Preached for the Third Sunday of Easter, April 29/30 2017 4:30 (Christ the King) and 8a (St. Margaret Mary)

Today's scripture readings:  http://usccb.org/bible/readings/043017.cfm

I love this Gospel…always have.  Even as a kid I remember how I loved to hear this beautiful, touching, and important story of the Easter Sunday encounter on the road to Emmaus.  One of the things I love most about it is how, except for Holy Thursday, this was obviously the very first Holy Mass, and over my lifetime I’ve come to more and more appreciate and yes, love, Holy Mass.

Just as the two disciples, two men or maybe a man and a woman, were on their journey to Emmaus, you and I, too are on a journey – a journey through life.  We gather in His presence, as did the two, even if they didn’t know yet that it was He who was with them.  Like the two, lamenting the death of their Lord, many of us come here broken and hurting, perhaps beaten down by “life”, mourning and in pain.  Perhaps some of us come here thinking things are just fine, perhaps needing ourselves to be broken and humbled a little.

And just as He did for the two disciples, Jesus broke open the word and explained the scriptures that spoke of Him.  That was the first Liturgy of the Word along the road to Emmaus, no different than what we celebrate here – here we proclaim from the Hebrew scriptures, the New Testament, and the holy Gospel.  And then the priest or deacon, as Christ did, breaks open that word – how does His Word intersect with and guide our lives, our journeys.  Hopefully, on occasion, to make our hearts burn within us as we hear Him speaking to us.   And occasionally, because we are slow of heart, because we are in need of change, in need of being broken, maybe His Word might give us a little heartburn!

And then we see the Lord at supper with the two disciples, taking bread, blessing it, breaking it and giving it.  The very same words, the very same actions, we will see in just a few moments here at the altar in the Liturgy of the Eucharist.  And through the breaking of the bread, the disciples recognize the very real presence of the Lord, just as we believe Him really and truly present here in the appearance of bread and wine.

Think of those words – think of those actions:  take, bless, break and give.  Take, bless, break and give.  That’s what happened at that supper table in Emmaus 2000 years ago, it’s what we will soon participate in as Father Joe takes bread, blesses it, breaks it and gives to us His Body and Blood.

And it’s the same thing should happen to us, the believing community of disciples.

Take – we gather here, we come together here, just as we are.  He takes each of us, all of us, ordinary people, and by what can only be described as a miracle, intends to do extraordinary things with us and through us.  Think about it – just as astounding as the belief that Jesus Himself is present in bread and wine is the idea that Jesus makes Himself present to the world through you and me.

Bless - He blesses us.  We are blessed by the gift of our faith by which we gather here, as we blessed ourselves with holy water, reminiscent of our baptisms, as we entered here.

Break – just as we gather, broken people that we are, just as we gather needing to be broken of our sinful ways and sinful attitudes, so too are broken here, only to be healed and united in communion with each other, and with Our Lord by partaking of His sacred Body and Blood.  In a very real sense, we become what we eat – the Body of Christ.

Give – We are to receive His Body and Blood as His gift to us.  Not something to snatch or grasp but to receive as a sacred present, sacred gift to us.  As we receive His Risen and glorified Body, we say “amen,” meaning yes, I believe that this truly is Christ’s Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity.  But it’s also our assent, our “yes”, our belief that together we are the Body of Christ.   Receiving His Body should open our eyes to His very real presence within us, within each other, within all of us as His disciples.

And give means that we together, united as His Body, are given to the world.  At the end of Mass I will dismiss this congregation with the words “Let us go forth in peace.”  Go. Forth. The Lord whom we encounter here is the same Lord we are entrusted to take out there to the world.  To be His legs and feet to draw near and walk with them on their journeys.  So that the world out there may come to see Him present still.

Take. Bless. Break and Give.  It’s what He did at that supper table in Emmaus.  The same actions that Father Joe, standing in the person of Christ, will soon do for all of us.  And its’ what Our Blessed Lord is doing with each of us here today and every weekend. Taking us, blessing us, breaking us and transforming us into His Body to give to the world.

Thank you, Lord, for inviting us to the banquet of your word, and the table of your Body and Blood.  May we now make you known to the world.

Homily for Easter Sunday of the Resurrection of the Lord, 8am St. Kateri at St. Margaret Mary Church

Today's Easter scripture proclamations:  http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/041617.cfm

It was just a little over twelve hours ago that I stood right here at this ambo, with the congregation in darkness except for the burning candles held by each, and I had the privilege to sing the solemn proclamation of Easter joy, the Exsultet.  The second verse of this most magnificent song of praise goes like this:

Be glad, let earth be glad, as glory floods her, ablaze with light from her eternal King, let all corners of the earth be glad, knowing an end to gloom and darkness.

Our entire Easter celebration, beginning with the Vigil last night, continuing today and for the next seven days, and then for seven weeks after that, is about this juxtaposition:  light over gloom and darkness, mercy over sin, life over death.

Sadly, gloom and darkness aren’t strangers to any of us, except perhaps the very young.  Our lives all have their share of gloom and darkness, some apparently more than others, some apparently full of gloom and darkness.  War, terrorism, starvation.  Serious illness, job loss, financial struggles, addictions, broken relationships.  The profound emptiness and grief at the loss of a loved one.  And what do we have to look forward to at the end of our lives?  Our own passion, our own suffering, our own Calvary.

Here in Irondequoit this hit so close to home this week.  The Lynch family, already struggling with mom’s cancer, then dealing with the tragic accident involving son Michael two weeks ago, then the news on Tuesday that Michael was no longer responding to stimuli, and then Michaels’s death on Thursday.

Talk about gloom and darkness.  Sorrow.  Heartbreak.  For Michael’s family, for his friends and classmates and teachers, indeed for our entire community. 

But not for Michael.

No, not for Michael.  For we believe, indeed this is the essence of our faith, that Jesus Christ the eternal Son of God, lived, truly died on the cross, was buried, and then on this very day rose from the dead.  By His death and resurrection, destroying the power of death.  Shining radiant brightness against gloom and darkness, indeed against the gloom and darkness of our lives.

Because we trust that Michael who was baptized into Christ and believed in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior now lives with Him.  That Michael, too, has experienced the same resurrection.  And despite our grieving with the Lynch family, we can even celebrate today.

For it seems to me that what we celebrate today, the central event in human history, the day on which we gained our salvation, is the only thing that makes sense out of a situation like Michael’s.  Last night I sang “our birth would have been no gain, had we not been redeemed.”

That even though we experience gloom and darkness in our lives, we know that it is temporary, that it has already lost, has already been defeated, overcome by the grace, the power of Christ’s resurrection.  And we trust, we have this profound hope, that after our own suffering, passion and death, we too will share in His resurrection.  Share in His life for all eternity. We, too, when Christ our life appears, will appear with him in glory.

That is what we celebrate today.  That’s what this day is all about.  That is what the great joy of this day is all about.  That sin and death, darkness and gloom, have no lasting power, that they don’t have the last laugh.  That Our Blessed Lord conquered sin and death on this day, once and for all.

So what do I take away from this, what do I take home, you might ask?

Three things, I think.

First, that we are to place Christ first in our lives, right at the center of our lives.  And not only Christ, but Easter Christ, Christ risen from the dead.  This is what it means to call ourselves Christian, the central belief of Christians, that we are believers in Christ who rose from the dead in glory.  As Saint Paul writes to the Romans, “If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.”

The second thing is that we confess with our mouth, with our lives, that Jesus is Lord and risen from the dead.  A joy as great as ours is something we can’t keep to ourselves.  The world thinks we’re fools, so as St. Paul also writes, let us be fools for Christ.  Let us not keep this very good news to ourselves.  Indeed, Jesus is what the world is thirsting for, even if they don’t know it, and His death and resurrection is our only hope, the world’s only hope!

Finally, that we live every day of our lives with the joy of the Resurrection, that we be people of joy, that we be Easter people.  With joy we celebrate Christ’s resurrection today and indeed, every Sunday of the year, remembering and celebrating His death and resurrection here in sacred word and Holy Eucharist, His real presence.  Strengthened here and fed with His body and blood, soul and divinity, we are sent forth – out into the world as people of joy. 

So that even in the darkest times, we can shine with His joy, with His risen life. 

So that through our lives, He is made present, so that He can raise the fallen, He can bring comfort to mourners, He can bring peace into situations of concord. 

So that through you and me, sisters and brothers, the love and mercy of the Risen Christ may be made known to a world so desperately in need of Him, so hungering and thirsting for His love.

Jesus Christ is Risen from the dead.  Alleluia!  Alleluia!

Homily Preached for the Sixth Sunday of Lent, Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord, April 8/9, 2017 - St. Kateri at St. Cecilia 5p/9a

Today's scripture proclamations:   http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/040917.cfm

The show hasn’t been on TV in nearly 20 years, so the youngsters won’t remember this, but anybody over 30 will remember those famous words of Jim McKay at the beginning of ABC’s Wide World of Sports every Saturday afternoon: “..bringing you the thrill of victory... and the agony of defeat...” 

Praying on both these Gospels today for today’s solemnity of “Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord,” this came to mind, because in our first Gospel, Our Blessed Lord experiences the thrill of victory as He’s welcomed into Jerusalem with a hero’s welcome, the crowd wild with joyful Hosannas at the coming of the Lord, the Messiah. 

And five days later He is subjected to what appears anyway to be the ultimate defeat – face buffeted and spit upon, back beaten, head crowned with thorns – and finally killed.  The most horrific death.  The most shameful death.  Naked, nailed to a cross.  Even the title of today’s solemnity has both victory and defeat - the “Palm Sunday” and the “Passion of the Lord.”

We call this the “paschal mystery,” the solemn mystery of Christ’s passion and death and then resurrection, the supreme sacrifice by which He won for you and me the gift of our salvation.  Who could have imagined, as this innocent man hung on a tree to die a criminal’s death, that you and I would gather here 2000 years later to commemorate and remember what He did that afternoon?

All this week, we will gather to remember, and to enter once again into the paschal mystery.  Why do we do it?  Certainly by our remembering, in a sense we make the past present again.  We enter into the past events. I was on a business trip to Dallas this week, and in the evening drove downtown to visit Dealey Plaza, which anyone born before the late 1950s will remember that’s the site of the JFK assassination in 1963.  Walking around that place, the grassy knoll, the places on the street of each rifle shot, and looking back up at the school book depository building, that fateful day in 1963 became present again.

And each time we celebrate Eucharist, we re-present, in a real though mysterious sense the paschal mystery, the passion, death and resurrection of Christ.  Christ becomes present again in a mysterious sense, and in a very real sense in His Body and Blood in Eucharist.

Why do we do it?  Because by entering into the past, it can affect us, affect our lives, and we can respond.  In remembering our Lord’s passion and death, we can especially respond with deep thankfulness.  Eucharist means thanksgiving, you will recall.

And we remember in part, I think, because each of us has our own paschal mystery.  Each of our lives is full of thrills of victory – think of the hope and joy at the birth of a healthy baby, or the exquisite happiness of a bride and groom walking down the aisle to leave church on their wedding day.

And each of us has our own agony of defeat - death of a dear loved one.  Fearful illnesses.  Job losses.  Broken marriages perhaps, and ultimately our own Good Fridays – our own passion and death.

By our recollection, we can join, then, our own joys and sorrows to Our Blessed Lord’s. Offer them as the sacrifice of our own lives joined to Christ’s supreme sacrifice, with the assurance that He who is true God and true man knows our lives, knows our joys and sorrows.

My sisters and brothers, as we accompany Him all this week on His journey from triumph in Jerusalem to agony on Calvary, as we remember and bring to the present again all  that He did for us, we have the sublime hope and deep faith that He accompanies us, on our own journey from cradle to grave to eternal life.

Preached for the Fifth Sunday in Lent, April 2, 2017 - St Kateri at Christ the King

Today's scripture proclamations:  http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/040217.cfm

“And Jesus wept.”

The shortest verse in the entire Bible, and yet one of the most powerful.  And Jesus Wept.  In three words, we hear such humanity, such compassion, and it is clear that Jesus knew what we know of too well, huh – the pain, the anguish, the emptiness of grief, of loss.

I can remember that Thursday afternoon vividly, standing over here in the big room at Harris.  Staring at my mom.  I knew she wasn’t asleep, of that I was sure.  My mind raced back to my childhood – to all those nights Mom had fallen asleep on the couch, exhausted from a day of raising us kids, her mouth wide open – “I’m catching flies” she used to joke. 

No, she was not asleep.  Her mouth tightly shut, lipstick neatly applied, hair was perfectly arranged – no curlers like she used to wear at night.  No.  My mom was dead.  Lying here before me in the casket my siblings and I had picked out just the day before, now beautifully dressed, a peaceful look on her powdered face, nothing like the pained, anguished look she had when I last saw her at the nursing home, struggling for each breath before finally giving up.

“Calling hours begin at two, so would the family please be here at 1:30,” the funeral director had told us.  This was that awkward half hour – time to first view the body, console one another, and steel our demeanor before the well-wishers arrive.  A moment seared in my memory forever.

And I recall saying a quick prayer, a much nicer one than I had been thinking at the nursing home three days earlier – which went something like this: “Lord if you had been here, my mother would not have died.”  No, now I prayed “Jesus, you can raise her.  You raised Lazarus, and he had been dead four days and wrapped and buried in the tomb.  This is only the third day for my mom.”  I watched her closely, hoping to see her chest rise and fall with new breath.  Nothing.  Unlike Lazarus, Mom’s not coming back.

Ah, but she is!  We believe that, our faith tells us that!  You see, this Jesus Christ, who is both living water and the light of the world today proclaims to us that He, Jesus, is the Resurrection and the Life!    Now I have to believe that nearly every one of us has experienced the death of a loved one.  Yes, each of us has been there, weeping along with Mary and Martha, weeping along with Our Blessed Lord. 

And each of us will one day experience our own physical death, so for us these words of Jesus give us great hope and comfort!  “I am the Resurrection and the Life,” He says.  “Whoever believes in me, even if they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”  My mother, who died in Faith, will one day sit up, climb out of that box and walk out of her tomb!  I believe this.  And I believe if I die in His friendship, and you, we will walk out of our tombs as well!

But, my brothers and sisters, this hope is not just for those who have fallen asleep.  For Jesus is the Resurrection, but He is also the LIFE!  And His promise is not only life after death, but he promises us eternal life beginning NOW.  Jesus, who has the power to raise Lazarus from the dead, can bring new life into the darkest times and situations we face, in our lives, NOW. 

He stands before whatever tombs are in our lives - broken relationships, sinful addictions, grudges that we cling to, forgiveness we refuse to give, job losses, broken or troubled marriages, whatever it is that wraps us up, binds us and entombs us, and He asks us:

“Do you believe that I can heal this?  That I can bring light into this darkness, life from this death?  Do you believe in ME?”

It’s the very same question He asks Martha “Do you believe this?” It’s the same question He asks of our catechumens, who will answer “yes!” in the waters of baptism in two weeks at the Easter Vigil, when they are also confirmed and share in Christ’s very Body and Blood in the Sacrament of Eucharist.  And He asks each of us today, “Do you believe this?”

It’s a question that demands an answer.  That demands that we choose.  That we choose with our entire lives.  A choice to place all our trust in Him and leave behind our tombs of sinfulness, leave behind all that binds us, no longer alive, dead for a long time.   A choice to stop stumbling in darkness, afraid to come out into the light.  A choice to open ourselves to Him, to seek His forgiveness, to allow Him to place within us His Spirit, that we may live!  A choice to say YES, LORD, I believe in you with all my heart.   

With only a couple weeks left in this holy season of Lent, what better time is there than now to experience the Lord’s life-giving, loving mercy.  In the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  Entering the confessional, which you could liken to a tomb, bringing with you whatever it is – that awful weight you’re carrying, that habit or addiction that binds you tight, that baggage and sin you think He could never forgive.  And you hear those most beautiful words, being spoken by the Lord Himself through the voice of the priest “by the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  He’s there ready to remove the weight, untie the binding, forgive you and give you peace. So you can walk out free and in a very real sense, alive again.

To each one of us today, Jesus shouts those liberating words of life, "Lazarus, come forth!" He’s calling us to wake from our sleep.  To rise from our tombs.  To walk in new life, in Faith in Christ Jesus, who is Lord forever and ever.  Amen.