Why the Heart - Divine Mercy Sunday

 “Bring your hand and put it into my side.”

 Jesus had many wounds from His crucifixion. The wounds from the nails in His hands and His feet; the wounds on His head from the crown of thorns; the wounds on His back from the scourging; the wound on His shoulder from carrying the weight of the heavy, wooden cross.

 But of all of these wounds, Jesus invites Thomas to touch the wound on the side. This was the wound where the Roman soldier, the centurion, had thrust a lance through skin and rib and into the very heart of Jesus, from which poured forth blood and water.

 On this day, a week after His resurrection, Jesus invites the doubting, and even cynical, Thomas to place his finger where the lance went through – not simply to touch the outer flap of skin, but to put his finger “into…”

 Into what?

 Thomas’ expression tells us – he cries out, “My Lord and my God!” –Thomas has touched the heart. A beating heart. Jesus’ heart! He is alive! And it shocks Thomas. Wouldn’t you be shocked if someone who you thought was dead has a heart beat that you can touch?

 From this moment, Thomas believes. His heart is changed.

 In a way, we can say that when Thomas touches Jesus’ heart, it is really Jesus who touches Thomas’ heart. Thomas’ heart was cold and dead because of doubt and cynicism. But when Jesus touches Thomas’ heart, his heart becomes is afire with love. Thomas’ faith has been resurrected.

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 This past week, our holy father, Pope Francis, the successor of Peter and shepherd of the flock, has died and gone to meet our heavenly Father.

 His passing afforded me some time to reflect about Pope Francis’ reign, which is called his “pontificate.”

 On the one hand, I have very much applauded the Pope for reminding all the world about the dignity of the human person, about our need to walk with all people, and about how every person is not a problem to solve, but a soul with hearts that we must love – whether friend or enemy, people with whom we agree or disagree.

 Additionally, many on the “inside” have spoken about Pope Francis’ deep prayer life and his private works of charity. In these ways, the holy father offered us a chance to be closer to Jesus and the Gospel. Many have come back to the faith because of him and grieve his passing. This is wonderful and I praise God for it.

 At the same time, I have also struggled with the Pope’s weaknesses. Even though many in his inner circle have insisted that the Pope had no intentions on changing Church teaching (which he couldn’t do anyway), and while he was motivated by genuine love of bringing people on the peripheries back to the faith (which I applaud), the Pope was often unclear in what he said. And his lack of clarity often sowed confusion.

 When he was clear, his tone was often frank and severe, the most choleric of words being saved for his priests – priests who often found themselves tasked with cleaning up the messes caused by his lack of clarity. This sowed some resentment in his priests, especially those who have trying to be faithful during a time of decadence and scandal.

 While Pope Francis often emphasized the need to welcome others and not to judge, I found him very judgmental towards those who were trying to have larger families, or worshipping in more historical (or one may say traditional) ways, or fighting against secularism in sacrificial lives – all of which we as Catholics are called to do.

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 This admixture of good and bad in a Pope caused me some discomfort in the past decade. I saw enemies of the Church exploiting the confusion; I saw some good Catholics falling away; and I saw some lukewarm Catholics reaffirmed in their lukewarmness.

 During my moments of reflection this week, I have found a clear connection to Saint Thomas whom we just heard about. The temptation for any of us is like that of Saint Thomas: to just not care about any of it, to grow in cynicism, resentment, doubt, lack of charity and courtesy. In short: the temptation for any of us at any given time is to lose our heart.

 Thomas needed to touch the heart of Jesus because he himself had lost his heart.

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When Pope John Paul II died back in 2005, I wept. I genuinely loved the man. And I could not speak enough good things about him. I had a great heart for him. I fully believed he had a great heart. I am sure there are many who feel the same way about Pope Francis. As we all should. 

It is okay to not like certain leadership styles or to bristle at confusing ways of expression. That’s fine. What is not fine is when we become uncharitable. Whether it is the pope or a pastor, a principal or a teacher, a coworker or a family member or a neighbor or a stranger, we are all called to be gentle and kind and courteous and charitable, to give all a generous belief in having a good heart.

 Trolling on the internet, gossip, manipulation, complaining to others, and that voyeuristic curiosity that leads to doom-scrolling instead of prayer – these actions not only turn us into a Thomas who may lose his heart. These are signs that we already have! 

This is why Jesus came to Thomas today. It is why Jesus comes to you and me today. If you have an issue with someone, if your faith in the goodness of another has been damaged, you need to put your hand into Jesus’ side. Put your complaint there. He is asking you to touch His heart. Tell Him what bothers you; pray to Him about the one you disagree with. Let Him resurrection your faith; and your hope; and your love.

 Like Thomas, we must place our hand into Jesus’ heart. In doing so, we will rediscover our own.

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

 

First, Last, and Only - Homily for Holy Thursday

 On the night before He died, Jesus gave us the greatest gift He could possibly give us: His gave us very self, present in the Eucharist. In order to provide this gift in the future, Our Lord ordained His apostles to be priests and bequeathed to them the power to confect the Most Blessed Sacrament. This evening, therefore, has a twofold celebration: that of the Eucharist and of the Sacred Priesthood.

 As a priest, I have had the opportunity to offer the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass in so many wonderful and varied places. Nothing is better, however, than the lovely chapels of our religious sisters. In many of their chapels, they have a sign that says, “Priest of God, offer this Mass as though it were your first Mass, your last Mass, your only Mass.”

 Those words have always stuck with me and inspired me. And so, if you would open your heart for a few moments, I want to reflect on those words – first … last … only – and perhaps by the end, we will be much closer to the celebration before us.

First.

Do you remember your first communion? I do. It was in 1988. My brothers are about six and eight years older than I am and I got their hand-me-downs. So at my first communion in 1988, I was rocking what was fashionable … in 1979. I wore a sky blue suit with sky blue pants and tan shoes. Everyone else had the khakis-and-navy-blue blazer combo that was standard for the time. So, needless to say, the body, blood, soul, and divinity were not the foremost thought on my little conscience.

But I do remember being excited. It was new. And I knew it was important: we were going to have a party and my grandparents were going to be there. And all of the pictures. Excitement and expectation permeated everything about the day.

Even before that day, I will admit that I had been given the grace to believe that the Eucharist was miraculous. I remember being five years old and seeing the priest give out holy communion from the communion bowl (formally called a “ciborium”). I had heard about the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves and fish, too, so I wondered how the priest had enough host to feed so many people. I didn’t know about the tabernacle and that is where the “leftovers” are kept. So, I naturally figured that when a priest gave out a host from his ciborium, another one miraculously appeared.

 For Peter and the Apostles, this evening is their First Communion. The First Communion of all First Communions. Several months prior to this moment, Jesus had prepared Peter. In the small town of Capernaum on the north shore of the Sea of Galilee (Capernaum was Peter’s hometown), Jesus taught in a synagogue and entire crowds heard Jesus say that “unless you eat the flesh and drink the blood of the Son of Man, you have no life within you” (see the Gospel of John, chapter 6). When Jesus said this, His Jewish audience would have been absolutely scandalized. Cannibalism was a quick way to the pits of hell.

 What they did not see was that Jesus was completing what had been prefigured by the Passover Lamb during Moses’ time in Egypt. At that time, the blood of the sacrificial lamb would be smeared on the horizontal and vertical doorposts and then the lamb at to be eaten. Only then would the angel of death pass by. Jesus is the new Passover Lamb whose blood would be smeared on the horizontal and vertical beams of the Cross. And … if He was really the new Passover Lamb, His flesh would have to be eaten.

 Peter and the crowds did not understand this. And so the crowds left Jesus. They had taken Jesus literally. And they had understood correctly. Jesus did not correct them or tell them He was just speaking figuratively. He lets them go. And then He turns to Peter and says, “Will you go as well?”

 Peter had seen two miracles the day before. First, Jesus had multiplied loaves and fishes; and second, Jesus had walked on water. So Peter replies, “Lord, to whom shall we go. We are convinced that you are the Messiah, the Son of God.”

 Let me translate that. Peter is saying, “Jesus, I have no idea how you are going to give us your flesh to eat and your blood to drink. But I saw you walk on water last night and miraculously feed the crowds right before that. So, I believe you can do it. I just don’t know how.”

 Tonight is the answer to Peter. Jesus takes bread and says “This is body. Take and eat.” And then He takes the chalice and says, “And this is my blood. Take and drink.”

 That was the First Mass.

  

Last.

 It is odd, then, that we would call this evening the “Last Supper.” In this night of firsts, the focus is on the fact that this is the last. And why is it the last? Because, tomorrow Jesus is going to die.

 What would you do if you knew tomorrow you were going to die?

 For me, I wouldn’t parse words. I would tell the people around me that I love them, that I was sorry, and whatever else was most important. If I could give gifts, I would give the greatest gifts I could possibly give. Nothing left behind.

 Jesus knew—Jesus knew that this was His first Mass and His last Mass. He knew He was going to die tomorrow. And so He gave His best, the best gift of all gifts, the clearest expression of His love. So deep was His love for us, so passionate was His heart for us.

 But the Apostles *sigh* -- they were arguing about who was the best. And Judas, he left the first Mass early.

 Can you imagine the pain that this caused our Lord? The Apostles had received communion, but they weren’t in communion. Jesus was giving His heart, but their hearts were far from Him.

 Oh, Apostles! If only you knew! Wouldn’t things be different if you knew what was about to happen? Peter, do not take this for granted. Do not worry about the other things of life. Let your Lord pour His heart into yours!

  

Only.

 For century upon century, it has been understood that there is enough grace in just one host—enough grace in just one holy communion—to get you to heaven. When you receive the Eucharist, you are receiving heaven: you are receiving Jesus. And He is enough, in that one Eucharist, that if it were your only communion, there would be enough grace in it to bring you to heaven.

 St. John Chrysostom, highlighting this grace, said that when we receive the Eucharist, we receive the fire of love such that we become like fire-breathing lions that terrify the devil. I love that. Only one communion can turn you in to a fire-breathing lion. *turns to the altar servers* Hear that, boys?

 And to the adults, I say to you: when you receive Jesus, His body and blood mingles with your body and blood. And the two become one flesh. Those words are used at marriages. But Paul, in his letter to the Ephesians (fifth chapter), connects them to the Eucharist. When you receive Jesus, you are being united to Him – so that what God has joined, no man must separate. Husbands and wives, on their wedding day, say “You and none other. Only you.”

 If you knew that you only had one moment to express your love to your beloved today, would it be any different than how you did it yesterday?

 I really do not think we understand how powerful the Eucharist is. When couples get married in churches (as they should), it is not like they are getting married with just a Eucharist bonus. No, the marriage flows from the Eucharist. The couple getting married is a reflection of the Eucharist, of the communion of Jesus and His bride the Church.

 And our school. It is not like we have school that happens to have a parish church with the Eucharist. No, because we have the Eucharist – from that flows our apostolates like our school. And our athletics, too – it is not like we have teams that just happen to pray to Jesus. No, it is because of Jesus that we have the ability to glorify Him with our body in the wonderfulness of sport.

 Yes, if we were to have only the Eucharist, we would have everything.

  

“Priest of God, offer this Mass as though it were your first Mass, your last Mass, and your only Mass.”

 On the night before He died, that’s exactly what Jesus did: He offered His first Mass, His Last, and His Only.