Category Archives: Sunday Morning

Word of God Sunday

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Note: winter’s wicked winds are headed this way. The milk and bread shelves are empty in the local stores. Our church is located on a hill with a steep entrance and exist. The projected sleet and ice make the prospect of transiting the hill potentially perilous. And in an abundance of caution, our Sunday Masses have been cancelled. .. I have a homily holiday … so I posted this from the trove of homilies past

I remember when I was a kid, I was fascinated with a place of mystery called Timbuktu. I loved the sound of the name and the possibility of being as far away from home as Timbuktu. No doubt it was a place of mystery, intrigue, and stories. There were tales of gold, riches, and the place where East Africa and Saharan Africa met. The stories abound so much that in 1855, the French Geographic Society offered a major prize to the first European to go there and report back. What amazing, fantastic stories could be in Timbuktu! 

I have always been drawn to stories of people and places, adventures and mystery, where fates and fortunes were found, lost, and again pursued. In time, my appreciation of stories broadened to include narratives of all kinds. Stories told of love and love lost; stories of wisdom and tomfoolery; never-ending stories and stories with no end; stories that entertained and ones that pressed the mind to an inner exploration of meaning.

In my homily of last Sunday, I shared my experience of growing up in the Baptist South and attending tent revivals. In its own way, the tent revivals were as far from my Catholic experience as Timbuktu was from my front door. I described the experience as one in the well of stories, “Where men stood up and testified, words honed by years of practice. There were epic tales of sin and redemption wherein Jesus pulled them from the devil’s grasp and washed them in His blood.  Women spoke of love betrayed, and of loss and pain and joy so fierce that it almost seems to slice apart the humid summer air. Everyone praised the times Jesus saved them from despair, raised them up, wiped away their tears, and set them on the road to righteousness.” This was a very specialized form of storytelling: giving witness, giving testimony – but storytelling, nonetheless.

Today we celebrate “Word of God” Sunday. There are so many things that could be said about the Word of God, but I would say this: it is a collection of God’s stories as God reveals Himself to his people and the world. It is the greatest stories ever told and our most basic job is to be people who tell these stories to our family, our loved ones, our friends, our neighbors, and folks on the highways and byways of life.  When historians consider simple letters and other written items from the first and second centuries, they have described the spread of Christianity – not as simply the evangelical efforts of the big-name people like St. Paul and others – but as people telling stories over the backyard fence.

To know, tell, and share the stories in our own voices is to weave the stories into the fabric of our lives. So much so that in the shared knowledge of the stories, they can be shared with simple phrases: “O say can you see…”  Simple, short and brings to mind the story of Ft. McHenry, the War of 1812 and Francis Scott Key’s composition of our nation’s anthem. Our connection to the Bible, the Word of God, is the same way.  Think of the stories of Scripture you know and are brought to mind with simple words or expressions:  the Good Samaritan, the Good Shepherd, the Prodigal Son, Garden of Gethsemane, Calvary, River Jordan, and so much more. The stories are already there in the fabric of your life. Share them!

…and then the hesitation begins… “Do I really know the story?”  My experience is that people are really asking themselves, “Can I quote the story?”  Over the backyard fence, “quotologists” are not needed. Story tellers are needed.

Isaiah was the one who told a story in the first reading when he spoke of “the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali.”  For folks in Isaiah’s time, the reference was as clear as “oh say can you see.” They heard the phrase and instantly knew of that these were two of the tribes of Israel that were conquered by the Assyrians – but in the gloom of their fate, they were given the promise of a Savior and a new light to cover their lands, rescuing them from the darkness of their enslavement. This is a story of our shared history and the promise given.

In the second reading, St. Paul reminds us all that between here and the final there, the final land of light where joy and great rejoicing reside, there will be suffering. Christ suffered and so we should not be surprised if we too suffer at points in our life. St Paul’s story reminds us that the promise endures, but only in the name of Christ. This is the life: sent to live the Gospel. 

The Gospel? Today’s story is about the Call and Mission. Today we hear of the account of Simon Peter, Andrew, James and John –  it is but a reminder that the promise is carried to ends of the earth by people just like you and me. The Word is carried from the lake region of Galilee to the end of the earth – even to Timbuktu! 

We are called to people who carry the Word of God in our lives. Maybe you are called to carry it only so far as the end of the driveway – then do that. It is in reading children’s bible stories; it is reminding yourself to be a good Samaritan; it is receiving and accepting the prodigal son or daughter – it is reading, listening to our family stories. From the land of Naphtali, to Galilee, to your house, to Timbuktu.

And then telling them in your words, as your stories, over the backyard fences of your life.

Then just as we have enthroned the Word of God in a special way this weekend, you will enthrone the Word of God in your life.

Amen.

Plans

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Have you got some plans for the rest of the day? It’s playoff time for the NFL. Maybe you’re going to gather with friends and watch the game? Have plans for the week? A summer vacation? We all have plans of one sort or another. God has plans. He had them for you. Had them for John the Baptist and Isaiah, too. And the thing is that God’s plans turn out to be larger than anyone first imagined. That is true for Isaiah, for John the Baptist, for the Apostles, and if we are paying attention, even for us.

In the first reading, Isaiah, the servant, seems pretty clear about his sense of vocation. He knows he has been called by God, formed from the womb, named and claimed. And yet his initial understanding of what God is calling him to do, seems huge. “Isaiah, I need you to gather back all the people and restore Israel to be my Covenant People.” These are people that are scattered from Jerusalem to Baghdad and points East. This is no small task; noble and necessary, but huge. But that is not even the full scope of God’s plan. “It is too little… I will make you a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth.” Did you catch that: to the ends of the earth. What Isaiah thought was the whole mission turns out to be only the beginning. God’s plan is vastly larger.

We see the same pattern in the Gospel.  John the Baptist is at the Jordan River, likely at the same spot where the people first entered the Holy Land after the wilderness years of the Exodus. It was a sign that they were a Covenant People as they accepted what God had promised Abraham, Issac, Jacob and Moses – a land of their own; the Promised Land. And now John the Baptist has his mission: call the people to repent and recommit themselves to be that Covenant People. John has no idea that he is at the start of something much longer. He knows his role, but not the full scope of what God is about to reveal.

And then he sees Jesus coming toward him and says something no one could have predicted: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” Not the sin of a few. Not the sin of Israel alone. But the sin of the world. It is the parallel to Isaiah’s “ends of the earth.” It is becoming clear that Jesus’ mission will cross over national, religious, and cultural boundaries. The scope of God’s plan is way fuller than what we could imagine.  But maybe now we can look into the “rear view mirror” and see the pattern.

With Adam and Eve, God began with a family. With Moses, God formed for Himself a clan. In Abraham and Sara, this grows to become a tribe. It becomes a confederation of tribes with Moses and then a nation under David and the kings of Israel and Judah. But now with Jesus Christ, it is all the people of the world.  This is the full scope of God’s plan.

This is how God works. God’s call begins in something familiar: a people, a place, a responsibility and then widens. And this pattern does not end with Jesus. If we are paying attention, we who follow Christ are always being drawn beyond what feels comfortable or sufficient. The Church herself is born from a mission that is always bigger than expected. Bigger than one culture, one language, one generation.

Even in our personal lives, God’s work often begins with a simple yes, only to reveal later that he was asking for much more than we first realized and offering much more than we might imagine. 41 years ago I said, “Sure, I can help with the Youth Ministry.”

Realizing we are being asked for more can be unsettling. Such moments require deeper trust. They demand that we loosen our grip on control and allow God to expand our vision.

We are Isaiah in our own time and place. We are the countless known and unknown ancestors in the faith. We are baptized, we are chosen – not because we are perfect, but because God desires us and wants to reveal ourselves to ourself and to others. Slowly, sometimes awkwardly through prayer, experience, ministry, and the movement of the Spirit. We are sent. Go, the Mass has ended. We are sent on missions,  not necessarily far away, but into the places where our lives already touch others.

The challenge is that each stage requires trust. Trust with a capital “T.” To trust the movement of the Spirit – even if it is only an inkling, a rumination, a passing thought. To trust that we are chosen even as we feel totally ordinary. To begin even when clarity is incomplete.  To accept being sent when the mission feels larger than our ability. 

And to trust that God always supplies grace for the mission. That was Isaiah’s experience. That was the experience of the Apostles. It has been the experience of the faith in the millenia since. When John the Baptist pointed to Jesus, he did not explain everything. He simply bore witness to what he had seen. And sometimes that is all faith asks of us: to stand where we are, to recognize what God is doing, and to allow ourselves to be drawn into a mission that is always bigger than we can imagine

This is the Way. It has always been the Way.

Here at the beginning of the year, at the start of Ordinary Time after the Christmas Season, in what way are you being called? Maybe it’s involved in ministry? Maybe being the one who animates family prayer? Perhaps you’ll start listening to the Bible-in-a-Year podcast during your commute to work. Volunteer to prepare meals for the homeless. It’s all there: pay attention to that inkling, rumination, or passing thought. Trust it is the movement of the Spirit. Don’t worry about the full scope. Take the next step.

It is the grace Nike moment of your walk in Christ. Just do it.

You are loved

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We live in a world of performance. If you are a sports fan you have access to an amazing array of real-time statistics on a football receiver’s speed, distance the pass traveled, and so much more. In swimming, it used to be that you watched the race and at the end the final times were posted. Now, mid-race there are on-screen statistics of speed in ft/sec and measures of the distance between swimmers. We live in a world of performance. Work has productivity measures, school has grades, … maybe homilies need a real time scoring system like diving or gymnastics.

We live in a world where our worth is often measured by productivity, recognition, credentials, and visibility. From an early age we learn, often without being explicitly taught, that approval follows achievement which signals that you are valued because of what you do, what you produce, how you compare. As a priest, listening to folks, it is evident that similar logic carries over into our relationship with God.

Subtly, almost unconsciously, we can begin to believe that God’s pleasure is lost or gained through activity, sacrifice, or visible success. When things go well, we feel affirmed – “I am blessed” we might think. When things are not going so well, we feel something is off kilter. Faith can become another arena of performance. “I need to pray more.” “Read more scripture.” “Go on retreat.” “Then things will be OK.”  There can be a performative intention behind all those things as a means to seek God’s pleasure.

You might be thinking, “Jesus’ life is pretty performative!” And indeed, as we move from the Christmas Season into Ordinary Time, we will see the public and very active ministry of Jesus unfold as He performs miracles, healings, casting out demons, forgiving sins, controlling nature and so much more. All very performative and with a purpose: to affirm that the Kingdom of God is indeed upon the people.

But not today. 

There are two things that stand out for me in the gospel reading as Jesus is first stepping into public view, when his ministry formally begins, how does He begin? Not with preaching, not with healing, not with miracles but by waiting. Not only that, before any performance, achievement, before any measurable success in ministry and mission, the Father names him Beloved. Let’s explore these two things.

We live in a performative world. We want to do something for God before we have truly stood before God. But Jesus begins differently. He stands in line with sinners. He listens to John preach. He receives John’s baptism. He submits himself to the Father’s will as mediated through another human being: “for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.”

Jesus’ public ministry is born not from initiative or performance, but from surrender. Jesus chooses the place of humility. He does not separate himself from the brokenness of humanity. He enters it quietly, patiently, without exemption. He lines up and waits his turn. This is not a gesture of convenience; it is a revelation of who God is.

Isaiah had already given us the pattern: “Here is my servant… not crying out, not shouting.” God’s chosen one does not impose himself. He does not force righteousness upon the world. He enters the world gently, from within, sharing its condition. And only after this act of submission does heaven open. The Spirit descends not upon Jesus not as a wonder-worker, but upon Jesus, the obedient Son. The Father’s voice does not praise achievement, but relationship: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.” The Father’s voice does not say, “Now I will love you because you have begun your mission.” It says, “You are my beloved.” Full stop. This is not sentimentality. It is identity; our deepest identity.

We often speak about the Sacrament of Baptism as a commissioning to act, but it is first a declaration of identity and belonging. Before we are sent, we are claimed. Before we are asked to serve, we are named beloved. We are baptized not because we are finished products, but because God chooses to stand with us where we are. His true holiness is not distance from our human weakness, but is a faithful presence within it.

Because when we begin where Jesus began — in humility, submission, and trust — then the same promise is spoken over us: You are my beloved.

Jesus’ identity as beloved does not protect him from hardship. In fact, it leads him into the wilderness, into conflict, and eventually into the Cross. But what sustains him through all of it is not success, but the unshakeable knowledge of who he is before the Father.

That same identity is given to us in baptism.

To live as the beloved does not mean disengaging from responsibility, effort or hardship. It means being mindful that performance does not define our worth. It means allowing ourselves to rest secure in God’s pleasure even when our work is incomplete, our efforts misunderstood, our plans undone, or we are at wit’s end.

In a world that constantly asks, “What have you accomplished?” The Gospel challenges us to answer a different question: “To whom do you belong?”

When we live from that place, fear loosens its grip. Comparison loses its power. And love – real, patient, self-giving love becomes possible. Because only those who know they are already loved are truly free to give themselves away.

You are loved. Remember that and let tomorrow bring what may. You are loved.

Image credit: The Baptism of Christ, Juan Fernández de Navarrete, “El Mudo” | Museo del Prado, Madrid | Wikimedia Commons | PD-US

Embracing God’s Blessing in the New Year

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On this first day of the year, the Church places on our lips one of the most ancient and beautiful prayers of blessing found in all of Scripture. When Brother Leo asked St. Francis for a blessing, it is the prayer that Francis spoke and wrote down for Leo.  It is from the Book of Numbers we hear the Lord instruct Moses:

“Thus shall you bless the Israelites…
The LORD bless you and keep you!
The LORD let his face shine upon you, and be gracious to you!
The LORD look upon you kindly and give you peace!” (Num 6:23–26)

This is far more than a hope or a wish for the days to come. It is a divine act. God says, “So shall they invoke my name upon the Israelites, and I will bless them” (Num 6:27). It is a promise to all who call upon the Lord: they will receive God’s blessing. That is to live under His gaze, to be held in His protection, and to know His peace, His shalom, to know the fullness of life that comes from communion with Him.

In today’s Gospel, we see this blessing fulfilled not in words alone, but in flesh and blood, in the fullness of life. The shepherds hurry to Bethlehem and find Mary and Joseph, and the infant lying in the manger. There they encounter the face of God shining upon His people.  And now the divine face has a human name: Jesus. God no longer turns His face toward His people from heaven; He looks at us from a manger. The eternal blessing promised to Israel now lies in Mary’s arms.

Luke tells us something striking about Mary: “Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart” (Lk 2:19). Mary receives God’s blessing in a profoundly human way. She does not rush to explain or control it. She ponders, treasures, holds the mystery within her. Mary teaches us that blessing is not always immediately understood. Sometimes it must be prayed over, revisited, and allowed to mature in silence.

At the close of our Gospel, we hear that the child is formally named Jesus at the time of his circumcision (Lk 2:21). The blessing of Numbers ends with God saying, “They shall invoke my name… and I will bless them.” Now that Name has been given. The Name that blesses, saves, and brings peace has entered human history. Mary, Mother of God, is the first to carry that Name not only on her lips, but in her very body and heart.

As we begin a new year, the Church places us where Mary stands: before the mystery of God’s blessing already given, but not yet fully understood. Like her, we are invited to receive the year not with anxiety or mastery, but with trustful reflection. What will this year bring? We do not know. But we do know this: If we call upon the name of the Lord – 

The Lord blesses us and keeps us.
His face shines upon us in Christ.
His Name rests upon us.

And Mary teaches us how to carry that blessing: by pondering it in faith, and by trusting that God’s peace will unfold in His time.

May Mary, the Mother of God and our Mother, help us to recognize ad receive the Lord’s blessing deeply, reflect on it faithfully, and live it courageously throughout the year ahead.
Amen.

Image credit: ” Madonna of the Streets” painting, Roberto Ferruzzi, first introduced it at the Venice Biennale art exhibit in 1897, Public Domain

Why we rejoice

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I have always been interested in the art, the craft of titling books. When scanning for my next book to read I am often drawn in by the title. I can remember coming across Norman McLean’s novel, A River Runs Through It. There was something about the title that intrigued me. So, I picked it up off the shelf and read the first few sentences: 

“In our family there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing; grace was in the air, and grace came by art and art did not come easy. My father was a Presbyterian minister and a fly fisherman. He taught us the grace of the woods and the grace of the river. He taught us that a man could be a sinner and a fisherman, and that the two were not incompatible.” 

I was hooked.

This summer I saw promotions and advertisements for a streaming series, “The Summer I Turned Pretty.” I suspected it was a young adult romance novel – not exactly a book for me – but I thought that was the kind of title that was intriguing and sure to have captured the intended audience. 

I thought to myself, “Self…maybe you should write a book, “The Winter I Turned Old.” I am sure there is an audience out there. Don’t worry I am not having a life crisis. It is probably just the experience of all the little aches and pains, shorter days, longer nights and colder weather. This Florida native is suffering the cruelest of circumstances: I have even started wearing long pants.

As we approach the shortest day of our year, as the light of day is consumed by the edges of night, the grip of winter tightens, and collars are turned up against the chill air, it is then that these bones feel their age, and the minor inconveniences of aches and pains remind me of my mortality. Yet there is a great reading that comes our way and is to be recommended: the readings of Gaudete Sunday.

I was “hooked” by the opening lines of the first reading from Isaiah: “The desert and the parched land will exult; the steppe will rejoice and bloom. They will bloom with abundant flowers, and rejoice with joyful song.”  Isaiah certainly has a way with words.

This December I have been preaching on the Book of Isaiah, one of the great prophets of Israel and Judah. Every weekday of Advent so far, unless there was a solemnity or feast day, the first reading has been from Isaiah. Today our first reading was Isaiah 35 and it is a great reading with wonderful images of renewal, restoration, hope and reasons to rejoice because of the promises of the Lord.

Do you need those promises today? Maybe today is a good day,  but we all have those times in our lives when we need to know that God’s promises are for us. We need those promises to lift us up that we might rejoice in the Lord always.

Jerusalem and Judah had those times when they needed to be reassured that the Lord was with them and for them. The chapters leading up to our first reading describes a time when Jerusalem and all of Judah was under the threat of one most powerful nation of that time. The Assyrian Empire was expanding southward, already having conquered the 10 northern tribes. In the south, people felt helpless, afraid, and uncertain whether God would save them. The political and religious leadership was a disaster. As a result Jerusalem seemed vulnerable and the people were disheartened and spiritually weak. Chapters 28–34 a running admonishment, warnings against foreign alliances instead of trusting in God, and rebukes for spiritual blindness of leaders and people alike. 

The crisis is quite real and existential. Assyrian invasion and victory means exile, destruction, and the end of the nation. Isaiah 34 is a chapter full of judgment, destruction, and despair. The land is pictured as scorched and empty. It is an image of how the people feel: abandoned, disheartened, and unsure of God’s presence. Into this atmosphere of anxiety and judgment comes the promise of chapter 35

“The desert and the parched land will exult; the steppe will rejoice and bloom. They will bloom with abundant flowers, and rejoice with joyful song” (Isa 35: 1-2)

Into that darkness, Isaiah says: “Strengthen the hands that are feeble…Say to those whose hearts are frightened: Be strong, fear not!” Why? Because God is coming, not only to judge, but to save, to heal, to restore, to bring His people home. This is the heart of Gaudete Sunday. This is at the center of God’s promises of a Savior – and the proper response is to rejoice.

We rejoice because God brings life out of the deserts of our lives. Every one of us knows what a “desert” feels like:

  • A season of prayer that feels dry
  • A relationship that has grown tepid
  • A grief that just seems relentless
  • A worry that burdens our thoughts and keeps us up nights
  • A sin we have struggled to uproot
  • A disappointment that is slowly hardening our hearts

These are the real deserts of human life. Isaiah is not being poetic for the sake of poetry. He is speaking to real human loneliness, fear, and exhaustion. 

Isaiah reminds us that the desert is not our destiny. God can irrigate what seems dry, renew what seems dead, and bring joy where there has only been sorrow. Advent reminds us that God is always beginning something new.

We rejoice because God is already at work even when we cannot see it. Gardens don’t bloom overnight and neither do deserts. New growth slowly arises, quietly and often unnoticed. In the same way, God’s grace often works quietly and invisibly:

  • A small shift in our conscience
  • A softening of the heart
  • A desire to pray
  • A willingness to forgive
  • A new patience with someone difficult
  • A sudden moment of clarity
  • An unexpected sense of peace

These are signs that God is already making the desert bloom. We rejoice not because we have everything figured out, but because God is acting even in the places we cannot yet see. And we especially rejoice because God comes to heal, not to condemn. 

Gaudete Sunday is an invitation to recognize the God who heals. Isaiah proclaims: “the eyes of the blind be opened, the ears of the deaf be cleared; then will the lame leap like a stag, then the tongue of the mute will sing.” God does not come into our lives with a running list of our failures. He comes like a physician who knows exactly where we are wounded and brings the healing and cure we have long needed, clarity of thought, strength to get up and move ahead, and a pathway home. 

We rejoice because God is leading us home. The reading ends with a beautiful line: The “ransomed will return and enter Zion singing, crowned with everlasting joy; they will meet with joy and gladness, sorrow and mourning will flee” This is the promise at the center of Advent: that the God who comes to us at Christmas and the God who will come again in glory is the same God who is even now leading us, step by step, toward the fullness of life. No matter where we have wandered, no matter what has grown dry or is broken, God’s desire is to lead us home.

And, big picture, we rejoice because God is faithful to His promises. So… 

  • Rejoice, not because life is perfect, but because God is making all things new.
  • Rejoice, not because the desert is gone, but because God is making the garden bloom.
  • Rejoice, not because the journey is over, but because God is walking it with you.
  • Rejoice, because God remembers, heals, strengthens, and restores

“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice”

Amen.

Image credit: Prophet Isaiah, Mosaic, Right of Lunette, South Wall of Presbytery, Basilica of San Vitale | PD-US | scripture image from Canva CC-0

Hope Restored

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Readings from the Prophet Isaiah are part-and-parcel of Advent. This past week all the first readings were from Isaiah taken from various chapters and all well chosen for the Season of Advent. Every reading proclaimed verses which, to our Christian ears and understanding, are promises of a Messiah to come – a covenant promised fulfilled. It is a message of Hope for us. The words were a much needed beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounded the people of Jerusalem in the prophet Isaiah’s own time. 

The audience was the people of Judah and Jerusalem in the late 8th century B.C., during the reign of King Hezekiah. More specifically, Isaiah addressed three groups of people. Firstly, Isaiah addressed the leadership of Jerusalem (political and religious). Isaiah often portrayed them as blind, deaf, and stubborn (cf. Is 29:9–16) because they paid more attention to pomp, circumstance, gold and glory. They were not leading the people into covenant with God, much the opposite. And so Isaiah also spoke to the wider population, those led astray and whose spiritual perception had become dulled. 

The glory days of King David are long gone and by comparison, the great tree of Jerusalem is like a stump: lifeless and increasingly barren. And now the Assyrians are at the gates of Jerusalem. They have conquered 10 of the 12 tribes already. Jerusalem is next. Hope is quickly fading like a dying ember as the hour approaches midnight.

But there is another group within the city. The prophet Isaiah also addressed a faithful remnant – people who are righteous before God and yet their world is crumbling. They need reassurance that God will act to save and restore the situation that is clearly going astray. They need hope that a Messiah would come to set things aright. Today, our first reading gives us one of the most hope-filled visions in all of Scripture: “A shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse, and from his roots a bud shall blossom” (Is 11:1).

That single line can be an anchor for your Advent reflections. Why? But Isaiah teaches us one of the great Advent truths:  God does His best work with stumps.

When everything looks finished, when the situation looks hopeless, when the future seems cut down to the ground, it is then that God begins something new. The “shoot” is small, fragile, humble. But it is alive, and it carries the promise of a new Kingdom. Someone small, fragile and humble was born in a manger in Bethlehem. It was the beginning of something new. Someone who was revealed, just as Isaiah said, with the gifts of the Spirit: “a spirit of wisdom and of understanding, a spirit of counsel and of strength, a spirit of knowledge and of fear of the Lord” (11:2). He was the One for whom Israel waited. He is the One we await at Christmas yet the One who already reigns. He is the One who can work with the stumps in our lives – that part of us that seems cut down or dying. What might that be?

Hope, because there are days when the news feels overwhelming; when the world feels unstable; or when personal disappointments pile up. Hope can feel like a cut-down stump. Yet Christ is the “shoot” who revives it.

Maybe trust seems dead or dying in our lives because we experience betrayals, family wounds, and broken promises. A person can feel unable to trust others, family members, themselves or even God. Trust can feel like a cut-down stump. Yet Christ is the “shoot” who revives it.

Compassion and tenderness seem absent because stress and busyness can harden hearts. We become too preoccupied and so we respond more with irritation than empathy. We find we can neither give or receive compassion. It can all feel like a cut-down stump. Yet Christ is the “shoot” who revives it.

Has our ability to forgive been cut back? Are we still a forgiving people? Forgiveness might be absent because we carry the burden of memory and hurts that we can’t shake, can’t set down. Resentments have settled in over the years and petrified a part of our heart. It feels even worse than a cut down stump. Yet Christ is the “shoot” who revives it.

What about our prayer life? Because of everything already mentioned and even more, we may be bereft of courage, of joy, of wonder, and patience. Prayer feels dry, mechanical, or absent. It seems “dead,” as though not even the stump is left. Christ can awaken it with one small word spoken into a dark night: “Lord, help me to pray.”

“Lord, help me to hope, trust, be compassionate, and forgive… even when I don’t feel like it. Lord, take my stumps and from them may your grace give forth a bud that will blossom.”

Advent is a time to be attentive and bring “our stumps” to prayer and to the Sacraments, especially the Eucharist. Bring them and give them over to the One who brings life out of nothing.

“A shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse, and from his roots a bud shall blossom” (Is 11:1) The Messiah has come and will come again – but He is with us even now in the Word of God, the Eucharist, and in the Spirit. A shoot is ever and already sprouting. In Him through Him and with Him you have the possibilities of being restored and renewed so that from you the bud of Christ will blossom.

And in time from that bud shall come a new, strong, tall tree upright before God.

Amen

Image credit: Prophet Isaiah, Mosaic, Right of Lunette, South Wall of Presbytery, Basilica of San Vitale | PD-US | Pexels

The coming flood to sweep us away

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In our first reading, the Prophet Isaiah says that All nations shall stream toward it. Of course he is speaking about a day in the future when the light of salvation will shine from the highest mountain. If you grew up in Orlando, you could be forgiven for thinking Isaiah was referring to Space Mountain at Disney World. Based on all measures of tourism, people indeed stream toward that Magical Kingdom – that entertainment mecca that offers a respite from the imperfect, unredeemed world in which we live.

 Our world is not too dissimilar from the apocalyptic images of wars and rumors of war. In our world, people are homeless, hurting, and helpless. People are lonely, lonesome, and lost. It can be a struggle – and there is a part of us that wants the holiday season. That wants a break, a pause, a Disney moment. We need to recharge, be happy, be hopeful, and hospitable. So, we also open our homes for gatherings of friends and families. There are concerts, lots of children’s Christmas pageants, musicals, and we light up our homes and streets against the darkness of winter, the darkness in the world. And like Disney, our homes are filled with people and music: familiar tunes like “Silent Night” where  All is calm, all is bright.  But the world we live in is not perfect, not redeemed, not Disney. 

The words of our Advent scripture are neither “Christmassy” or “Disney.”

…the flood came and carried them all away.
Two men will be out in the field;
one will be taken, and one will be left. 
Two women will be grinding at the mill;
one will be taken, and one will be left. 

On this first Sunday, the message is ominous and dark. It takes us by surprise.  The message of our Advent Scripture roars, asking us to look around because it is just like it was in the days of Noah. We are going about business as usual, but there is a coming flood that will sweep us all away. While the world would present a huggable, domesticated, Disney Christmas, Advent begins with a roar that shatters the calm on this day.   It cries “wake up!” because Salvation is coming; Redemption is on its way!  You have to be ready.

If we really hear the Advent message, we would better understand the power of the coming God. If we are deeply connected with the reason for the season, we would not come to church at Christmas in our finery, we would be prepared and come wearing crash helmets and life preservers, prepared to be swept away in the flood of God’s power and grace.

God is not like Disney.  God does not want to pacify us – He wants to electrify us. He does not want us lining up for Space Mountain, but rather would have us stream towards the mountain of the LORD’s house. He does not want to dazzle us with fireworks and Main Street – He wants to mystify us the idea that God, our Redeemer, the one to heal, house, and give hope –  would come to us as one of us – as a helpless child.  Would draw us into the hard and demanding work of raising a child.

A child in a manger, arms raised upward, inviting you into the embrace.  A child we are called to pick up and take into our lives, doing the hard work of nurturing our faith into maturity. A Child that will make the demands of love known. A Child that will point to homeless, hurting, and helpless – past all the magic of Disney – and remind us of Love’s demand to be played out away from the Magical Kingdom – on the highways, byways, back alleys, and streets of the Kingdom of God.

The readings of this first Sunday in Advent asks us to wake up, be vigilant, and reminds us that this Child’s story cannot truly be rolled into malls, markets, Main Street Disney, or any endeavor that would soften, temper, domesticate, obfuscate, or obliterate news that should roar at us like the full grown lion, sweep us away in the flood waters of change. It truly is “As it was in the days of Noah…”

Salvation is coming; Redemption is on its way!  You have to be ready. You have to ready your family. That’s the gospel message…. and now comes the hard part: what will you do to prepare? And in midst of all the fun holiday endeavors, what part of Advent will you carve out for the Lord? What’s the plan? What are the actions? 

I have faith in you… after all, you have organized the family vacation to Disney World – a logistics miracle in itself! You prepared, you readied the family, y’all had a great time. You got this. You can make your Advent family plan to be electrified by the love of God, break out the Advent crash helmets and life vests, prepare for the coming of the Christ Child, with your prayer, time to volunteer, and more. You got this.

“As it was in the days of Noah…” but unlike those days, you can be ready for the Redemption that this way comes. It’s Advent – prepare yourself.

Amen

Image credit: Canva, St. Francis, CC-BY-NC

The King We Choose

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Kings are an interesting concept. When someone tries to impose their will upon us, one of our tried-and-true responses is, “Who died and made you king?” Maybe our American spirit has a bias against unbridled power in the hands of the one. Yet there is something within us that wants a king when we want a king – you know – the times we feel uncertain, times are turbulent, and we are just a tad frightened. Like the people of Israel at a pivotal point in the Old Testament. The people come to the prophet Samuel and demand that he ask God to send them a king so that they could be, not the people of God, but that they could be like the people in the nations around them. It seemed to the Israelites that those people were secure, safe and prosperous. 

Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Joshua – some of the great names of Israel’s history and none of them were kings. Yet under the leadership of God, they led Israel from slavery to the freedom of the promised land.  Deborah, Gideon, Samson – none of them were kings, yet under the leadership of God, these Judges united Israel to defend itself and its identity as a people chosen by God. When the people asked the Prophet Samuel to ask God to give them a king, Samuel understood the implications: the people thought that the Lord God wasn’t doing such a good job. The people wanted a different king. They wanted to be people other than who they were called to be: the people of God. 

The people wanted a  king who could offer security against enemies foreign and domestic. A king who would promise a better tomorrow, a prosperous future, and make us feel better about our lives. A king who would ensure we will not be threatened, face risk, or suffer. The people of Israel wanted a king that projected power, invulnerability, and a better tomorrow. That better tomorrow never came under the kings of Judah and Israel who were largely self-absorbed tyrants. The times were always turbulent, the future was always just around the corner, and after 400 years, there was no king – and the people of Israel were enslaved in exile in Babylon. So much for kings.  Be careful what you ask for.

Interestingly, our ancestors fought a revolutionary war to throw off the burden of kings in order to live free. As a political people we want no king. But what about as a people of faith? Of course, the answer is “yes” because on this day we celebrate “Christ the King Sunday!”

We are a nation dedicated to the proposition that we need no king, and yet there are times when I wonder if we Christians are not too dissimilar from the Israelites of old and we too want to be like other people and follow the kings of fashion and fame, lifestyle and licentiousness, and, power and politics. The Solemnity of Christ the King is to remind us to daily choose the king we would follow.

What kind of king is Christ the King? 

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation.
He is the head of the body, the church.
He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead,
[who] reconciled all things …, making peace by the blood of his cross

Jesus is a king like no other:

  • He has no scepter but only towel to wash his disciples’ feet
  • He wore no crown of gold but one of thorns
  • His royal courtyard was a place called the Skull. His courtiers were a criminal on his left and a criminal on his right.
  • His royal court was not a place of judgment and execution for those who contested his power, but a place where forgiveness was found
  • The King was not separated from the people by a security team, but he walked, spoke and shared the life of his people, like us in all things except sin
  • The King of Kings did not entertain only the nobility and powerful. He shared table with the sinners, the prostitutes, tax collectors, widows, orphans, foreigners, and thieves.
  • His kingdom’s boundaries do not delineate, separate and marginalize. Rather his rule and grace extend to prodigals, the Samaritans, the poor and outcast, the lepers, and to all the world
  • The King did not impose his power, he proposed his grace and mercy
  • The King did not lay the debts of his monarchy on the backs of his people, he laid down his own life so that the debt of human sin would be forgiven
  • He did not wield the sword of war and conquest but preached the good news that can quell the wars that rage within us and around us
  • The King reconciled all things …, making peace by the blood of his cross

He is not like other kings and yet he is King of the world. “In him were created all things in heaven and on earth, the visible and the invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or powers; all things were created through him and for him.” Perhaps better said, King of Hearts – every heart, for the desire of God is that all be saved.

And what about us? We are like the people who came before the Prophet Samuel – each day we are at a personal tipping point. Do we want to be like the people of the other nations, subject to other kings or will we pray for the grace to be members of God’s kingdom?  Will we distort the kingdom with sin, selfishness or diminish it with our pride and prejudices? Will we stand with the powerful and entitled, or will we stand with those of the margins?

If this is the king we want,  then we are called to follow and love with our whole life, our entire being. If we choose to follow the King of All Hearts, we are choosing to reflect his image and inherit all the rights of his kingship. We need not look for a scepter with which to rule over others, but only need to look for a towel with which to serve. Not condemn but extend mercy and forgiveness.  We must choose to make the King’s virtues our own – so that others will recognize the King and that we belong to Him, the King of All Hearts.

Image credit: Stained glass window at the Annunciation Melkite Catholic Cathedral in Roslindale, Massachusetts, depicting Christ the King in the regalia of a Byzantine emperor CC-BY-SA 3.0; January 2009 photo by John Stephen Dwyer

The List

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Note: seems that I did not post last Sunday’s homily…. so here it is.

Lo, the day is coming, blazing like an oven, when all the proud and all evildoers will be stubble, and the day that is coming will set them on fire, leaving them neither root nor branch (Mal 3:19)

That brings back memories of growing up in the South. I would sneak off to summer tent revivals and listen to the pastors preach up a holy firestorm of hell and damnation. There was such passion, rhythm, and vitality. It was a preaching that left no doubt that the end was near, and time to get right with God.

We may not know when the end of time is coming, but we know the end of the Liturgical Year is upon us when the readings are ever more apocalyptic, reminding us to “get right with God. We know that in our hearts, but the ever practical mind sighs and adds as another thing on our growing list of things to do. We are a people beset with things to do.  Good, holy and true things; necessary things – obligatory things, things we promised. We continually review the checklist. Earlier parents were thinking of all the steps necessary to prepare, organize and get a household of young children off to Mass. Check, we got the family here. Now the goal is to try to be fully present at Mass. Our heart reaches up to God at the same time as our mind keeps interrupting with a list of all the things we have to do before the end of the weekend. We are busy people and that is just in the “now.”  But folks, what about the list more suited to the readings of the end time? What about your “bucket list?” That list of things you want to do before the end of your earthly time.

Years ago HBO produced a documentary: “Last Letters Home: Voices of American Troops from the Battlefields of Iraq.”  The show featured letters written by soldiers to their families – written as it were, in the end of days. Some were letters to be opened “just in case.” Others were just part of a regular series of letters that happened to be the last letter. Those were the days when most of us heard about wars and the rumors of war; they were thrust into the middle of what, some days, seemed like the end of days. But in such times, the mind gives way to the wisdom of the heart. 

Many of the letters contained insights when soldiers discovered within them a depth of love and gratitude heretofore unknown. What is remarkable about the individual letters, or the series of letters, is the increasing depth of their thoughts – the revelation of the beauty of the inner temple built by God’s grace. These letters expressed the soldiers’ love of family members, love of God, and their hope for healing and redemption.  In the midst of war, nation rising against nation, and among all their struggles, as the gospel says, I myself shall give you a wisdom in speaking .  Their letters speak of that Spirit-given wisdom. It was their bucket list. And it is a list – not of what they wanted to do, see or enjoy – but a list, an expression of what they wanted to be, to become.

I was privileged to meet Ed Dils of Parkersburg, WVa. He was the father-in-law of my business partner. In Christmas 1944, Ed was with the US Army on the front line of the Battle of the Bulge. It was a critical juncture in the war when the entire strength of the German army was amassed against a thin and thinning US front line. Without the aid of the US Army Air Corp because of the weather, the onslaught of German tanks and artillery were frightful. Shells burst through the forest, exploding and raining down shrapnel, burning branches and logs, and death. Surely the end was near. Like the soldiers of every war, this moment brought Ed Dils to the depth of his being. There on the battlefield of the Belgian forest, Ed wrote his bucket list.  

  1. To be more tolerant, but at the same time more firm in my convictions of right & wrong.
  2. To do all in my power to hold fast my belief in the God-given goodness of human nature.
  3. To keep aglow my faith in the future, the hope for a brighter tomorrow … even when all may seem hopeless
  4. To be ever mindful of my many blessings – helping others to see theirs.
  5. To be neighbor and to love my neighbor no matter how difficult at times it may be.
  6. To be ever grateful for my family and my wife.
  7. To accept cheerfully and willingly the hard things that come, but not to assume a passive attitude and maintain my drive to bring about the good and worthwhile.
  8. To realize faults and human frailty in myself and others, but to try to respond with helpful compassion
  9. To be proud of my accomplishments, yet humble in my thoughts and beliefs. 
  10. To keep myself physically, morally, and spiritually worthy 
  11. To integrate into my being – “All things happen for good to those who love GOD.”

Ed carried that list in his pocket every day of his life for the next 65 years until his death in 2010.  The list gave evidence of having been opened and unfolded many times, its edges and creases worn, frayed and torn in places. Clearly he consulted his list of who he wanted to be, to become. And although he likely never checked off a single item in his own mind, he fulfilled his bucket list before the end of his life. He became a beloved husband, father, grandfather and great-grandfather. He quietly went about his life, spreading hope, love, compassion, and joy. If you needed help in life, everyone knew you could go to see Ed Dils.  And everyone went to Ed Dils.

He was humble, tolerant, hopeful, mindful, grateful, aglow with faith, and held that what he was before God, he was that and no more. By the grace of God, he became a saint in his own time.

He prepared for life, the end of life and the life to come.

Not by doing, but by being aware of who he was, what he was becoming, and who God was calling him to be.

In the midst of our busy lives and complicated lives, with our to-do lists and the wonderment of how it will ever get done, the end times are indeed coming. These last days are upon us… So.. what is on your bucket list?

May the grace of God lead you to know who you are, what you are becoming, and give you to the wisdom to know who God is calling you to be.

Temples of the Lord

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The usual sequence of Sunday Gospels is interrupted as the Church celebrates the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica. The Lateran Basilica in Rome is not the oldest church in Rome – but did you know that the Lateran Basilica is the Cathedral of the Diocese of Rome – the place from where the Bishop of Rome, Pope Leo, leads his diocese even as he leads the church universal. The Lateran did not even start out as a church – it was a palace on the Lateran Hill that came into the possession of the Emperor Constantine. Later the emperor gifted it to the church and by 324 A.D. it was converted to become a church and was declared to be the “mother church” of all Christianity: ecclesia omnium urbis et orbis ecclesiarum mater et caput – of all the churches in the city and the world, the mother and head. The underground and pilgrim Christians now had a permanent home – and so it has been for 1700 years.

I love the imagery from the first reading: “The angel brought me back to the entrance of the temple, and I saw water flowing out…” It is from the Prophet Ezekiel who is speaking to the Israelites exiled to Babylonia. They know that Jerusalem and the Temple are about to be destroyed, but Ezekiel tells them that one is not an everlasting Temple. And so he shares his vision of water flowing out from this heavenly, living temple. It is the water of life. It restores and renews everything. The plants flourish; the fish are plentiful. His message is that the exile will be for a while, but God is with them. Even now the Lord is at work renewing and rebuilding the Temple on a new foundation. No doubt the people wonder “when and where.”

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