Homily for 7 Apr 2016

7 Apr 2016

Someone—a modern day Doubting Thomas—asked me: “Why do you believe?  Why do you believe in God...and in Christianity?”  And the two of us went on to have a long conversation about that.  Really, it’s a question our increasingly secular world is asking of all of us: “Why do you believe?” 

And there are, actually, many reasons for our faith (beyond the essential virtue of faith given to us by God).  For instance, philosophy and human reason help us to believe.  The sciences help us, too, as does literature and art, and anything that opens us up to the more mystical and mythical aspects of life.  There are many reasons why we believe.  And among them are the Acts of the Apostles.

Twelve men were called by Christ, right there at the start of it all, not only to follow him, but to live life in a certain way.  They lived and died with absolute confidence in Christ the Son of God.  And the impact of their witness to real faith echoes and reverberates through every generation of Christian.  We don’t only have faith in Jesus.  We also have faith in the faith of the Apostles.

We hear the Apostles speak with conviction; we see what they endured for love of God; we feel the bond of faith among them, and we say: “I want to be a part of that.  I want to share in the faith they have.”  Why do we believe?  Well, among many reasons, we believe because the Apostles believed.  And they were unshakeable in their faith—that’s what is so appealing; that’s what inspires us and others: to see faith lived out with commitment and devotion.

As people around us wrestle with questions of faith, may we be for them what the Apostles are to us: a devoted and inspiring witness to real faith.

Homily for 6 Apr 2016

6 Apr 2016

Most people don’t choose to do the wrong thing.  Instead, we choose whatever we think will give us pleasure and happiness.  Even people who intentionally commit crimes do it because it gives them a thrill.  And this is something our Catholic tradition has recognized since at least the Middle Ages: we choose whatever we think is good and life-giving, and we avoid the rest.

And so, we might take issue with Saint John when he says, “People preferred darkness to light.”  Instead, we might say: “People preferred whatever they perceive as light, even if—in reality—it isn’t.”  We hear the voice of Saint Paul creep in here when he asks: “Why do I do what I don’t want to do, and yet I don’t do what I do want to do?”  Well, maybe it’s because sometimes what we perceive in life as good or bad . . . is really just the opposite.

Take the chief priests and Sadducees as an example: they were dead set on upholding their tradition—not in defiance of God, but in a spirit of defending God.  In their eyes, getting rid of Jesus was a good thing; putting the Apostles in prison was a good thing.  They didn’t necessarily “prefer darkness to light;” they preferred what they thought was good.

Of course, hindsight is a wonderful thing.  We can look back on them and see: “Oh!  That wasn’t a good thing they chose to do.”  And we can do that to ourselves as well.  We might look back at our high school years, and remember all the things we said or did, and we wonder: “What was I thinking?!”  Or we might look at our life of faith, and remember something we’d said to someone in a spirit of “admonishing the sinner;” only realizing now that maybe the hard-nosed approach wasn’t the best; maybe we could’ve been more gentle and kind.

And that kind of reflection is a good way to learn how to live an authentic Catholic life as a disciple of Christ; we learn from our mistakes.  But we also learn to choose the path of light and goodness by “seeking the Lord” with a humble heart and open mind—not just sometimes, but always.

Yesterday we heard about “eternal life” and “Easter living.”  And we hear about them again today.  Well, “seeking the Lord”—trying to choose what is really and truly good—is a big part of “Easter living.”  And so, even in the midst of life’s mistakes, may we learn to see what is good in life, and then follow it—with the help of God.

Homily for 5 Apr 2016

5 Apr 2016

Lent is a time to renew our baptism call to conversion.  But that conversion of heart and mind would be rather anticlimactic if we didn’t let it bear fruit.  And the fruit of conversion is renewed life.  Of course, that’s what Easter is all about: the resurrection to a new life.  The hard work of Lent gives way to the enjoyment of Easter living.

For instance, when someone goes into Alcoholics Anonymous, he or she goes into an experience of cleansing; into a time of conversion.  But, at some point, that person begins to live a new life; a life of freedom from alcohol, yes—but also a new life of self-honesty and reliance on others, and especially God.  It isn’t a perfect life yet, but it is Easter living; it’s living with more openness and wonderment toward what’s really good, true, and beautiful.

Now, St John gives us the phrase “eternal life.”  And we so often focus on the word “eternal,” that we forget that eternal life is, first and foremost, a life.  But it’s not just any life; it’s a life of nothing but Goodness, Truth, Beauty, and Wholeness.  When our conversion of heart and mind opens us up to Easter living, what we’re being opened up to is the “life” of “eternal life.” 

Sometimes I’ve heard people say, “I don’t know that I want this life to go on and on forever.”  And what they mean by “this life” is things like: paying the bills, being sick, politics, arguments, personal tragedies, and so on.  But, of course, those things aren’t part of the “life” of “eternal life.”  But what is are things like: being in love, being inspired by a piece of music, the excitement of playing a game with friends, camaraderie, peace in the soul, understanding in the mind, and so on.  Those things are good, true, and beautiful; they’re part of the “life” of “eternal life.”  And those things we want to go on forever and ever.

We’re a little over a week into the Easter season, and so it’s good to consider: are we beginning to enjoy the new life of Easter living?  Are we freer to let go of what’s unimportant?  Are we more open to seeing the good things of life as part of what real and eternal “life” is all about?

We’ve done the work of Lent with our God.  So now let it bear fruit in Easter living.    

Homily for 26 Mar 2016 Easter Vigil

26 Mar 2016

Easter Vigil

This is the night . . . when we celebrate destruction.  Yes, Christ is risen from the dead—Glory to God in the highest, and Alleluia for that!  And we’ll be celebrating that in the daytime tomorrow and for the next fifty days.  But tonight . . . in the night of the great Vigil of Easter, we celebrate destruction.  We celebrate the death of Death—most especially, the ways of Death.

Even when Jesus was surrounded by darkness and gloom and death, he didn’t give in.  Death was there in the agony of the Garden and in the betrayal of Judas and his closest disciples.  Death was there in the mocking and beating and crowning with thorns.  Death was there on the Cross as he was spat upon; as he cried out, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”  Death was all around him.  It even tried to claim his body there in the tomb.

But Death and the ways of Death were defeated.  Darkness has been overcome by Christ.  And so we gather here, at the great Vigil of Easter; we gather with darkness all around us, yet we are unafraid because the Light of Christ has split open the night and sent the darkness and the gloom of Death running away. 

How does the Christmas carol go?: Dear Savior haste/ Come, come to earth/ Dispel the night and show your face/ And bid us hail the dawn of grace/ O come, divine Messiah!/  The world in silence waits the day/ When hope shall sing its triumph/ And sadness flee away.”  Well, tonight is “the day” when the night is dispelled and sadness flees away.  Tonight is the “the day” when Death has died.  Alleluia and Glory to God in the highest for that!

And not only tonight, but every time, and every place, and every circumstance when the Spirit of Death is pestering us.  With the Name of Jesus on our lips, and the Light of Truth and Love in our hearts, the Spirit of Death has no power over us.  That’s what we celebrate tonight—the destruction of the power of Death by the Light of Life.

The Spirit of Death loves to take away our joy and happiness, our hope and love, our faith.  The Spirit of Death loves to drain the life out of us. 

You know, if someone tries to run us down or criticizes us unfairly or unjustly—when Death is trying to shame us and make us inferior, what a blessed thing it is to be able to say: “Get behind me Satan!  For I am a child of the Light!”  Or even when physical death is around us, or maybe when life gets to be challenging—and the Spirit of Death is trying to make us afraid, or doubtful, or despairing, what a great gift it is to be able to say: “Come Lord Jesus, the Light of my life, and chase away the pesky gloom of Death.”

And the darkness of Death can be pesky.  Doubt, fear, sadness, jealousy, judgmentalism and all those “ways of Death” can really be pesky . . . like a bunch of mosquitoes that just won’t leave you alone.  But the Light of Christ is like a big fly swatter that squashes ‘em and sends ‘em flying away. 

Yes, tonight we celebrate destruction!  We celebrate the demise of Death.  And with all the angels and saints of heaven, we sing and laugh and immerse ourselves in the Life and Light of God.  And if you start to think that you don’t have reason to be happy tonight, or that Christ isn’t going to be your Light, you can chase away that little demon of doubt by remembering that you are a baptized child of God. 

By faith and baptism, the Light of Christ is already in you.  You just have to uncover it!  And you do that by saying: “I don’t want death to have any more power over me.  I don’t want to live in the darkness.  Christ, be my Light!  Jesus, destroy the ways of Death in me; help me to live and to love!  Christ, be my Light!"

And no prayer is more loathsome to the Spirit of Death, than the simple prayer of a child of God living in the Light of Christ.  What a joy it is tonight—to be bathed in the Light of Christ, and to realize again that Death . . . has been destroyed! 

Homily for 24 Mar 2016 Holy Thursday

24 Mar 2016

Holy Thursday

From the burning bush, God said to Moses: “Take off your sandals, for the place you are standing is holy ground.”  And later on, as the Hebrews prepared for the Passover to freedom, God said: Eat the sacrificial lamb “with your loins girt, sandals on your feet and your staff in hand, you shall eat like those who are in flight.” 

And at the feast of Passover centuries later, Jesus said: “Whoever has bathed has no need except to have his feet washed.”  Now, you might be wondering what the big deal is about feet: What’s the difference if they’re covered (or not), or clean (or not).  But from Scripture, we see that God likes to make a connection between our feet and our state-of-life. 

After all, our feet carry us from this place to that place; from a walk through the park to a walk through the mall.  They step on things in the dark, and the little toes get stubbed.  They get us to school, to work, to church.  They carry us to the tv or internet, or to our favorite chair to read a book.  Sometimes, our feet even fail us, and we have to find a substitute for them: a wheelchair, a cane, crutches, prosthetics, braces.  

Our feet carry us through life here in the world.  And sometimes—a lot of times—we find ourselves firmly grounded in this world.  And so, our feet have a symbolic value, too: they symbolize our wandering soul, and what we allow ourselves to be influenced by and carry away with.  Our feet are like tree roots: wherever we stand, that’s the culture and values and beliefs we’re going to soak up.

When Moses approached the burning bush, God said: “Take off your sandals.”  In other words: “Let nothing stand between you and me.  Let your ‘roots’ soak up all that I am.”  But later, God said, “Put sandals on your feet, you shall eat like those who are in flight.”  In other words: “As you travel the world, protect yourself from soaking up too much of worldly values.”

And at the Last Supper, Jesus said, “You only need to have your feet washed.”  In other words: “You’ve traveled in the world and become too grounded in the world.  Let me sweep you off your feet, and let me carry you.  Let me be your world.”

And that’s a beautiful image: Jesus pouring water over his disciples’ feet, dislodging them from being stuck in the world, to being free and alive in him.  But, as we know, it isn’t all clean and neat.  Humanity was too far gone to be simply washed with water.  And so Jesus poured out for us not only water, but blood as well.

Once when I was writing a paper in seminary, the professor commented that he thought it didn’t have enough “blood” in it.  In other words, it needed more “life” and “vigor” in it.  And that’s how we understand blood: Blood is life.  We need blood in us to live.  When Jesus pours out his Blood, it’s his life he gives us—both symbolically and really.  When the communion ministers say to you: “The Blood of Christ,” they could just as well say: “The Life of Christ.”

And what is the Life of Christ but a covenant of sacrificial, self-giving love.  And it’s a “covenant” that’s already happening in the life of God—between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  But it’s a covenant—it’s a life and a way of living—that’s poured out in a chalice for us to share in and to drink from.

From the Book of Revelation we have the wonderful image of the River of Life flowing from the City of God.  And that’s what we have here at the Lord’s Supper: the River of God’s Life poured out in both water and Blood.  And whether it’s the washing of the feet or eating the Body and drinking the Blood of Christ, they’re both concrete ways in which our God is trying to “sweep us off our feet.”  He says, “Be grounded in me.  Let me be your feet.  Let me carry you . . . to resurrected life forever and always.”   

Homily for 23 Mar 2016

23 Mar 2016

Judas was the only Apostle who didn’t call Jesus “Lord.”  And that seems to reflect Judas’ relationship to Jesus.  Jesus was his “Rabbi,” but he wasn’t the one guiding his life; Judas was still very much in control of himself.  And, some suggest, he was also trying to control Jesus.

There’s some reason to believe that Judas was a member of the Zealot Movement, who were trying to overthrow the Jewish leaders and get back to their roots.  I guess you could say it was a “reform movement.”  And it’s suggested that perhaps Judas turned Jesus over in the hopes that Jesus would fight and join the revolution of the Zealots.

Perhaps Judas’ betrayal of Jesus was that he was trying to “use” Jesus for his own ends, rather than letting Jesus be his Lord and God.  And that kind of betrayal of Jesus still goes on today.  For instance, when people cherry-pick Scripture passages to support their own opinions, they’re betraying Jesus; they’re “using” him for their own ends.  Or when people invoke the name of Jesus as a show of superiority or authority, they’re betraying Jesus; they’re “using” him, too.

A lesson we can take away from this is, of course, that if we’re going call Jesus our “Lord,” then we should let him be our Lord—and not merely someone who’ll help us get what we want.  Of course, sometimes that’s easier said than done.

All Judas needed to do was call Jesus “Lord,” and mean it.  And that’s all we need to do as well.  Jesus is our Teacher, but he’s also much more: He is Lord, he is Trustworthy Friend, he is God.

Homily for 22 Mar 2016

22 Mar 2016

Time and distance give us a better vision.  The disciples were confused there by what Jesus was saying to Judas.  Simon Peter didn’t really know what he was getting into.  Even the Prophet Isaiah hints at the thought that: “I had toiled in vain, and for nothing, uselessly, spent my strength.”  When we’re “in the moment,” we don’t always see clearly how everything will turn out.

During Lent, we may have struggled with something personal.  We’ve been “in the moment” of the “Lenten desert;” working through the challenges that are particularly our own.  And, along the way, we may have wondered: “What’s the point?”  What’s the point of our Lenten disciplines?  Or: What’s the point of, say, exercise or eating well?  Or: Why should I struggle to forgive someone, when it’s easier to just hold a grudge?

When we’re “in the moment” of living the trials of life, we don’t always see clearly how it’s all going to turn out.  We might even be tempted to give up—and, perhaps, maybe we should (if the struggle does more harm than good).  But, sometimes, we’re in a trying situation in life because God has something better in store for us when it’s over.

Why exercise and eat well?  For a better quality of life.  Why struggle to forgive someone?  To free yourself from the chains of resentment.  Why “stick to it”—whatever “it” is—when we’d rather not?  Well, as the Prophet Isaiah puts it: “My reward is with the Lord, my recompense is with my God.”  And Isaiah can say that because he stuck with his struggles and came to understand their purpose in his life—they drew him to rest more solidly in God.

And we aren’t totally blind.  We can each look back on the tough times of life, and in hindsight we can see how it all turned out.  We made it through and we’re still here, worshipping our God, growing in love and faith.  And that’s important when we get buried “in the moment."

Remember how God has worked in the past.  Trust that God is working in the present.  And look forward with faith to that day when God will make everything . . . clear.