God on the Seaward Road

(Third Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year A; This homily was given on January 26, 2020 in Primavalle-Rome, Italy; See Isaiah 8:23-9:3 and Matthew 4: 12-23)

In the terminology of the International organisations, it is called “forced migration.”  It is what happens when there is a conflict or war, and millions of people suffer.  People who are not soldiers, not directly involved in the conflict, are “in the way” and are forced to make a choice.  Either they move or they die.  Often, with only the clothes on their back and whatever they can carry in their hands (which is often their smallest child), they leave their home and seek a safer place.  

Recent figures indicate that there are over 70 million forced migrants in the world today.  Half of them come from one of three countries: Afghanistan, South Sudan or Syria.  Some 40 million are “internally displaced persons” or IDPs.  They have fled their home but remain in the same country.   Their future is far from secure.  Another 25 million persons are refugees, people that have fled their own country and are seeking refuge in a foreign land, where they have no citizenship, no resources and very little hope.  Millions of others are trafficked, collateral damage in the world of conflict and war.  

Pope Francis has taken a deep, personal interest in the care of these vulnerable people.  There is an entire section in the Vatican’s Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development dedicated to assisting refugees and migrants.  The sisters in your community here in this city, and in places all across the world, also devote tremendous care and resources to meet the basic needs of these persons who often have nowhere else to turn.  You bring God into the lives of these vulnerable people, and where there is God there is hope.

In the Scriptures this weekend, we listen to the tragic story of forced migration in the Book of the Prophet Isaiah and in the Gospel of St. Matthew.  We hear about the “land of Zebulun and of Naphtali.”  These two tribes of Israel were located in the far northwest region of the nation, which means they were on the border.  They were much more vulnerable to attack than the interior tribes.  

In the 8th century before the birth of Christ, the major superpower of that part of the world was Assyria.  Over the course of several years they had invaded, destroyed and conquered the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali. Thousands of people were carried away into exile, enslaved in Assyria, never to return home again.   Furthermore, the Assyrians sent thousands of their own people into Zebulun and Naphtali, to colonise that place and erase its former identity.  The phrase “Galilee of the Gentiles” was not a positive one, but a term of scorn and derision.  

By the time of Christ, the people of Israel were well aware of the tragic fate of Zebulun and Naphtali.  It was a dark place on the face of the earth, a place that many would have considered forsaken.  But Isaiah reminds the people of God that they have NOT been forgotten!  This land is NOT forsaken.  The Messiah would walk into the middle of that place and shine the light of hope on all humanity.  Isaiah prophesied:

First the Lord degraded the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali: but in the end he has glorified the seaward road, the land west of the Jordan, the District of the Gentiles.  Anguish has taken wing, dispelled is darkness: for there is no gloom where but now there was distress.  The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom a light has shone.

—Isaiah 8:23-9:3

St. Matthew proclaims that Jesus “went to live in Capernaum by the sea, in the region of Zebulun and Naphtali, that what had been said through Isaiah the prophet might be FULFILLED” (Matthew 4:13-14).  It is there in the “land of gloom” that Jesus will call His first Apostles, whom He will send out to the furthest reaches of the word to spread the light of the Gospel of salvation.  God has indeed “gloried the seaward road”!  

The spiritual principle we find at work in the readings this weekend teaches us that God can—and often does—work in the most painful places; He is capable of shining His light into the darkness of our world in every age.  The miracle of grace that happened in the first century with the coming of Christ continues to work in the world through His body, the Church.  

In the 5th century, as the Christian faith continued to spread throughout the world, a young man named Patrick was living in Britain.  When he was only 16 years old, the village where he resided was attacked by marauders and Patrick was carried off to Ireland and forced to work as a shepherd.  There, tending the flocks alone day after day, he began to remember the Catholic faith that he had been taught as a child but never completely followed.  He remembered the exhortations to always be prepared for the day of salvation, to follow the commandments, to pray and worship God.  

The light of faith was there enkindled in the heart of that young man, and he began to devote many hours each day to prayer.  And so it was that Patrick was attentive to the voice of God within his soul.  One evening, he recalls in his spiritual testimony or Confessio, he heard the Lord say to him, “Your ship is ready.”  It seemed quite strange to Patrick, because he was hundreds of miles from the shore!  Nonetheless, he heard the voice again, “Your ship is ready.”  Motivated by faith, he escaped from captivity and made his way to the sea.  As he arrived to that place, never having been there before, there was a ship leaving the port for Britain!  Patrick was carried back home and was eventually reunited with his family.

Several years after his return, however, Patrick heard another voice.  This time it was not the voice of God, but the “voice of the Irish,” and he relates the words he heard deep within his soul: “We beseech thee, holy young man, to come and walk among us once again.”  He writes how his heart was broken and he was moved with great love, choosing then to return to Ireland as a missionary and to proclaim the Catholic faith to them.  St. Patrick, as we know, is the patron saint of Ireland.  In him, too, did God glorify “the seaward road.”  

Where is God calling us to be more attentive to His voice in our lives at this time?  Where is He calling us, along “the seaward road,” in those places where there is darkness, sadness and gloom?  Where are the “forsaken” present among us, in need of the Good News of Jesus Christ and the redemptive power of God’s grace?  The Missionaries of Charity are founded on this very reality.  God spoke to St. Teresa of Calcutta, asking her to, “Come, be my light.”  He called her to carry His light to those who were suffering in the darkness.  May we all continue to respond to that call, to be sent by Christ to dispel the darkness and to be His light in every part of this world.

The Light of Christmas

(Second Sunday after Christmas-Year A; This homily was given on January 5, 2020 at the Church of Santo Spirito in Sassia in Rome, Italy; See Ephesians 1:3-18 and John 1: 1-18)

There is a hospital in the smallest state of the United States (Rhode Island) that is a really big deal for a lot of very small reasons.  It is called the Hasbro Children’s Hospital, located in Providence, Rhode Island, and it provides health care for thousands of young people each year.  While many of the children in that place are there for a short visit, struggling with the flu or some other temporary illness, others are fighting a much more difficult battle.  With that said, there are also many medical professionals, chaplains and volunteers who bring hope and healing to those very special young people.

One day, volunteer Steve Rosnihan noticed that he could see his bus stop from the window of an upper floor in Hasbro Children’s Hospital.   At the end of each day at the hospital, he would pedal his bike a short distance away, and then place it on the bus, riding public transit the rest of the way home.  He told some of the children at the hospital to look out to the bus stop at 8:30pm, and at that time he began to flash the lamp on the front of his bicycle.  The children delighted in this simple message of care and support.  Seeing their reaction, he began to tell others nearby about the light for the children.  Businesses, too, began to flash their lights at 8:30pm.  Quickly word began to spread, and before long nearby Brown University also flashed massive LED lights each evening.  The local East Providence Police Department started to line up any available cruisers once a week across the river, and at 8:30pm they would flash their overhead lights.  By this time, all of the children at Hasbro eagerly anticipated that 8:30pm “magic minute.”  The children soon began using flashlights, signalling back a message of their own: We see you, we appreciate your care and support for us.  Thank you. The tradition has come to be known as “Good Night Lights,” and it has had quite a powerful impact on that local community and the lives of thousands of children.

In many ways, if we look at Sacred Scripture and the teachings of our faith, humanity is like a sick child.  We were created by God for community and love, to be generous and kind to those around us; to live in harmony with the rest of creation, what Pope Francis refers to affectionately as “our common home”; we were created to be in communion with God, to adore and serve Him with all of our heart, mind and soul.  That vision for all God’s children has been shattered by sin.  We all experience its effects deep within our souls, in our relationships and also in the way we relate—or fail to relate—with God.  

It is during the season of Advent, and especially in the celebration of Christmas, that we see God breaking through to bring healing and new life to fallen humanity once again.  During Advent, we saw how God’s messenger of light, the Angel Gabriel, was sent to Zechariah with the news that he and his wife, Elizabeth, would have a child who would be the forerunner of the Christ.  The same angel is sent to the Blessed Virgin Mary to announce, “Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus (Luke 1:31).”    An angel appears in a dream to St. Joseph, directing him to protect and watch over the child and his mother.  In their response to these illuminating messages, the holy people of God shine that light of faith back to God: We hear You, we will do what You are asking.  Fiat.

When Christ is born in Bethlehem, we are told that there were shepherds tending their flocks at night when suddenly, “an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with fear” (Luke 2:9).  The night sky had never seen such a brilliant illumination.  Moments later the entire sky was filled with an entire host of angels, singing “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to those on whom his favour rests” (Luke 2:14).  The heavens are lit up with the saving message of God and His presence here among us!

And so it is that we come to this celebration here this morning, rejoicing in the Incarnation, the light of Jesus Christ, God made flesh.  We prayed at the beginning of this Mass, in the Collect, the opening prayer that “collects” the people of God around the altar of sacrifice:

Almighty ever-living God, splendour of faithful souls, graciously be pleased to fill the world with your glory, and show yourself to all peoples by the radiance of your light.

God has come into the world to bring healing and hope once again, and to flood with radiance this place so often obscured by darkness.  He has come to bathe us in His own wonderful light.   As St. John the Evangelist describes it in the Gospel this morning:

What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.  The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

—John 1:4-5

God does not merely shine a light into the world, He comes into the world literally in the person of Jesus Christ.  He is Himself the light and has come to dwell in us by the power of the Holy Spirit.  This is the great message of hope for the world, so often beset by darkness; it is the message of light that we are called to carry to those who long to see it.  We can listen to St. Paul’s prayer for us this morning, and ask if we are fully allowing God to answer that prayer in us:

I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, so that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints.

—Ephesians 1:17-18

a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him . . .

 Can any of us here this morning truly say that we are already in full possession of wisdom and that we have come to know God fully in our lives?  Is there not much more room in each of our lives to grow in wisdom and knowledge of God, to discover His infinite love more deeply in our personal lives and in the life of the Church? St. Paul prays that the “eyes of your heart” be “enlightened,” that the light of God would illumine our vision and broaden our hearts to love Him and those around us more completely.  What are the ways in which God is calling us to experience that enlightenment this year?

Certainly, we can come to know God more deeply and intimately in prayer.  In that silent conversation with God, when we are willing to set aside time each day to be alone with Him, we can come to know God, experience His presence and power in our lives.  This is something we can all surrender ourselves to more generously in this coming year. 

We can discover God more completely and have the eyes of our heart enlightened in the Sacraments.  Here in the Eucharist we come to know God in an intimate and life-giving way.  In Eucharistic adoration, we come to know and love Him, to believe more firmly in Him, to hope in Him more completely.  In the Sacrament of Reconciliation, we come to know the merciful love of God, to experience the healing of our soul that restores our relationship with God and each other.  Could we ever know the depths of that mercy enough or receive that healing consolation and absolution too much?

God is waiting for us to discover His unfathomable mercy and a deeper knowledge of Him as He continues to fill this world with His glory and show Himself to all peoples by the radiance of His light. If we are open to that gift and ready to respond—like Zechariah and Elizabeth, like St. John the Baptist, like the Blessed Virgin Mary and St. Joseph—if we allow God to enlighten the eyes of our heart and if we are willing to respond with faith in the midst of our own specific circumstances of life, we will be available to accomplish much for the Church and for the world. If we surrender to the power of God, shining in and through us in this coming year, then we will discover, with St. John the Evangelist: The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness WILL NEVER overcome it (John 1:4-5).

Closing the Gap

(Twenty-Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year C; This homily was given on September 29, 2019 in Primavalle-Rome, Italy; See 1 Timothy 6:11-16 and Luke 16: 19-31)

There are three gaps or separations that we find in the readings for this weekend.  The first one is rather obvious, and Jesus mentions it specifically in the Gospel.  It is a gap revealed as a permanent separation between the rich man and Lazarus.  Immediately following the death of that poor man, Lazarus is carried by angels to the bosom of Abraham. Seeing him there from his own sorry space in the netherworld, the rich man implores Abraham to send Lazarus to console him.  Abraham responds that no such connection will be possible, because of an eternal gap: 

“Between us and you a great chasm is established   to prevent anyone from crossing who might wish to go from our side to yours or from your side to ours” (Luke 16:26).

That is the first gap, and we can come back to that one at the end.  For now, I would like to look at another, very different, gap.  It is the one that St. Paul alluded to in our Second Reading this morning, in His First Letter to Timothy.  He describes Christ as “King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone has immortality, who dwells in unapproachable light and whom no human being has seen or can see” (1 Timothy 6:15).  There is an infinite space, then, between God and humanity.  He alone is immortal, unapproachable.  There is nothing that we could ever do to close that gap.  It is a total separation that no human ingenuity, no amount of goodwill or benign intention could ever remedy.  

But there is something God could do, and has done, to close the gap.  By a completely gratuitous act of self-giving love, the infinite and immortal God steps into time and becomes man.  It is the miracle of the Incarnation, and in the person of Christ the God “whom no human being has seen or can see” suddenly stepped into our world and changed everything.  He made it possible to live and love again, and he brought humanity into communion with God and with each other.  

Of course, because we are free we do not have to recognise that communion.  We could choose to remain separated from God and separated from each other.  That is the tragedy we find in the parable this weekend and it constitutes the third gap: sin.  Lazarus was known to this man.  He walked by Lazarus each and every day, but he deliberately choose to do nothing to alleviate his suffering.  We often make the same choices, remaining distant from those around us, and failing to close the gap.  

It can certainly happen when we fail to recognise Christ in the poor and the afflicted.  That is the very point of the Gospel for this weekend.  But it can also happen in the life of community, or in a lack of love for those we are called to serve.  It can happen by our neglect of prayer or an unresponsiveness to the prompting of the Holy Spirit.  Christ has come into our world and into our lives to bring us closer together and closer to God.  The Sacrament of the Eucharist that we celebrate is the greatest sign and reality of that communion.  Christ comes before us in all humility, making himself poor even like Lazarus, inviting us in the gentlest of ways to close the gap while there is still time.  

Which brings us back to that first gap once, again, the “great chasm” established between the rich man and Lazarus.  It is not surprising that the rich man, from his place of condemnation, can no longer do anything to change his lot.  It does come as a bit of a surprise, though, that this lack of mobility extends in both directions.  There is no longer anything Lazarus or Abraham can do, either!

This life alone is the place where we can exercise the gift of faith.  After this world, we will see God, see each other like never before; only here can we do good for the poor and needy, because in heaven there will be no more sorrow, no more pain (see Revelation 21:4).  Which means that we must use all the time we have, sparing no effort to love, to live completely our faith, and to allow God to close the gaps that still remain in our lives.  This is the only chance we will ever have to do that.  

What are some of the very practical ways that we can close the gap?  First and foremost, we pray.  We open our hearts to that dialogue that is always initiated by God, allowing us to become more open to the presence of Christ and the way He is revealing Himself in the world around us and in the lives of others.  Secondly, we allow Christ to close the gap through the power of the Sacraments. In the Eucharist He leaves no more space between us and God, and gives us the spiritual strength we need to live and love like never before. In the Sacrament of Reconciliation we allow His healing love to reorient our lives, making us available to God and to others.  In the daily practice of our faith, and through all the opportunities that God provides for us, we seek to make the Incarnation of Jesus Christ a fruitful reality in our personal vocation, in the Church and in the world.

Christian Life: Business & Personal

St. Kathryn Drexel (1858-1955)

(Twenty-Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year C; This homily was given on September 22, 2019 in Rome, Italy; See Amos 8:4-7 and Luke 16: 1-13)

There is a chilling scene in the movie The Godfather, when Michael Corleone makes the fatal decision to become committed and involved in the family “business.”  The move is somewhat unexpected, as Michael is a college graduate and decorated Marine Corps vet that seemed to be moving in a path that was legitimate and even noble.  

The context is that another crime boss and a corrupt police officer have put the pressure on “The Family” and the Corleone clan are gathered together to figure out what they should do next.  Michael calmly explains that he will arrange a meeting and shoot them both.  There is complete silence in the room until one of the members of the family begins to laugh; for a moment, they had almost taken him seriously.  The others soon join in.  Sonny, Michael’s older brother, shrugs off the idea and condescendingly suggests that Michael has taken things too personally, and that the young college grad is not capable of such a bold move.  At that point, Michael methodically explains—step by step—how he will go about the crime.  Again, there is silence, and at that point Michael takes the opportunity to correct his brother.  With a ruthless lack of emotion, he coldly states, “It’s not personal, Sonny.  It’s strictly business.”

While that calculated line from Michael Corleone is thematic in that fiction film, and the modus operandi of the Godfather, it actually comes from a real-life figure in organised crime.  Otto Berman was a brilliant accountant for a crime family in Newark, New Jersey back in the 1930s, and he is credited with coining the phrase, “Nothing personal, it’s just business.”  Like so many people involved in that way of life, on screen and off, Berman died young and violently.

How sad, then, that the pithy expression lives on and is often used as an excuse for putting profit over people.  When a large corporation has to recover from a bad fiscal year, they reduce the workforce without any concern for the future of their former employees.  It nothing personal, strictly business.  

Perhaps some high-level investor sees an opportunity to purchase a competing company and eliminate it, along with the ideals that the company was founded on.  Just business, nothing personal.   

In the political world, we also see the same mentality.  Elected officials often say things like, “I am personally opposed to . . . , but . . .”  They choose to advance an immoral agenda by subscribing to the split between what is personal and what is “business.”

Our readings for this weekend come out strongly against this separation of one’s personal life from everyday business, in Amos the Prophet and in the Gospel.  Amos presents the injustice and corruption taking place in Israel during a very vulnerable period of the nation’s history.  He sums the mentality of some:

We will diminish the ephah, add to the shekel, and fix our scales for cheating!  We will buy the lowly for silver, and the poor for a pair of sandals.

—Amos 8:5-6

Nothing personal here; they are just conducting a little business.  But this very separation between the two automatically objectifies the human person.  People are not property, to be purchased for silver or the price of footwear.  God responds through the Prophet Amos:

The Lord has sworn by the pride of Jacob: never will I forget a thing they have done!

—Amos 8:7

In the Gospel, as well, the dishonest steward has been conducting business without any concern for the impact it will have on others.  He benignly cheats his own master, being mindful only of himself.  It’s strictly business, nothing personal.  But suddenly his deception is discovered and his “business” is about to come to an end.  At that point, he becomes deeply involved on a very personal level!  He works overtime to build relationships that will earn him dividends when the stewardship runs out.  

Jesus commends the man, not for his dishonesty, but for the way that he became fully committed and personally involved in every dimension of his work, so that every possibility for gain will be fulfilled.  “For the children of this world are more prudent in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light (Luke 16:8),” Jesus comments.  Would that all God’s people were fully committed, personally involved and able to make prudent choices in spreading the light of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

In the early 20^th century, as Otto Berman’s life was coming to a close in Newark, a young woman named Kathryn Drexel was coming into her own in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.  Born into one of the wealthiest banking and finance families in the United States, Kathryn and her two sisters inherited millions of dollars after the untimely death of their father and stepmother.  Of the three, Kathryn was the most business savvy.  As her sisters were being introduced into the highest circles of society and beginning families, she began to invest her money and administrative resources into schools and missions for the nation’s poor and disenfranchised.  The two main communities that she advocated for were the Native Americans and African Americans.  

In 1886, Kathryn and her sisters made a tour of Europe.  Like she had done with previous trips, young Kathryn used every opportunity to raise funds and advocate for her missions and schools.  Then in January she had the opportunity of a lifetime, a private audience with Pope Leo XIII at the Vatican.  Never lacking in courage, she knelt before the Holy Father and begged him to help her with the work she was doing back in the U.S.  Would His Holiness consider sending missionaries to spiritually feed these hungry souls?  Would he send good priests, holy sisters to work diligently in the missions.  His response was a resounding, “Yes!”  Fixing his gaze on the young millionaire, he said, “I am sending YOU!”

It is told that when Kathryn left the audience she was physically sick and completely overwhelmed.  She, a millionaire, to become a nun working each and every day in the schools and missions she had founded?  Was she now to take a vow of poverty?  Hadn’t she given enough?  Perhaps Jesus would have responded, “No.  It’s not just business, Kathryn, it’s personal.”  Whatever transpired in the depths of Kathryn’s soul, she began to discern a vocation to religious life and in 1889 renounced everything she owned, dedicating all of it to the work of the Gospel.  

Kathryn made her first vows in 1891, and not long afterward she founded the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament, dedicated to the service of Native Americans and African Americans.  In 1915, she founded Xavier University in New Orleans, the first Catholic University in the U.S. for African Americans.   She would go on to found more than 60 schools and some 50 missions dedicated to her vision of equal dignity and equal opportunity for all.  On March 3, 1955, Mother Kathryn Drexel died at the age of 96.  She was Beatified in 1988 and was Canonized St. Kathryn Drexel on October 1, 2000 by St. John Paul II.  

How is God challenging us to become more completely involved in the work of the Gospel, to be prudent and ardent children of light in our own place in this world?  May we also conduct our Christian lives and the business of the Gospel in a more deeply personal way as we live out our own vocation in the everyday experiences of life.

God's Creation: Visible and Invisible

Parable of the Good Samaritan, Jan Wijnants (1670)

 

(Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time-Year C; This homily was given on July 14, 2019 at St. Paul's Church in Cranston, R.I.; See Colossians 1:15-20 and Luke 10: 25-37)

 

Every Sunday we profess our faith in “one God, the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible.”  We believe God made everything that is—the entire universe we live in—out of nothing.  He made “all things, visible and invisible.”

 

God created the entire visible world: he made the sea and the land, the mountains and the plains; God made the creatures dwelling across the face of the earth and in the depths of the ocean.  As the pinnacle of His creation He made you and I, man and woman, in His own image and likeness.  All of this creation can be seen and observed, appreciated and accepted with a sense of awe and wonder.

But God also created all things invisible.  What does that mean?  Each of us has a spiritual soul.  You cannot see it, yet it exists.  We are made of body and soul, and our spiritual soul is invisible. God made the angels. We cannot see them either, but they are constantly around us.  Each of us, we are taught, has at least one guardian angel (see Matthew 18:10).  If you were to count the heads in the Church this morning you would have to multiply by at least two, because that is how many beings—human and angelic—are present here right now. 

God created all of these, visible and invisible.  St. Paul, in the Letter to the Colossians this morning, explains it this way:

Christ Jesus is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation.  For in him were created all things in heaven and on earth, the visible and the invisible.

—Colossians 1:15-16

 

Christ Jesus is the image of the invisible God.  God is purely spiritual, and He cannot be seen.  He is the infinite and invisible God.  But suddenly He became visible when Christ was born in Bethlehem.  The God, “who alone has immortality and dwells in unapproachable light, whom no man has ever seen or can see” (1 Timothy 6:16) became visible to the Blessed Virgin Mary and St. Joseph, and then to some shepherds, and finally, to an entire host of angels.  He later became manifest in Galilee and healed the sick, and forgave broken people that the world had forgotten.  Thousands of people saw Him.  They watched Him suffer and witnessed His body fastened to the wood of the cross for the forgiveness of sins.  They saw the God of love pouring Himself out in agony, and they watched His body laid to rest in the tomb.  They saw Him after He had risen from the dead, and watched Him ascend into heaven.

St. Paul calls Him “the firstborn of all creation” and “the firstborn from the dead,” because He is the first one to rise from the dead, the first of many!  It is in Christ, says St. Paul, that all things were created, visible and invisible.

St. Thomas Aquinas, often referred to as the “Angelic Doctor” for his teachings on the angels,    along with many of the great teachers of the Catholic faith, speaks about what could be called a hierarchy of being.  While it is true that all men and women are created equal, not all beings are equal!  For instance, God is greater than all beings, whether visible or invisible. God has always existed, from all eternity.  There never was a time that God did not exist.  While everything and everyone came to be at some specific time, God simply is.  Before all things came to be, God is.

Angels are like God in that they are spiritual and invisible, but there was a time that they did not exist.  God created them, and they came into being.  They are greater than us, because they are purely spiritual, and are not limited physically like we are.

Next, of course, is humanity.  We are like the angels in our spiritual souls, but we also possess a  body.  In our corporality we are limited.  An angel can move from here to California in a moment. If you and I want to do that, we have to take a airplane or a really long road trip!  Jesus says that angels can always behold the face of His heavenly Father; we are not granted that amazing privilege here below.

The remarkable truth about our redemption in Christ, however, is that when God chose to save us and to open the gates to eternal life, He did not become an angel.  God did not descend one level down the hierarchy of being (that itself would have been a tremendous act of divine humility).  No, when God came to save us He descended two levels to become a man.  As the author of the Letter to the Hebrews expressed it, “But we see Jesus, who for a little while was made lower than the angels, crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering and death, so that by the grace of God he may taste death for every one” (Hebrews 2:9).

The breathtaking reality of our redemption is that Christ united Himself to our humanity, and then ascended into heaven, taking humanity with Him!  In the resurrection, we ascend with Christ and are united with God even above the angels.  This is the meaning of St. Paul’s bold assertion in 1 Corinthians 6:3: “Do you not know that we are to judge angels?”  What an amazing exchange, and it all takes place through the body of Jesus Christ!  The early Church Father, Tertullian, explains, “Caro salutis est cardo.”  The flesh, or body, is the hinge of salvation.  God has thrown open the gates to heaven, and He has used the body of Jesus Christ to do it!

 
Back down to earth, this amazing truth about our redemption reminds us that everybody, and literally every body, has the same value and dignity of God.  Every terminally ill patient being cared for by hospice has infinite value; every unborn child has the same dignity and value as Jesus Christ; every young person, every elderly person, every man and every woman, is as valuable as God’s own Son.  The tragedy in our Gospel this weekend is that the priest and the Levite have failed to recognize that; or having recognized it, they failed to act on it. 

In the Parable of the Good Samaritan the priest and the Levite come upon this unfortunate victim of robbers, a person left half-dead on the side of the road.  Not wanting to get involved and not willing to help him in his dire need, they both “passed by on the opposite side.”  How different, the response of the Good Samaritan.  Jesus says that he “was moved by compassion” when he saw that unfortunate man, and at length he helped him in practical and caring ways.
 

St. John Paul II, in his Apostolic Letter Salvifici Doloris, The Christian Meaning of Human Suffering, says that the Parable of the Good Samaritan belongs to the Gospel of Mercy.  What an odd thing to say!  The word “Gospel” means “good news.”  How can there be “good news” in suffering?  The good news, of course, is that God has redeemed us, and He did it through the generosity of the cross.  His willingness to suffer and die for us reveals God’s great mercy towards suffering and sinful humanity.  The Parable of the Good Samaritan, by comparison, does the same.
 

There are two things that the Good Samaritan teaches us, says St. John Paul II, two essential responses that we must embrace when it comes to the suffering of others.  The first is that the Samaritan was moved to compassion.  The suffering that we witness everyday should move us, should motivate us; it should leave a deep impression on us because every body, every individual person, matters.  Secondly, not only compassion but also availability must be our response to those who are suffering (See Salvifici Doloris, #28).  The Good Samaritan made himself available to this man who had fallen victim to robbers.  He approached the man, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them; he brought that broken man to an inn, and paid for his convalescence (see Luke 10:34-35).

Salvifici Doloris offers a thorough theological explanation of suffering and highlights the central point that the cross is a mystery in our lives, not something that can be easily answered.  We do not know all of the reasons why we suffer.  One meaning that is essential for us as Christians, however, and something that communicates beautifully this compassion and availability that should motivate us to action, is the universal call to love.  St. John Paul says that suffering “is also present in order to unleash love in the human person, that unselfish gift of one's "I" on behalf of other people, especially those who suffer (Salvifici Doloris, #29).  Those who perhaps would not ordinarily be willing to love are drawn to that generous gift of self in the face of suffering.

 

In my own family we see this mysterious reality at work on a regular basis.  My nephew suffers from a rare illness that caused him to go blind when he was still a small child.  He has difficulty walking, speaking and doing most things that children his age accomplish quite easily. Caring for him is challenging for my sister and her family.  But when they take him out to any of a number of local restaurants or shopping centers, it is often as if Taylor Swift just walked into the room!  People that have seen him before, those who have laughed and joked with him, cannot wait to come over and say hello.  They want to place their hand on his shoulder, and talk to him, listening to what he has to say.  These are often young people who ordinarily spend long hours staring into their smartphones, but suddenly they are drawn out of themselves in order to love and care for another person who is suffering.   Suffering is “present in order to unleash love in the human person.”  
 

Where is Christ calling us this week to show compassion for those who are suffering around us, and challenging us to be available as he draws us more deeply into love?  He has given each of us a soul that is invisible, and surrounded us with angels that we cannot see.  But we all have people in our lives right now that are suffering.  We can see them, and should see them, clear as day.  It could be a physical illness or setback; it might be a personal crisis or a financial one.  People that we know and love may be suffering from a mental illness, something that sadly remains somewhat of a stigma in our culture, only adding to the weight of that person’s cross.  Whatever it may be, God calls each of us to love in the midst of suffering, to be Good Samaritans is a world where the Gospel of Suffering continues to open hearts to the mystery of God’s healing grace.