Preached yesterday - Memorial of St. Francis deSales - St. Kateri at Christ the King site

Wrote one homily and didn't like it so much, so I wrote another on the Gospel - preached the Gospel homily at 6:30 and then the Francis deSales homily at 8:

I did a little presentation yesterday for Coffee and Catholicism entitled “what does it mean to be Church” in which I drew heavily from the fathers of Vatican II, especially from the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, Lumen Gentium, a document which makes a clear and strong call to all of the people of God, the clergy and the laity alike, to take up the mission of Christ.  That is, to bring the light of Christ to the nations, and to preach the Gospel to every creature, and to bring about the salvation of the world.  And how exactly are we to do that?  By the example of our own holy lives, by our own holy deeds.  By our love!

            I think a lot of folks think that was a pretty new concept with Vatican II.  I mean, before the Council, there seemed to be a general belief that “the Church” was the clerics, and the salvation of the world was their responsibility.  That holiness was something bishops and priests need to be concerned with.  But no.  Lumen Gentium makes clear that the mission of Christ – the salvation of the world – is each of our responsibilities – all of our responsibilities, and as such, each of the baptized must strive for personal holiness.

            But even though perhaps it wasn’t emphasized very much before Vatican II, this was no new concept.  In fact, the call to the laity to strive for personal holiness was something we can largely attribute to the Saint whom we celebrate today – Francis de Sales.  For Francis, who lived just after the Protestant Reformation, more than any other spiritual writer, stressed the need for each of us to pursue lives of holiness.  And in his dealings with His flock and in his vast letters and writings, Francis provided the wisdom and the direction for the Faithful to do just that. 

            But it’s not just holiness that we are called to, according to Francis.  You and I are called to something even greater, which he calls devotion.  To live devout lives.  True devotion, according to Francis, is putting the love of God into action.  Prompt action.   Where our faith lives are not only focused on our own sanctification, but where our lives become more and more outward-directed.  And this is naturally harder for laypersons, says Francis, because the world of the laity is more a challenging and difficult in which to put God’s love into action.

            But that’s where Evangelization will come from – from committed, devout followers of Christ living committed, devout, active lives in the world.  According to Francis, it is the mission of the Faithful to live so that the world will find “a wellspring of holy piety amid the bitter waves of society and amid the flames of earthly lusts without singeing the wings of its devout life.”  In other words, to live and act and be the presence of Christ in this world without being of this world.

            Let us ask St. Francis deSales, then, for his intercession that we may have the strength and courage and grace to live ever more devout lives, that by our lives and example we may present Jesus Christ to the world around us, and that through us in His Holy Church, Christ may win many souls to the glory of God the Father. Amen.

Second homily -

            Perhaps you’ve experienced this – I know I have – you listen to the proclamation of the Gospel and your curiosity is piqued, you have some burning question about it and you hope the preacher will address it – and then he preaches on the first reading, leaving your question unanswered.

            Well I had that experience with this Gospel - I had my own burning question:  Why the heck does Jesus rebuke the unclean spirits “not to tell anyone” that He is the Son of God?  And, you may recall, this isn’t the only place in Mark’s Gospel where Jesus commands quiet.  In the eighth chapter Peter confesses Jesus is the Messiah, and Our Lord commands him and the disciples not to tell anyone!  And there are others places too.  Why is that?

            Well after a bit of research and thinking and praying, here’s the thing, I think.  You see, Mark’s Gospel never conceals who Jesus is – in chapter 1 verse 1 Mark makes it very clear “the beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”  Meaning, as Peter later confesses, the Messiah.   The rest of the Gospel, though, is devoted to telling his readers exactly what sort of Messiah this Jesus is.

            Today’s Gospel tells us that the people saw the Lord was some sort of rock star healer!  Folks swarming from every direction, not to listen to His words, not to learn His message, but to be healed.  To be made whole.  Just by touching Him.  But Mark doesn’t want this to be our only understanding of who Jesus is, of what sort of Messiah He is, and that is why we hear Jesus rebuke the unclean spirits to “tell no one about Him.”

            You know, I think we have this tendency to think of Jesus in terms of His life, His power, his healing, the benefits He bestows, I know I often do.  A lot of TV religion does too.  In our minds’ eye we swarm Him ourselves in prayer and look to press in on Him and touch Him.  And that is fine and good. 

            But, in his Gospel, written to the Church in Rome undergoing terrible persecution, Mark doesn’t want us to think of Jesus without also thinking of the cross.  Doesn’t want us to think about His life without also keeping in mind His suffering and death.  Jesus is a mighty healer, yes, but He is also a suffering Messiah. 

            Who while swarmed from every direction for his healing, was later left abandoned to die a criminal’s death.  Who saves us only through His suffering, death and resurrection, and calls us to take up our own crosses.   To unite our own sufferings to His.  Be they our aches and pains, or our illnesses small and serious, our frustrations, our brokenness, even our persecutions.  He calls us to bear these crosses and endure for love of Him.

            So let us ask the Lord today for the grace and the strength to follow Him faithfully, for the courage to endure our own sufferings, and the peace that only He can give to us.

Preached today Jan 20 - SKT at St. Margaret Mary, 9a and 11a

Mass readings:  http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/012013.cfm

Audio:   https://sites.google.com/site/sktdeaconed/home/mp3/homily%2001.20.13.mp3?attredirects=0&d=1

I    Got    Nuthin.
 <pause>

            A parishioner friend of mine once suggested to me that I consider saying that for my homily some time - “I got nuthin” - you know, some time when the right words just don’t come to me,  just get up there, he told me, shake your head, shrug your shoulders and say “I   got   nuthin.”  And go sit down.  “The people will appreciate your honesty,” he told me.

            Those words came back to me in reading today’s Gospel, for I imagined a beleaguered bartender at this fancy Cana wedding feast, when asked for one more glass of red wine, simply shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders and saying “Sorry.  I got nuthin.  Just ran out.  You’re out of luck, dude.”

            And the same words come to me whenever I pause to reflect on what my life would be like if Jesus Christ weren’t in it, on what it would be like if Jesus (and His mother!) weren’t my invited guests.  How could I hope to endure day to day and moment to moment in this twisted, mixed up and even violent and evil world if I didn’t have the love and the grace and the strength of Jesus Christ in my life? 

            You know, I often wonder just how folks who don’t have Faith in Christ do cope, how do they get by, how do they find meaning in their lives, if indeed they do?  Just how do folks deal with their own and their loved ones’ illnesses, job losses, the loss of parents, siblings, a spouse and even a child, all the “stuff” that happens in this world, this fallen world, how do they do that without the power of Christ in their lives?  As for me, without Him, I got nuthin.

            But the Lord’s grace is more than a crutch, a life-preserver to cling to in the stormy seas of our lives.  The Lord’s grace is also the power that enables you and me to fulfill our calling as Christians – to live good, holy lives, to live in and raise up good and holy families, to BE His hands and feet, mind and heart, ears and mouth in a world so hungry for Him, a world that doesn’t even know it’s hungry for Him. 

            For as feeble a husband and parent as I can be from time to time, I shudder to think what would happen without Faith in Christ, without His grace and power and mercy in my life.  And unworthy as I am, called to serve here at this altar and stand at this ambo, what could I possibly do if it weren’t Jesus Christ Himself using me and speaking through me?    The words of Peter come to mind, “depart from me, Lord, for I am a weak and sinful man.”  Without Him, I got nuthin.

            On the other hand, contrast that with the Lord Himself.  For as sparse and forsaken and desolate as our lives can seem, the Lord’s love and mercy and power are plentiful.  Overflowing.  Extravagant! 

            Do the math – six stone water jars each holding twenty to thirty gallons of water – that’s 150 gallons of new wine!  If my math is correct, that’s 587 litre-bottles of wine.  And not just any wine – the best wine!  Later on in John’s Gospel the Lord takes a couple fish and a few loaves and feeds five thousand!  What He gives us, what He feeds us - His mercy, His love, His grace, His POWER – they’re overflowing!  There’s no limit to it!  By myself - I got nuthin.  With Jesus, there’s no limit.  With Jesus, I got everything!

            But here’s the thing.  The crux.  We find them in Mary’s words today:  “Do whatever He tells you.”  If the waiters had ignored what Jesus told them, nuthin would have happened.  No miracle.  No amazing sign would have been given.   It took their cooperation, indeed, their trust, for anything to have happened that day.  And what cooperation it was.  These jars must have weighed 50 pounds and I assume they had to carry them to the well, and then bring them back, and filled to the brim they weighed over 250 pounds!  That’s a lot of work to carry six of them back to the wedding feast.  A lot of cooperation.  So Jesus did the miracle, but it only happened when the servants pitched in and did their part.

            And so it is with you.  And with me.  If we ignore what He is telling us, nuthin happens.  But if you and I listen to His quiet voice and gentle urgings, His tugs at our hearts, there is no limit to the grace He will pour into our lives.  No limit to what He can accomplish through us. Through you or me.  Through our Church.   In our world.  The Mother of Jesus says to the servants, and she is saying the same thing to you and to me: “Do whatever He tells you.”

<pause>

            We wrap up today a very special week in our liturgical year, a week devoted to vocations awareness.  A week in which we pray and contemplate on our own vocations, on the way in which Jesus Christ is calling each of us, right here and right now.  In what way each of us, as baptized followers of the Lord, will indeed “Do whatever He tells us.”  And a week in which we pray for vocations to ministry in the Church.

            To each is given different gifts for different forms of service.  It may be a vocation to love one other person for a lifetime in the Sacrament of Marriage.  And through that Sacrament to be open to bring new life into the world, and raise up faith-filled children.  It may be in the single life, to chastely and devoutly serve God and our fellow humankind.  And some are called to religious life.  To the holy priesthood.  The permanent diaconate.  To become consecrated religious – sisters and brothers.  Called in a unique way to give their lives to the Lord and His Church, His people.

            So even though we are now completing this vocations awareness week, let us continue to pray and contemplate on our own vocations, and let us pray that God will call forth good and worthy and holy servants of His Church and His people.  And that each of us will listen to Christ’s call in our own lives so that we may give ourselves to Him fully, to the glory of God the Father.  Amen.

 

 

Preached yesterday, Saturday, Jan. 19 SKT at St. Margaret Mary 4:30p

Mass readings:  http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/012013.cfm

 

Good evening.

            We have here in the first couple rows some very special people.  We have with us at this Mass the engaged couples who’ve been with us since last evening at our parish pre-Cana wedding prep sessions.  They’ve been hearing all sorts of “war stories” from six real life married couples, hearing all the dos and the don’ts of building a lasting and joyful marriage.  And they’ve heard from every one of the presenting couples, as well as the humble deacon, about the importance of keeping Jesus Christ at the center of their lives, at the center of their married lives together.   But I don’t know of anything that conveys that message quite as beautifully or as powerfully as this homily which I read in this preaching book by Thomas Troeger.  A homily which beautifully demonstrates the power of the grace of Jesus Christ throughout Sacramental Marriage, through all of the joys and struggles, ups and downs of life together, a homily which I’d like to share with you this evening:           

        
            I would like to think there was some wine left over.  Jesus supplied enough.  John tells us “there were six stone water jars…each holding twenty to thirty gallons.  Three times twenty is sixty, three times thirty is ninety. And sixty gallons plus ninety gallons equals one hundred fifty gallons.  One hundred fifty gallons!  That is a lot of wine to drink.  Especially since they had already polished off the initial supply.  Surely, one twenty-gallon jar would have sufficed. 

            But no.

            Jesus is extravagant, wildly extravagant.

            It is not unreasonable to believe some wine was left. And I would like to think that when the celebration was over and the couple had left for their honeymoon and the guests had departed, that some friend or family member of the couple, poured the wine that remained into smaller containers and corked them, and when the couple returned, presented them with several crates of the splendid wine, saying “here, this is the wine the rabbi from Nazareth supplied. I thought you might like to have it for special occasions.”

            I picture the couple delighted, smiling to think that on the meager budget of newlyweds they can enjoy such a heavenly vintage with their low-cost suppers.  In the way of eager young couples, they do not plan very well at first so that at the end of two or three years, they realize, extravagant as Jesus was, they will some day run out.  So they begin to save the wine for special occasions, bringing it out on their anniversary, on the birth and dedication of a child, at family reunions, on high holy days that feature feasting and drinking.

            And every time they taste the wine, they relive their wedding day, and they recall how at the first sip of Jesus’ wine they had looked at each other with eyes that shone with a love whose intensity caught even them by surprise.

            And so the years pass until they are an old couple, keenly aware that “all flesh is grass,” springing up in youth, then quickly fading.  I picture the old couple on a chilly night.  She is in front of the fire, trying to warm her feet and hands for they are always cold now.

            He pauses coming into the room where she sits on a bench pulled right up to the grate.  He studies her in the light of the fire:  the shape of her forehead, the deep creases of her face, and the lips he has kissed ten thousand times.

            All of a sudden, with a prompting he cannot explain, he blurts out, “Honey?”

            At first she does not hear him so he calls again, “Honey?”

            She slowly looks up, and he says, “Honey, what if we finish the wine tonight.  The rabbi’s wine.  There’s just one little bottle left.  It might warm you up some.”

            “Sure, sure,” she says, “that would be good.”

            So he goes and gets the wine and brings it back to the fire with the only clean chalice he can find.  He sets it down and uncorks the wine speculating:  “I wonder if it will still be good, after all these years.”

            “Always has been,” she says.  “The rabbi’s wine has never gone bad, It’s as amazing as the way he provided it.”

            The husband pours the first serving and hands his wife the chalice.  She sips and hands it to him.  They look at each other and nod their agreement:   The wine is as rich as the day they were married.

            They drink very slowly, and as they drink they start to tell stories.

            She says:  “I remember when Sarah was born.  You would have thought nobody had ever been a father before, the way you carried on, calling in the whole neighborhood, they consumed an entire crate of this wine, as if it were our wedding all over again.”

            “Well you did just about the same, when Benjamin and Rebecca brought home our first grandchild.”

            The wife laughs a hearty laugh, “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?  Oh, those were such good times, good enough to want them never to stop.”

            He pours some more wine, and they each take a sip and he stirs the fire, and they sit absorbed in the flame.  She sees him out of the corner of her eye and notices he is trying to hold back tears.  She knows what he is thinking:  He is remembering when the third child died.  Been terribly sick.  Tried everything.  But he died anyway.  All she could pray for weeks on end was  “My God, my God, why have you forsaken us?”  They were both so distraught and God didn’t seem to answer, they didn’t know what to do but blame the other one.

            One evening he came home and she had supper ready, and they set things out on the table without saying a single word, going through the motions that had become rituals of habit, the only thing holding them together day by day now.  When they sat down they realized she had not gotten water from the well and he had not brought home any wine from market.  So he got up and found one of the bottles of wine from their wedding.  Might as well open it now.  No sense saving it for special occasions anymore.  So he opened it and poured some wine for each of them.

            And when the wine touched their lips they tasted grace in their hearts, and they broke down and sobbed together.  The grief of their loss never went away – how could it? – but the strength to carry the grief together that was what the wine of Jesus gave them.

            And now sitting in front of the fire, he turns to look at her, and hearing him move she turns toward him and they look at each other, and she takes his hand saying “Yes, Honey, I know, I know.”  He is silent, then holds the bottle upside down over the chalice.  There are a few last drops.

            He hands the chalice to her:  “Here, you finish it.”

            She takes the smallest sip and hands it back to him, pointing out there is still the tiniest bit at the bottom.  He puts the brim to his lips and throws back his head holding the chalice straight over him, then slowly brings it down and holds it between them. 

            “That’s it,” he says with a voice that sounds both satisfied and sad.  “All gone.  None to pass on to the children or the grandchildren now.  Just the story of our wedding at Cana, and the rabbi who blessed us with wine.  Just the story.  But no wine.”

            “Not to worry” responds his wife.  “Not to worry.  As long as people come to his table, there will always be more.”

Preached yesterday, Feast of the Baptism of the Lord, St. Kateri Parish, St. Cecilia site

Mass readings:
http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/011313.cfm   (Is 42, Ti 2)



My father bragged about me. 

            He boasted about me to his friends.  To my uncles and aunts.  To the guys at the bar he liked to frequent – the Town Lounge down on Titus – where Murphs is now.  And not just about me - he would brag about my siblings, my brothers and sister as well.

            More specifically, my dad boasted about things I had done, things I had accomplished.

            Thing is, he never bragged about me when I was around.  I only knew he was proud of me because I heard about it from others, who told me what he had said. 

            And to my face, he could often be pretty critical.  Subtly or not so subtly communicating to me his expectations of me.  Conditions, if you will, on his praise if not his love.

            Now don’t get me wrong – my dad was a great guy, a great man, and a devoted, hard-working father.  He always put my mom and us kids ahead of himself, sacrificing himself for his family, to be sure.

            But like many of his generation, and my generation for that matter, I guess of every generation, he had trouble telling his kids exactly how he felt.  Telling his kids he was proud of them, of what they accomplished.  Even telling his kids he loved them.

            Which brings me to today’s Gospel, because the words of God the Father, those powerful, mysterious words coming down out of heaven – “you are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased” – these words seem a bit foreign to me, and they might be to you as well.  They’re words I don’t think I ever heard – words I can’t exactly relate to.

            My first reaction to hearing these words spoken about Jesus is – “of course you’re well pleased, God, I mean after all Jesus is your Only Begotton Son, Jesus is perfect, Jesus is God!” 

            And then, after thinking some more and meditating on this reading, I was a bit startled – it occurred to me that Jesus hadn’t DONE anything yet to deserve this.  No accomplishments, no service, no miracles or healings, no nothing, to deserve this kind of powerful, mysterious testimony from God the Father.   I mean this all happens not at the end of His earthly ministry, but at the very beginning!  It was only after this event that Jesus had the inspiration, the courage, the power to go forth to preach, and to heal, and to love.

            Thinking about all this made me realize that maybe I have a faulty notion of love, of what makes one a beloved Son.  A beloved daughter.  And perhaps you do too. 

            Most of my life I think I’ve had this idea in my head that somehow I had to earn love, to earn praise.  That I was worthy of respect and love, not based on who I am, but based on what I did.  Or what I stayed away from doing.

So maybe that’s why the words of the Father in today’s Gospel sound a bit foreign to me – “you are my beloved Son.  With you I am well pleased.” 

            The Father isn’t saying to Jesus that He is well pleased with what He’s accomplished.  He is saying He’s well pleased with Him.  As a person.  As His beloved Son.

            And here’s the thing – I think the Father is saying the same thing to you.  And to me.  For just as Jesus was anointed with the Holy Spirit in this Gospel scene, so were you and I anointed with the Holy Spirit at our baptisms.  For just as Jesus was identified by the Father as His only Son and sent out on His mission of salvation, so were you and I called in our baptism to take up that mission.

“You are my beloved daughter.  With you I am well pleased.”

“You are my beloved son.  With you I am well pleased.”

            He wants you to know that it isn’t about what you’ve done or haven’t done.  He doesn't care how you look, He isn’t focused on your sins, about the ways you’ve messed up your life, or messed up your family’s life, about all the ways you wish you could get a do-over.   He’s not dwelling on all the ways we think we’ve let Him down.

            Today he wants you to know, he wants me to know, that you are His beloved daughter.  His beloved Son.  That by your baptism you are His child.  That He created you and loves you, without conditions, without attachments.  That  He reveres you and cherishes you, and holds you in the palm of His hand.

<pause>

            It seems to me that our Christian journey really only begins when the unconditional love that God Our Father has for us dawns on us, gets through our thick skulls, settles into our hearts, seeps into our souls.  That, my brothers and sisters, is the beginning of our Christian journey.

            For when God’s love fills us, when we become convinced of it, when we simply accept it, our only reaction is great joy and profound gratitude.  When we realize that God’s love is His free gift, that we neither merit it, nor earn it, nor can we ever lose it, our only reaction then is to love Him back and serve Him in joy and gratitude.

            When God’s love for us fills our lives, then we want out of gratitude to reject godless ways and worldly desires, and live temperately and justly and devoutly.

            And when we look around at our brothers and sisters, here in Church and out there in our community and world, especially the poor and the downtrodden and the forgotten, we realize that each one of them is God’s beloved son, God’s beloved daughter.  And how can we not want to hold each of them with respect, with love, and serve them.

            Indeed, when we become convinced of God’s love for us, we realize that the only right response is to love Him back, to give Him our very lives, our very selves.  In whatever vocation we’re called to.  Indeed the Christian journey is about our response to God’s love for us, in ever deepening love of God, and ever deepening commitment of our lives to Him and our neighbor.  Culminating on that day when we become eternally united with the Father, Son and Holy Spirit in heaven forever.

<pause>

            Well, in addition to being the end of the Christmas season, today marks the beginning of a very special week in our Church calendar.  Today marks the beginning of vocation awareness week.  A week in which we contemplate and meditate and pray about and for vocations. 

            Each one of us, you and I are called to discern how it is that God invites us to respond to His wondrous love, what is the unique way in which  God calls you and me by our baptisms to give our lives completely to Him, in gratitude and love. 

            Many are called to the vocation of marriage and family life, in which our response to God’s love is to love one other person for our lifetimes and, God willing, to co-create with the Lord new human life, to bring new children of God into the world, to educate them and raise them up in the Faith. 

            Some are called to the single life, to chastely and devoutly serve God and our fellow humankind.

            And some are called to religious life.  To the holy priesthood.  The permanent diaconate.  To become consecrated religious – sisters and brothers.  Called in a unique way to give their lives to the Lord and His Church, His people.

            All of us are called, indeed throughout our lives, to discern what it is that God is calling us to, calling me to, calling you to, right here and right now. 

            So let us pray, today and all this week, that the Father will send the Holy Spirit to descend on His people and give us wisdom and guidance and right judgment in discerning His call.  To realize His great love for us and to discern how it is that God desires for us to respond to that great love.  And let us pray that God will call forth good and holy and worthy servants of His Church and His people.  To go forth, as Jesus did, to preach and to heal and to love.

            In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.