The Reality of the Miraculous - Homily for the Epiphany Sunday

God guides those who seek him. He is always, always guiding us. We see this today with the Magi and the Star. God wants to be found. It is as though we can hear the star anticipating the words of Jesus: “seek and you shall find.”

            God has always guided those who sought him. In the Old Testament, we see God guiding the Israelites through Egypt by the Pillar of Fire. God guides Israel by the voice of the prophets. God guides again in His Son whose simple message is to “follow me”—to follow not just the star, but me.

            And we find that it is reasonable to follow Jesus. He gives us reasons to: He turns water into wine; He walks on water; He heals the sick. All the elements testified that He is God and their creator. I love what St. Gregory had to say here:

“All the elements testified that their Creator was come. The heavens acknowledged Him to be God, and so they sent the star. The sea knew Him, for it suffered Him to walk upon it. The earth knew Him, for, when He died, it trembled. The sun knew Him, for he hid his rays. The rocks and stones knew Him, for they were rent asunder. Hell knew Him, for it gave up the dead that were in it. And yet Him, whom all the senseless elements felt to be the Lord, the hearts of the unbelieving … [do not acknowledge] to be God, and, harder than the… stones, they will not be broken by repentance.”

            Yes, it can be said that God’s language is to be found. He presents Himself to be found. And by a thousand miracles He guides the way, giving reasons to follow.

            But, for one reason or another, skepticism and doubt creeps in. Maybe it happens after the death of a loved one or when we see suffering. Maybe it happens after a great evil occurs. Maybe the example of others scandalizes us. Perhaps the doubt creeps in because of simple neglect of faith or ignorance. No matter the reason, the result is that we can forget the star. And, like the rest of Jerusalem, we go about our usual business.

            Yes, only the Magi followed the star—and they alone.

            Some might say, “Well, I have no star in my life. God hasn’t moved heaven and earth for me…” Are you so sure?

            I am convinced that the world is full of miracles. And history attests to this. Because, you see, the miracles didn’t stop with Jesus. They continue:

            -- We see people walking in Peter’s shadow. And they are healed. Not Jesus’ shadow. Peter’s.

            -- There are the “incorrupts.” These are the men and women who were canonized saints. During the process of canonization, they were excavated from their graves and were found not to have decomposed one bit. How is this explained? I particularly like the miracle of St. Januarius. A vial of his blood liquefies unexplainably three times a year. It’s been doing this since about 300AD.

            -- Throughout history, we have seen many Eucharistic miracles. In Laciano, Italy, for example, in 700AD, a priest consecrated the bread and wine at Mass, which became the Body and Blood of Christ. But, instead of remaining under the appearance of bread and wine, they visibly changed into tissue and blood. Science verified this and confirmed that the species is of the human heart.

            -- In 1531, Mary appeared to a Mexican named Juan Diego. Long story short: a miraculous image appears on his clothing, a tilma made of cactus pulp. Ordinarily, this would have disintegrated after 20 years. We are over 480 years now and it is still intact. Not only that, but scientists have examined the tilma and have found many peculiarities: they don’t know why it is still intact; they don’t know how it was painted; and they have verified something amazing: if you were to take a microscope and look in the eye of the Blessed Mother in the image, you would find 13 small figures. They are the reflections of those who were in the room as the tilma was unfurled. This is not a religious belief but an observation of science.

            -- In 1854, Mary once more appeared to a poor girl in Lourdes, France. Long story short, this girl, Bernadette, was to dig into the earth with her hands. A spring bubbled up where she dug. The waters have been miraculous; science has verified thousands upon thousands of miraculous healings from this water.

            -- In 1917—in this last century—three children claimed that Mary was visiting them. They told people and said that Mary was going to show them an amazing celestial event on a particular day. Over 70,000 people gathered to see what would happen. It poured down rain. And then the sun came out, danced, appeared to plummet to earth, and then returned to its normal state. Everyone—and they were not all Catholic—observed this. And miraculously, everyone’s clothes were dry. 40km away, the event was observed. And the secular newspaper of the area—O Seculo—noted for its anti-Catholic tendencies, reported the historicity of the event. The predicted event was verified by science.

            -- In our own lives, we see many miracles. Maybe the miracle of a paralyzed man walking again; the birth of a child; the near-miss on the highway, … In my own life, I have seen many miracles. Just this past week, I anointed someone who was dying. She was fairly comatose and hadn’t opened her eyes in a while. After anointing her and praying with her, she opened her eyes. Her family, which was gathered all around, noticed this. After I was done praying, they told me how this was amazing to them. How they could tell that she was seeing something, responding to the prayers and to someone in the room whom they couldn’t see, but she could. Yes, God continues to guide.

            But one person in the room had a little seed of doubt. “Maybe it was the chemicals or something.” The family member couldn’t give himself entirely to God’s presence at work. He had to reduce it to chemicals. Now, I didn’t respond. But I wanted to. I would have said something like, “sure: it might be some chemical in the body that is responding right now at this particular moment. But don’t you find it odd that it should happen now? And wouldn’t it make sense that God would so ordain the body that such a chemical might respond now so that we might look to Him now? Maybe there is someone behind the chemical that is trying to get our attention.”

Science can verify religion’s claim. Science and religion are not enemies. Science can point to the truth-claims of religion; and in religion, science finds its fulfillment.       

            But let’s be honest. More and more people are becoming atheists. And many are scientifically minded. But this strikes me as interesting: because basic science says that one should wait until the experiment is over until one draws conclusions. In the case of the atheist, the atheist has already drawn the conclusion: God does not exist. But they have done so despite limited knowledge and without the life-experiment having come to its completion. They make their conclusion too soon.

            But I will also admit: for many people, the existence of God is not merely an intellectual issue. It is an emotional one. And it all boils down to a question: Does God love me?

            Again and again, I hear people say: "Father, when it comes to God, I feel absolutely nothing. Some people “feel” God, but I don’t. I pray my heart out, but nothing happens." … This is the heart of the scientist, isn’t it? They are looking for verifiable observations.

            Some go so far as to question whether or not they could be loved by anyone at all. This is the creeping doubt that results.

            A priest responded in a letter to one such person. Here is what he said:

Dear Friend,

If the world had its way, there would be no roses. There would be pavement and businesses and a sea of cars busily traveling to and fro, hurriedly seeking out the latest fad and the next-best-thing. The reality is: today, people have forgotten about the roses.

How can a rose get the world's attention? I don't know that it can. The problem, then, is not with the rose. The problem is with the world. The world around us does not give its attention to the things to which it should be giving its attention. And if the roses had feelings, they would probably be feeling the way you do: abandoned, alone, and wondering why no one pays attention to her.

But you are a rose.

Someday, the world will rediscover the beauty of roses. In the meantime, the roses must remain strong and beautiful, soaking in the sun and the rain alike. The roses must not wilt, for what a tragedy it would be if the world should want to discover roses again, only to find that the roses have wilted! No, the rose must continue to bloom: it must continue to believe itself to be beautiful. And that they are loved.

And you are.

I will tell you, my dear: you need not seek the attention of the world. Seek the attention of the one who created roses in the first place. Now, I know that you often doubt the goodness or the attentiveness of God…. But doesn't that make you like the world that has forgotten the goodness rose?

Don't be like the rest of the world that has forgotten the beautiful things around it!–

else you have become just like the rest of the world that doesn't pay attention to you! Pay attention to that small, abandoned one that no one pays attention to. And who is that small, abandoned one? It is God. He is there in the corner, forgotten by the world-- just like you. Just like the roses.

I know that you want God to make you feel all warm and excited inside. But that is not how God is going to get your attention.  You see, God is going to get your attention in much the same way that roses get our attention: by inviting us to come closer. You see, my friend, we cannot discover the treasure of a rose—that is, its beautiful fragrance—by observing from a distance. We have to press our nose real close and close our eyes.

 If you, of all people, refuse to attend to Him who is so much like you, then how should we expect the world to notice Him-- and, also, you?—much less, a rose.

           

Remember my dear, only three kings followed the star. The rest of the world ignored it.

You have God's attention.

That you should not feel Him is not a sign that He is not there. Think about it for a moment: if people don't "feel" your presence it isn’t a sign that you aren't there-- is it? Of course you are there! And so is He. Therefore, like those whose attention we wish to have, we must become more attentive to the God who is in our midst, but who we often overlook—like the roses.

It is easy to overlook Him because we expect Him to give us good feelings. This is one of the reasons why people overlook us: we don't give them that immediate rush of feel-good-ness. It takes work to get to know us. And in a face paced, microwaveable world of give-it-to-me-now, people don't want to do the work, so they don't get to know us. The same can be said of God: it takes work to get to know him. But because people don't want to work at knowing Him, they promptly give up.

Remember: Jesus compares our discovery of God to be like finding a buried treasure. 

At the same time, Jesus encourages us: "seek and you shall find!"

How interesting! You and Jesus are both like buried treasure! Maybe you have more in common with Him than you think! And if you are like Him, wouldn't that make Him love you more? Maybe we need to remember that and bring that buried treasure to the surface of our awareness: that we are so close to Him and that He treasures us and He wants us to keep looking for Him. For we are His buried treasure-- which means He is looking for us!

           

Did you know that? That God is looking for you? And that you have treasure to bring to him?

You have gold within you. Frankinsence. And myrrh. You have gifts to bring.

Again, you might not feel it. But take your own experience: you are searching frantically for love and for God. God is searching even more for you. That is why he gives you a star. That is why he gives you the example of the saints. And all the miracles of history. Even the small miracles of every day life: like breathing, laughing, and roses.

How will He find you? How will you find Him? It's not a matter of how, but of when. In the meantime, you continue to call out to Him and to be the beautiful rose He has made you to be. There will come a day when you realize that He's found you and that you've found Him.

And then you'll realize too: He's been there with you, in you, alongside you all the time. The whole time. Even now.

Yes, the Lord does love us. He wants us to find Him. That is why He gave the Magi a star. That is why He gives us a thousand little miracles in the course of a day—if only we would seek them!

And so, if you are 16 or 60 and doubting God, I say to you: give Him some time. Give yourself some time to finish this experiment.

To the 16 year old, I say that someday you will see the miracle of life: the birth of a child. You will fall in love and your views will change.

To the 60 year old, I say that someday you will see the miracle of life: heavenly life. You will fall in love and your views will change.

Aren’t these themsleves reasons that we should hold off on the doubt for now?—for we haven’t seen it all yet. Let God show you some things. Let Him give you a star. Let Him show you a miracle or two.

And seek that star out. Look for the miracle. For God has promised: “Seek. And you will find.”

The Distance between Veni and Emmanuel - An Advent Reflection

Veni, veni, Emmanuel, captivum solve Israel,

qui gemit in exsilio privatus Dei Filio.

Gaude, gaude, Emmanuel nascetur pro te Israel.

You know this song as O Come, O Come Emmanuel. This week, I taught my seventh graders how to sing it in Latin. Why? For a whole host of reasons… one of which is that I have found them to listen more attentively to lyrics when they are in a foreign language; and another of which is that the Latin provides great opportunities to discuss the deeper meanings of the song—deeper meanings which are sometimes lost in translation.

Take veni for example. The kids easily saw the connection between veni and Advent: to come towards. Ad = towards; venire = to come. Advent. But who is coming? We know the answer: Emmanuel!

But what does Emmanuel mean? This is where there was some head-scratching. Well, yes, it is Jesus. But what does Emmanuel mean? More head-scratching; the idea that names mean things was foreign to the young students. Well, I told them, we know that Jesus means “God saves.” Emmanuel means something too. It means “God is with us.”

God is with us. We’ve heard that phrase before in various forms. Gabriel the Archangel greets Mary and says “The Lord is with you”—Catholics also pray that in the Hail Mary. We hear Emmanuel in Isaiah’s prophecy: Emmanuel is the one who is to come. We also hear it in the form of a promise when Jesus ascends to heaven as He says, “I am with you until the end of the age.” At Holy Mass, we are alerted to the name when the priest says, “The Lord be with you.”

Now, when we compare veni and Emmanuel, we see something interesting. When we say veni, come, we are forming a prayer, asking that God come to us. But immediately we then say Emmanuel, God is with us. This is interesting: on the one hand, we have a repetition of the initial words of the prayer, a kind of deepening of the intensity of the petition: come, Jesus, really come, be with us, we need you. On the other hand, we realize that Emmanuel is one of God’s names. And names bespeak identities.

What can we draw from this? That this name reveals to us God’s longing—dare I say, part of His very Being—to dwell with us. Being with us is an extension of love, which is God. God is with us because He loves us; because He wants to be.

Then why the prayer asking Him to be with us? What is keeping Him? Isn’t He already? The answer is found in the next line: captivum solve Israel, qui gemit in exsilio privatus Dei Filio (release captive Israel, who mourns in exile deprived of the Son of God). Wow. Not exactly what you hear in the English version of the song! Ok, so how is this an answer to the question? I will show you how in the remainder of this reflection. The answer will be evident at the end of it.

First, we can say that we find that Israel is (and really, we are) in captivity. What is captivity? Bondage, in prison, enslaved, stuck. How can this be? Well, on the one hand, you do have Israel literally in bondage—not in Egypt, but in Babylon (and Assyria). They are literally in exsilio—in exile. On the other hand, you have us, who are freed by Christ, but yet we still find ourselves enslaved to our vices and bad habits. Even more, we too are in exsilio. To be in exile means to be banished, to be not-at-home. Where are we not-at-home from? Or, more positively: if here is not home, then where is home?

I recall the prayer “Hail, Holy Queen.” In that prayer, we say to Mary “to the do we cry, poor banished children of Eve. To thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this vale of tears.” Qui gemit in exsilio: who mourns in exile here. The exile is from the Garden of Eden; from Jerusalem; from heaven. And why was there the exile—from Eden, from Jerusalem, and from heaven? Because man chose not-God. Adam and Eve chose sin, taking from the apple tree. So did Israel. So do we. Man chose exile—to be away from home. Home, then, is not simply something geographical. Home is being with God; home, dare I say, is God.

The coming of Emmanuel, then, is not simply a past event, as in the case of Isaiah and the prediction of a Messiah who is born in Bethlehem many years ago. Nor is Emmanuel’s coming merely a future event, when the Christ comes at the end of time to bring the holy and righteous into the heavenly home. Emmanuel’s Coming is also a coming that takes place in the eternal present: God comes to dwell in the hearts and home of man himself.

I am reminded of words from Sacred Scripture:

Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any one hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him and he with me (Rev 3:20).

This, in turn, reminded me of Jesus and Zacchaeus. Jesus is coming to a town and passing by. Zacchaeus, as you recall, was a tax-collector and also a man short in stature; he was not well-liked; he was a sinner. But, for some reason unknown to us, Zacchaeus wants to see Jesus’ coming. What is interesting, is that Zacchaeus climbs a tree, thinking that climbing a tree will make him more able to see God. Jesus, as He comes, sees Zacchaeus and says,

                        Zacchaeus, make haste and come down; for I must stay at your house today

(Lk 19:5).

Here, not only does Jesus come and knock on the heart of Zacchaeus, but He does so by inviting himself over (I will come in to him and eat with him and he with me). He will be with us.

And might I add that the whole thing is fragrant with the Eucharist?

The coup de grâce occurs when we find that it is not simply Zaccahaeus who is wanting the Lord to come, but it is Jesus who prays that we might come down to Him! Jesus says to us: veni!

What are we coming down from? Perhaps the inflated heights of pride and sin (Adam and Eve and their grasping from a tree....). Whatever it is we are coming down from, we are to come down and, like Isaiah, say to Our Lord: “Here I am.”

And when we do, we find that our Lord says to us in return, “I’m here too.”

Emmanuel. God is with us.

Here, then, is the answer to the question posed above, the question about how, if God is with us, then why are we praying for him to come? On the one hand, we are asking for a future event, the Second Coming, just like Israel begged for a savior to return Her from exile. But on the other hand, we are asking God to come into our lives right now: because we have yet to come down from the tree, to put away sin and walk in faith, we are away from the Lord; we feel the distance between God and us caused by sin. We pray “Come,” asking God who is already here to break through our sin and pride and fear, to draw us close to him, and free us from the captivity of being stuck up in that tree.

Speeding Through Cemeteries - Homily for the First Sunday in Advent

Fearing the End of the World as We Know It

            Today’s gospel seems out of place, doesn’t it? We hear of cosmic destruction and the end of the world. Why does the Church start off the beginning of Advent by contemplating The End? The simple reason is because when we consider The End, we are spurred on to prioritize what is important in our lives. If there were no tomorrow, wouldn't you live today differently? If we knew that we only had a month to live, we would certainly reassess our priorities; that which we once thought so important might not be anymore. And what we took for granted would suddenly become very important. Fear of The End has a way of moving us.

Catholics React to the Cuban Missile Crisis

            Fifty years ago, during many late-October days in 1962, Catholics—and, in fact, all Americans—faced the very real possibility that their lives—and Life Itself, really—had reached “The End.” The Soviets had developed nuclear missile sites in Cuba, just 90 miles off the Florida coast. Tensions ran high and Americans fully expected nuclear war. There was some panic, some rushing to the store and runs on supplies; some had built bomb shelters while schools practiced bomb drills. But there was something else that Americans did during that time: They prayed. A priest of the Archdiocese once told me about those days. He told me how he heard confessions that Friday night until the early hours of the morning; how he got up later that day, offered Mass, and heard confessions until the early hours of the morning again, only stopping to take the occasional break.

Some modern men might look back on that time with cynical eyes and say that man just hedges his bets in times of crisis. Maybe so. But at least that man who hedges is prudent: he understands the gravity of The End and his failings to pass through it alive. It’s the modern man, I think, who should be feared, because ultimately he lacks something—something I discovered at the cemetery this week.

           

Speeding through Cemeteries

            It was at Jefferson Barracks National Cemetery. I’m sure you’ve been there before; it can be really moving, seeing row after row of white tombs. It was there that I carried out the rite of burial. It was very beautiful and reverent. But when I returned to my car, I realized that I needed to hurry back to the parish. It was a very busy day here: I was on a schedule. And so, I wanted to speed.

            Now, this isn’t a homily about speeding, but the speed limit at Jefferson Barracks is 10 mph. The temptation to break the law was great. I wasn’t even thinking about it. I was just going to hurry home. But then an amazing grace: a light speaking to my heart. It was the Lord. He said to me, Anthony, who are you to be breaking the law? What is so important in your life that you think you can speed through a cemetery? Where is your respect?

            I was taken aback by this; God hit me across the head. I had to drive slowly through the cemetery. And I did. The odd thing was, that as I kept this small command, the Lord gave me a chance to look—to really look: I looked at row after row of the tombs of men and women who served our country, tombs that I took for granted and had just passed by in previous hurries. I thought of those men and women: who they were, where they had been, how they died, …. I began to pray for them.

And then something strange happened. As I passed row after row, it was as though I heard the men and women speaking from the grave, speaking the gospel to me. They were telling me:

Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy from carousing and drunkenness and the anxieties of daily life--And from Christmas shopping…. Don’t let that day catch you by surprise like a trap. For that day will assault everyone—everyone! just look at the tombs!—it will assault everyone who lives on the face of the earth. Therefore, Be vigilant at all times and pray that you have the strength to escape the tribulations that are imminent—imminent! not tomorrow, not December 21^st, not years from now, but imminent! as though the missiles were ready to go right now. Be vigilant and pray that you have the strength to stand before the Son of Man.    

And then I could hear Jesus: The days are coming when I will fulfill the promise.   

Advent: a Season to Regain that True Fear of the Lord

            I thought a lot on my drive home. Who had I become? How had I become so arrogant to now think that I could do whatever I wanted? How did I become so forgetful so as to overlook the gravity of the world around me and my place in it and the reality that there are laws and that I must follow them? How did I lose sight of my end: that I will one day die and come before Jesus and every little thing that I have done and everything little thing that I haven’t done but should have—it will all come to light? and that I will be judged according to His laws which He gives through the Church? When did I stop fearing the Lord?

Fear of the Lord. That is what modern man lacks; for, if modern man feared the Lord, he would think twice before breaking a commandment. He wouldn’t speed through life, precisely because he respected its gravity. Fear of the Lord.

What is it?

It is a grace given by God whereby we have a holy gravitas of God’s GOD-ness, His awesomeness, His completely Other-ness. Fear of the Lord impels us to a profound respect for the majesty of God; of His laws; His power; His being GOD. Fear of the Lord slows us down in cemeteries; it impels us to walk humbly to communion and to refrain if we aren’t recollected or in grace. Fear of the Lord brings us to a love of God’s laws and His Church, to keep holy every Sabbath day and every holy Day of Obligation; it brings us to the confessional line.

Fear of the Lord is not firstly a dread of His punishment; it is firstly an encounter of divine love wherein we are not anxious about the things of the world, but about whether or not we love God—a love we show by slowing down and pondering his commands—and then keeping them.

Fear of the Lord reminds us that He is the only one, the only one in all the world and in all those cosmos who endures forever. And so, as all the world is tumbling down around us, God is remaining strong as a rock. He is our stronghold. He who is Love never fails. He is the one that keeps us safe and secure in our time of trial. This holy gravitas, then, translates into hope: It is in hope that, when we see the signs of The End beginning to happen, we will be able to stand erect and raise [our] heads because [our] redemption is at hand.

Fear of the Lord, strangely, gives us courage to address the fears of our life. It is precisely in the fear of the Lord that David finds his victory. You remember the story of David and Goliath…. David has no chance. But, moved by fear of the Lord, the One who is Lord of hosts, David picks up his sling and conquers his fear and the giant.

Fear of the Lord, then, translates into peace and joy.

Conclusion: The Offer of Divine Friendship

            Advent offers us a time to rediscover the deeper meaning of life and to reassess our priorities. We encounter The End precisely so that we might look to the One who brings us to the new beginning, so that we might look beyond the world that is tumbling down and discover the King whose Kingdom is without end. Our observance of Advent will be fruitful in joy and peace if we take a moment to consider The End and our obedience to God’s commands—to ask the question: Do I have fear of the Lord?

            What is interesting is this: this fear of the Lord and the keeping of the Lord’s commands translates into divine friendship. The Psalmist writes: The friendship of the LORD is with those who fear him. And Jesus: You are my friends if you keep my commands.

            And that’s what we want for when the Lord comes again: to be his friends, to be friends of the Bridegroom who approaches, friends welcomed into His kingdom. This is what we celebrate at the coming of Christmas. This is what Advent prepares us for right now.

The World is Not Enough - Homily for the Solemnity of Christ the King

            Pilate is facing a paradox today. Before him stands the King of Glory, the King of the Universe, Jesus Christ—but where is the glory? Pilate only sees a man, the “King of the Jews.” Yet, Jesus tells him that His kingdom is “not of this world.” That strikes me: didn’t Jesus tell us His kingdom is “at hand.” How is it “at hand” and yet “not of this world”? I find myself, like Pilate, scratching my head, wondering who this is in front of me.

            The solution to the paradox requires a greater sight than the power my eyes possess. There is something beyond the visible going on here. On one level, I can recall beyond my mere power of sight that Jesus has done many glorious things while He walked on earth: so many miracles: walking on water, feeding the multitudes, healing the impossibly infirm, raising the dead, teaching with deep wisdom, acting with great dignity and patience. So many glimpses of glory He gave to us: the sky being torn open at His baptism; the manifestation of His glory at the Transfiguration; His Resurrection from the dead and walking among us, glorified; His ascension; His promise to return in glory. Why do I not remember these when I am faced with a humble Jesus—a Jesus whose noble kingship is presently being questioned by Pilate?

John in his Book of Revelation tells us that “every eye will see him, even those who pierced him.” This is a promise and a warning to us: we must remember Jesus’ glory and we must look to it. We must look beyond the mere things of this world and remember and anticipate the glory of the “one who is, who was, and who is to come”—the one who Daniel “saw… coming, on the clouds of heaven.”

Pilate could not see. Perhaps he was blinded by a lack of faith. Perhaps he was blinded by his own desire for power. Perhaps he was worried about having a king greater than the earthly one to which he had sworn his life. Perhaps Pilate was anxious about the change that this King, Jesus, would require if He were to rule in his life. Whatever it was, Pilate had to look beyond the kingdom of this world, to look to something “not of this world,” for if there was a lesson that Pilate needed to learn in that moment, I think, it was that the world is not enough.

            You may have heard of the name Ian Fleming. He is the author of the James Bond books which have been created into the movies of which many of us know. Ian Fleming, when he was a boy, attended a boarding school in England in the 19-teens. Down the road from the boarding school was a large mansion, built during the Elizabethan era of England—in the mid-1500s, a time when Catholics were being persecuted in that country. The persecutions were so bad that many Catholic families found themselves having to smuggle in priests to have Holy Mass said in their homes. Some families even altered their homes and built priest hideaways in the floors or in the walls so that, when the police came looking for the priest, the priest could escape and the family would avoid persecution. This mansion down the road from Ian Fleming’s boarding school was built during that time and he found it very interesting. How do I know this?

            Well, the name of the family that owned the house was the Bond Family. In fact, the creators of the new Bond film have taken this detail from Ian Fleming’s life and have incorporated it into the new film—but you’ll have to see the film to see how they do that.

            What strikes me is this: the Bond family lived during a time when Jesus Christ, the King of Glory... when His Kingdom appeared meek and humble. When… like Jesus before Pilate today, the glory was not evident. There was skepticism, doubt, arrests, questioning, mistrust, persecution. The Bond family, however—they had everything. A large home with everything in it. Yet they lived in a time of upheaval and uncertainty. If there was a time when a people would recognize that the world was not enough, it would have seemed to have been during that time. And the Bonds, you would think, would have learned that lesson well. 

            But did they? Every noble family in England would have had a family crest, with emblems and imagery, telling the family history and story, showing to others what was important to the family. Below the crest would have been a Latin motto. The Bond Family had a crest and it had a Latin motto. You might be interested in what is said. It read: “Orbis Non Sufficit.” Translation: The World Is Not Enough.

            I believe the Bond family figured out during that age of persecution that, no matter how much a person has or owns, no matter how much power or fame a person possesses, it will never be enough. It can be taken away in a heartbeat. And what is left?

            Before Jesus died, He beckoned us to pray. And He gave us the best prayer of all: The Our Father. There is a great line in that prayer. We pray: Adveniat Regnum Tuum: “Thy Kingdom Come.” What a great prayer for us who are suffering, who are looking for The More. What a great prayer for us who are comfortable, to remind us that all is passing away. What a great prayer for us all, to exhort us to look forward to the glory that is present now but hidden, to be revealed soon. Adveniat… Advent… waiting for His Coming.

            I will admit: it is tough to live in this “in-between time”—the time in-between Jesus’ glorious Ascension and His coming again in glory at the end of time, when “thy kingdom come.” But Jesus’ Kingdom is “at hand”! We, like Pilate, are faced with the paradox of a glorious God-King presented as a humble, meek, and lowly servant Jesus, “having become a slave.” In this Eucharist, Jesus is just as humble, just as lowly. But just as present! We have reminders to alert us that there is a King here: the gold vestments, the beautiful candlestands, the altar, the music, the prayers, the testimony of the Word of God, the witness of the martyrs and saints who have come before us and worshipped.

            Like Pilate, we are being presented the King, humble. It is here that I realize the next line of the Our Father. It says, “Thy Will Be Done.” This is the tougher of the two lines in that prayer. It is easy to ask God to bring His glory. It is tougher to say to God: I’ll be a servant for your glory. Your Will Be Done. Because that means that we aren’t the king.

            Pilate could not accept this. He would not give his allegiance. He would not serve.

But Pilate is missing out. In refusing to serve Jesus, Pilate ironically becomes a slave to the world—a world that is passing away. Pilate misses out on being a prince in the Kingdom of God that is eternal; for, as we hear in Sacred Scripture, “you have become heirs of a kingdom.” Did you know, brothers and sisters in Christ, that you are adopted sons and daughters of the Father? And since He is the King, did you know that this makes you princes and princesses in His Kingdom! What dignity you have!

            And what a calling! To be dignified: to not get caught up in the muck of the world, to not be entranced by the long lines purchasing a fleeting world on Black Whatever-Day. What a calling! to hold ourselves up with confidence, walking in the grace of Christ the King, being able to hold our heads up even while all the world around us falls down. My friends, “Be of good cheer” for Christ Our King has “overcome the world”!

            St. Ignatius Loyola, a great saint in the Church, was once a soldier for a king. Ignatius one day learned that the world is not enough and that there is a greater king, a king of glory who gives us a great inheritance worthy of giving our life for it. When Ignatius discovered this humble King, he realized that he had to do everything “for the greater glory of God.” And so he penned a beautiful prayer, offering this King, Jesus, his allegiance and love. I will leave you with his prayer.

Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty,
my memory, my understanding
and my entire will,
All I have and call my own.
You have given all to me.
To you, Lord, I return it.
Everything is yours; do with it what you will.
Give me only your love and your grace.
That is enough for me.

On the Occasion of the Upcoming Anniversary of the Implementation of the Roman Missal

Of three things in life we can be certain: death, taxes, and liturgical changes.

That might sound cynical, but if we were to take a step back in time and look upon each of the past six decades, we would notice many changes surrounding the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Say, for example, you were to attend Holy Mass in 1960 and then attend in 1970, you would notice quite a few changes-- the most changes of any decade. Likewise, if you were to then attend in 1980, you would notice a few more (but, honestly, not nearly as many as before). Some things would change if you were to attend in 1990 and also in 2000, but those things that changed would not be quite as noticeable. Skip ahead to 2012, and you would see more differences.

And, of course, the degree of changes and the speed to which things were changing would depend on where you lived and which bishop pastored your diocese.

In recent years, liturgical matters have been moving-- in comparison with how ecclesial things often move-- at lightning speed. Last year, at the beginning of Advent, you may recall that a few words of the Holy Mass changed. Time flies.

(And if you have a particularly cognizant pastor, more than just "And also with you" changed too.....)

During this Year of Faith, it is important to kind of "catch up" on what the Church has been saying about the liturgy during the past seven years. I pick seven because the year 2005 begins Pope Benedict XVI's pontificate-- a pontificate which has done much with regards to faith and worship.

Recently in St. Louis, Most Reverend Peter Elliott, auxiliary bishop of Melbourne, Australia, gave a lecture on current liturgical matters. He provides a fine summary of current thought, trends, and the new liturgical movement happening today. To those who have no care for the Holy Mass, these matters might seem trivial. But for those who truly believe that at the Mass we find the "source and summit" of the Christian faith, such matters might be something worth becoming acquainted. 

Bishop Elliott's quite readable and heavily footnoted lecture can be found here. If you do not have time to read it all, I would humbly submit the following line as the golden nugget of his lecture:

"The hermeneutic of continuity means that we should interpret the Second Vatican Council as part of the continuous growth of the living tradition of the Church, that is, only in continuity with all other Councils, not as a sharp break with the past. [Pope Benedict XVI] thus rejects the distinction between “pre-conciliar” and “post-conciliar” Catholicism."