Homily for 2 Oct 2015 Guardian Angels

2 Oct 2015

Memorial of the Guardian Angels

Catholics are often accused of being “non-Biblical,” completely ignorant of Sacred Scripture.  Of course, with the memorial of St Jerome just a couple days ago, and our celebration of his life’s work of delving into Scripture, we also celebrate those wonderfully “Catholic” elements of our faith which come to us right from the written Word of God.  And among these are the Angels, and the Guardian Angels. in particular.

St Luke (1:19-26; 13:1-2; 16:22; 22:43) tells us about them, as does St Matthew (18:10).  Old Testament Prophets speak of them: prophets like Isaiah (6:1-3), Ezekiel (10:9-20) and Daniel (10).  The Book of Psalms (34:7; 91:10-13; 103:21) speaks often of God’s Angels, as does the letter to the Hebrews, the Acts of the Apostles, the Book of Revelation . . . and so many other writings of Scripture.

We pray to our Guardian Angels because it’s what a people of faith do.  God didn’t plop us down on earth and leave us to ourselves.  No, from the beginning he’s sent us companions and guardians to watch over us and to lead us toward moments of grace. 

You know, when we stumble upon a book that’s good for our soul, we can thank our Guardian Angel for leading us to that book.  Or when we meet someone who has a positive influence on us, there’s our Guardian Angel at work again.  As Scripture shows us so plainly, God gives us every help he can so that we can be happy with him today, now, and forever.

But some people ask: “Why pray to an Angel, or why pray to a Saint, when I can just pray to God directly?”  And, of course, the answer is: We can pray to God directly in the name of Jesus.  But why not take advantage of every help that God himself gives us?

We’re not alone on this earth.  God sends his Angels, his messengers, to help us.  And so, let’s take full advantage of what God offers, so that we can live with the angels who, at this moment, live among us.  

Homily for 1 Oct 2015 St Therese of Lisieux

1 Oct 2015

Memorial of St Therese of Lisieux

It happens at a young age: children begin to push their parents away.  And, with adolescence, personal independence becomes even more important.  But, of course, with early adulthood, those same kids realize how much they depend on others—particularly, their parents.  Of course, their parents hadn’t gone anywhere; they were always there.

And that image of a faithful parent, or a stable and comforting presence in our life comes through in the words of Isaiah: “Rejoice with Jerusalem, . . . as nurslings, you shall be carried in her arms and fondled in her lap; As a mother comforts her son, so will I comfort you; in Jerusalem you shall find your comfort.” 

About the time we think we can be independent of God and his Church, life happens, and we remember how much we need God and his Church.  And God is always there; the Church is always there.  When life gets us down, or we’re confused or frustrated, or scared, we can go to the One who is always there for us.

As a mother comforts her son, so we can find comfort in our God and in his Church.  And that can seem so abstract.  But just as we can share our hearts with other people, so we can share our hearts with God; in silence, in some time away from the buzyness of life.

Sometimes you just need to sit with God in your room and spill your guts out.  Sometimes you need to be alone in a darkened Church and maybe cry some tears, knowing that God is there.  Sometimes when life gets to be too much and we realize (again) how much we depend on God and his Church, we can remember the “Little Way” of St Therése—the way of trust, the way of openness and vulnerability, the way of simple childlike love for God our Father and the Church our Mother.

And it’s not a sign of weakness to be dependent.  After all, “the greatest in the kingdom of heaven” are those who are humble, trusting, and entirely dependent on God.  How great Christ is on the Cross—humble, trusting, and dependent.  How beautiful is the Church—humble, trusting, and dependent.  And how wonderful it is when we come home again; back to the bosom of our God; to God who is always there for us.

Homily for 29 Sep 2015 The Archangels

29 Sep 2015

Feast of Sts Michael, Gabriel and Raphael, Archangels

“War broke out in heaven.”  That’s a fascinating line from the Book of Revelation: of all places for war to break out, it happened in heaven.  It’s an image of the future, of the end times.  But it’s also the present reality wherever the Church and Christ are at work.

Wherever the Church is, the Devil will be there, too.  Wherever the People of God are at work, the spirit of division and hatred will be there; the spirit of rivalry and close-mindedness will be at work . . . not because the Devil is in the Church; but because the Devil hates the Church.  The Devil hates the fact that we’re trying to follow Christ and become holy.

Of course, we needn’t be afraid of the Devil.  The Son of God is infinitely more powerful than a fallen angel (which is who the Devil is).  Between Jesus and Satan there is no contest; it’s pointless on the part of Satan to continue to fight.  Of course, he doesn’t give up.  And neither does God, or us, or the countless angels and saints who worship God in heaven and earth.

We have St Michael the Archangel, whom the Prophet Daniel describes as a “great prince who stands up for the children of God’s people.”  And we have St Gabriel the Archangel, who is unfailing in getting God’s message to his people.  And there’s St Raphael the Archangel, known for great powers of healing.  Among the Saints in heaven, the three Archangels stand out as defenders and supporters of God’s people.

And the Archangels are what they are because within their minds and spirits there is no war.  They are entirely devoted to God; that’s the definition of a “saint:” one who is holy, one who is single-minded in adoration and worship of God.   The peace of heaven already lives within them, and that’s what motivates them to help us.

The life of heaven has already begun within our hearts.  But it’s not entirely here yet.  The war that broke out in heaven still rages on wherever people are trying to better themselves out of love for God.  We have one foot in the peace of heaven which is Christ, and one foot in that part of heaven still at war with the Devil.

But we look forward to a day when the Devil will be thrown out of our lives, and there will be for all of God’s holy ones . . . peace and joy and happiness.  Someday we’ll enjoy that single-minded adoration and worship of God which the angels enjoy.  St Michael, St Gabriel, St Raphael . . . pray for us.        

Homily for 28 Sep 2015

28 Sep 2015

“The Lord will build up Zion again, and appear in all his glory.”  Of course, we all have our own ideas of what “glory” is, just like the first disciples.  We have our ideas of what the Kingdom of God should look like, just like the first disciples.  But we disciples of Christ don’t always get it right; and Jesus knows that.

And so, he reminds us from time to time of the importance of everyday, “ordinary” events of life as being little glimpses of the real “glory of God.”  Jesus put a child in front of his disciples and, in effect, said, “Here, love this one.  Love your neighbor who nobody else has time for; who nobody else cares about.  Show some kindness to that one.” 

And then sometimes the “glory of God” is seen in cooperation, in harmony, among people.  The disciples complained to Jesus: “Lord, we told those other people to stop because they’re not in union with us.”  And, in effect, Jesus responded: “Don’t stop them.  As long as they’re in union with me, don’t worry about them.  Stop fighting and cooperate with one another in my name.”

To really love others who need to be loved, and to work with others who seem like the enemy is messy business.  But out of that messiness comes the “glory of God.”  Out of a pile of manure and dirt sprouts . . . a little plant, a sign of the glory of God.  And Jesus asks us to “play in the dirt,” so to speak; to get into the messiness of our everyday relationships with others and let the glory of God come out of that. 

And the more we “play in the dirt,” the more the glory of God will appear: the heavenly Jerusalem, a place where “boys and girls will play in the streets” and the old and wise will sit in harmony with one another.  And over them all will be God, who is “intensely jealous” and protective in his love for them.

But that “glory of God” starts here on earth, in the ordinary (and messy) events of life.  And so, what else would Jesus say, except: “Come on, let’s play in the dirt!  That’s where the glory is!  In the dirt . . . in the messiness of life.”  

Homily for 20 Sep 2015

20 Sep 2015

25^th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year B

The situation today isn’t all that different from way-back-when.  The Book of Wisdom was written about fifty years before the birth of Christ, and it was written for the Jews who were living in Alexandria, Egypt.  And Alexandria was a place where the culture was influenced by both Egyptian and Greek ways of life and ways of thinking.

The Egyptian gods were there.  The Greek gods were there.  And Greek philosophy was really ingrained in the way people thought.  It’s significant that the largest library in the world (at the time) was in Alexandria.  The author of the Book of Wisdom knew that he—and all the other Jews in the city—were constantly being pulled in this direction or that direction: ‘Think this;’ ‘Believe that.’  And somewhere in the mix of all this blending of cultures, beliefs, and ideas was the Jewish faith.

But the Book of Wisdom was written as a reminder to the Jews to be true to their faith and to their God.  There were some Jews who stayed true, and the Book of Wisdom calls them the “just” or the “wise.”  And there were some Jews who maybe assimilated too much of the Egyptian and Greek cultures, and the Book of Wisdom calls them the “wicked;” which is what we hear about today.

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And this situation is exactly what we deal with today: We’re disciples of Christ, members of his Catholic Church, and every day we’re influenced by ideas and beliefs which may or may not be Catholic or even Christian.  Every day we have choices to make.  You know, we’ll come across a blog or something in the newspaper where somebody’s trying to ‘sell’ a certain point-of-view.  And the question is: Am I going to let what they’re saying influence me, or am I going to say, ‘No, that doesn’t sound right,’ and just ignore it?  It’s the same situation the Jews experienced in Alexandria, Egypt. 

Now, in the letter of James, he suggests that “passions” are the cause of all the divisions in society (and in the Church).  And what he means here is that sometimes we humans can feel so strongly about something—we can be overly passionate about something—that we stop listening to others, and we actually turn in on ourselves—which, of course, is the opposite of peace and love, which require us to “go out” and be “open” to others. 

Without knowing it, our human passions—our convictions—can actually alienate us from the community we belong to.  And this ‘tug-of-war’ over what we believe and think is something we’re going to experience even more intensely during this election year.  We’re in the middle of a cultural tug-of-war over the principles and philosophies we live by.  And there’s a lot of passion behind them.

For example, we can look at abortion.  And the Church hears the call of God: “Thou shall not kill,” and also: “Do unto others as you would have them do to you.”  From our Catholic perspective, the question of abortion is very clear . . . and a little complex. It’s complex because sometimes the mother’s life is in danger and the fetus has no chance of survival.  That’s oftentimes the case with ectopic pregnancy.

But the basic principle, the simple and overriding principle we Christians live by is that no one has the power or the right to end a human life.  Of course, we see this echoed in our Declaration of Independence: “the inalienable right to life” is given to all by “their Creator.”  Though, some people disagree.  A lot of people disagree; even many of our Catholic brothers and sisters disagree.

There’s a passion at work here; a passion for ‘individual human rights’ and ‘health care’ which turns many people in on themselves.  The right to ‘do what I want with my body’ blocks out the more basic right to life.  And the human community—even the community of faith—is divided and not at peace. 

Even right here in Mass, our passions—our beliefs and philosophies—can divide us.  Now, when a parish takes a survey, there are generally a lot of critiques about the music at Mass.  And it was no different here with our recent survey.  We hear that: People love the organ; people hate the organ.  People want exciting, vibrant music; people want calm, inspiring music.  People want new, modern music; people want traditional hymns. 

And these divisions are rooted in our passions, in our beliefs and convictions about: who God is, what Mass is about, what the Church is, and what relationship there should be between the Church and the world in which we live.  And all these beliefs and convictions are shaped not only by our Catholic faith, but also by a whole society of competing philosophies about life and faith; competing ideas about happiness and fulfillment.

And the fact that we have all these ideas and philosophies and beliefs floating around is not the problem.  You know, part of being “Catholic” is that we’re interested in the wider “whole.”  My goodness, the entire Tradition of the Church would collapse if we weren’t open to new ideas and sources of truth, whatever they happen to be. 

The problem isn’t that there are a lot of ideas out there.  The problem is in being influenced by ideas without first asking in all humility and curiosity: “Is this really Christian?  Is this really Catholic?”  It’s so easy to become so passionate and convinced about an idea that we block out the bigger picture; that we righteous in our minds instead of sober.  It’s so easy today to be carried away from the community of faith and worshipping other gods, particularly the god which is our own sense of rightness.

We see this among the early disciples.  Jesus tried to tell them about his passion and death; but they wouldn’t listen.  They thought they knew how the Messiah was supposed to live—and being put to death wasn’t supposed to happen.  And so, as we hear, they did not ask him any more questions; there was a breakdown in their communion with Jesus because of their own sense of rightness—they knew what was true (they thought). 

And so, we’re not all that different from those Jews in Alexandria, Egypt, way back when.  They were trying to find their way in the midst of a world of competing values, competing philosophies of life—all the while trying to stay true to their God.  We’re in exactly the same boat.      

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And while we sit and ponder how to be a Catholic Christian in the world today, Jesus puts himself right in front of us and says, “I Am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life.  I Am.”  Just like that child he put in front of the disciples—a child who had no legal standing and was worthless in the eyes of the world—just like that child he puts himself in front of us—him who has been banished from the public square and is worthless in the eyes of the world—he puts himself in front of us and says, “Follow me.  Let me into your heart and mind.”

Christ is our touchstone for truth and wisdom.  He’s the one we go to when we wonder: “What should I believe?”  But Christ doesn’t exist by himself; he lives on in his Church.  As he said to Simon, “You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church.”  And the Holy Spirit of Christ came on Pentecost and filled the hearts and minds of his disciples who make up his Church.

We live in a world of competing values and philosophies of life; some are good to adopt into our lives; but others take us away from God and his Church.  And when we feel that “tug-o-war” in our hearts or minds, it’s good to go to Christ, to sit with him and his Church with all humility.  And there, where there is no division, no overriding passion within us, but just simple openness to the goodness of the Lord . . . there, we’ll find the assurance that what I believe is truly right and good.

And it will be so because it will be God’s truth, and not our own.

Homily for 18 Sep 2015

18 Sep 2015

It’s a nice little image there, in the gospel: Jesus and his community of followers, out and about preaching the gospel by example and by word.  There’s almost a sense of “rightness” about it; like that’s the way it’s supposed to be for us Christians.  No bickering, no trying to trump somebody else, no laziness—none of that.  It’s a nice little image there, in the gospel, of where as Christians started out.

Of course, by the time St Paul wrote his letter to Timothy, he had to remind people not to be conceited or envious or unkind to one another.  There were plenty of Christians still trying to follow the ideal of community living and worship, but—as it happens—there were others who didn’t quite follow that ideal.

And then we have our whole 2000 year history of the Church, and the present-day life of the Church.  And somewhere in the mix of it all today, somewhere in between all the meetings and debates, the disagreements, the politics, the factions and frictions that happen in the community of the faithful . . . somewhere in our collective memory as Christians is that nice little image from the gospel: Jesus and his loving disciples, moving together, living together, proclaiming the good news together, as one.

It is a nice image; something to keep in mind.  It’s where we started out as the Church.  Maybe someday, by the grace of God, that image will become a reality again.

Homily for 17 Sep 2015

17 Sep 2015

If you ever just sit down and read one of the gospels straight through, you’ll see Jesus as a very steady, stable person.  People come at him, it seems, from every side; some are against him (like the Pharisees), some are intrigued by him (like the crowds we so often hear of), and some are committed to him (like the woman in the gospel today).  But no matter what the people around him are doing, he just goes along . . . steady and sure.

That’s part of the attraction of Jesus—his inner strength and his quiet assuredness about what he’s doing.  No matter what people say about him, he just does what he does.

And that’s the diligence St Paul talks about in his letter to Timothy.  “Set an example for those who believe, in speech, conduct, love, faith, and purity. . . . Be diligent in these matters, be absorbed in them, so that your progress may be evident to everyone.”  Diligence and commitment are attractive . . . to us; but to our culture today—not so much.

Oh, we have activists around, for sure.  We experience people who are committed to ideals; though, they’re not Christian ideals; they’re not ideals of real love and self-sacrifice.  But, of course, that kind of commitment comes and goes.  Instead, the diligence and commitment of Christ—and therefore of us—is a commitment to God’s ways, whether or not they’re appealing to others.

And that’s a hard commitment to make.  When we see the numbers of Catholics declining; when we see our youth being lured away by something more exciting, we’re tempted.  We’re tempted to do what’s trendy without first wondering: Is that trendy thing true?  Is that God at work?  We’re tempted to step off the path of Christ and onto . . . another path.

The Pharisees complained that Jesus forgave the sinful woman.  But he didn’t backtrack and revamp his program to appease them.  He forgave the woman, and left the others to follow him or reject him.  Of course, he hoped that everyone would follow him.  But he knew only too well that not everyone would.  He never sacrificed his commitment to the Father so others would follow him.

He never sacrificed the one thing that was his most powerful invitation for others to follow him.  He never sacrificed his commitment to the ways of God.  If we ever wonder how to draw others to Christ, perhaps the best thing we can do is remain steadfast—and joyfully so—in love for our God.  No matter what others say, may we remain true to our God.