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.

Transforming the Sinful Man - Homily for the Fifth Sunday in OT (C)

 You can be a saint.

 Really. You can be a saint. That may be a little hard to believe (it’s hard for me to believe about myself, honestly), but it is true. You can be a saint.

 I think my problem is that I think of saints as statues on pedestals: great men and women who did great things long ago. But I’m not great. I’m so very … ordinary. I’m not a missionary in a foreign land; I haven’t established a religious order; I haven’t been imprisoned; I haven’t performed any miraculous healings. I’m just a priest in his forties who sins and who has a past, just like anyone else. Nothing great; nothing that distinguishes me from others.

 But here’s the thing: being a saint isn’t about being great; it isn’t about being on a pedestal; it isn’t even about being canonized. Yes, greatness and pedestals and canonization are all important – and we need that; those things are for our benefit, a Hall of Fame of sorts to inspire you, airport runway lights to help you land in the fog.

 But being a saint isn’t really about all that. It is about one thing and one thing only. It is about being holy. And being holy is not about your successes or your achievements. In fact, it’s often about your failures.

 That sounds odd. Greatness in failure? Yes. It is something that even the secular world understands. So let me explain.

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 There was a young man who loved football. Wanted to play in high school as a quarterback, but couldn’t make it as a starter even on a team that was 0-8. He improved and made it to college ball, but there he was seventh on the depth chart. When he finally got playing time, his first pass was intercepted for a pick-six. He could have crumbled, but he believed he could be great. He entered the NFL draft and was passed over by every team – thirty-two teams, five times each. He was nothing to look at, kind of flabby, and profoundly …ordinary. He was chosen in the sixth round, almost last, round. And for all that, he eventually started and became the winningest QB in NFL history, retiring with six Super Bowl championships. That’s Tom Brady’s story.

 Or the young high school freshman that was cut from his basketball team. Wasn’t a good ball handler. Ordinary shooting. Ordinary speed. That was Michael Jordan.

 Or, the young boy who grew up in Appalachia to a narcotics-addicted mother; physically and emotionally abused; had a 1.2 GPA in the first three semesters of high school; on track to be just another blip in a trailer park. Vice President JD Vance.

 So, the world knows that your history doesn’t preclude greatness. On the contrary, it can highlight it.

 Sure, in the cases of Brady and Jordan and Vance, we could talk about perseverance, drive, commitment, getting back up again, and so on. But if greatness can be arrived at through these human means, imagine what almighty God can do!

 Mary Magdalene was possessed by seven demons. By all accounts, she lived a very unholy life until she met Jesus. Paul, for his part, was a murderer – he killed Christians. Isaiah lamented the words that came out of his mouth. And Peter always seemed to put his foot in his.

 And for all of that, each of these are acknowledged as saints. Holy men and women – our family in heaven.

 Listen to the words of our faith: “All Christians in any state or walk of life are called to the fullness of Christian life and to the perfection of charity” (CCC 2013, LG 40.2).

 All.

 Whether you are smart or dumb; whether you can change the oil on your car or not; whether you are healthy or unable to get out bed; whether you are great or profoundly ordinary – you can be a saint. In fact, you are “called to the fullness”!

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 When we start off Lent – which will be in just a few weeks – we will hear Jesus’ words, His very first words of His public ministry, in fact. He says, “Repent and believe in the Gospel.”

 That’s how Jesus started. Important words.

 Now, I think we got the repent part down. We know that we are to be sorry and go to confession and so on. What I don’t think many Catholics understand is the “believe in the Gospel” part.

 Do you know what that means? It means that God wants to transform you. Not just save you, not just love you. He wants to transform you. Mary Magdalene was transformed. Paul was transformed. Peter was transformed.

 Notice Peter’s reaction when he meets Jesus, “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” Peter is telling Jesus: Don’t you know my history? Don’t you know who I am? I am a failure. I can’t even fish. I’m not great. In fact, I’m less than ordinary. I’m a sinful man.

 And yet. … Jesus chooses him and tells him: “Do not be afraid.”

 Paul once wrote “I can do all things through Him who strengthens me” (Phil 4:13). He was echoing the famous phrase: “With God, all things are possible.”

 I am convinced that when Paul wrote that, he wasn’t giving some pie-in-the-sky cliché or some pious aphorism. Paul was speaking from experience. Don’t you know where I came from? Don’t you know who I was? Jesus really changed me! With God all things are truly possible!

 So, Peter, don’t you see? You who are reading this—don’t you see? Jesus is more confident that you will be a saint than you are! And Jesus will see to it!

 If He can transform water and turn it into wine; if He can take ordinary bread and change it into God – imagine the transformation He can do in you!

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 This doesn’t mean that you won’t fall along the way. You will. It doesn’t mean that you will do great things in the eyes of the world – most of you won’t. St. Andre Bessett was just a man who opened the door.

 But what it does mean is that, if you believe, you will be surprised.

 There will come a day, along the winding road of humility and cross-carrying that you have been on, when you who believe will see where you have come from and where you are now.

 And why do you think the saints in heaven always praise God up there? Because they see. They are surprised. And they are so dang grateful that “He who is mighty has done great things for me.” He has truly lifted up the lowly!

 For me, I am asking the Holy Spirit to come into my body and my mind and my soul. I am praying that more. I am also praying that He would increase my capacity to receive Him – enlarge my heart!

 And I truly believe that if I am open to this, if I believe in the Gospel, God will be faithful. He will transform me. And I will be a saint.

 And if you believe and are open, He will do the same for you!

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

 

Three Feasts of Our King - Homily for Christ the King

 It’s amazing to think that that next week is Advent and that, in just one month, it will be Christmas. And it may be a little too soon to talk about Christmas, but today’s feast, Christ the King, has everything to do with Christmas and, conversely, Christmas has everything to do with Christ the King. In fact, today’s solemnity even has to do with the Epiphany!

 But first, Christmas.

 On Christmas, we will celebrate the birth of our King, Jesus Christ. Born under the cover of darkness, in an historic yet forgotten town of Bethlehem, Jesus is praised by the angels who sing with us and the shepherds:

          Joy to the world, the Lord is come! Let earth receive her King!

 Yes, let earth receive her king!

 But her King, she did not receive. The inns rejected Him. Herod, a king, would not travel a mere five miles to visit Him. And Pontius Pilate (who we see in the Gospel), did not know a King when he saw one. Spurred on by the Jews, Pilate, instead of giving a crown of glory, gave Jesus a crown of thorns. With Pilate, we seem to ask:

          What child is this?

 Do we not know?

          This, this is Christ the King whom shepherds guard and angels sing!

 So why did Jesus come as a little one, an infant, a babe? Because He wants to be held. He is not a threat; He is pure, innocent, good … vulnerable … Yes, He is vulnerable to us. (Oh, Pilate! Do you not know?)

 Maybe that is an invitation to us. Jesus does not want us to fear, but to come close, like those shepherds on Christmas night, and to receive Him whose kingdom and glory are still hidden. Jesus may appear weak, but that is only for your benefit: that you may not be afraid – or ashamed – to approach and to hold.

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 I also said that today’s Solemnity of Christ the King also connects to another feast: the Epiphany.

 On the Epiphany, January 6^th, the twelfth day of Christmas, three wise men visit Jesus.  

 Whereas Herod would not travel a short distance, the three wise men (also known as the Three Kings) travel over a thousand miles to visit Jesus. 

We three kings of Orient are. Bearing gifts, we’ve traverse afar.

 When they arrive, they see the humble beginnings of Our Lord: a stable, a poor woman (Mary) and her husband, Joseph. There is no apparent glory here except for the star overhead – which was everything to these Chaldean philosophers.

 But far from venting their disappointment at the poverty before their eyes, the kings open the treasures that they have brought. And more, inspired by the light (not of the star, but of faith), the three kings pay Jesus homage. They genuflect, they kneel, they lay prostrate.

          King forever, ceasing never, over us all to reign.

 The three kings return their kingship to the source of their kingship: Jesus the King. They are not threatened like Herod was by this new king. They want His dominion ceasing never.

 And what is “dominion”? It is the “dom” of the word “kingdom.” It is to grant access and, more, rule – power, authority, control. The kings want Jesus to rule over them, to have all power and authority, wisdom and might over their lives. They are lost without Him – why else leave home and go on a journey of over a thousands miles if not because they were missing something?

 Yes, rule over us, Infant King!

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 Christmas and the Epiphany are the beautiful beginnings – the Alpha – to today’s Solemnity – the Omega.

 At the end of all time, the Infant King will not come with invitation or mercy, but with compulsion and justice. All people – “even those that pierced Him” will know Him and worship.

 For those that have enjoyed His rule, His dominion here on earth, Jesus’ coming will be expected and eagerly received.

          Come thou long-expected Jesus!

 This is the true advent – the true coming (adventus) for which we wait and long for -- when those who mourn will be comforted; those who hunger and thirst for righteousness will be satisfied; and those who are pure in heart will finally see God.

 For those who have held the Infant King and welcomed His reign in their hearts and homes, the dies irae – the Day of Wrath – will be the day when their King finally reveals the glory only enjoyed by glimpses at the Transfiguration and Ascension.

 And all will be judged. But only some will be judged by their Beloved, their Friend, their Everything.

 But for those that have not held Him, not fallen prostrate before Him, oh! Lord, may souls hear your call before it is too late!

          Repent! For the Kingdom of God is at hand!

 No more than an arm’s length. That’s how far Jesus is from you – at His furthest. In Holy Communion, He will be closer to you than you are to yourself. And yet. How far will you be from Him? Will you draw close?

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 Remember what we pray before we receive our King today. We pray:

                 Our Father, who art in heaven. Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven…

 We pray that our King may draw close and that the glory of heaven and its peace may break through and break apart the darkness of this world.

 Peace.

 St. Catherine of Siena says: “Without war, there is no peace.” Peace, then, is the fruit, perhaps the gift, of the war having been won. Today’s Solemnity, begun at Christmas under cover of darkness with but a small celestial nod, reveals the campaign against darkness that our Lord now brings: 

If my kingdom did belong to this world, my attendants would be fighting…

 Jesus came quietly, softly,

          Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright…

 And the shepherds came. And the three kings. And the angels.

 An the victory over hearts was subtle, hardly perceived save that        

         They went home by another route

 But a change nevertheless.

 Yet someday, those attendants – those holy angels and the holy shepherds and saints (some martyrs, some virgins) – will come with our Lord among the clouds. And we will see them and their glory, the glory of the Lord, conquering this world, making it their own. There will be no more kingdom of darkness, but only the Kingdom of Light and Love and Peace.

 And that Kingdom is hand. Do you not perceive it?

          Come, let us adore Him. … Christ, the Lord!

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

  

The Man Who Came to Town -- Homily for the 23rd Sunday in OT (B)

 Jesus took the man aside and, taking the very mud and earth from which Adam was created by God, re-created this man’s ears. “Let us create man in our image” was now, in this miraculous moment, “Be opened!” “Be re-created! Become who you really are!”

 Can you imagine being there? One among the crowd as Jesus crests the hill to your hometown? The curiosity, the excitement, the sense that you are in the presence of greatness, and then the wonder when one of your own is taken aside and miraculously cured … It had to have been electric.

 There was another man … One that wasn’t named in this passage, but who was there, I’m sure. In fact, he was the reason why any of the towns in that area – the Decapolis – had come out to meet Jesus. That man’s name was Legion.

 Well, actually, it wasn’t Legion, per se. That was the demon’s name that was possessing him. Do you know this story?

 There was a man that lived among graveyards to the southeast of the Decapolis. For a reference point, the Decapolis was a series of towns on the north side of the Sea of Galilee. The man who was possessed by Legion had been kicked out of the Decapolis and was now dwelling in the graveyards on the eastern bank of the Sea of Galilee. He was there because the demons that had possessed him had made him savage and violent. He would even break the chains by which the people tried to restrain him.

 Jesus had come to him several weeks before this healing of the deaf man that we see today.

 Jesus came to the man possessed by Legion and freed the man. (Let’s call that man Joshua, for simplicity). So, Jesus comes to Joshua and miraculously expels the demons. The demons flee into the pig herds nearby – and the pigs stampede down the cliffs and into the Sea of Galilee where they drown. The pig-herders see this and the people of the area (the Gerasenes) hear about it and they beg Jesus to leave the area. Which He does.

 But before Jesus goes, Joshua pleads to be able to remain with Jesus. And what does Jesus say?

 No. Instead, “Go home to your family and announce to them all that the Lord in his pity has done for you” (Mk 6:19)

 Can you imagine the disappointment? This man is full of grace and the holy spirit; he is free and has a new lease on life and has every reason to follow Jesus with great zeal. Some of us would say, “Well, I’m coming with you anyway!”

 But, instead of being disappointed, Joshua went home and “began to proclaim in the Decapolis what Jesus had done for him; and all were amazed” (Mk 6:20).

 To put it simply, Joshua obeyed.

 That word – to obey – comes from the latin, “ob+audire.” It means to listen – but not just simply to listen with the ears. It more literally means to “lean in and listen” as though you were leaning in to hear the desires of the heart.

 Joshua’s heart had been healed that day. And because of that, it hears very clearly what Jesus desired: “I desire you to go home and show your family what I have done for you.” And that’s what Joshua did.

 That is why, when Jesus crests the hill of the Decapolis, all of the people there come out to meet Jesus. They have all heard what Jesus had done for their Joshua. All had heard this Good News. All but one: the man who was deaf.

 Which brings us up to the miracle where Jesus says, “Be opened!”

 So, all of this can be summarized by saying: if Joshua had not listened with his heart and obeyed Jesus’ request, then the town would not have been ready to receive Jesus and the deaf man may not have come out to be healed.

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 “Eye has not seen, ear has not heard, what God has ready for those who love him.” We hear that said in reference to heaven, oftentimes. But I think that also applies to our earthly life. We really have not seen and heard what God has ready for us – but it is ready for us!

 When Joshua went back home after being freed from Legion, he could have thought that he would never see Jesus again. And I think it is safe to say that he didn’t imagine much that Jesus would come and visit his hometown. And, more – that he, Joshua – would be a critical instrument in the preparation for his coming; that he, Joshua, was the one who would “make straight His paths.”

 So, of all the excitement, wonder, and electricity that day when Jesus crested the brow of the hill, I think the one who had reason for greatest astonishment was Joshua.

 “Here He is!” Joshua could cry out to his hometown! “This is the one! This is the one I told you about!”

 I look forward to that day. That day will happen. Jesus will crest the brow of our earthly existence. And I was say: “There He is! There is the one that I told you about!”

 I pray that your hearts will be prepared for that day.

 That preparation comes by listening. Listen to Jesus speaking to you, coming to your ears and, more importantly, to your heart. Listen to Him! If He tells you to forgive someone, forgive! If He calls you to speak without cursing, then clean up your speech! Do not be disappointed when He gives you a task to do – it could be the most important task He has given anyone that day. It could bring the conversion of your town! Ob audire! Lean in and listen to His heart!

 And there will come a time, dear friends, when your ears – which were blessed and opened at your baptism for this very purpose – there will come a time when your ears will not hear. Deafness comes for many. Some cannot hear today’s homily. Will their hearts be opened who cannot hear? I hope their hearts are already opened. Are yours? … Will your heart be able to hear when your ears are no longer able?

 Be opened!

 See? The Lord is cresting the hill! 

Here is your God, he comes with vindication; with divine recompense he comes to save you! (Is 35:4)