Homily for 9 May 2016

9 May 2016

The Civil War ended over 150 years ago, but there’s still the occasional tension that comes up.  World War II ended almost 71 years ago, but we hear about Neo-Nazis, and we might even still hear some slur against the Japanese or the Jews.  Jesus triumphed over evil and death centuries ago, and yet we still hear of the remnants of evildoing in the world today.

The war is over, and yet the devil refuses to believe it.  Maybe this is what Jesus is trying to tell us when he says, “In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world.”  Jesus overcame the darkness long ago, but it takes a while for the world to catch up.  It takes a while for evil and hatred to admit they’re fighting a battle they have no hope of winning.

In the meantime, as we’re sometimes caught in those lingering battles between hope and despair, love and fear, charity and hatred, Jesus gives us words of assurance.  He gives us the gospel, the “good news” that he’s already won the war.  So, “take courage,” he says.  “Take courage,” be at peace, and live in hope.  The world will catch up in time.

Homily for 8 May 2016

8 May 2016

Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord

Astronomers think that the universe is about 14 billion years old, and we usually hear about the Big Bang Theory as the reason why.  With that, there was a giant explosion that sent matter spreading out in all directions.  And, in time, the universe started to cool down, and the matter started to combine to form stars and planets and all the rest.  And so, the universe as we know it came into being.

But what about Heaven?  And I don’t mean “heaven” as in “the earth and the heavens.”  That’s the same as saying “the earth and the sky and everything beyond the sky.”  The “heavens” are certainly up in the sky: the clouds, the stars, the sun, the moon.  When we see artwork showing Jesus ascending into Heaven, it’s usually an image of him rising up into the clouds—which is an image we get from Scripture.

But he didn’t go to join the birds flying in the sky, as beautiful as the birds are.  He didn’t go up and sit down on a cloud, as big and powerful as clouds can be.  He didn’t ascend to “the heavens;” he didn’t become part of the vast “spirit” of the universe.  He ascended to Heaven.  So where’d he go?

We know a lot about the universe; how old it is, and we have some theories (scientifically speaking) of where it came from and how it works.  But what about Heaven?  How old is it?  And where did it come from, and how does it work? 

You know, we Catholics talk a lot about Heaven: whenever we get together for a funeral, our focus switches to Heaven; when we talk about baptism, we talk about Heaven; when we talk about our life here on earth, we talk about “getting to Heaven.”  There’s even a connection between what we do here at Mass and Heaven.  And yet, what do we really know about Heaven?  I would bet more than we think.

Today, with the Solemnity of the Ascension, we celebrate not only Jesus’ going up to “sit at the right hand of God the Father;” we also celebrate the birth of Heaven.  We’ve all seen depictions of angels and saints (and the angels is another question)—we’ve seen those depictions of all the faithful gathered around God, worshiping and adoring, singing and praise in perfect love.

But that gathering we call “Heaven” had a very definite starting point: it was when the first human being finally saw God face-to-face and was completely satisfied.  And that human being is Jesus.  Of course, the Son of God has known the Father since before time began; so there wasn’t anything especially new in Jesus the Son of God having ascended to the Father.  What was new was Jesus’ human nature.  That hadn’t ever been there before, mixed into the relationship between God the Father and God the Son.

The day that human nature was lifted up into the life of the Holy Trinity was the day that Heaven began.  Before the Ascension there was no Heaven.  There was God; there were angels.  But there weren’t any human beings.  But with the Ascension, that all changed, and Heaven was born.  You have to hunt around a little bit in our Catholic Tradition to find this, but it’s there. 

And so, how old is Heaven?  Oh, about 2,000 years old—give or take a few years.  But it’s so tied up with the eternity of God that time is pretty much irrelevant in Heaven.  And we wonder (as we should): well, what is it?  Is it a place?  Is it some sort of parallel universe or something?  What is it?  How does it work? 

Of course, any answer we try to give is going to fall short.  After all, we can’t really describe the infinite with our finite human minds and our limited ways of expressing ideas.  But we’re certainly going to try. 

In 2010, a little book came out called “Heaven is For Real.”  I imagine many of us have read it, or at least heard of it.  It’s about a four-year old who goes into surgery, slips into unconsciousness, and visits Heaven.  And the book is about him retelling what he saw there in Heaven.  He talks about meeting relatives who died long before he was born; Jesus was there, and a bunch of others were there in long white robes and golden sashes.  It’s really a very interesting read.

In 2000, there was another book published called “My Descent into Death.”  Only here it was an atheist’s experience.  He, too, had slipped into unconsciousness during surgery, and he went on a bit of a roller coaster ride—first being tormented by merciless beings, and then hearing a voice that told him to pray to God.  He resisted the idea of praying to God (he was an atheist, after all), but at some point he did.

He writes: “I didn’t know how to express what I wanted and needed, but with every bit of my last ounce of strength, I yelled out into the darkness, ‘Jesus, save me.’  I yelled that from the core of my being with all the energy I had left.  I have never meant anything more strongly in my life.”  But he recalls there appeared “far off in the darkness . . . a pinpoint of light like the faintest star in the sky.”

He came to see Heaven more so from a distance.  But he saw Jesus; he came to him as a “luminous being,” radiating nothing but pure love.  The man conversed with other people who were there.  He writes: “They all seemed to know and understand me and to be completely familiar with my thoughts and my past. . . . It felt like they were closer to me than anyone I had ever known.”

Both the little four-year old, and the adult atheist characterize Heaven as the experience of relationship—a perfect relationship of pure love.  And this is how the Catholic Church has understood the nature of Heaven.  Jesus was the first human being ever to worship God and love God and be in relationship with God perfectly.  After him, the whole community of Heaven began to grow.  Heaven is perfect love (foreshadowed, of course, by that perfect love we know as the Holy Trinity).

But, you know, that little boy and the atheist had different experiences of that perfect love.  There’s a universal aspect to Heaven, but there’s also an individual aspect to Heaven as well.  Pope Benedict (XVI) writes how our experience of Heaven is necessarily unique—because our relationships with God are each unique.  It’s kind of like if I were to ask everyone here to describe the image of the Sacred Heart.  There’s only the one image, but each of us sees it in a little different way.  And so it seems to go in Heaven.  There’s only the one God, but we each relate to God in a little different way, and so our experiences of Heaven are going to be unique.

But we also know that an essential part of Heaven is community.  It isn’t just “me and God;” it’s “me and God” and everybody else who’s also in relationship with God.  Now, on this Mother’s Day weekend, we, of course, give special attention and honor and thanks to our mothers.  But for many people, their mothers have passed away.  Like Jesus, they were “taken from our sight.”  But, like Jesus, they’re still with us.

They’re still with us (and us with them) in the communal life we know as “Heaven.”  In the 1980s, there was the song: “Somewhere Out There.”  “Somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight, someone’s thinking of me and loving me tonight.  And even though I know how very far apart we are, it helps to think we might be wishing on the same bright star.  And when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby, it helps to think we’re sleeping underneath the same big sky.”

It’s actually a nice image of how we relate to those who’ve passed away.  Two people, separated by death, and yet together gazing on the same “bright star” of God.  Of course, in Heaven (and the perfection of love and relationship) we’ll see them again, and be side-by-side as we love God and the whole Communion of the Saints together.

But we would make a mistake if we thought Heaven was only for the future.  Heaven is the experience of perfect love and relationship with God and one another; it’s the experience of everything that’s human and good coming together with what’s divine.  And that experience begins here. 

You know, when we think of a book, there’s a preface and introduction, all the chapters in the book, and then maybe a postscript or an epilogue at the end.  And when we think of our human life, where do we usually put Heaven?  Probably at the end, as a postscript for when the chapters of our life are filled up.  But that’s not right.

Heaven starts much earlier; maybe like the first or second chapter in our life story.  Every time a person is baptized, and commits him- or herself to life with God, there’s a little bit of Heaven.  Every time we give or receive charity, there’s a little bit of Heavenly sunlight coming through.  Every time we feel compassion, or pray, or give thanks to God for a beautiful day or whatever, there’s the experience of Heaven growing in us and through us.

Heaven is all about the perfection of our human nature—and we’re made to love and be loved.  And when we reach that perfection, we’ll discover that there is no end to the book; there is no postscript to the story of our life with God and our neighbors . . . other than “they lived happily ever after."

With the Ascension of Jesus, the idea of living “happily ever after” with God and our neighbors became a reality.  Heaven came into being.  It’s a great day to celebrate!  And we celebrate it with the Eucharist: one Host, one Cup, and we all share in it as fellow citizens of Heaven—today, now, and forever.

Homily for 8 May 2016

8 May 2016

One of the benefits of the internet is that it gives us a look into the minds of people.  And one thing we see is that a lot of people have Jesus all figured out.  It doesn’t seem to matter what the issue is, there’s always the underlying theme of : “This is what Jesus said.  End of discussion.”

Of course, we see this in Scripture as well.  People think they have God all figured out, even the disciples sometimes.  And so, they’re not interested in what Jesus has to say.  Either that, or they’re trying to listen to Jesus, but they still don’t get it.  And what they don’t “get” is that Jesus always has more to show them.

Jesus always has more to show us; he has more to tell us about . . . everything under the sun (and everything over the sun, too!).  And that’s an exciting thing!  And Apollos knew something of that excitement.  As we heard, “with ardent spirit, [he] spoke and taught accurately about Jesus.”  But “he knew only the baptism of John.”  And so, when Priscilla and Aquila had more to tell him about “the Way of God,” he wanted to know more.

Jesus speaks in “figures of speech.”  As we’ll hear in Monday’s readings, the disciples said, “Oh, no.  We got it.  You’re speaking plainly enough.”  To which Jesus said, “Hold on, you have more to learn.”  And Jesus says something similar to us: We always have more to learn—and that’s an exciting thing.  There’s a whole world of truth and goodness and beauty the Lord is trying to keep our eyes open to see.

And so, let’s take a lesson from Apollos, from the Apostles, and from all the billions of faithful and interested followers of Jesus throughout time.  Let’s see what Jesus has to show us.  Like a bunch of 3-year olds, let’s keep pummeling the Lord with questions.  There’s always more to know and love.  With Jesus there’s always more.       

Homily for 6 May 2016

6 May 2016

Saint Paul was a pretty zealous person.  Before his conversion, he had no problem going after the Christians with great vigor.  And after he’d been blinded by the Light of Christ, he was still just as vigorous—only then as a zealous supporter of Christ.  If there’s one image of Saint Paul we carry with us, it’s an image of a powerful, confident preacher of the gospel.

And so, it seems odd that Jesus had to tell Paul to “be not afraid.  Go on speaking . . . no one will attack and harm you . . . for I am with you.”  It just seems odd that Jesus would say that to him.  But maybe in doing that, Jesus is trying to show us—today—that even a powerful preacher such as Saint Paul needed encouragement and strength from God.

If Saint Paul needed Christ’s help, we can pretty much bet that we’re going to need it as well.  Jesus knows very well that, in sending us out to share God’s message of love and mercy, he’s not asking us to do something that’s easy.  He’s asking us to do something difficult—and he knows that.  And so, he says to us as well: “Be not afraid.  Go on speaking . . . no one will attack and harm you . . . for I am with you.”

Of course, it’s a test of our trust in God.  It’s a test of our trust that Jesus is right when he says: “You will grieve, but your grief will become joy.”  Spreading the gospel—being the presence of Christ to others—isn’t always easy.  But Jesus says, “Trust me.  It’ll turn out well, even if it’s uncomfortable right now.  Your grief will become joy."

Saint Paul was a zealous preacher of the gospel.  But he was even more zealous in his trust in God’s wisdom.  May we follow his example, and go out and “be Christ” to others—with peace, strength from God, and joy.

Homily for 5 May 2016

5 May 2016

Tradition is a tricky thing to maneuver.  On the one hand, it keeps us grounded in what’s important; it actually helps us to live more freely.  But on the other hand, tradition can also become like an anchor, or like a blindfold, which keeps us rather earth-bound and limited.

For some of the Jews, their tradition actually helped them to recognize Jesus for who he was: he was the fulfillment of their tradition.  But for other Jews, that same tradition made them blind to Jesus.  For them, he was a threat to their tradition. 

Even among Christ’s early disciples, traditional thinking about faith and world got in the way of them understanding what Jesus was trying to tell them.  They were trying to mesh together what their religious and intellectual tradition told them, with what Jesus was trying to tell them.  And it didn’t always go well.

Of course, we’re pretty familiar with this dynamic in today’s Church.  How often do we hear fellow Catholics referred to as “traditionalist and conservative” or “liberal and progressive” rather than as “brothers and sisters” in Christ?  More often than not, I would say.  And, among other reasons, it seems to come from how we relate to this thing called “tradition.”

Perhaps it’s helpful to remember that “tradition” is a living thing—it’s not about “doing things the way we’ve always done them.”  Instead, it’s about receiving and passing along what’s important and valuable.  For us Catholics, the core of our tradition is Christ himself, and our simple faith that he is who he says he is.  We celebrate that in a million different ways, and we delve into the mysteries of our faith with prayer, spirituality, theology, and so on.

But at the core of our living Catholic Tradition is simply Christ and our faith in him.  And so, if it ever feels like the “traditionalists” or the “progressives” are taking over . . . don’t worry.  Instead, hold firm to our Tradition; hold firm to Christ, who is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

Homily for 4 May 2016

4 May 2016

It was the resurrection that put them over the edge.  The people in Athens were listening to what Saint Paul had to say, but when he started talking about Jesus rising from the dead . . . well, that was it for a lot of them.  “Some began to scoff;” others politely dismissed him.  But a few wanted to know more and believed him.  But it was Paul’s talk of “resurrection” that had become a hurdle for them and their beliefs.

Of course, we might have our own hurdles to face as well.  Now, we’re very used to the idea of resurrection; we’re used to the idea of bread and wine becoming the Body and Blood of Christ.  Those are mind-blowing things—but they aren’t necessarily hurdles for us.  But are there teachings of Christ and his Apostles (and the Church) which are challenges to our faith?

What about the idea of “deification:” the idea that our life in Christ will eventually make us (to some degree) divine, and God-like?  It’s a teaching of Saint Paul, and part of Christ’s desire for us.  It that a challenge to our beliefs and ideas?

What about the idea of “loving God above all else:” the idea that the Church isn’t a social organization, but that she exists above all to love and adore God?  It’s a teaching of the Church, and it follows from the First and Greatest Commandment.  Is that a challenge to our beliefs and ideas?

What about the idea of “purgatory:” not as a fiery, hellish limbo, but as a place we want to find ourselves—because it’s the “front porch” of heaven; a place to take off our dirty shoes and wash up before going into heaven.  What about the idea of “purgatory” as a place we want to be?  Is that a challenge to our beliefs and ideas?

Our God is not the Unknown God of the ancient Athenians.  Our God has revealed to us in the person of Jesus Christ.  But with all that he wants to tell us and show us, are there ideas in our faith which we “cannot bear right now.”  Are there teachings or ideas that make us raise our eyebrows and say, “Hmm."

Jesus has “much more to tell” us—even today—about life and faith.  The “good news,” though, is that he’s sent the Spirit of Truth to help us.  Come Holy Spirit; lead us into the Light of Truth.

Homily for 3 May 2016

3 May 2016

Feast of Saints Philip and James

That’s a pretty enticing thing Jesus says: “If you ask anything of me in my name, I will do it.”  It sounds a lot like the old genie-in-the-bottle.  But that’s not quite how God works.  The name “Jesus” isn’t a magic word.  We don’t speak it and—shazam!—things happen and we get what we ask for.  Of course, we know that.

But, still, it’s an intriguing thing Jesus says: “If you ask anything of me in my name, I will do it.”  And he seems to be getting at what we heard this past weekend: The idea of breaking down barriers between the human and the divine, so that they’re practically one and the same.  To ask for something “in the name of Jesus” is to ask for it with the same mind and character of Jesus. 

In other words, to ask for something “in the name of Jesus” is to say to him: “I want what you want, Jesus.”  It’s to let our will and desires to be nothing other than the will and desires of the Lord—not so that we’re annihilated in our individuality, but so that we’re raised up in mind and spirit and character to be like God.

When the disciples heard Jesus, they heard the Father.  And that’s because Jesus spoke and acted “in the name of” God the Father; he lived as one with the Father.  When Paul, or Philip, or James preached and died for the faith, the crowds didn’t hear them—they heard Jesus preaching to them; they saw Jesus dying for them . . . not just Paul and Philip and James.  And that’s because Paul and Philip and James were one in mind and spirit with Jesus.

And Jesus gave his Apostles asking what they asked for, because what they asked for was nothing other than whatever Jesus wanted.  Jesus lays a pretty enticing thing out there us: “If you ask anything of me in my name, I will do it.”  And it’s true.  But the catch is: We have to ask “in the name of Jesus;” we have to be able to say to him: Jesus, Lord, whatever you want is what I want.

That’s a hard thing to do, for sure.  But the more we practice trusting in the Will of God, the more we’ll see some “magic” happening.  And that “magic” is nothing other than the fruit of our growing in holiness, our becoming more like God.