eyewitnesses say that he looked visibly shaken as he bent over and placed his face in his hands, overwhelmed at the grave responsibility that was about to fall to him. Seeing him then, some of the cardinals began to fear that he would not accept the nomination!

Yet moments later the entire demeanor of this man would change dramatically. When he greeted the world as the new successor of St. Peter, he addressed them all with the words that would mark and define his papacy:

“Be not afraid!”

What had changed between that first recognition that the office of the papacy had been entrusted to him, and the proclamation to the entire world that we have nothing to fear? How could he be that confident, that courageous?

I believe he understood what King Ahaz and the people of Israel had learned in that first reading: Emmanuel. That God is with us. God would guide him and our Church, just as He always had; we need not be afraid.

Which brings us to the final man I mentioned: the one who was, quite possibly (with the exception of Jesus Christ Himself) the holiest man who ever lived: St. Joseph, Husband of the Blessed Virgin Mary and the Foster Father of Jesus the Christ.

The circumstances in which we find St. Joseph and the Holy Family this weekend are more than a little awkward. Joseph has just discovered that Mary is pregnant, and he decides to divorce her quietly.

We do not know what Mary has said to him, or what he believed about what she said, but we know he has decided to let her go. And somewhere in the midst of that decision, we know that he was afraid. We know that to be the truth because St. Matthew tells us that the angel of the Lord appeared to him and said: Do not be afraid!

Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home.
—Matthew 1:20

Now there are a couple of different opinions on why Joseph might have been afraid to remain with Mary. The first and obvious one is that he didn’t know who the father was. The second possibility is that he did know who the father was, and he was terrified! Being a father is difficult enough, but what man could be the father of God?

Either way, Joseph faced a future that was uncertain and quite different than what he thought it would be. And into his fear and uncertainty God reveals to him a plan that will change the world forever: That this child to be born of Mary will be Emmanuel—God with us—and the savior of the world.

On this Fourth Sunday of Advent, as we reflect on these three very different men, we can ask ourselves: What about us? What are the things in our world, and in our lives, that we are afraid of? What are the things that cause us fear?

We live in a culture often dominated by fear, with terrorism on a global scale and our nation even now at war. We all know of courageous men and women serving in Iraq and Afghanistan, people we pray for on a daily basis.

There are a thousand things we could be afraid of: our own death; the loss of loved ones; health concerns; fear of being alone; fear of being with other people; fear of almost anything that threatens our safety, peace and security in this fragile world we live in.

God reminds us today that He is Emmanuel, God with us. God is with us in the midst of all our fears. We can take to heart the words of Jesus Christ all throughout the gospels, the words that Pope John Paul II made his own and shared with the world on the first occasion he addressed us as our Holy Father, and words that he took to heart right up until his own entrance into eternal life: Be not afraid. God is with us.

What Are You Waiting For?

(Gaudete Sunday, 3rd Sunday of Advent-Year A; This homily was given 15 & 16 December, 2007, at St. Mary's Church, Cranston, R.I. Read Matthew 11:2-11)

It’s Gaudete Sunday, that time in Advent when we catch a glimpse of the joy that will be here in just a few weeks; the pink candle is lit and it’s a chance for us to check in and see how our time of waiting has been. And so, with less than two weeks left before Christmas, allow me to ask one question: What are you waiting for?

Maybe it’s a relative, returning home for the holidays, or perhaps the chance to come together with family and friends. Hopefully we are not only waiting for, but even longing for, the person of Jesus Christ. He should be at the center of our watching and waiting…

But while we’re waiting, let’s take a look into that dark prison cell we heard about in the Gospel, the one where John the Baptist is sitting. What’s he waiting for? We’re not told, exactly, but we do know that he has grown weary, waiting. And finally he sends out a message for Jesus that might seem a little strange:

Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?
—Matthew 11:3

How do we make sense out of that question? Isn’t this the same John the Baptist who, at the Visitation, leapt in the womb of his mother as he sensed the presence of Jesus in the womb of the Blessed Virgin Mary?

Wasn’t John the first one to recognize his own cousin as the Christ when he came out to the Jordan River? John had seen Him and proclaimed with certainty: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world!”

Was John beginning to doubt Jesus as he sat there alone in that prison cell? I don’t think he was so much doubting Jesus, as he was beginning to doubt himself, and all that he had understood earlier about the Messiah.

John’s message was one of repentance: “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand.” And just last week we heard him say, “The axe lies at the root of the trees. Therefore every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”

The justice of God was coming. John preached it. He lived it. He even called King Herod to task for not living it! He held the king accountable for an adulterous affair with his brother’s wife. Now he finds himself in a prison cell, and Herod is out living the good life. Where’s the justice in that? The coming of the Messiah was supposed to change the world, to right all the wrongs, to set things straight.

And so, it is very likely that John is thinking to himself, about Jesus: “What is he waiting for?” A good question. What is He waiting for? The answer, I believe, is found in Jesus’ reply to John’s disciples:

Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind regain their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have the good news proclaimed to them.
—Matthew 11:4-5

The Messiah had come to change the world. There was no doubt about that. And He was changing it, transforming it, making all things new. But He was not changing the world with the judgment of God as much as He was changing it with the mercy of God.

He came to open the eyes of those who had been blind to the ways of God, to bring healing to those who had been broken by sin, and to transform every aspect of our fallen nature. When God became man in Christ and came to this earth everything changed. Everything.

But let’s be fair. John was right to preach repentance, because without repentance there can be no mercy. Mercy is only available to those who are willing to receive it, those who understand that they are in need of it. And that is what Jesus is waiting for! He is holding back on the judgment required by perfect justice for the sake of complete repentance. As St. Peter says in his 2nd Letter:

The Lord does not delay his promise, as some count “delay,” but he is patient with you, not wishing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance.
—2 Peter 3:9

And so, finally, the question comes to us: What are we waiting for? If it is true that God wants to pour out His mercy into our lives, that He is that patient and that willing to transform us and set our hearts on fire, what are we waiting for?

As He was in the days of John the Baptist, so He is doing now: seeking to open the eyes that are blind, to heal those who are broken and in need. He is offering Himself to us here today in the Eucharist, and asking that we be totally united to Him, totally committed, totally faithful. God can transform our entire lives, if only we will let Him.

So what are we waiting for?

Feast of St. John of the Cross

(Feast of St. John of the Cross; This homily was given on Friday, 14 December, 2007 at the Carmelite Monastery, Barrington, R.I.; readings for the feast-celebrated solemnly in the Monastery-are Isaiah 43:1-5, Romans 8:14-18, 28-30 & John 17:11, 17-26)

Our reflection today is taken from the 17th Chapter St. John’s Gospel, and is known as the High Priestly Prayer of Jesus. In that great prayer to the Father, Christ pleads for His disciples on the night before He suffers and dies, seeking to secure us with the gifts that He considers to be the most important of all.

One of those prayers—in fact, the one that runs like a mantra throughout that entire chapter—is the prayer for unity. Over and over again, He prays “that they may be one” (John 17:11, 21, 22, 23).

But this unity which Christ calls us to is not something of our own making. It does not happen because we will or desire it. We are not united around some given set of principals or ideals; we are not one because we all like each other and consider it splendid to spend time together (although I hope we do!).

Christ tells us in that prayer to the Father that we are united as one in Him. He prays to the Father “that they may be one as we are one” (John 14:11), and “As you, Father are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us” (John 17:21). Again, He continues to pray to the Father before them all, “I in them and you in me, that they may be completely one” (John 17:23). We are united as one because God lives in us and we have life in Him. We are united in union with God.

That is the one driving force behind the life, ministry and prayer of St. John of the Cross: Union with God. It is his passion, his one great desire, his purpose for living...and dying…and living forever in God. Union.

But union with God, we find in our second reading from St. Paul, is conditional. The love of God is unconditional; God simply loves us. Period. But union is different. We cannot live however we want and expect to be in union with God. We cannot follow our own way, our own path, and then invite God to join us to Himself. We must constantly surrender to Him, be guided and directed by Him, submit to His will and His plan for our lives.

St. Paul offers another condition in that second reading. He says that we will share in the very Glory of God. Through Christ we have become sons and daughters in the Son; we call God “Abba, Father.” We inherit eternal life in God with Christ if…if….

If, in fact, we suffer with him so that we may also be glorified with him.
—Romans 8:17

Union with God and sharing in the eternal glory of God cannot be separated from the cross of Christ here on this earth. Sharing with Christ in His suffering and in His glory is the essence of our union with Him. And so it is throughout all the writings of St. John of the Cross.

One of the great images that St. John of the Cross uses to describe this union—in glory and in suffering—is the image of night. We are all familiar with the image of the Dark Night of the Soul.

People will often use, or mis-use, that image. They will say things like, “Oh, that was an awful year. It was my Dark Night” or “I am going through the worse time ever. I’m in the Dark Night.”

But St. John of the Cross never refers to the Dark Night as a negative experience. It is never something to be avoided or overcome. It is the very place where we experience the presence of the Living God.

In The Ascent of Mount Carmel he offers three reasons or purposes why God draws the soul into the journey of the Dark Night (Ascent, Book I, Chapter 2).

The first reason or purpose is so that the soul may undergo a purgation of the senses. We need firstly to be purged from our earthly attachments: purged from attachments to sin, purged of our attachment even to things which are good but are not God.

Secondly, the soul, in the darkness, discovers what it means to live by faith. We do not rely entirely on what we sense and feel when it comes to our relationship with God. We do not live by what we see happening around us, nor do we base our spiritual lives completely on external situations and experiences. We live by faith in the promises of God in the Scriptures, in the teachings of our Church, and in the Sacraments. In the darkness we live, and grow, by faith.

Finally, when the soul is purified and learns to grow in faith, it is then, in the night, that God unites Himself to her. Night is the time for lovers. It is in the night when husband and wife come together in that most intimate of unions. Night is the place where God unites Himself to the soul that seeks Him and yearns for Him, even and especially in suffering and in darkness.

As we celebrate this Feast of St. John of the Cross, we can ask ourselves:

Where is God purifying me at this time in my life? Where do I experience the purgation of the senses that always leads me closer to Him?

Where is God challenging me to grow in faith, to trust in Him and His promises and not in myself, my feelings, or the things around me?

That is the place where He is calling us to union with Himself. May we be drawn ever closer to union with God in the darkness of faith as we continue to yearn and wait for Christ, the Light of the World, this Christmas.

Are You Holier Than a 2nd Grader?

(2nd Sunday of Advent-Year A; This homily was given 8 & 9 December, 2007, at St. Mary's Church, Cranston, R.I. Read Isaiah 11:1-10 and Matthew 3:1-12)

Are you smarter than a 5th Grader? I am sure you have heard of, or maybe even seen, the TV show on Fox that is centered around that question. It is a quiz show hosted by TV personality and comedian Jeff Foxworthy that invites adults to answer questions that never go beyond the 5th Grade level.

Sure, it sounds easy enough. But if you have seen that show then you know eventually they come to a question that you do not know, or one that you used to know and have since forgotten…and you get it wrong! Suddenly you find yourself having to admit—like most of the contestants on that show—that sometimes you, too, are not smarter than a 5th Grader!

Today, on this Second Sunday of Advent, I would like to ask a similar question: Are you holier than—or at least as holy as—a 2nd Grader? Right now our 2nd Graders at the school, as well as those in the CCD program on Sunday morning, are preparing to make their First Penance. They are also looking ahead to their First Communion this coming May. It is a very exciting year for them, so please keep them in you prayers.

I was over to the school last week, and I met with the 2nd Grade class and their teacher to answer any questions they may have about their first confession. I read to them (and to our CCD students this morning) that popular children’s book, The Velveteen Rabbit.

You may have read that story as a child. A young boy loves his stuffed bunny rabbit so much, and so unconditionally, that the bunny becomes real. Even after the bunny has become ragged and worn, and his stuffing is starting to come out, the boy still loves him more than ever.

I told them that the way God loves us is very much the same. God loves us so much that we become real. As St. Augustine says, God does not simply bring us into existence; He loves us into existence. It is that same unconditional love that stays with us all throughout our lives. Even when we feel ragged and worn, like the bunny in the story, God still loves us and cares for us. He will never abandon us. That knowledge is at the heart of reconciliation, and the forgiveness we experience in that sacrament.

And do you know what? Those 2nd Graders were wide open to that story of God’s unconditional love! They were excited about their First Penance coming up, and filled with joy about making their First Communion in just a few short months. They rejoiced in what God was doing in their lives.

I began to ask myself:

“Am I that open to the way God is working in my life? Do I rejoice that much in the sacraments and in the unconditional love of God for me? In short: Am I as holy as a 2nd Grader!”

It’s not an option, you know. We do not have a choice when it comes to the way we see God and the world around us. Jesus Christ Himself says, in the Gospel of St. Matthew:

Unless you turn and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.
—Matthew 18:3

Unless you have a child-like trust and faith, and unless you can see the kingdom of God as a child would, than you will not see it at all!

Another way of putting it would be: Unless you are as holy as a 2nd Grader, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven!

This call to holiness is central to our gospel this Second Sunday of Advent. We hear the voice of St. John the Baptist as he prepares the way for Christ with that familiar cry: Repent!

Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!
—Matthew 3:2

Obviously, the command “repent” has a strong connection to our moral life. We are called to turn away from sin and turn back wholeheartedly to God. But the word itself in Greek—metanoiete—entails much more than just morality. Repentance or Metanoia means literally to change one’s mind, one’s entire attitude. It means to change the way we look at the world, the way we see God and those around us.

Now that Christ and His kingdom have come into this world, nothing is the same. We are challenged to see everything in the light of Jesus Christ, to behold all things with new eyes and a new vision.

That vision is one we find in our First Reading this weekend, from the Prophet Isaiah. Isaiah is writing about the Messianic times; he describes for us what the world will look like when the Messiah comes. It is a remarkable and radical worldview:

Then the wolf shall be a guest of the lamb, and the leopard shall lay down with the kid; the calf and the young lion shall browse together, with a little child to guide them.
—Isaiah 11:6

That peace, harmony and tranquility is something that will only be complete when Christ comes back again and His kingdom and will are done “here on earth as it is in heaven.” Yet we as Christians are called to embrace that vision right here, right now.

For those who have the courage to live the Gospel, the courage to forgive, and to be forgiven, then we will experience already here on this earth that inner peace, harmony and tranquility. We will begin to see the world around us in a whole new light, and grow in our child-like trust and faith in God…which brings me back to our 2nd Graders.

At the end of this week I received a stack of thank you cards from them. I would like to share with you two of them.

The first one said:

“Thank you, Father, for reading us the book. I loved it so much and I can’t wait until we receive First Penance.”

Now, I can tell you honestly that I have never had an adult say something like that to me! No one has ever said, “Father, I just can’t wait until Saturday rolls around so that I can finally go to confession again.” But imagine what our parish would look like, and what our world would look like, if more people did.

The final card said:

“Dear Father, we are looking forward to our First Communion. Oh! And that story you read was great. I think we all learned from that wonderful book.”

Do we have that same attitude in our lives, that same excitement when it comes to hearing the story of God’s unconditional love for us, over and over again? Do we ever tire of hearing that story in the gospel week after week? Are we continuing to be transformed by it?

Are we looking forward to the next time we will receive the Sacrament of Penance or the Sacrament of the Eucharist?

This Second Sunday of Advent, we can all ask ourselves:

“Are we as holy as a 2nd Grader?”