Sunday, June 3, 2018

Out from the Clearance Bin - Homily for Corpus Christi (2018)

This weekend, we celebrate the feast of Corpus Christi-- that's Latin for "The Body of Christ." It is a celebration of God having given us the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Jesus Christ present here in the Eucharist.

One of the joys of being assigned to a parish with a school is that I get to see the children and their reaction to the Eucharist. For example, on Tuesdays we have Eucharistic Adoration here. This is where we place a gold object, called a monstrance, on the altar (monstrance from the Latin "to show"). In this monstrance, there is a window and, behind the window, you can see the host, the Eucharist. When people come to Eucharistic Adoration, they come to see and to adore Jesus present in the host. There's no need to recite lengthy prayers or to "do" anything. It is enough to just be with Jesus.

The kids, for their part, often kneel in the pews and some of them move up to the floor in front of the pews where they sit or kneel. But it's pretty cool to see what they do. I see them close their eyes in prayer; others sit criss-cross and just look up at Jesus; once, I saw a child blow a kiss to Jesus. It's very beautiful.

Children, I think, have a sense that Jesus is here. A mom of our parish recently told me that her little one whispers in her ear at communion time: the little one says, "Mom, my mouth is watering. I want Jesus." Indeed, I have a memory from my childhood-- I was about 4 or 5. I remember the priest giving out communion from the ciborium (that is the gold object that holds the Eucharist-- from the Latin "cibus" meaning "food"-- a ciborium is a food container...)-- I remember the priest giving out communion and I wondered how it was that he never ran out of hosts. I knew the story of the multiplication of loaves and fishes and I just presumed that when Father gave out one host, another miraculously reappeared in the ciborium!

I will admit: in hindsight, I know that I am very blessed that, from a very young age, I always believed or at least intuited that there was something miraculous going on here. I knew it wasn't about the preaching (thank God!) nor the music. Mass wasn't a meeting on Sundays. It was something special-- Jesus was here. And something miraculous and transcendent was going on-- something out of the ordinary.

I'm blessed in that I've never really doubted this. Sure, I've had temptations just like anyone else, but I always believed. What I found interesting, however, is that the moments of temptation typically came in those moments when I was in a hurry or preoccupied with some other project. I started to wonder why this was.

The conclusion I came to was this: there is a correlation between the cost of something and the value we place on it. Let me repeat that: there is a correlation between the cost of something and the value we place on it.

That's kind of heady, so let me explain.

Say that you want to buy a pair of shoes and you find the pair you want in the clearance bin. Ok, so they're twenty bucks, but they were the ones you were looking for. -- But they were in the clearance bin. We start to think: what's wrong with them? why are they on clearance? why did no one else want them? are they knock offs? are they damaged? and so on.

Let's say that you go to the store again and this time you buy a pair of shoes, but this time you spend $120 on them. A pretty fine pair of shoes for that cost. Indeed, you are going to take care of those $120 shoes. They cost $120-- so you're not going to walk through the mud in them or give them to your dog to chew on and so on. No, you're going to take care of them.

Here's the point: our human nature will take care of the shoes that cost $120 much more than those that cost $20-- even if they are the exact same pair of shoes. In other words, it doesn't matter so much about the shoes so much as how much you spend on them. If you spent a lot on that pair, you're going to take care of it much more than the one you got from the clearance bin. There is a correlation between the cost of something and the value we place on it.

The same can be said about our faith.

So, for example, it is no secret that some converts to the Catholic faith are more zealous and evangelical than some cradle Catholics. Why is this? Take, for example, a Baptist who is becoming Catholic. She may lose her friends over this; or her parents; she will definitely lose her Baptist worshipping community (some who may even accuse her of idolatry when she talks about worshipping the Eucharist). But she feels called to the Eucharist. So, to help explain to her family and friends and community, she starts reading and studying and forming ways to articulate. And, probably during all of this, the way that she is living is changing, too.

This-- this Eucharist, the very Thing that makes Catholics different than all Christian denominations-- this is costing her a lot. And precisely because it cost her so much-- much more than those $120 shoes-- she is going to value it so much more than those for whom this faith cost them nothing.

What does this mean for us?

I think it means that we need to raise the bar when it comes to our spiritual life and Eucharistic devotion. Here's what I mean by that. After the Second Vatican Council in the 1960s, there was a kind of experiment in the Church that thought that, if we lowered the bar when it came to morality, to what was expected at Mass, and so on-- that if we lowered the bar, more people would become Catholic.

But if you look at how many parishes have closed and how many people are no longer Catholic-- well, I think you can see that this particular experiment has failed.

The question is why?

The answer is: because at the very heart of our religion is the belief that love costs. We believe in Jesus Christ, who is God, and that He loved us even unto the Cross-- and that cost Him His life. It is this same Jesus that then turned to us and said, "If anyone wishes to come after me, he must lay down his life, pick up his cross daily, and follow me." In other words, if you love, there is a cost.

In past centuries, the laws of the Catholic Church helped Her children to remember this fact and actually to live it out. For example, many of you remember that, when it came to fasting before receiving communion, it wasn't an hour-- it was from midnight. You had to make it from midnight all the way to after Sunday morning Mass. (Which is why you didn't see too many Sunday evening Masses. And the word "breakfast" literally comes from this: Break Fast). You would literally feel a little pain before and even during Mass.

Our culture is so averted to cost that when the Church even begins to mention the costs required for Holy Communion (like, being free from mortal sin and a practicing Catholic), people get upset. But precisely because there is no cost, so many have such a little value of the Eucharist.

Now, this is not a complaining homily about how things have changed from the 1960s. That's not the point.

The point is that, when we were children, we found it quite easy to believe and to love Jesus in the Eucharist. We didn't have anything else pulling us away from valuing this. But then there came dating. And then college and studies. And responsibilities like a job and bills and family and so on. And we are pulled in many directions. Because things became complicated, we now had to choose-- and whatever we chose would cost us those things that we didn't choose. If I chose work on Sunday, it would cost me the Eucharist. If I chose the Eucharist, it would cost me the extra sleep on Sunday, etc.

To battle the temptation and to grown in a greater faith and love in Jesus here-- we have to raise the bar and, in a sense, we have to have this cost us more. I'm not talking about money. I'm talking about Monsignor Orf. Monsignor Orf-- he's a priest that came from our parish. He's about 90 years old. He offers Mass with me once in a while. Now, I have bad knees-- I can't imagine his, being 90 years old, but he tells me they aren't all that great. And yet, he genuflects to Jesus here. And when Monsignor genuflects, I hear a little grunt of pain-- it hurts.

There's the cost of love.

I don't know the specifics of how God wants to raise the bar of your spiritual life and Eucharistic devotion, but maybe it starts with a devoted genuflection. Maybe it means kneeling without putting your butt on the pew to rest. Maybe it means making a good act of faith when you come up the line. Maybe it's the commitment to Sunday Mass every Sunday. Maybe the cost is dressing nicely instead of casual. Maybe the cost is telling your employer that you can't work on Sundays anymore. I don't know what it is for you-- but can you imagine that person whom God is asking to tell their employer that Sunday Mass is more important than work on Sundays? Or the churches in Syria that are being destroyed and yet the people still come?

Can you imagine how much they value the Eucharist? They can look up at the Lord and say, "Jesus, I took that great chance, Lord, to be here with you."

It was a little Cross; but believe how much the Lord will bless that!

We must not lower the bar, but raise it. It makes our faith all the more firm; it makes our communion all the more sweet; it makes our worship all the more intense; it makes our community all the more vibrant. It makes us all like children again, kneeling in prayer, telling Jesus that we love Him and blowing Him kisses.

Friday, February 2, 2018

A Moment in Groundhog Day...

Today is one of my favorite days of the year. It's the Feast of the Presentation AND it's Groundhog Day. I celebrate with Holy Mass in the morning and then, sometime later, I watch the movie "Groundhog Day." (I know: I have weird traditions).

For what it's worth, one of my favorite moments in the movie "Groundhog Day" (and, for that matter, in any movie), is the moment of Phil's conversion. I won't tell you the whole movie, but there comes a point when he's reading poetry and, at the poem's last line, Phil realizes he's been foolish about love and about God.

The rest of the movie (and it's a pretty beautiful rest of the movie) is all about giving yourself over in self-gift.

... Which also happens to be a major theme of the Catholic Feast of the Presentation. In this Catholic Feast, the light of God comes to us as Mary brings Jesus (the light) into the temple. It is at this moment that hearts come to see that the best way to respond in life is to give ourselves over to Him and neighbor in self-gift-- that is, in love.

It's a beautiful moment. And, as I sip my coffee this morning, I can't help but smile at seeing this little bridge between the two.

Oh, and if you would like to know the last line of the poem that Phil was reading, it is from "Trees" by Joyce Kilmer. I hope you read it-- it's one of my favorites. You can find it right here:

I think that I shall never see 
A poem lovely as a tree. 

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest 
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast; 

A tree that looks at God all day, 
And lifts her leafy arms to pray; 

A tree that may in Summer wear 
A nest of robins in her hair; 

Upon whose bosom snow has lain; 
Who intimately lives with rain. 

Poems are made by fools like me, 
But only God can make a tree.

Sunday, December 31, 2017

Alone and in a Family - Homily for the Feast of the Holy Family (B)

Merry Christmas!

I know, it may sound a little weird to say that today, December 31st, but contrary to our culture, Christmas continues! A full season, in fact. So, you'll notice the crib is still up and the poinsettas and the lights. And over at the rectory, too. So, while the radio stations have turned off Christmas, we're still celebrating. So, merry Christmas!

One of the gifts we receive this Christmas-- in fact, The Gift we receive-- is Jesus. And we all know that, of course. But what is interesting to me is that He came to us in this way. *pointing to the manger scene* I mean, God is GOD, so He could have just beamed Himself down here or come to us as a 30 year-old man. He didn't have to go through all the trouble of growing up and living under a roof. In other words, He didn't have to enter into a family. But, of all the ways that God could have come to us, here He has come: right through the family!

Why does He come this way? One of the reasons is that the experience of family is universal. Whether we came from an integral family or a broken family, we came into this world not by our lonesome, but by another. Jesus entered into this universal experience. But not just to say, "Hey, I know what it's like," but to give the family a new and elevated dignity. The family is no longer "just" a family. The family has been raised to Holiness.

This is one of the greatest gifts of Christmas: Jesus enters the family and shows us what family can be. Indeed, He shows us that family IS a gift. It is a gift to be part of a family.


This is a major point of our readings today. In the first reading, Abraham and Sarah are lamenting that they cannot have a family. They think they are infertile and too old. Many people in our world feel this pain: they want children but are unable to have them. They know quite keenly how great a blessing it is to have children, to have a family. God promises Abraham and Sarah that a family is coming.

In the Gospel, we see Simeon and Anna. Both are childless. Anna is a widow. There is a longing in their heart-- and this longing is fulfilled when Mary and Joseph bring Jesus to them. "At last!" cries Simeon!

But wait. Jesus isn't Simeon's child. So, why is Simeon so happy? Because, in the words of the prophet Isaiah (9:6), "Today a child is born to us. A son is given to us."

In other words, Jesus doesn't simply enter into a human family. He draws every single person into His family. A child is born to us, a son is given to us-- and that's because Jesus draws us into His family where God is our Father.

This Family *pointing to the manger* shows us not only what our families are to be like. But this Family also shows us what we as a Church are to be like. Jesus is our center-- and notice the prayer of Mary and Joseph and the love that they share between them.

It is a blessing to have a family. And not only the biological ones, but especially the spiritual ones.


I say that because there's a lot of loneliness out there, isn't there? So many people feel alone and isolated. The winter is cold, not only because of the temperatures, but also because they are looking for the warmth of love-- but where is it to be found?

On the one hand, we can say that this isolation and loneliness exists in our communities-- and it does-- and that we, our parish family, the Catholic Church, we must reach out and go in search, like our Good Shepherd did, for those who are lost and alone, still walking in the darkness and the cold. We are called to bring others to the warmth of this family.

But on the other hand, the isolation and loneliness exists in areas that we may not expect it: under our own very roofs. (It is very easy to think that priests are lonely-- some are-- but I find that I'm not lonely at all. I know that I have a wonderful family: you, this parish; my own family; and especially this one (the Holy Family). I know that I'm never alone.) What surprises many people is that married people can be alone. But you who are married know this quite well. A fight happens and you're angry or they're angry and then you have to go to bed-- and no one ever said that you could be sleeping next to someone and feel alone, but here you are.

Today, we are given the gift of a healing God who enters into our family. If we are married, we need to ask the Holy Family to enter under our family roof and to bring us healing and reconciliation. We need this, because how we go, how our families go, is how the world goes. If there is not peace and forgiveness in our homes, how will there be peace and forgiveness in the world? I mean, we love each other-- sometimes, though, we let ourselves get in the way. Too much stuff, trying to do too much-- and the anxiety builds, and the stress, and we get snippy and impatient. And maybe this has been building for a while and the resentment.... Let us kneel before Jesus and Mary and Joseph and ask their holiness for this marriage.


Sometimes we wonder whether we are good parents. As a father, myself, I wonder whether I am a good spiritual parent sometimes. And here's the thing: we're not going to be great parents all the time. We mess up. And our kids feel lonely and so on. What we as parents-- what we need to do is to give our families (our children, and for me my parish) to This Family. To show our children that, even when families struggle, even when families are broken apart by sickness, death, and distance, that they are never alone-- we still have This Family and it is a Holy Family, a good family, a family that will always be there and never fail.

A mom going through a divorce once came before such a Nativity Scene as this and knelt and said, "Mary, you be the mother that I cannot be for my children!" And then the mom turned to St. Joseph and said, "And you, Joseph, you be the father that my husband can't be for my children." And that mom gave her family over to the care of The Family-- the Holy Family. In that moment, her family became part of a better family, a holier family, a family that was going to take care of her own. And it's true. If you are struggling to be a good parent, a good grandparent-- bring your family here and give them to Jesus.


Now, I know, some of you are thinking: "Father, I'm a widow" or "Father, I'm a single person" -- "This doesn't apply to me." It does!

When I visit with the homeboud, I remind them to pray for our parish and to pray especially for vocations-- I ask them to offer their pain and suffering to God, so that God can turn it into grace for the birth of holy Christians. This is what Jesus did on the Cross, right?

When they do that, they become spiritual mothers and spiritual fathers. Their prayers and sufferings literally give birth to Christians and to vocations like priests and religious sisters and marriages.

If you are single or widowed, you can be a father or mother of spiritual children-- and this can be the best kind! You are giving birth to saints-- all without having to change the diapers!

And you who are married-- not only are you biological parents, but spiritual ones as well. What if you knew that, somewhere down the line, there was a priest or religious sister that God was going to call forth from your lineage? Or a saint? Would we not expend greater spiritual time and energy to give our descendants a greater chance for holiness? Could Abraham have ever thunk that he would be the father of so many saints?


You see: all of us-- we are never alone. You are not alone! You are part of a great family!

This is our Church. This is our family-- no matter how broken our families have been, no matter how alone we may feel. Jesus comes to us in the family-- whatever state it may be in, whatever state we may be in-- and He says, "Let me bring you healing. Let me help your marriage. Let me help your children. Let me help you as you are a widow, to be a parent again. Let me help you as you are single, to show you your place in the world and the great treasure that you are!"

To conclude, I know that there are some in our pews who were with us at Christmas and have joined with us again. Or maybe it's your first time here. And you're looking for a family and a place to call home. Maybe you're feeling alone.

Well, I want to welcome you to our family. Welcome home. I pray that you will find our brothers and sisters here to be like Mary and Joseph: in love with Jesus and each other. May that love come to you!

To all of us, before you leave Holy Mass today, bring your family to this Nativity Scene. Whether your children are with you in the pew this morning or with you in your heart, bring them to the Nativity Scene and give them and your family to the care of Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Give you marriage to them. Give this parish to them.

I am convinced this is one of the greatest gifts of Christmas. Jesus our God came to us by way of the family, to bless it, to raise it, and to heal it in his love and peace.

May God bless you and your family this Christmas, this New Year, and every day of your lives.

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Monday, December 11, 2017

The Victory Path (through Mountains and Valleys) - Homily for the 2nd Sunday in Advent (B)

Did you notice how that started? It said,
The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ...

That doesn't seem like much-- like it's just an introduction or something akin to "Once upon a time." But this line is important. In fact, it's the key to all of our readings today.
The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ...

Mark starts his gospel book in a way that echoes how the Bible starts: "In the beginning." And what happens "In the beginning"? God creates. Here, Mark starts his book hearkening to that beginning-- to point out to us that something new is about to begin. And what is about to begin?
The Gospel of Jesus Christ...

Again, we've heard that word-- Gospel-- before. But what does it mean? It comes from the Greek: evangelion. That word means "message" or "good news." From this word, evangelion, we get English words such as Evangelist and Evangelize and even the word "angel". So, at Christmas, Gabriel the archangel is a messenger of good news. And what is the good news-- the Gospel, the evangelion?

Of course, it's that Jesus is born.

But there's more to it than that. This word hearkens back to ancient times when a king would be off at battle. If the king and his armies were victorious, they would send back to the cities an evangelion-- a messenger with good news: and the good news was that the king was victorious.

Hold on to that thought for a moment, then, because we need to take a detour back in time.


In our first reading, we hear Isaiah speaking to God's people, Israel. They are in exile in Babylon-- enslaved in a foreign country and far away from home. God says to Isaiah: bring my people comfort, tell them that I will send them a Messiah, one who will deliver them from Babylon, who will win the victory for them and bring them home.

So, the good news, the evangelion, that Isaiah brings is that there will be a king, a messiah, whose victory will set them free.

Do you know what the Greek word for Messiah is? It's Christ. (Christos).

So, when Mark starts off his book with the line
The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ...

Mark is saying: "Look! Something new! I come bearing a message: good news: our king, Jesus, is victorious!"

Indeed, the rest of the Gospel of Mark will revolve around this theme.

And it points out something very important: whereas in Isaiah's time the Messiah was promised to come some time in the future, Mark is saying, "Look, the Messiah is here now!" That's why Mark begins with the prophet Isaiah-- to say, "Hey, this is being fulfilled right now! The victory is here! We're going home!" And Mark's gospel then continues with John the Baptist pointing this out: there's a new beginning here! The kingdom of God is at hand!


But Isaiah and John say something very interesting. They say: "Prepare the way of the Lord." And, later, "Every valley shall be raised and every mountain made low." What does this mean?

Well, practically speaking, when the victorious king was coming home from battle, he would be bringing with him the spoils of war. But to go up and down mountains and valleys would be difficult and time consuming. So, on the practical side of things, both Isaiah and John are saying, "Hey, make the returning king's path easy! Help him bring back these spoils of war quickly!"

Prepare the way of the Lord: if you make His way easy, He will all the more quickly bring His victory to you.

And what is His victory? It is over sin and death and the devil Himself. It is a spiritual victory.

The mountains and valleys, therefore, are not just geographical places but the quality of our souls.

The valleys are those souls that are weighted down by their sins and maybe even wonder "can I be forgiven?" And God is saying, "Yes! Let me fill you with my grace." The valley is the soul that needs to receive.

The mountains are those souls that have grown large by their pride, and in their heights may think that God is too far beneath them, too dull or unintelligent and so on. And God is saying, "You are not beyond me. Come down from your height for I have great treasures for you, too."

Both kinds of souls-- valleys and mountains-- are being told that they will participate in the King's victory. There is but one thing necessary, and John tells us what it is: repent.


Often, we think of repentance as simply saying "I'm sorry." But in the context of our readings today, we see that repentance is actually the condition for receiving the King's victory. His victory is over sin-- repentance is the door that opens to the spoils, the treasures.

We see this beautifully in the confessional. This past week, the second graders went to First Confession and some of them were a little nervous. They go in with their heads down, but they come out with such joy! Something has happened in this moment when they are the valley that is filled with grace and the mountain that acknowledges their sin-- they receive the joy of a new beginning; their hearts become light. This is the Gospel, the evangelion, the good news.


Our Catholic Church highlights these opportunities in particular when she obliges us to go to confession once per year or when she says that a particular Mass is a Holy Day of Obligation. Take this past Friday, the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, for example. The Church knows that all of us during this busy season are becoming like those valleys, low by the lack of sunlight and burdened by our to-do lists. So the Church says, "hey, there is a great opportunity for grace that can fill you up-- that will slow you down for a night and refocus your Advent and set you free on a course of peace. And that is Immaculate Conception Mass. And we've been at this for a few years and we know how much you need this great grace, so we're going to make it obligatory." And those of you who went, I know, were lifted up, filled like those valleys.

But then there were some who did not go. Not because of sickness or mandatory work, but because we let other things get the best of us or we were lazy or maybe selfish. And the Church highlights that we, the mountains, need to be lowered a bit-- that we didn't "Prepare the way of the Lord" and didn't make it easy for Him to come to us. And the Church does this by saying that if we missed-- again, not because of sickness or mandatory work, but because of our own free will-- that if we skipped the Holy Day, we can't receive Holy Communion today until we go to confession. We need to lower ourselves and acknowledge our disobedience to the king-- we need to be filled by the grace of repentance before we can be filled by the grace of holy communion.

And, I know, we may not like to hear that or we may think it's going to be embarrassing to come up in the communion line with our arms crossed. But I want to tell you that I've been there before. And I don't judge you. Neither will my deacon. In fact, none of my amazing parishioners here-- none will judge you. In fact, I will admire your courage and your honesty and your faithfulness to God and His Church. Because I will see that you take this seriously and you are letting God lower the mountains.

Indeed, the treasures of our victorious king are yours-- precisely because you are repenting.

Of course, it would be unfair of me to give such a homily without hearing confessions right after Mass. So, that's what I'm going to do. After Mass today, I'm going to go straight to the confessional and hear confessions of the mountains and the valleys. Those valleys who say, "I don't know-- could God really forgive this really big sin in my life?" Jesus is going to forgive you today. Those mountains who say, "I don't know-- does God really care about what goes on up here in my life?" Jesus is going to forgive you today.

This is what it means to "make straight his paths," to have "every valley... raised" and "every mountain... made low." This is "The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ" our victorious king who brings the treasures of mercy. Let us now "prepare the way of the Lord!"

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Monday, December 4, 2017

Into the Small - Homily for the 1st Sunday of Advent (B)

It's not too often that we hear a one-word Gospel, but that's exactly what we have this morning: "Watch!"

Once again this Thanksgiving, I found myself at my aunt's house with my nieces and nephews. And they are growing up and we're playing ball outside now. But the warning is still there: "Be careful! Watch out!" -- especially for the little ones. Don't clobber them with the soccer ball.

That word, "watch," implies that there is danger. So what is the danger that Jesus is warning us about? Well, we could say that it's the usual suspects: sin, pride, selfishness. But, really, it's even more basic than that. The danger is that we might stop being on the lookout.

On the lookout for what?

For Jesus.

You see, during these next few weeks, we're going to have a lot do to. And we're all going to be tempted to forget what is most important: Jesus.

It's not as though we intend to forget Jesus-- it's not like we're trying to be malicious or bad. It's just that life, somehow, seems to happen.

I meet with many couples getting married or having kids baptized. And I ask them how their faith is doing and they many times say that it's been a while since they have been at Mass. And I'm like, "Ok, tell me about that. What happened?" And many times they don't know-- life just... happened. Things got busy.

At that point I tell them, "ok, yeah, it happens to the best of us. But it's good to have you back. Now we're gonna take steps so that we don't get swept away by the busy-ness of life."

I remember Ferris Bueller, that wise sage. He said, "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

It's true. Especially during busy seasons like this one when there is so much to get done. Don't overlook what is most important. As Jesus says, "Watch!"


Now, let us be painfully clear. I'm not just giving you good advice. The reality is, when we don't watch, we really do get ourselves into big trouble.

Exhibit A: have you seen the headlines recently? I'm not going to use the actual words because we have little ears here present, but we have all heard of "misconduct" and "inappropriate behavior." For the kids: just know that some men did some bad things.

Matt Lauer of the Today Show, one of those men, wrote an apology. In it, he says that he now must "take a very hard look at my own troubling flaws. It's been humbling." You see, at heart, he lost sight of what was important. And more, he forgot that small decisions, every day, build up and become big issues. Small decisions for virtue, each day, build up and become great saints. Small decisions for vice, each day build up and become, well, what we have seen on the news.

You see, we don't become great sinners or saints overnight. It happens with small decisions, each day.

You've probably heard it said, "Well, at least I didn't kill anyone." Ok, that's great. But is that what we are to be aspiring to? "At least I'm not Matt Lauer."

This is the danger, brothers and sisters. The danger not only that we might not "watch," but the danger is also that, in not-watching, we start to watch others. We start to compare ourselves and think ourselves alright. And, worse, start to condemn our fellow man-- for didn't Jesus see all of our sins, including Matt's? And didn't Jesus die for those sins anyway? Is there a sin worse than crucifying Christ? The Father forgave that. And He sends His Son to forgive-- even this.

We need to pray for Matt. And the victims. And we need to keep watch-- for we need to watch Christ. That's who we should compare ourselves to.


I think, then, of the beautiful church in Bethlehem which is built over the site of Jesus' birth. I've never been to that church in Bethlehem, but everyone who has been there remembers it. "Father Gerber," they say, "you've gotta see it!" And they tell me how big it is and gold and candles everywhere and how impressive it is. "And then," they say, "there's the door to the church." "The door?" I ask. "Yeah, the door."

What about the door? I'm thinking it's going to be impressive like the rest of the church: big, oak, gold leaf, ... "No, it's small. Maybe four feet tall. You literally have to bow to get in."

That strikes me as fantastically wonderful: in order to enter the place where Jesus was born, the place where we first saw the almighty God become small, we too must become small.

I think that is a crucial part to Advent. Part of us watching is to become like Jesus-- and, in the case of Christmas, He became small. Humble.

That means that as we prepare for Christmas, we must ask ourselves: are my preparations marked by a humble simplicity, a "smallness" if you will? Or am I in search for the big?-- the huge list of presents from Santa, the big party, the belief that if I get enough things, then they will love me.

The reality is: smaller is better. Just writing a small couple words in a letter, small words of love-- that is so huge in a world that doubts love. Even if it is as small as a tweet, big dividends. Or those small words: "I'm sorry." Big.


I mentioned Ferris Bueller at the beginning of this homily. Here's another 80's movie for you: Back to the Future. Have you ever noticed that Marty (the main character, lost in the 1950s, trying to return home to 1985)-- have you ever noticed that his friend, the comedic-relief scientist Doc Brown-- have you ever noticed that Doc warns Marty not to change a thing-- not one. small. thing. "Don't meet up with your parents, Marty! You'll alter the space-time contiuum!"

All sci-fi flicks that have a hero going back in time-- they all have that great caveat: don't change one small thing.


Because it's dangerous.


Because it could change your entire future.

Hmm. I wonder what would happen if we ascribed that thought to the present moment: what if you changed one small thing today? That small door in Bethlehem, that small babe in the crib-- can one small decision, one small person make a big difference?

Just you watch, says our Lord.


So, that's what I want you to do. Pick one thing. Just one thing. What is that one thing-- no matter how small-- that our Lord is calling you to do this Advent? Ask Him at this Mass. "Lord, what is the one thing you want me to do?"

And do it. Decide and do it. Believe that we don't become saints over night, but saints are made in this moment-- this moment of deciding to believe that one change for the good, one small act towards virtue will build up and grow and become holiness.

That one small thing might be to remember that we all need a Savior and that's why we have Christmas. Maybe it's to remember, when you are standing in that long checkout line, that the important center of Christmas is that Jesus has come to save us. That's what it means to watch.

There's a song that reminds me of that small, essential center of Christmas. I'll end with it this morning.

God rest ye merry gentlemen,
let nothing you dismay.
Remember Christ our Savior
was born on Christmas Day.
To save us all from Satan's power
when we had gone astray....
O, o tidings of comfort and joy....!

Monday, November 20, 2017

To Leave a Legacy - Homily for the 33rd Sunday in OT (A)

This morning, Jesus talks to us about the talents He gives and the legacy we leave behind. The Talents in the story include a whole host of things: it's His grace, His heart that He entrusts to us (cf. the first reading), this faith, this life. But the question is whether the soul that receives these gifts puts them to use for His legacy: that is, do we grow, do we love, do we bring more people to the faith?-- that's the five talents making five more.

So the problem with the last servant is that he did not leave a legacy. Indeed, he buried his talents. This is the irony: when he buries the talents, he isn't just burying the talents, he is burying himself. His life was meant to glorify God. But instead, he lived as though dead.


Today, we conclude our three-part series on death and dying. And today's gospel gives us the theme: what kind of legacy am I leaving behind?

Before we go there, I know that there are a couple of questions that people have regarding cremation and the funeral Mass. Let's answer those first.

When we consider cremation, we must first remember that the human person not only has dignity, but is also imbued with glory: the Christian was a temple of the Holy Spirit. Each one of our bodies was the place of God's glory. We pray that in our short lives, this glory shined forth.

At a funeral Mass, we are reminded of this glory when the body is brought forward and the priest blesses it with holy water, recalling that the person had received the light of Christ in baptism and had become a temple of the Holy Spirit. Great talents, those! Death, however, has now claimed the mortal body. Nevertheless, we still honor the body because it was once the temple.

When it comes to cremation, it was once prohibited because there existed widespread pagan beliefs that the body was bad or that the resurrection didn't exist-- and so those that did cremation did so badly, from a position of doubt or from disdain of the body. Today, the Church allows cremation so long as the person did not hold such doubtful or disdainful positions. When cremation is done, it is preferred that it be done after the funeral Mass (for the reasons mentioned above: ie, to revere the sanctity of the body).

We must also note, however, that while cremation is allowed, it is not necessarily preferred. The reason for this is because there have arisen some abuses regarding it. For example, there is a growing trend of people keeping the remains of their loved ones-- on their mantle, in amulets, I've even seen in potted plants. Unfortunately, in many of those cases, the remains are lost or even thrown away-- not out of malice, but simple neglect or forgetfulness. Our loved ones deserve better than that. This is why the Church points out that, if a person is cremated, they must be buried in a cemetery or columbarium-- some place stable that connects also to the tomb of Christ and which, in turn, gives us and our future generations the reminder to pray. Too many souls are forgotten and not prayed for when they just become another piece of furniture.

For much the same reason, remains are not to be scattered.

If you do have the remains of a loved one, please let me or your priest know and we can perform the rite of committal (burial).


Let us turn to the funeral Mass.

When it comes to the funeral Mass, we must remember that it is a Mass. And at the center of the Mass is Jesus. The center is not the dead person, but what Jesus has done and is doing for the person.

A funeral Mass, therefore, is supposed to be a time not simply to remember but to pray. We reflect: what Talents did Jesus give this person in life-- Baptism, Eucharist, Confirmation, vocation? Did they make five Talents more?

This is where the funeral Mass is supposed to draw us in: we are to be reminded that death comes for us, too, and that we will be judged; did I make five talents more?

I don't know about you, but when I die, I don't want people to say how awesome I was (I'm not, and I won't care). I will want people asking Jesus to be merciful. That's what we are doing at the funeral.

Readings, Homilies, Music, and eulogies (if there absolutely must be one) should highlight this and not avoid it. One of the best homilies/eulogies in this regard is the homily that Father Scalia gave at the funeral for his father, Justice Scalia. Go to the Youtube video-- it's worth your time.

A final word about the funeral Mass: plan ahead. When my dad died unexpectedly, it was difficult for me and my brothers and sister and their spouses to both grieve and plan a funeral. Save your family that difficulty and meet with a priest to discuss your funeral. I know, it sounds morbid, but it will help your family and it will help you to focus anew on Jesus whom you will meet at the end.


After the burial, we pray for the dead. You notice that at every single Catholic Mass, we pray for the dead. And oftentimes there is a particular person that we mention by name. That is because the family has asked the parish to pray for their beloved in a particular way-- the Mass is offered for him or her. Have Masses offered for your beloved dead. Simply ask me to do so or visit the parish office and ask Julia there. There is no cost (we don't sell Sacraments). If you want to give a donation, that will be just fine.

Know too that at every Mass you can offer your holy communion for your beloved dead and for all the souls in purgatory. A very good prayer is the prayer of St. Gertrude, a prayer given to her by Jesus Himself, promising her that if she said it with her heart, souls would be brought to heaven. The holy communion that you receive is so very powerful-- it is Jesus! Unite your love to His and say at communion, "Jesus, bring me and those I offer you in my heart now-- bring us to heaven!"

Many saints have pointed out that when you pray for a soul in purgatory and it is then brought to heaven, that soul in heaven prays for you. So, pray for the dead! When you think of it: it's a great investment! Some people here have brought many souls to heaven and now have many souls in heaven praying for them. That's awesome. That's five talents making five more!


Finally, do have a will. I say this because I have seen too many families ripped apart because of bickering and fighting over the parents' estate. Be generous, but also be clear.

And continue to show where your priorities are: leave a gift to the parish church and school. If you are able, let's start an endowment.

And, I know, some may say: "Sure, the priest is asking for money now." No, I'm not good at that or "The Ask." I just know that there is an opportunity to do good and I'm inviting people to participate in that. After all, if we are bringing souls to heaven here, I think that warrants not a token donation but true investment. Right?

Our goal is to leave a legacy of faith. When I meet with couples to have their children baptized or engaged couples who want to get married, the Number One Thing they say is that they have received the faith and want to pass it on to their children. Of course, what often passes us by is that, generally speaking, each new generation is doing less than the previous generation. Kids are doing less than their parents who did less than their parents. In such cases, we aren't making five talents more, but less.

A good examination of conscience here is to ask yourself this question: when I die, will I have left my children a faith strong enough to get them through my death-- and not only to get through it, but to turn to Jesus in it? Have I left my children a relationship with Jesus that they can grow in and know how to grow in? Have I left my children not only a knowledge of prayer but a practice of prayer such that, when I die, they will be offering Masses for me, praying for me, visiting my grave and then turning to their family to encourage a higher way of living?

I look at my young people here with us. I want you to do more than I am doing. Do more than me and your parents. Don't just follow me, I want you to learn how to lead with me and make more talents than what God gave you initially.


I know these have been heavy topics over the past three weeks and your patience has been wonderful. Let us pray for our beloved dead now. And let us also turn to Jesus and ask Him for the wisdom and strength that we may do His will. Let us use the Talents He gives us so that, when we die, not only will we be brought to heaven, but we will bring a litany of saints behind us: we will have used our talent and made many, many more. An eternal legacy.

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

To Grieve - Homily for the 32nd Sunday in OT (A)

During this month of prayer for the dead, we continue our three-part series of homilies on the topics surrounding the end of life. Last week, we discussed end of life care. This week, let us turn our hearts and minds to those who grieve and the best ways to take care of them.

We begin today with a very basic principle: death is real. And so is grieving. Grieving is real.

I remember when my dad died. It's been almost ten years. I can tell you pretty much everything about that day-- where I was, what the weather was like, ... Dad had been sick for a while, so there was always the proximate possibility-- but his death was still sudden and unexpected. Dad and I didn't have the greatest relationship, but deep down I loved him. So his death was hard.

Some of you have lost a spouse or a brother or a close friend or a child. I personally have not experienced these. But death is a very similar experience for us all: it's like we were on a boat and suddenly there is a ship-wreck. While the boat goes down, some parts of the boat remain on top of the water, reminding us there was once a boat, and in the meantime, we are just treading water, trying not to drown as the waves of grief wash against us.

One of the things I often hear asked is "Father, when will I stop grieving?" I'd like to say that those waves of grieving stop, but the reality is that they don't. We come across a keepsake or we visit a place or a smell reminds us-- and suddenly there is the wave. We're never really "done" grieving because, well, grieving is the sign that we loved. And love is stronger than death. So, the waves of grief may diminish in frequency and intensity over time-- time brings healing-- but we will always love. I do not grieve my father like I did that night when I wept over his death-- but I still miss him.

C.S. Lewis, when his wife had died, kept a diary. Later, this would become a thin, little book called "A Grief Observed." It's a book that I recommend for everyone-- even if you're not grieving. Everyone should read it-- "A Grief Observed." In his diary, C.S. Lewis struggled to find the meaning of his wife's passing and the meaning of life after that. And he realized that, as he mourned his wife's death, a part of him really did die.

He wasn't speaking in figures. What he was saying was: our hearts are not just simply emotions. Our hearts are not just simply feelings. Our hearts are who we give our love to. And so when that person dies, that person to whom we gave our heart, so too does that part of our heart that we gave. Lewis found some consolation in this. You see, he felt that death had separated him from his wife. But now he realized that he wasn't all that separated from her as he once thought: as she died, so too did he share in it. They weren't totally separated-- they did go to death together. This reassured him that, should they rise, they would also rise together.

Death is real. Grieving is real. Love is real.

When we grieve, we have to be real about the death. The death happened. We feel the loss. This is important to acknowledge-- it's actually how we start to heal.

One area where I think our culture can do better here is for our mothers who grieve a miscarriage. The reality about the miscarriage is that there really was a baby there and a real death and also real grieving because there really was love. We must never overlook this; a mother's love for her child-- even the smallest child-- is still a mother's forever love. So, we must treat the miscarriage as a real death, for it really is-- and help mothers who grieve, for they really are. The Catholic Church, Our Mother, embraces mothers here-- know that we are with you. One of the ways to heal is to name your child if you haven't done so already. Even if you don't know if it was a boy or a girl, go ahead and name your child. After Mass, write your child's name in our Book of Remembrance and we will pray for your children. There is also a very beautiful blessing that the Church can provide you here-- even if its been many many years ago.

For all of us who have lost a loved one, Lewis points out that a sure path to healing is to do something counter-intuitive: that is, to praise God. What Lewis meant by that was: to think about the person and the gift that they were to us and all the gifts God gave us through them-- and to turn to God and thank Him for that. Lewis found that as he praised God, the joy of his wife would remain with him and he found comfort.

Another help that C.S. Lewis gives us as we grieve is a word of advice: Avoid the un-real.

What he means by this is, we like to create falsehoods about death-- false realities that really don't help us.

For example: we hear people say, "She is going to live on in my memory." The stark reality is that no, no she won't. This sounds cruel, so let me explain. Fifteen years ago, I was in college and I hung out with a group of friends. I hadn't seen one of them in over ten years. Of course, I had a certain memory of them, but then they came through town and visited me. And my image of them-- what I remembered of them-- it was completely shattered. Sure, some things were the same; but they had changed and I didn't remember things as well as I had thought.

Same goes with our beloved dead. The passage of time and the failing of memory acts like a kind of snow covering a statue. We do lose a sense of who they really were.

So, what do we do? Lewis says that we must be real about our memory of them: hold on to not only the good, but the bad. Be real about them-- don't turn them into a precious moments doll. Be real. This also means admitting that there were things we didn't know about them. And that's a good thing: a really bad person may have, in their last breaths, made a last confession to God. There is still hope for some that we may have thought had no hope. Remember that they have met Jesus and we will be surprised by when we meet them again-- if we are real about this, so too will our image of them be closer to reality.

This means we also have to be real about death. It comes for us all. Even for innocent children. We sometimes hear parents say: "A parent should never have to bury their child." And I get the sentiment of it-- but where in the rule book does it say that this is how things are? Our ancestors knew very well that the young would often die. Sure, they didn't have some of the safety-nets that we now have. But as many safety-nets as we may have, death still comes for the child.

Which puts us into touch to another reality: we all needed a savior. We need Jesus. Without Him, yeah, there would be no hope. Death would be the end.

So when death comes, we must always keep our faith. Indeed, I worry about those who lose their faith when there is a death close to them. You see, we don't know how much we believe something until it becomes a matter of life or death. If anything should topple our faith-- even something like death-- we learn something about ourselves: our faith needed a greater foundation on Jesus and His promise of eternal life.

Our faith, therefore, must never be based in the sentimental. Our faith is not a feeling. That's just a house of cards that collapses when the reality of death strikes. We need something that will stand up to the winds that blow. And that foundation is Jesus. Our need for Him is real.


One of the best ways to help someone who is grieving is to be real.

So, for example, when someone is grieving, don't tell them something sentimental like "Oh, they're in a better place now." That's not real. Because, the reality is, we don't know that. I'm not God and you're not God-- and only God knows where a person is when they die. Contrary to popular belief, not all dogs go to heaven. Jesus Himself said so. So we can't say "Oh, they're in a better place."

Lewis adds that, when he was grieving, he hated this line. Not only because it wasn't real, but also because he didn't care. He didn't care where his wife was. I mean, he did, but all he really cared about was that she wasn't here. Don't tell me she's in a better place-- help me to answer why she isn't here.

Don't tell grieving parents that their children are now "angels in heaven." They don't want angels in heaven; they want their children. And when we die, we don't become angels anyway-- no more than when dogs die they become human (they don't).

And on a personal note, after the twentieth time of hearing "I'm sorry for your loss" at the funeral home, I was pretty tired of the pity. I didn't want pity. Do you know what I wanted? Do you know what anyone who is grieving wanted? ... not sentimental words; not imaginary worlds....

What they wanted is this *pointing to Jesus on the Cross* ... What would you say to Jesus as He was dying on the Cross to make Him feel better?-- because that's where the grieving are in their moments of grief.

I'll tell you what Jesus and all the grieving want to hear: "I'm with you." ... "I love you."

Just to hear my friends say, "We're with you"-- that was real. And that was the best consolation. A close second to that were the stories that I heard about my father-- stories that I never knew about my dad and what he meant to people. That's what we can say to those who are grieving. Those things are real.

Another thing that is real is that the grieving need food and they need sleep. And sometimes they needed to be reminded about that: "Have you eaten anything today?" "When was the last time that you slept"?

And please, enough with the lasagna.

I'm serious. Comfort food is nice for a day or two. But after two weeks of comfort food, you really start to gain weight and that puts your further into a bad place mentally and not wanting to get out of bed. Bring healthy food to those who are grieving.

Don't say, "Hey, can I do anything for you?" Because, really, when a person is grieving, sometimes they don't know. And, even when they do, they usually aren't in an emotional place to ask. We have to take the initiative for them.

Eventually, the wake is over and the funeral is over and the family and friends all go home. And do you know what happens then? The grieving person is often forgotten.

So, after three-to-six months, we need to call the person and say, "Hey, we're going out." Don't ask them; don't say, "Hey, want to do something?" Probably not. Because they may be depressed. Say, hey, I'm coming by in half an hour whether you like it or not. And go for a walk or the Botanical Garden or something. But get them out of the house.

And be real: visit a cemetery. Pray together for the dead at the Mass.

Being sentimental about all of this isn't helping our culture. Death is real. And our love for the dead person was real. Our love for the grieving should be real-- not simply about good wishes and happy thoughts.

Jesus came not to make us feel good, but to make us aware of the reality of death-- and more, to save us from it. That's what's real.

So, let us give to Him all of our loved ones who have died. Receive them, Jesus, bring them home. Bring comfort to our hearts. Help us to comfort others with goodness and truth. For we trust in you. We trust that you will wipe away every tear. For you are our Savior and our Love. Be with us Jesus. Remind us that there is hope. Be our foundation and our strength. Fill us with your love.

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.