Saint Joseph the Worker - Homily for Day 8 of the Carmelite Novena (2021)

 This evening, on the penultimate night of our holy novena, in this holy year of Saint Joseph, the heavenly Father gathers us together once more to contemplate the depths of His mercy and the beautiful wisdom of His divine plan. Particularly, He desires we reflect upon Saint Joseph as the Model of Workers. 

One of the constants of human life is the cooperation in the creative impulse of God. From the first days of caring for the Garden to these recent days marked by industrialization and new technologies, man has be invited to unite his intellect and will to that of the heavenly Father—for the praise of His glory—in the opus Dei: that is, the work of God. 

One of the oddities about human labor is that its fruits often remain through the years. We do not simply build imaginary castles in the sky; some of our labors impact the created, material world. From the brickwork here at Carmel to the Pieta of Michelangelo from centuries ago—this work still remains. Indeed, those who were most skilled at their labors often see the greatest longevity of their labors. Many of the aqueducts of the Roman Empire still exist today. 

Which makes Saint Joseph an interesting choice for the Model of Workers. Sure, we know him to be a carpenter. But, on closer examination, it appears as though nothing of his labor remains. Save but the legend of the miraculous staircase in Santa Fe, nothing of Saint Joseph’s carpentry shop remains. No table or chairs, no armoire cabinet or desk with inlay. In a way, it would seem that having Saint Joseph as the Patron of Workers would simply remind workers that their labors pass away. 

But there is one work of Saint Joseph’s that will never pass away. It wasn’t a work with wood or ruler and hammer. It was the work found in the home. 

At the heart of God’s divine plan for Saint Joseph was the work of forming a family. Of building a home on the foundation of prayer and of virtue. And of protecting the Blessed Mother and the Child Jesus when forces much larger than Saint Jospeh threatened the Holy Family. 

This is the work of Saint Joseph’s that remains: not a table or chairs, but the blessed Mother and our Savior. Indeed, without Saint Joseph laboring for the salvation of His Family against Herod, we would have no Holy Eucharist. In a very real way, the Eucharist is the greatest fruit of Saint Joseph’s labors. 

When Pope Pius XII instituted the Memorial of Saint Joseph the worker in 1955, he did so as a direct refutation of the atheistic communism of the time. The “irreligious reds” had divorced work from holiness; indeed, they had tried to make man a machine, a cog in the body politick; and to inculcate the false idea that the family—and especially God—were obstacles to the greatest good which was productivity. 

Pope Pius reminded the world that the ultimate purpose of labor is not simply productivity, but of God’s glory wherein man realizes his dignity as a cooperator in the creative impulse of God. In a word, labor is forever married to holiness. And holiness cannot be had unless it is intimately tied to the Creator and His transcendent plan for our salvation. That is to say, at the heart of Saint Joseph’s work in the carpentry shop was literally Jesus—in flesh and in mission. Jesus inspired the work of Saint Joseph and brought Saint Joseph’s work to fulfillment. 

Do you have Saint Joseph working for you? Not only have Popes exhorted the faithful to a greater devotion to the foster-father of the Redeemer, but so many saints have as well. Saint Andre Bessette, the miracle-worker of Montreal, had a profound devotion to Saint Joseph. Always encouraging people to turn to Saint Joseph, Andre—who himself was merely a porter, one who opens doors—Andre had Saint Joseph opening the doors of faith and healing to all who entrusted themselves to the pure heart of Joseph. This was Saint Andre’s greatest work and it was a work of holiness that is remembered in Montreal and throughout the world to this day.

 *** 

In these most recent days, we have seen a resurgence of communism and its errors and evils. Concurrently, we have also seen the rise of automation and a generation that sees labor as a drudgery ultimately to be avoided. The absence and the end of labor—which is idolized today as “retirement”—is quite wrongly seen as the ultimate good. Long forgotten is that rich tradition and treasury of social encyclicals of our Holy Catholic Church that harken not only to man’s rights concerning labor, but also to man’s responsibility to develop and use our talents for the glory of God and the good of others. Why should our labor for holiness and the kingdom of God end when we hit “retirement age”? 

May these present evils, through the intercession of our Holy Patron, be conquered! 

For it is Saint Joseph who renews our focus and our mission in our work. Even his hiddenness reminds us that, while most of our labors may seem inconsequential and far from something glorious—that while most of what we do remains unseen by the world—God sees. And God will reward the laborer for his work. 

In a particular way, in these days, we lift up to our heavenly Father those who are unemployed or underemployed. We lift up to Him those, too, who labor under societal structures that keep them from enjoying the fruits of their labors. We lift up to Him those who do not know rest. We lift up to Him our very selves, that we may once again find Jesus in our places of work; that we may find our mission of holiness there, and Jesus and Mary who were the ultimate labor of Joseph’s pure heart. 

Saint Joseph, model of workers. Pray for us.

Upside-Down or Right-Side-Up? - Homily for the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost (ExForm, 2021)

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

One of my favorite quotes of GK Chesterton—and I paraphrase here—goes like this: The world is upside down. But God is in the business of making it right-side up. 

A lot of our world is upside down. Even in some sectors of our Catholic communities, things are upside down. Those who are watering down the faith and sowing confusion are often extolled as so faithful and so forward thinking whereas the devout are so often ridiculed as Pharisaical. Talk about love, and those who have no definition of it other than that it can mean anything—including the union of that which is opposed to God (who is love)—they are up held as so loving, whereas those who stand and say that Love is defined and that it really is one man and woman in marriage—well, they are said to be unloving. And freedom: so many say that freedom is doing whatever one wants. And those who have large families—well, they are just rabbits and their free choice to have many children is a large carbon footprint that enslaves future generations.

I could go on. But you get the point. Something is upside-down. Evil is taught as good; good is taught as evil.

In the Gospel this morning, we see Jesus praising (through a parable) the dishonest steward. This seems upside down. And it is. So why is Jesus praising the dishonesty? He is doing so to prove that the world is consistent in its praise for the upside-down. The world, of course, as the Epistle points out, is totally enamored in the flesh, and is enslaved to the flesh—and is upside down. But it thinks that we are upside down. 

Celibacy? Upside down. Large families? Upside down. Latin Mass? Upside down. Keeping the commandments while also being generously charitable? Upside down.

Of course, those things are right-side-up. But the world doesn’t see it that way—precisely because, to the world, The Cross is upside down. The Cross is a stumbling block to the world. The Cross is a scandal, a folly, an absurdity. And that’s all because the world is corrupt in its carnal desires—and has no room for the spiritual and the transcendent. 

If we should be making a "dishonest" exchange in our stewardship, it would be confessing our sins and exchanging the fires of hell for the mere pittance of a Hail Mary in penance.

Indeed, for many in the world this exchange in the confessional-- the right-side-up exchange-- is upside-down. So foolish is God's love in the eyes of an upside down world!

That said, I know that this year has been tough for you. And some ecclesiastical news has made things even tougher. The way that I have come to understand and find consolation in these days is by looking in Sacred Scripture. There, I remember the experience of the Israelites in the Exile. The Exile is the period where the Temple is destroyed and everything is taken away from the Israelites. Their worship, their way of life, and to some degree their identity—it is destroyed and they are carried off into Babylon and Assyria. The Exile. 

But the reason for the Exile was for their hearts to be torn open and a renewing of zeal and worship and faith to enter in. For some—some—this happened. And they returned singing and praising God with all the more zeal and praise. It was a time that was totally upside-down, but God made it right-side-up again. 

[As an aside, in the Novus Ordo, the first reading is taken from the Exilic period: from Jeremiah:

Woe to the shepherds
who mislead and scatter the flock of my pasture,
says the LORD. 
Therefore, thus says the LORD, the God of Israel,
against the shepherds who shepherd my people:
You have scattered my sheep and driven them away. 
You have not cared for them,
but I will take care to punish your evil deeds. 
I myself will gather the remnant of my flock
from all the lands to which I have driven them
and bring them back to their meadow;
there they shall increase and multiply. 
I will appoint shepherds for them who will shepherd them
so that they need no longer fear and tremble;
and none shall be missing, says the LORD.

I am convinced that the same is going on here. And God will make things right-side-up again. That’s His business.] 

Yes, for those who know about the Motu Proprio: the Successor of Peter has spoken. It seems upside-down. Indeed, Peter has spoken before—on one occasion, he was praised by the Lord for his great act of faith (“Blessed are you, Simon, son of Jonah!”). But on another occasion, he was chided and corrected by the Lord for his upside-down thinking (“Get behind me, Satan. You are not thinking as God does, but as men do.”) 

So, Peter has spoken. But we await Jesus’ response. 

In light of that, we continue in charity and zeal, but not anger. We may grieve, for there is great loss, great disappointment, and another exile—but not without hope. We must never despair! And we may question—but not in doubt, but in faith. 

Indeed, it is often the case in human history that those who are beloved of Christ are the first to suffer the Cross. John the Beloved Apostle; Mary, the Mother of Jesus; Mary Magdalene—they were all so, so beloved. And they were at the side of Jesus Christ, experiencing the pain of the Crucifixion as our Lord was crucified. 

Peter and the rest? Cowards who fled. 

But note: at the end of Peter’s life here on earth, at the end of his earthly pilgrimage, he was crucified. And he was crucified upside-down. 

Upside-down in crucifixion, but right-side-up in the eyes of the Lord. 

And that’s how we will be. The world may look at us as if we are upside-down, but we know the reality. We know The Way, and the Truth, and The Life. We know what is right-side-up, even if it leads us to the folly of an upside-down crucifixion. 

So long as we stay in communion in the Catholic Church and close to our Lord in faith, in hope, and in charity, we will be right-side-up and straight-away into heaven! 

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

Independence - Homily for the 14th Sunday in OT (The 4th of July, 2021)

Two hundred and forty-five years ago, the founders of this great nation signed the famous Declaration of Independence. It was an act against a tyrant, King George—an act, which the founders argued, was supported by the logic inherent in all men being created equal by God and given inalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The founders argued that men, when their governments, which by nature are to support these basic truths, no longer support these rights, are given the power to change or even abolish that government. 

It is really quite an amazing founding document and I hope that our children and grandchildren know of it and the circumstances that surround it; to appreciate its significance and also to understand that when these men signed the document, they were putting their life on the line. Indeed, on July 4^th, 1776, there did not begin barbeque and celebrations with beverages and family. There began the eight long years of the Revolutionary War. The War of Independence. 

Ever since, one may rightly say that Americans have an independent streak to us. We have enshrined it not only in law, but we have fought for it at home and abroad. We even enshrine it in our movies: General George Patton fighting the Nazis; Rocky Balboa in Rocky IV, fighting the Russians; Will Smith in Independence Day… fighting aliens. 

It makes me think: of any people on earth, it would seem to me that we are the ones most oriented to engage in the Ultimate declaration of independence, the wage war against the ultimate tyrant: that is, against sin and the devil. 

Of course, you start talking about sin and the devil and some roll their eyes or begin to tune out—just as I’m sure many colonists in the early days rolled their eyes and began to tune out when some crazy prophets started dumping tea in a harbor, talking about how King George was a tyrant. But all, eventually, had to engage their intellect in that moment when things began to become desperate. For, it was from there that Independence was born: from the grace of the light of intellect—and desperation. 

In the Garden of Eden, the devil swayed the intellect of Adam and Eve by saying: “If you eat from this, you will become like gods.” What the devil was doing there was sowing doubt—doubt through the implication that God was holding something back—doubt of God the Father’s goodness. What Adam and Eve didn’t know, we do: that the devil is a tyrant. And all we need to do to come to such a clear conclusion is to place him in the scales of judgment with the Heavenly Father. 

Where did all the death, disease, disorder, doubt, and despair come from? The darkness? Did it not all come from the prince of darkness, which is the devil? Yes, he is the bringer of anger and envy and ingratitude and discord and discouragement. He would drive you to the desert of isolation through suggestion and lie and deceit and duplicity, offering you friendship and—when he got you there—throw the trap and accuse you of being wretched, where he would leave you forever. 

But our heavenly Father: he is the creator of all life. And who could have eternal life in heaven but through Him? He is Truth and clarity and light and that breath of fresh air that brings order and peace. He offers joy, deep joy, and establishes community through mercy and the embrace of love. Does He convict us so that we do not go astray and into the hands of the destroyer? Absolutely. But should we go astray, He sends His Son—not a foreigner or a low-ranking nobody—He sends His Son. And He sends Him as a Good Shepherd who goes in search and, when He finds us (and He always does if we should let Him), He carries us out of that desert and brings us lovingly home. 

So, who is the tyrant? 

When you and I were baptized, our parents and godparents entered into that ultimate declaration of independence. “Do you reject Satan?” asked the priest. “I do,” they said. It was a moment of rebellion against the tyrant. Then came the war. The spiritual battle, as Paul says: “I have fought the good fight.” 

Would you say that your spiritual life is characterized by a fight against the devil? When a prophet rose in your midst—whether recently or in the long-ago past—whether a priest or a friend or a family member or a stranger—when a prophet rose in your midst and called you on to a higher way of life, did you embrace that call like that of Paul Revere, or did you get angry and feel the prick of pride like the home-folk of Nazareth? 

“Jesus was amazed at their lack of faith,” Sacred Scripture recalls to us. Which is another way of saying, “Jesus was amazed at the lack of fight in them.” The Messiah had come to lead the battle—and it was a battle, one kingdom against another, the Kingdom of Light verses the powers of darkness—the Messiah had come and where were his soldiers? 

In many ways, the devil often retards the battle before it even begins in our hearts. The evil one says: “If you give yourself so whole-heartedly to God, you won’t be able to do whatever you want.” 

Punch that temptation in the nose. 

Because, you see, independence is not about getting to do whatever you want. Independence and freedom are about doing what is right and good and what we ought to do. 

So, yes, independence does bring dependence. The founders of this nation knew this. After the Declaration, they would have to depend on one another. Independence would depend on the rallying together of community and good will and a universal vision. But that’s how life and liberty and freedom would be preserved. 

The devil would have you think that depending on God would limit your freedom—when, really, depending on God is the very thing that protects your freedom. And your happiness. And your life. 

To rebel against Him, to sin, therefore, would not only be contrary to reason and our very existence, but it would even be against being American. For at the heart of who we are is a declaration that recognizes God. And that upon Him our life and our liberty, our happiness, and even our nation are entirely dependent.

In the Shade of the Tree - Homily for the 11th Sunday in OT (B)

 

We heard the beautiful parable of the mustard seed of this morning. 

A few days ago, after reading this parable about the seed and the growth of the tree and its shade, I decided to go for walk in Old Town. And I love walking in Old Town because, unlike the newer subdivisions, we have trees here. Large and beautiful ones—not the small, just-planted ones. And I was thankful for those large trees out there because it was really hot outside. Something like 95 degrees and sunny and humid—and it was doubly hot because I was wearing my black clothes (clerics) out there. So, as I was walking, I thanked God for those big trees out there because they provided that shade which is so nice and cool and which makes walking in Old Town Florissant so wonderful. 

In fact, as I was walking, I saw a few people working in their yards and they stopped and said, “Hey, Father!” and I enjoyed some conversations along the way. And those conversations took place not in the middle of the street under the blazing heat. They took place in the cool shade. And I said to myself, “Self, I think there’s a homily here.” 

* 

When Jesus talks about the mustard seed, He is firstly talking about Himself. He is the mustard seed. And He gives growth to and brings forth the tree—which is the Church. The Kingdom of God, therefore, is Jesus—and it is His Church. That’s the ultimate meaning of the parable. 

But notice: the tree grows from the seed. The tree looks different than the seed. By analogy, the Church is going to grow and develop over the ages. And therefore it will look different than it did as a seed—that is, as it was during the time of the Apostles. But here’s the thing: it’s the same tree. From the same seed. 

This is very important, this organic growth. Because this means that there’s no such thing as a “pre-Vatican church” or a “post-Vatican church.” It’s just one Church. Nor is there a “pre-Tridentine church” or a “post-Tridentine church”—Tridentine being about the Council of Trent. No, it’s just one Church. 

Has there been growth and development? Yes, absolutely. 

But, as soon as we see things that are totally contrary to the one universal Church—as soon as we start hearing things being taught that have never been taught before—we can get rid of those things. They are not part of the tree; they are a foreign and invasive species. 

So we talk about the “perennial teaching” of the Church. Another word is traditio, from the Greek, meaning “to hand on,” from which we get the word Tradition. So, for example, Saint Therese of Lisieux or Saint John Vianney or Saint Vincent de Paul or Saint Augustine—they should be able to come into the pews today and say, “Hey, I recognize this Church. It doesn’t look exactly like I remember it (because the Tree was a sapling in my day), but ah! it’s growing.” And when it comes to the teachings, they should be able to look at the Church’s teachings today and say: “Ah, yes! How wonderful! What you say today naturally flows from the seed of knowledge that we had at that time.” 

And that’s quite the contrast to them saying, “Huh. What you teach is odd. How did you come up with that?” 

* 

This is important, because what does the tree—what does the Church—provide? The shade. 

And what does the shade provide? Coolness. 

And I don’t mean “cool” like “hip,” no. (We are going to be anything but hip as Catholics. We oftentimes are the total contrary of being hip. We don’t chase after the fads of the passing world). 

The shade provides the protection against the heat. 

And what is the heat? The world. The heat of the day where there are those noonday devils. 

The Church, in her perennial teachings, in her prayerful life, in her reflection, and in her being one with Jesus—that’s what protects us from the world. And gives us strength and courage in the world. 

And that means that we must dwell in that shade. Which is what we just heard in the parable. It’s an often-overlooked detail, but it is a vital detail. It says, 

            The tree puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the sky can dwell in its shade. 

* 

What does it mean to dwell in this shade of this Tree which is the Catholic Church? 

To dwell in it means, first, to do what you are doing right now: you come to Holy Mass and it is a place of prayer and coolness and rest and conversation and you are protected. 

But it also means to reflect upon the teachings of the Church.   

And it’s not enough to simply rely on experts to give you the meanings. Just open up the Catechism. It is one of the beautiful things of the Catechism: it tells you clearly what the teachings are. And you don’t have to be an expert to read it. And you can rely on that and trust in that and dwell in that because it protects you from the craziness and confusion that is in the heat of the world. 

* 

A final thought. 

The birds that were in the tree in its shade. They had an ancient, spiritual meaning: the angels. The birds, of course, are real beings that fly in the sky—but, as they are beings that flew, they were almost seen to have a spiritual quality to them. Artists would often depict angels, therefore, with wings. They saw a kind of “lightness” in the birds; an ability not only to fly, but to be above the earth’s difficulties and its painful heat. 

Why do I mention all of this? 

Because the good angels are also here. 

We recently celebrated Corpus Christi. And we were reminded on that great solemnity about our communion with Jesus in the Eucharist and our communion with all Catholics throughout the universal Church throughout the world. 

But there is one more element that we must reflect upon: and that is that we are in communion with the holy angels of God. 

This is important, because what do the angels do? Their names often give it away: they are called guardian angels. They protect you in this shade in the Church. They help you! 

But when was the last time you prayed to your guardian angel? Do you remember your guardian angel? Have you asked for his help? Or St. Michael the Archangel?—the one who protects us in battle and is our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil. When was the last time we called upon Saint Michael to help us in the heat of this Day? 

Yes, brothers and sisters, our Lord is giving us many gifts. We are walking in grace. He protects us and gives us some rest. Because in that shade things are better: they are cooler and restful and contemplative; there is conversation; even an enjoyment of life. To enjoy life again: to stop and smell the flowers. – But you don’t stop and smell the flowers if you are always afraid. And you are afraid if you don’t believe that you are being protected. 

Our Lord is protecting you. He is with you. He is giving you grace. You are in the Church. You are surrounded by holy and beautiful angels. You can slow down. You can enjoy the shade of the Tree. +

Sacrificial Belonging - Homily for Corpus Christi

To whom do you belong?

This is a very interesting question. To whom do you belong? You may answer "I don't belong to anybody." But, really, the ones for whom you sacrifice-- that's to whom you belong. Parents, in a way belong to their children. You teens and young adults: you just finished up a hard semester. In a way, you have belonged to your school. To whom we sacrifice often indicates to whom we belong. Because with sacrifice comes belonging.

* 

Recently, I met up with an American missionary priest. He is a Catholic priest in China. We were celebrating the Holy Mass together. After Holy Mass, I had a chance to ask him about his ministry in China. “What’s it like over there?” I asked. 

He told me what you would expect: it’s hard. He can’t dress as a priest. It’s difficult to know who to trust. He is often on the run because of the government. Many priests and bishops are in jail. The Vatican Agreement with China has been a disaster. 

But the people are very faithful, he said. “I minister to about a hundred communities. And some of the people there haven’t seen a priest in twenty years. Which means they haven’t had Mass in twenty years. In many places, they gather in a home at night and hold a prayer vigil, asking God for the gift of a priest and the gift of the Holy Mass.” 

Can you imagine?

Interiorly, I started to realize that I was talking to a man—I had received Holy Communion with this man—who, a year from now, could possibly be imprisoned, tortured, killed. I saw his sacrifice as the same as Jesus’ sacrifice, and the sacrifices of the people he served. 

* 

As we continued to talk, the missionary priest told me that he “couldn’t wait to get back.” 

“You know, Anthony,” he said, “it is easier to keep the faith in Communist China than in the United States.” 

I looked at him funny. 

 “Well,” he said, “there you can see the enemy and you know its attacks clearly. Avoid the government. That’s easy. But here in the U.S., the enemy is often hidden and it slowly wears away without one knowing it. I’ve seen Chinese Catholics move from China and come to the U.S.—faithful Catholics in China who have been persecuted and some tortured—and yet when they come here, they fall away from the faith.”  

I asked him: Why do people fall away so quickly in the U.S.? What’s the hidden enemy?  

“Choice,” he said. “We have so many choices in the United States. Phone carriers, fast-food places, cars to drive, experiences to have, employment, even Catholic parishes and priests—we have so many choices that we expect and demand choice and the catering to our desires, so much so that it has become fossilized, engrained in our lifestyle. Who in your parish, if they had to drive for an hour to Holy Mass, would drive an hour for Holy Mass? The enemy in this is that religion itself has devolved into just another choice on par with any other choice. And when that happens—if Mass is just another choice like a job or a counselor or a sport—why choose it at all?” 

In China, it is very clear that religion is not just one choice among many, precisely because of the fact that if you make that choice you will be arrested and killed. 

I can’t wait to get back, he said. 

* 

When you and I were children growing up, the world was our oyster and all options were available. 

But the hallmark of our growing into maturity and adulthood was to let go some of those choices, to sacrifice one thing for another, and to then be committed. A mature, married person, for example, has sacrificed and continues to sacrifice all other options for this one person. And that choice is above all other choices and circumstances—sickness or health, good times or bad. 

Sacrifice, far from being a fearful thing of destruction, is actually the healthy process of maturation and the insertion point into community. When the man and woman get married, the two become one. And in that community they can say to each other: “I belong to you and you belong to me. We are one. We are in communion.” 

Sacrifice is also the protection of that communion. In order that no man or woman may separate them, they must sacrifice the desire for any other man and woman, and thus preserve the marriage. Indeed, this exclusivity helps to define the marriage: the spouses can say to each other, “I belong to you and to no other.” No other person. No other job. No other possession. I belong to you and you to me. 

By analogy, the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, far from being a fearful thing of destruction of a precious Sunday morning, is actually the healthy process of maturation and the insertion point into community. When we receive the Eucharist in Holy Communion, we become one with Jesus and He with us. You say to Jesus: Jesus, I belong to you and you belong to me. And Jesus, in His Sacrifice, says And I belong to you and you belong to me, too. 

Sacrifice protects that communion. As the First Commandment says, You will have no other gods. The Commandments also define that communion, just as Jesus said: You are my friends if you keep my Commandments. Keeping the Commandments, which necessarily requires sacrifice, is a prerequisite for communion. Without sacrifice, there is no communion; just as without sacrifice in marriage, there is no union. The priest points this out when he says, “Pray, brothers and sisters, that my sacrifice and yours may be acceptable to God the almighty Father.” 

*

Here, we come to a very decisive moment. 

Some live in fear and always keep their options open. The finality of a sacrifice is terrifying. And so, a family invites their daughter over for Sunday dinner but she hedges because there might be a better offer. A guy dates a girl but balks on popping the question because he doesn’t want to be pinned down. But that lack of a commitment is a commitment. And there is a side-effect to choosing indecision: isolation. 

Some go further and think they can choose anything—that God requires nothing from me, no sacrifice, and only a nominal belonging such that any choice, even a choice against His Commandments, is acceptable.

I think of Flannery O'Connor's words here when, at a dinner-party with some fallen away Catholics, faced the daunting task of defending the Eucharist, quote: 

I then said, in a very shaky voice, 'Well, if it's a symbol, to hell with it.' That was all the defense I was capable of but I realize now this is all I will ever be able to say about it, outside of a story, except that it is the center of existence...; all the rest of life is expendable.

Consider here the Communion of Saints. 

Can a Catholic politician who advocates the killing of infant children really consider himself in communion with Saint Gianna? Or even with our Lord who says Let the little children come to me and do not prevent them? 

Can a Catholic priest who actively subverts and casts doubt on perennial Church doctrine concerning sexuality seriously consider himself in communion with Saint John Vianney or Saint Charles Lwanga? Or even with our Lord who says, It would be better that a millstone be tied around your neck and hurled into the sea than to teach these little ones to sin. 

Can anyone present themselves to Holy Communion and not at least pause and consider our brother and sister Catholics in China who sacrifice all and would sacrifice all to have just one Sunday Mass? 

The opening words of our Lord’s ministry are important here. Repent and believe. That Catholic politician, that doubting priest, that lukewarm Catholic—any sinner—they can all receive and enter into Holy Communion if they simply offer the sacrifice of repentance. I’m sorry I cheated on you, Lord. I want to belong with you again. 

* 

This morning, Our Lord gives us the great celebration of Corpus Christi—that is, the Body of Christ. It is a celebration of the Eucharist, the Body of Christ (which we receive at the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass), and it is also a celebration of the Catholic Church, the Mystical Body of Christ, which is the place and also the effect of this Holy Communion. 

At the end of the Holy Mass, we will have a Eucharistic Procession. It is not simply a parade. What we are saying in this procession—what God is saying—is that this neighborhood belongs to Jesus. This community belongs to Jesus. We belong to Jesus and we are one in Jesus. This Communion is our communion. We live a sacrificial belonging—which we call Love, true Love—and we are inviting you to join us. To enter into communion with the Mystical Body of Christ, the Church, and to receive the bread of angels, the Eucharist, our Holy Communion, the Body and Blood of our Lord Jesus, which is called Corpus Christi.

And before we go out and do that, let's take a moment and answer the questions by which I started this homily. To whom do you belong? To whom do you sacrifice?