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.

The Eucharist and the Rebuilding of Culture

(Wednesday of the of the 29th Week in Ordinary Time-Year B; This homily was given on 21 October, 2009 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Luke 12:39-48)

In his Apostolic Exhortation, Sacramentum Caritatis (The Sacrament of Charity), our Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI, writes about the “intrinsic relationship” of three things regarding our experience of God’s tremendous love for us in the Eucharist and our response to so great a Gift.

He begins by explaining the “intrinsic relationship between the eucharistic celebration and eucharistic adoration” (Sacramentum Caritatis, #66). Against what he refers to as a “false dichotomy” which would set those two expressions of our Eucharistic encounter with God at odds with each other, Pope Benedict XVI describes how adoration of the Blessed Sacrament in fact deepens and intensifies our reception of Christ in the holy sacrifice of the Mass.

Receiving Christ at Mass and adoration of the Blessed Sacrament outside of Mass are never in competition with each other; their “intrinsic relationship” enables us to grow and mature in our appreciation for and reception of the Sacrament of Charity. We must adore so great a Gift, our Holy Father insists, and quoting St. Augustine he reminds us that “No one eats that flesh without first adoring it; we should sin were we not to adore it.”

But the mystery of the Eucharist is not only an event to be celebrated and a Person to be adored; it is also an experience which takes hold of the Christian soul and moves us to embody Christ in a real and living way. We come together and share in that recognition of the One who gave everything—His body and His blood—for us, and we cannot help but to be transformed by that sacrifice. We, too, desire to give freely of ourselves in service and in sacrifice for others.

“Here,” says Pope Benedict XVI “the intrinsically eucharistic nature of Christian life begins to take shape” (Sacramentum Caritatis, #71). It is a way of life neither separate from nor merely supplemental to the adoration and reception of the Blessed Sacrament of the altar; it is “intrinsic” to it and an essential expression of the great self-offering of Jesus Christ for the salvation of the world.

The intrinsic relationship between the Mass and adoration, as well as the lived Eucharistic spirituality which flows from it, is able to build up our Christina lives, our community and, more than that, to re-build an entire culture which finds its source, inspiration and center in the God who offers everything in a total self-gift of mercy, forgiveness and love: Sacramentum Caritatis.

Our late Holy Father, Pope John Paul the Great, spoke eloquently about the Eucharistic liturgy and Eucharistic spirituality which became the very foundation and inspiration for so many of the aspects of culture we see today in architecture, sculpture, sacred music and sacred art (Ecclesia de Eucharistia, #49). It is not possible to fully understand a people or a culture without reference to these particular expressions of the Eucharistic experience which inspired them. In fact, it is impossible for a culture founded on the Christian mystery to understand itself and all that God is calling it to, in this world and in the next, without God and the self-offering of Jesus Christ at the center.

Is not this the very problem we have come to recognize right here in Europe and in other parts of the world? We are living in the midst of a culture that no longer fully understands itself and—in many fundamental ways—has lost its moral compass. The creation of laws against human life—laws for abortion, euthanasia, embryonic stem-cell research—are clear indications that the moral compass on which this culture was founded no longer points true north, no longer points, on these essential aspects of human life, to the one, true God.

What is the solution? How do we rebuild a world that seems to be breaking apart at so many fundamental levels? I would suggest that we are called to rebuild the culture and to rebuild relationships—with God and with each other—from the same Eucharistic foundation with which it began. We start here, at this altar, and with this God “who is able to accomplish far more than all we ask or imagine” (Ephesians 2:20).

John Paul the Great spoke of “the great responsibility which belongs to priests in particular for the celebration of the Eucharist. It is their responsibility to preside at the Eucharist in persona Christi and to provide a witness to and a service of communion not only for the community directly taking part in the celebration, but also for the universal Church, which is a part of every Eucharist.”
—Ecclesia de Eucharistia, #52

That responsibility confronts us directly in our Gospel this morning. Here in this seminary, which is founded for the sake of forming men for the priesthood of Jesus Christ, we do well to listen with our hearts and minds wide open as Christ turns to St. Peter and asks that hauntingly beautiful and powerful question:

Who, then, is the faithful and prudent steward whom the master will put in charge of his servants to distribute the food allowance at the proper time?

—Luke 12: 42

Who are those servants, called by God to distribute “the food allowance,” to offer to the people the Bread of Angels and the food of eternal life?

Who are the ones called by God to a particular responsibility of rebuilding the culture we live in not by our own efforts alone but by the gracious sacrifice and self-offering of Jesus Christ in the Holy Sacrament of the Altar?

The priest is called to answer so remarkable a call, and to take on so great—and so humbling— a responsibility.

Blessed is that servant whom his master on arrival finds doing so.
—Luke 12: 42

Feast of St. Teresa of Avila

St. Teresa of Avila (1515-1582)

1827 painting by François Gerard

St. Teresa of Avila, Doctor of the Church, on prayer:

"Indeed a great mercy does He bestow on anyone to whom He gives the grace and courage to resolve to strive for this good with every ounce of energy. For God does not deny Himself to anyone who perseveres. Little by little He will measure out the courage sufficient to attain this victory. I say “courage” because there are so many things the devil puts in the minds of beginners to prevent them in fact from starting out on this path. For he knows the damage that will be done to him in losing not only that one soul but many others. If beginners with the assistance of God struggle to reach the summit of perfection, I believe they will never go to heaven alone; they will always lead many people along after them."

—The Book of Her Life, Ch. 11, #4

St. Teresa of Avila,

pray for us.

Not merely us, but Christ in us

Michelangelo's Pieta, St. Peter's Basilica in Rome

(26th Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year B; This homily was given on 27 September, 2009 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Numbers 11:25-29 and Mark 9:38-48)

One of the most beautiful and certainly well known works of Christian art is Michelangelo’s Pieta located in St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. What makes that masterpiece of sculpture remarkable is that Michelangelo completed it while he was still a young man in his twenties.

He was present on the day they unveiled that exquisite statue and certainly the people there would have heard of Michelangelo, but it is unlikely that they would have recognized his face. Unbeknownst to so many of them he was mingling among the crowd when he heard two men speaking about the Pieta. One of them was asking who made it. Upon hearing the reply, that Michelangelo was believed to be the artist, the person expressed his doubt that the young Florentine could have accomplished something that grand. Perhaps, he suggested instead, it was done by Solari (Cristofero Solari was a contemporary of Michelangelo and an extremely gifted artist in his own right).

Upon hearing this conversation Michelangelo was so offended, his pride so wounded, that he later took a chisel and hammer and stenciled into the sash which Our Lady was wearing the following words: Michelangelo Bunarroti the Florentine Made This.

Obviously you cannot take back something like that. It is said that he was so ashamed at having acted that way, out of pride and self importance, that he vowed never to sign another work of art again.

Can you imagine how different that is from the culture we live in today? People do not accomplish anything at all without making sure their name is all over it (take this blog, for instance!). If you go to the bookstore, look at the bestsellers and the most gifted writers of our time. What you will discover are hundreds of books with the title on the front cover, maybe in small letters at the top or bottom of that book; then you will find the author’s name, usually in the middle, in enormous block letters and bold print!

Please do not misunderstand me; we should be recognized for the work we do. There is nothing wrong with putting our name on the works we accomplish or being recognized as the ones who do something beautiful. It is just that for the Christian artist that cannot be the final goal. The main purpose of the Christian artist is to put the other in touch with the sacred.

One of the things I find striking about the writing of icons—which Fr. Paul Czerwonka teaches so well here at the American College—is how the icon is never signed by the artist upon its completion. The reason, again, is because the role of the iconographer is not to put another person in touch with the artist himself or herself, but with the living God. Icons are a window to heaven and the person who prays before one of these sacred images should be able to communicate with God; they should be placed in a deeper communion with the saints; they should be able to draw closer to Our Lady and to her Son, Jesus Christ.

But that is not only the goal of Christian art and iconography. It is, in fact, the goal of the Christian life. We are all called to surrender our lives in such a way that we can be an avenue through which other people can “travel” in order to draw closer to God; an avenue through which God can move and operate in such a way that He can draw closer to the people around us. His dream for each of us is that we fully cooperate in that endeavor. We have to be willing to see more than just our own individual lives but to truly be open to the way God is working and active everywhere in the world around us. The focus has to move away from us and back to God. St. Paul says it best:

I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me.
—Galatians 2:20
In other words, it is no longer about Paul and his gifts and abilities, his selfish individual projects, however noble they may be. It is about Jesus Christ and the way He is living in St. Paul. We surrender ourselves in such a way that God is living and moving in us and through us. Paradoxically, this does not inhibit our freedom in the least. We become more free and more ourselves as we live in the very way God created us…but it doesn’t come easy!

That is the struggle we find in the First Reading and in the Gospel this weekend. In that compelling story from the Book of Numbers we hear of God’s plan to take “some of the spirit that was on Moses,” and give it to the seventy elders of Israel. Obviously the burden of leadership was far too much for any one man to accomplish. God is bestowing a blessing upon Moses by granting him other persons will help him carry the load.

Yet two of the elders were not present with Moses when this spirit was given; apparently they were out to lunch that day. Nonetheless they received it anyway. Suddenly it is Joshua, who has attended Moses all his life, who becomes offended:

“Moses, my Lord, stop them.”
—Numbers 11:28

Moses, no doubt with great love, assures Joshua that there is no offense here. “Would that all the people of the Lord were prophets,” he says. “Would that the Lord might bestow his spirit on them all!” Moses knows that the blessings of God and the graces God pours out on His people cannot possibly take away from the good things He is already doing in us. For another person to be blessed by God in no way diminishes me. Moses understood that clearly. Do we?

We find that same struggle in the Gospel this weekend. Christ has chosen twelve Apostles to follow Him and to do a particular work in the Church. They will be the foundation on which He will build His Church. He has already sent them out to do miraculous things and they have shared in the very power and authority which He has exercised in their midst.

Suddenly they discover that another person, not from their own group, is also accomplishing great things in the name of Jesus. St. John, again with the same misplaced love which we saw in Joshua, turns to Christ and says:

“Teacher, we saw someone driving out demons in your name, and we tried to prevent him because he does not follow us.”
—Mark 9:38
Christ has to correct him: “Do not prevent him.” This was a work accomplished in the name of Jesus; albeit not in the manner St. John had expected and not within the parameters that he was accustomed to. Jesus draws him away from his own individual focus and tries to show him the broader scope of what God is doing: “Whoever is not against us is for us” (Mark 9:40).

This is such an important lesson for the Church, not just in St. John’s time but perhaps even more so in our own. Competition, rivalry, jealousy; these are the very things that diminish, frustrate and suppress the work of God in the Church. It is something that happens in seminaries, in Catholic universities, in parishes and in dioceses. Even the domestic Church, the family, is affected by the jealousies, rivalries and competitive spirit that are not from Christ.

We become so wrapped up in our own little world, our own projects, that we fail to recognize or even begin to inhibit the way God is working in the people around us. How very much we need to learn the lesson which Joshua and St. John were taught in our readings this weekend!

St. Paul, again, tells us distinctly that we have nothing to lose and everything to gain when another member of the Body of Christ is blessed by God. He says that if any one of the members of the body are honored, then all of the members of the body rejoice with it (see 1 Corinthians 12:26).

I would suggest this week that we choose three people in our lives, any three people who are fellow members of the body of Christ, and ask God for the wisdom to recognize the beautiful work He is accomplishing in them; ask God to show you the masterpiece, the icon He is writing in their daily lives. Seek to be a part of that great work by your encouragement, your charity, and especially by your prayers for those three people. This week let us ask to see less of our own individual lives and more of what God is accomplishing on a much larger scale, and may we all be able to say, with St. Paul:

It is no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me; and the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.
—Galatians 2:20

Proofs for God in the Year for Priests

Christ the Great High Priest

Icon writen by Iconographer Marek Czarnecki of Seraphic Restorations in Meriden, Connecticut.

(23rd Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year B; This homily was given on 6 September, 2009 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Mark 7:31-37)

I am sure you are at least somewhat familiar with the common arguments or proofs for the existence of God. For instance, there is the argument from the order or structure of the universe. We come to see that the sun rises each day and sets every evening; the planets do not crash into each other; there is unity and order, and so there must be one who created that order and maintains it: God.

Then there is the argument from beauty. We look at a breathtaking sunset in the spring or gaze at the ocean on a cool summer afternoon; the leaves change into dazzling colors in the fall. There must be someone who created all that, someone who is even more beautiful than creation itself, and that someone is God.

Yet there is a situation found in the Gospel this weekend that could be considered as an argument against the existence of God! How is that for disturbing? It is the deaf man with a speech impediment.

“Well,” you might be thinking, “that does not sound like a very convincing argument to me!” But do not be too hasty. That deaf man with a speech impediment has experienced what the philosophers and theologians of antiquity define as evil. The philosophical and theological definition of evil is "privation"; it is a lack of a proper good where a good ought to be.

We ought to be able to hear sounds in the world around us. We ought to be able to listen to a majestic symphony or hear the sound of our own mother’s voice calling our name. We ought to be able to communicate and speak with the people in our lives we love most. All of those things have been denied that deaf man with the speech impediment.

I assure you there is no more common or convincing argument used down through the ages to deny the existence of God than the experience of evil. The atheist is seldom the one who has sat down and read the Scriptures and the Summa Theologica; It is not often the one who has studied theology extensively and then come to the sad conclusion that the idea of God is simply untenable.

It is the man or woman who has looked at the Holocaust in the face and experienced a living hell here on earth that will sometimes say, “I cannot believe that God exists.” It is often the person who has encountered a tragic or sudden loss or the one whose life seems to be falling apart without any rhyme or reason; that is the one who will say, “I refuse to believe in a God who has allowed this to happen.”

Even as people of faith we are often at a loss for words when confronted with an argument like that. But St. Thomas Aquinas, in his Summa contra Gentiles, uses that same line of reasoning to argue for the existence of God. He says, rather shockingly: Quia malum est, Deus est. Because evil exists, God exists.

If evil is a privation or lack of the good, then it can only exist in relation to the order of good; there would be no order of good if not for the supreme good who is God (see Summa contra Gentiles, III, 71).

But more importantly, we could not live in this world another day if there were no possibility of God’s existence. We could never go on as a people of hope if, when all is said and done, this world is all that there is; if there is not a final recompense for something as atrocious as the holocaust. There must be a God who will respond to the violence, racism and discrimination that occurs in the world we live in. There must be one who will set things straight and bring about justice after all the injustice that has taken place from the beginning of time. Quia malum est, Deus est.

As people of faith we believe that even now God is beginning to do just that. He is—even now—beginning to restore the order, unity and beauty to the world that we live in. We see that clearly in the Gospel this weekend. Jesus Christ meets evil—that privation of the good—head on…and heals it. Yet, He does so in a rather peculiar way.

Christ not only speaks the words of healing to this person but He also touches him. We are body and soul, spiritual and physical, and thus Christ heals this man physically and spiritually at the point of his greatest need. He not only speaks to the depths of that man’s soul: “Ephphatha!” that is, “Be opened!” (Mark 7:34). He also sticks His finger in the man’s ear and spits on his tongue. Have you ever considered how strange that is?! Jesus Christ is literally reconnecting this man—physically and spiritually—to the source of healing, power, and life that is Himself! He reconnects that man and restores all that he had lost, opening up the possibility for an entire spectrum of experiences and relationships, both human and divine.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church says that Christ, who did that, and consistently reaches out and touches those who are broken and the hurting in the Gospels, continues to touch us in the sacraments in order to heal us (see CCC, #1504). Thanks be to God for the Church that Christ founded! Thanks be to God for the Sacraments by which Christ continues to reach out and touch this world so effected by evil and so much in need of healing and wholeness! Quia malum est, Deus est!

But I would borrow from that argument of St. Thomas Aquinas just a bit this weekend, and say not only “Because evil exists, God exists.” Following from that I would also say, “Quia malum est, sacerdos est!” Because evil exists, the priest exists!

If God is to continue to reach out to this broken world through the Sacraments of the Church, then there must be some who are called by God to surrender their bodies and their souls in love so that God may say through them:

This is my body given up for you…this is the cup of my blood. Take it and receive it. Be reconnected to the source of life and the source of healing that is Myself.

There must be some, called by God, who will surrender their bodies and their souls in love so that God may say through them, to the broken and those filled with sorrow for their sins:

I absolve you from your sins.

There must be some, called by God, who will receive a small child and pour water over that child’s head—or receive an adult, converted inwardly by faith and the Holy Spirit—and say “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

Because there is such a lack of the good in so many places of society and life and because there is such a need and so many hunger and thirst for the living God, there must be at least some who will make Him sacramentaly present in this world. That is why Pope Benedict XVI has asked us all to focus on this year as the Year for Priests. Because evil exists, God must exist, and so, too must the priest.

There are 16 men here at the American College in Leuven preparing for priesthood. In this Year for Priests I plead with you to pray for them, intercede to God for them. Pray that they will be as connected to Christ as the man who was healed in the Gospel, that they will be physically and spiritually touched by Christ in the Sacraments of the Church and opened up for all that He wills to do in their lives this year. Pray for those of us entrusted with their formation, for their professors and all who will be a part of their preparation for Holy Orders. There is indeed a lack of the good in the world we live in, and these men have said, “Yes,” to God because they have understood that He wants to use them to do something about it.

Bread of Life Discourse V: Love, Marriage and the Eucharist

Icon of Christ, the Bridegroom

Icon written by Rev. Paul G. Czerwonka. © 2007. All rights reserved. Fr. Paul is the Director of Aesthetical and Spiritual Formation at the American College of Louvain, Belgium. He is a priest of the Diocese of La Crosse and currently teaches iconography and assists in the formation of men for the priesthood. Please continue to pray for priests and for vocations to the priesthood.

(21st Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year B; This homily was given on 23 August, 2009 at the Chapel of The American College of the Immaculate Conception in Louvain, Belgium; See Joshua 24:1-18, Ephesians 5:21-32 and John 6:60-69)

If you are reading this right now and you are a married person then you have certainly been on one before. If you are a priest or religious, you may have been on one previous to entering the seminary or religious life. If you are a single person, then you may be going on one of these even now. What I am talking about, of course, are first dates.

First dates can be quite unpredictable; spending an evening out with a person you may not even know all that well. It can be disastrous…or beautiful…or it could even be something which begins to forge a relationship between two persons that will last a lifetime.

I would like to share a story with you (a true story) about a couple who experienced all three of those on the night of their first date! It was disastrous, beautiful and formed the beginning of a bond that has lasted even now and, please God, will endure throughout their entire lives.

Without getting into all the details, it was a night that began at a dinner where she felt slightly sick but the evening soon went from bad to worse. In the end he had to bring her to the emergency room and then finally dropped her off back home so that she could be taken care of by her family.

Basically there were two thoughts running through his mind at the end of that night. The first was: What a disaster! That was not at all what I expected this date to be like.

The second thought was actually not a thought at all; it was a prayer. He thought: In spite of how terrible things went tonight, I think I want to spend the rest of my life with this person, and he prayed, God, if this woman is my wife someday, I will take care of her for the rest of my life.

I know, it sounds like something out of a Nicholas Sparks novel, but it is true! And I share it with you because that crisis situation and moment of decision is something like what we find in the first reading and in the Gospel this weekend.

In our Old Testament reading Joshua is addressing the people of Israel who are just about to begin a new life in the Promised Land. They have been set free from slavery in Egypt and brought through the desert after all kinds of trials and difficulties. Nothing turned out quite the way they had expected. Yet even in the midst of their own failures God has remained so very faithful.

Joshua, understanding quite well that this is the moment of great consequence for the people, knowing them all too well and realizing they are living in a land of many gods, compels them to make a choice. The time has come to make a decision. He says:

If it does not please you to serve the Lord, decide today whom you will serve, the gods your fathers served beyond the River or the gods of the Amorites in whose country you are now dwelling. As for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.
—Joshua 24:15

Following his example the people also give their assent and choose to follow the God who has cared so very well for them.

In the Gospel there is a similar decision being made. Christ has revealed Himself as the Bread of Life, the Messiah that has come to offer His own body and blood for the salvation of the world. He has made it clear that there is nothing less than eternal life at stake here. All who eat His flesh and drink His blood will have life within them, and He will raise them up on the last day.

Sadly, remarkably, the majority of them are not willing to receive Him or even to consider the meaning of these words that He is speaking! They continue to murmur against Him and complain, “This saying is hard; who can accept it?” (John 6:60). Many of His own disciples, we are told—many—walked away from Him right then and there.

Jesus Christ, recognizing that this is a crisis moment and the moment of decision, turns directly to the Twelve Apostles and asks them a question upon which depends the future of the nascent Church: “Do you also want to leave?” (John 6:67).

It is Peter who answers for them all: “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God” (John 6:69).

These powerful and poignant moments of decision which we find in our readings for this weekend, as compelling as they are in their own right, have much more in common with that story I mentioned earlier than the fact that they are crisis situations. In both the Old Testament account from the Book of Joshua and in St. John’s Gospel what is being described is a relationship which is spousal; it is nuptial.

All throughout the Old Testament, and especially in the Prophets—Isaiah, Jeremiah, Hosea—God is described as the faithful spouse who has chosen Israel for His Bride. He loves Her deeply and adorns her in royalty (Isaiah 62:3), He seeks Her out and draws Her to Himself, loving Her with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 31:3), and when She is unfaithful He lures Her into the desert and speaks tenderly to Her (Hosea 2:14) because He desperately wants Her back! That is the depth of the relationship which Joshua is leading them to in the first reading this weekend.

In the New Testament this spousal love becomes even more vivid, visual and even physical, in the person Jesus Christ. He is the Bridegroom of His Bride, the Church. He will give everything—His own body and blood, broken and shed for us on the cross—to bring us home to eternal life in God.

That is what Christ is trying to communicate to His disciples in St. John’s Gospel all throughout the Bread of Life Discourse. That offering of His body and blood on the cross is the very culmination of the Gospel we have been listening to for the last five weeks. It is at the heart of the mystery of the Eucharist…and it is also at the very heart of the mystery of marriage.

In our second reading this weekend, from St. Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians, the Apostle goes through great lengths to describe for us what marriage consists of. He talks about the mutual submission of the spouses: "Be subordinate to one another out of reverence for Christ" (Ephesians 5:21). Married couples make an offering of themselves to one another out of love and out of devotion to God, and that self-offering includes no less than everything. St. Paul goes on to describe the marriage covenant even in physical terms. Quoting Genesis, he describes how a man leaves his father and mother and is joined to his wife and the two become one flesh. But then he concludes by saying something that is simply astounding: “This is a great mystery, but I speak in reference to Christ and the church” (Ephesians 5:32).

The self-giving love of husband and wife and their one-flesh union here on this earth is actually, in addition to being the expression of their love for each other, an image for something else. Marriage is an image for Jesus Christ’s own self-offering, His own gift of His body and blood for us on the cross.

But to make sure that we would never miss that spousal connection and the intimate bond we share with Him as His Bride and the people for whom He has made that self-offering, He has chosen to make it a sacrament: the Eucharist.

When we celebrate the Eucharist each week, we listen to His words: “This is my body, which will be given up for you…take it and eat it; this is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant…take it and drink from it.” What we are celebrating is the God who offered Himself as our faithful Spouse in order to unite Himself to us forever.

We receive His body and blood and become one flesh with Him. Our spousal covenant with Him, that “new and eternal covenant,” is renewed each time we share in this Most Blessed Sacrament. Strengthened in that Gift and nourished by Christ, we have all the courage and power we need to face any of the difficult decisions and circumstances of life.

This week, when we face those moments of decision or times of crisis, may we echo the words of Joshua: “As for me and my household, we will serve the Lord” (Joshua 24:15) and say with confidence, along with St. Peter, “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God” (John 6:69).

Bread of Life Discourse IV: It's Personal

Supper at Emmaus by Caravaggio
from the Pinacoteca di Brera, Milan

(20th Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year B; See John 6:51-58)

Our first reading for this weekend is a beautiful and poetic excerpt from the Book of Proverbs which speaks rather eloquently to us about wisdom. The intriguing figure of Lady Wisdom is the very personification of the way of life God calls us to. Quite literally, Lady Wisdom beckons us:

Let whoever is simple turn in here…Come, eat of my food and drink of the wine I have mixed!
—Proverbs 9:5

This invitation to share a meal with Lady Wisdom reveals to us that the ways of God and the path He wishes us to follow are not merely informational. The wisdom of God is, instead, relational. It is personal. God does not give us an instruction manual or a series of checkpoints to guide us through life. He invites us into a personal relationship in which we grow in virtue, knowledge and holiness because the God who calls us is Himself filled with all of these things, and more.

You may have seen the movie The Matrix. The characters in that science fiction film are connected to a massive computer program—the matrix—that allows them to exist not only in this world but also in a parallel, virtual world in which almost anything is possible. When they want to learn a new skill in the matrix, a computer file is uploaded to their memory and they suddenly possess that skill. One of the main characters, Trinity, finds herself in danger and the only means of escape is a helicopter which she has no idea how to fly! In an instant she is able to upload the software and takes off into the air like a woman who has been flying helicopters all of her life.

That is not the way God instructs us in wisdom! We do not grow in understanding or in knowledge of the ways of God like Trinity, in a single moment; wisdom is not like computer software. We grow in wisdom through a personal relationship with The Trinity: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. We spend time with Him, grow in intimacy with Him, learn from Him and share in the very life He offers. That is what Christ is calling us to do in the Gospel this weekend.

Much like that invitation we heard earlier, where Lady Wisdom instructs us to eat of the food and wine prepared for us, Christ invites us to eat His flesh and drink His blood (John 6:51-58), a clear and unmistakable reference to that gift of Himself to us in the Holy Eucharist.

But like wisdom, the Eucharist is not simply a moment which we experience at Mass each week. It is a personal encounter with the Savior who offers His body and blood on the cross to redeem us; the Eucharist is the second person of the Blessed Trinity who calls us into a personal relationship with God.

When we come to Mass do we recognize and acknowledge that?

In her book The Way of Perfection, St. Teresa of Avila is instructing her sisters in prayer and she teaches them how to avoid obstacles which keep them from recognizing the personal relationship which is at the center of the Christian life. She says that, in prayer, they should not merely try to picture Jesus and imagine what He would look like in a given situation or scene. No, instead she says they should also look at Him (see The Way of Perfection, Chapter 26, #3). She reminds them how Christ never takes His eyes off them! When they pray, they should look right back! They should look at the One who is already looking at them and allow that intimate and personal connection to grow even deeper.

In the Eucharist we do well to do the same. When we look at the tabernacle we are looking at Him. When the priest raises the Host at Mass and proclaims, “This is the lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world,” we are looking at Him. When the body of Christ is offered to us at communion each week we are looking at Him.

What is the best way to prepare for such a personal encounter? What is the best way to savor such an experience even long after the Mass is over? I would suggest we take the counsel of St. Teresa of Avila and spend as much time as possible—before, during and after the Eucharistic sacrifice—watching in prayer and looking at Christ who never takes His eyes off us.

Bread of Life Discourse III: Drawn into the Eucharist

Jesus, Our Eucharistic Lord:

Rose Window from the Co-Cathedral of the Sacred Heart,

Archdiocese of Galveston-Houston.

(19th Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year B; This homily was given on 8 & 9 August, 2009 at St. Mary's Church, Cranston, R.I. and St. Mary's Church, Pawtucket, R.I.; See John Chapter 6)

We continue this weekend to listen to the beautiful words of St. John’s Gospel in what has come to be known as the “Bread of Life Discourse.” As I mentioned previously, the Church gives us five consecutive Sunday’s to follow this development in the teaching of Christ who reveals Himself as “the bread that came down from heaven” (John 6:41).

Our series began two weeks ago with the miracle of the feeding of the 5,000. Using only five loaves of bread and two small fish Christ provided for the multitude, with baskets left to spare.

Then just last week we saw how Christ had crossed over to the other side of the Sea of Galilee as the crowd began searching for Him once again. They were seeking Him out for more bread, but Christ engaged them in dialogue and encouraged them instead to work “for the food that endures for eternal life” (John 6:27).

This week, as Christ makes it explicit that He is the “bread that came down from heaven” (John 6:38, 44), our story takes a turn for the worse. The people are not willing to accept that He is the one sent from heaven by God. After all, they reason, we know his father and mother. Instead of believing in Him, says St. John, the people began to murmur; they started talking negatively about Him. Maybe it starts with just a comment or a small quip; we do not know. But before long the whole crowd is in on it.

How many times have we experienced something similar in our own lives? When we are in a group of people, sometimes a disparaging word is spoken about someone that we know…and maybe someone we do not really like all that much. Suddenly another person chimes in and we are all too eager to hear more of the same. Before we even realize it, we ourselves become drawn into the conversation; perhaps we begin to say things that we would not have even considered moments ago.

And we always leave those conversations the same way: more negative and discouraged than before. We ourselves become lessened and diminished. That is how sin often works in our lives. We resist for a while but once we allow ourselves to be drawn into it we are always adversely affected.

Sin separates us from God and from each other, and so it comes as no surprise that Christ so adamantly attacks it in the Gospel this weekend. “Stop murmuring among yourselves” (John 6:43), He says to them.

Christ is the enemy of sin and has come to engage it with the very power of heaven and to destroy it. But He is also the Savior of sinners, and so He offers more than just a rebuke. Instead He offers another alternative, another direction in which we should be moving.

Immediately after rebuking them He explains the reason why they have not believed: because they have not allowed the Father to move them in that direction.

No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draw him.
—John 6:44

So it becomes clear that we can either be drawn into sin and into that negative spiral that always leaves us diminished, or we can be drawn ever more deeply into a relationship with Jesus Christ.

That is what the Father is trying to do in the Gospel all throughout this “Bread of Life Discourse”: to draw the people to Christ.

That is why Christ was sent from heaven: to draw us into a deeper relationship with His heavenly Father.

That is why the Holy Spirit was poured out on the Church: to draw us into an intimate and abiding relationship with the living God.

The word that St. John uses—to draw—in the original Greek implies an action which involves some kind of resistance. He uses it again towards the end of his Gospel to describe the way a fisherman pulls in a net from the sea: he draws it in, but not without effort, because it is laden with fish and meets the resistance of the water (see John 21). God the Father is constantly trying to draw us into a deeper relationship with Christ, but so very often in our lives there is resistance.

There is a powerful story about the conversion of the English writer and philosopher C.S. Lewis. You may be familiar with The Chronicles of Narnia or so many of the other books he has written which express so eloquently and with tremendous passion the Christian message and faith. He is undoubtedly one of the greatest Christian writers of this past century.

Yet for years C.S. Lewis was a vowed atheist! While in the middle of his career as a brilliant Oxford professor he had come to the conclusion that there simply was no God. In his autobiography, Surprised by Joy, he describes how that façade which he had created slowly began to crumble as the God in whom he did not believe began to draw him in! Towards the end of the book he writes:

"You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom I desired so earnestly not to meet. That which I had greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England."

Despite all that C.S. Lewis had done to keep God out, He had broken through and the transformation had begun. God is that powerful and that effective, even in the midst of our resistance and in spite of the many obstacles that we encounter along the way.

That same God is here with us now, and He is seeking to draw us ever closer to Jesus Christ His Son. God the Father is drawing us ever more deeply into the mystery of the Eucharist, the Bread of Life. As we draw close to this altar today, let us offer no resistance, but instead allow Christ to nourish and strengthen us on our journey home to Him. May our communion bring us all closer together and, together, closer to Christ.

Bread of Life Discourse II: Searching for Christ

(18th Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year B; This homily was given on 1 & 2 August, 2009 at St. Mary's Church, Cranston, R.I.; See John Chapter 6)

Our Gospel this weekend is a continuation of the Sixth Chapter of St. John’s Gospel, what has come to be known as the “Bread of Life Discourse.” As I mentioned last week, every three years the Church gives us this five week series in which we focus more intentionally on the mystery of the Holy Eucharist in the words of Christ Himself.

Last week we began with the miracle of the loaves and fish, when Christ fed the 5,000 with just a small amount of food. You may remember the reaction of the people, how they were so enthusiastic and filled with spiritual fervor that Christ had to withdraw because He feared that they would take Him by force and make Him king!

This week the fervor and enthusiasm of the crowd has somewhat…dissipated. They are not quite as fired up as they were last week…Let’s not get carried away here, they might be thinking. Nonetheless, they are still seeking and searching for Christ.

St. John tells us that they did not find Jesus there where the miracle took place, and noticing that His disciples had gone over to the other side of Lake Galilee, they started to move in the same direction. You can picture that scene: hundreds, if not thousands of people, cramming into boats and travelling in search of Christ. And sure enough they find Him!

Yet Christ, always the realist, always seeing things exactly as they are, is quick to size up the situation:

You are looking for me not because you saw signs but because you ate the loaves and were filled.
—John 6:26

They were not so much seeking the God of miracles as they were searching for the miracles of God. Their stomachs being well fed they desired to continue this good thing that they had stumbled upon in Christ. Instead, He tells them:

Do not work for the food that perishes but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of man will give you.
—John 6:27

Clearly now Christ has outlined the tension between being satisfied and fed here in this life and being satiated and content for eternal life. But importantly, we have to realize that He is not being critical of the first scenario. Jesus Christ is not saying we shouldn’t turn to Him for our physical and earthly needs.

§ On the contrary, God wants us to seek Him out for the food that sustains our bodies; by all means we should ask God for food on the table.

§ In this current economy we should be asking for economic stability and financial security. There is nothing wrong with asking for heavenly assistance in building up our bank account so that we can live with peace of mind and be able to retire without having to worry about the future.

§ When it comes to our health we should be seeking God for healing if we are sick and for strength to endure difficulties and setbacks. God wants us to seek Him out for those things.

§ Perhaps most importantly—regarding our spiritual lives—God wants us to search for the things that will give our souls peace and joy even right here and now on this earth.

The danger that we find in the Gospel this weekend is that we will seek out only those things. We seek to be fed and cared for in this life only, and risk losing out on the greatest Gift that God has in store for us: Himself now and for all eternity.

Do we really seek and search for God in the ways that He wants to make Himself known to us, or do we also tend to seek Him out on our own terms, to want more so the comforts of God than the "God of all comfort" (see 2 Corinthians 1:3)?

Here in Rhode Island we live in the most Catholic state in the entire country. I believe we are over 60% Roman Catholic; 6 or 7 out of every 10 people around you are Catholic. Yet if you go to any of the major commercial bookstores—and I do, because I enjoy those places immensely—and you look in the Religion/Spirituality section, what will you find? Comparatively speaking there are very few distinctively Roman Catholic books there.

Some of the books in those sections are nonsense and fluff, or perhaps even dangerous diversions which could draw one away from faith in Christ. Many, however, are inspiring and interesting and help to build up our faith and can teach us about God and His word.

Nonetheless, there are so few books which focus on the primary way that God is revealing Himself to us here each and every week; there are so very few books on the Eucharist. Yet here the Church spends five consecutive weeks, five Sunday Gospels, delving more deeply into that very mystery. It is that important. We need to open our ears and our hearts when we encounter so central a mystery as the body and blood of Jesus Christ.

There is a beautiful children's book by Antoine de Saint-Exupery called The Little Prince (I am sure you can find it at one of the bookstores I mentioned above; it’s a well known and beloved book). It tells the story of young prince from another planet who comes here to this earth and befriends a small boy. They become fast friends and go on all kinds of adventures together. At one point they find themselves in the desert, days away from civilization, and they are thirsty. They search diligently for water, just as the people in the Gospel this weekend searched for Christ. Suddenly they come across a well right there in the middle of the desert! There is a rope and a pulley connected to a small bucket. They hoist up that bucket and taste the deliciously cold water and are completely satisfied. The little prince then turns to the boy and with great wisdom says:

“The men where you live raise five thousand roses in the same garden—and they do not find in it what they are looking for.”

The boy agrees with his observation and then the little prince continues: “And yet what they are looking for could be found in one single rose, or in a little water.”

So many of us spend our lives searching for and seeking a happiness that can be so elusive and we often end up less satisfied and less fulfilled than when we started. We have televisions with over a hundred channels, new movies that come out every week, and thousands of ways that we can entertain ourselves for hours on end. We search for peace and happiness in our relatives and friends, in our work and leisure, but we are never satisfied because what we are seeking and searching for cannot be found in the things of this world.

On the contrary, what we yearn and long for, seek and search for more than anything else in the whole world has come into this world and found us. That is what the Gospel is about this weekend. Thousands of people rushed into boats and sailed across the sea to find Christ but they failed to see that He had already come down from heaven to seek and search for them. He crossed eternity to come to them and give them His body and His blood. They are on the verge of missing that; let us not make the same mistake!

Today Christ comes here looking for us, and He says to each of us what He said to those who were searching for Him after the miracle of the loaves and fish:

I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst.
—John 6:35

Bread of Life Discourse-Part I

(17th Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year B; This homily was given on 25 & 26 July, 2009 at St. Mary's Church, Cranston, R.I.; See John Chapter 6)

This weekend we listen to St. John’s Gospel and although we are in Ordinary Time to hear from St. John is a little extra-ordinary. During the Sundays of Ordinary Time we usually hear from Matthew, Mark and Luke; John is proclaimed during the Christmas and Easter seasons and on special feast days.

Nonetheless, every three years the Church, in Her wisdom, gives us the entire sixth chapter of St. John-what is called the Bread of Life Discourse-to meditate on and delve more deeply into. Today, and for the next four weeks which follow, we will read through and listen to this remarkable chapter in which Christ announces that He is the Bread of Life; how His body and blood are God’s gift to nourish and strengthen us on our way home to Heaven. It is a beautiful reflection on the mystery of the Eucharist, something so central to our lives as Catholics.

Our discourse begins with the miracle of the Feeding of the 5,000. This miracle is found in all four Gospels but there are details provided by St. John that move us purposefully in two directions. Firstly, St. John wants his audience to recognize the connection with the past: the history of Israel and the significance of this miracle with all that God has already done in the lives of His chosen people. At the same time John draws their attention—and ours—to the significance of the miracle of the Feeding of the 5,000 and to what Christ will do as He founds His Church gives us the Eucharistic celebration which we experience even now, some 2,000 years later.

We begin with the past. St. John tells us there were 5,000 people there and that Christ had them all sit down on the grass; there was plenty of it in that place. As they reclined on that grassy meadow, Jesus fed them physically and nourished them. It is not difficult to see the connection with Psalm 23, so familiar to us and even more so to them:

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want;
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul…

Thou preparest a table before me
in the presence of my enemies…my cup overflows…

And so there they are, seated like lambs in a green pasture, being fed by the Good Shepherd who cares for their every need. St. John wants his audience to realize that the God who cared so well for Israel in the Old Testament is still with them to nourish their bodies and restore their souls.

But more importantly, John also tells us that this miracle of the Feeding of the 5,000 took place around the time of the Passover (only John mentions this; Matthew, Mark and Luke do not). Why is this important?

The celebration of the Passover was the most important meal—indeed a Feast of utmost significance—for the Jewish people. It was a feast which recollected all that God had done and which celebrated their very identity as the people God had chosen and saved from slavery in the land of Egypt. Remember that first Passover where God commanded Moses to have each family slaughter a lamb and sprinkle its blood on the doorpost. The Angel of Death would then go through the land but would pass over each of the houses where the blood of the lamb was sprinkled.

Thus God spared Israel and saved that nation from slavery and oppression. He commanded them to celebrate that Passover Meal each year as an everlasting remembrance of how they were saved by God. That celebration was still taking place in the time of Christ, and St. John is making sure that the people understand that this is the context for the miracle of the Feeding of the 5,000.

At the very time Israel is remembering that moment of their salvation and the meal that commemorated their freedom and new life with God, Christ is providing for them another meal. He whom St. John has already told us is “the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” (John 1:29), is present among them to nourish them in a miraculous way.

But at the same time John also wants to move us in the other direction, not only to recognize the connection with the past but also to see how this miracle leads us ever more deeply into the mystery of Christ which we will come to know as the Eucharist. He does that by describing for us the actions of Christ in detail.

As the people reclined, Christ took the bread, gave thanks and then distributed it among them. Does that sound familiar? It is the very same thing He will do at the Last Supper, something we recall at every Mass: that He took the bread, blessed and thanked God, broke it and then gave it to the disciples.

It is the miracle of the Eucharist that has feed not 5,000 people but countless millions since the foundation of the Church. Christ is preparing the people for that Eucharistic miracle even as they recline on the green grass and watch in wonder this Good Shepherd who gives His very life for the sheep. Imagine, this is only the beginning of this five-week discourse on the Holy Eucharist!

But what I would call your attention to this weekend is the amazing fact that Christ does not perform this miracle by Himself. He could have. He has no need to rely on help from anyone in performing mighty deeds among the people. Nonetheless chooses to rely upon the apostles in accomplishing the Feeding of the 5,000.

Remember, Christ begins by asking Philip, “Where can we buy enough food for them to eat?” (John 6:5), a question to which He already knows the answer. It is the apostles who bring to Him that offering of 5 loaves and a few fish from that small boy. The apostles are the ones who assist Christ in distributing the food to the people, and they are the ones who collect the fragments left over: 12 baskets full, one for each of them.

Why is that important? Because these are the same twelve men who will be present at the Last Supper when Christ will once again take the bread, bless it and thank God, then give it to them, saying: “Take this all of you and eat it. This is my body.” At that Last Supper He will command them, “Do this in remembrance of me.”

They will be the ones who will take the bread and wine, consecrate it and offer that sacrificial gift of the body and blood of Jesus Christ. They will provide the Eucharist for the nascent Church in fulfillment of the promises of Christ. These are the first priests of Jesus Christ, and in this Year for Priests which Pope Benedict XVI has initiated we thank God for the gift of the priesthood, because without the priesthood there is no Eucharist. Without the priesthood there is no sacrifice of the Mass.

In closing I would like to ask you to pray for two things that are essential as we celebrate this Year for Priests. In his homily on the Feast of the Sacred Heart, when he began this Year for Priests, our Holy Father Pope Benedict spoke about the importance of the holiness of the priest. If the priest is not holy, how can he help the people he serves to grow closer to our Lord? If the priest is not holy, how can he lead others in the path of holiness?

Yet there are some challenges when it comes to recognizing this need for the prayers of the church that Her priests will be holy. The first one is that many people simply assume that the priest is holy already. Surely there is nothing our prayers can add; anyone who says yes to God in that vocation must already be holy. Unfortunately that is not the case! Priests struggle with the same difficulties as everyone else, and in this secular world priests have the same temptations that all the faithful have; they strive just as much as anyone else to be faithful to God in thought, word and deed. So please, pray for your priests! Pray that God will make your priests holy and that they will stay holy!

On the other side of the spectrum is a much smaller group, thankfully, and we all know people who make up this group. They are the ones who will say that we should not bother to pray for priests because none of them are any good to begin with! They are quick to point out how "Fr. So ’n So" did this ten years ago, or that other priest said that fifteen years ago. Therefore none of the priests are holy. This is a very negative and cynical position to say the least (not to mention illogical, for that matter) and one that God would have all of us avoid. So please pray for priests, that they will indeed be holy.

Secondly please pray that God will continue to call more priests and that the men He is presently calling will have the courage to say, “Yes.” We are very blessed to have three priests living at St. Mary’s. There are many parishes in our diocese that do not even have one full-time priest. In some places, when the pastor takes a vacation it is a major task to locate priests who will be able to celebrate the Eucharist there that week. We need to ask the Lord to continue the work that is already taking place in abundance in many parts of our diocese, and ask Him to bless those who are being called to this fruitful and life-giving vocation.

May our prayers to God be answered for more priests and holy priests as we continue to draw closer to Jesus Christ, the Bread of Life.