Homily for the First Sunday of Advent (C)

Every Thursday night at Moreau Seminary, the priests and seminarians of the house and their guests, gather for a candle-lit celebration of Evening Prayer called Lucernarium. In many ways, it’s reminiscent of the East Vigil in which the Church gathers in darkness to await the glorious light of the Resurrection.

At the end of this vigil, the final words that the cantor and congregation sing are: “May grace come and this world pass away – Amen, come Lord Jesus!”

I remember the first time I really heard and thought about this beautiful, yet haunting line. It struck me that we were praying for, asking for, looking forward to the end of the world! I almost couldn’t believe it. It seemed so foreign to the way I was accustomed to thinking about life, and even about my faith. Sure, I knew that Jesus would come again at the end of time – but to pray for it to happen soon seemed a bit much.

I don’t think our grandparents’ generation would have been so shocked that we pray for the Lord to come again soon, and for this world to pass away. Interestingly, for all its stress on history and tradition, I think that generation had a greater sense than we do that Catholicism isn’t merely about looking backwards into the past, but looking forward into the future. It’s not only about remembering Jesus’ life here on earth, it’s about longing and preparing for His coming at the end of time.

Forty years ago today, on the First Sunday of Advent 1969, the liturgical changes of Vatican II were implemented. Among other things, one of the most obvious changes was that the priest, who used to face with the people toward the East, toward the place from which the Son would rise on the day of glory, now faced toward the people.

Now there are many pastoral and theological reasons that recommend such an arrangement. But there are downsides as well, and there were benefits to the former arrangement. Even before he was elected Pope, Cardinal Ratzinger wrote that: “the turning of the priest toward the people has turned the community into a self-enclosed circle. In its outward form, it no longer opens out on what lies ahead and above, but is closed in on itself.”

It’s a very real danger that our celebration of the Liturgy might contribute to our thinking that we are merely reenacting the Last Supper, and not facing together toward and preparing for, the Lord’s return. So we must constantly remind ourselves that even now, though the priest and people see each other’s faces, we are not really facing one another, we are all together facing the Lord Jesus and awaiting His return!

We need to recapture the sense of what we still pray at each and every Mass: “we wait in joyful hope for the coming our Savior Jesus Christ.”

Our readings today all make exactly this same point. Over the last several weeks, we have been hearing apocalyptic readings about the end of the world. And I’ve said that these readings were aimed at assuring us that the end of the world is not something to be feared, like Hollywood’s apocalyptic movies would have us believe.

And even today, on the First Sunday of Advent – the first Sunday of a new liturgical year, we hear again about the end of the world. But now the point is slightly different. The readings ask us to live our lives based on our looking not merely back to what Christ has done for us, but also with an eye toward the future – toward His return in glory.

We all know how an upcoming event; a wedding, a graduation, an examination, or a vacation from work; can shape the way we live our daily lives. We spend a lot of time thinking about the future event, and we make choices about when to study, what to pack, what gift to bring or food to prepare.

Today’s readings and indeed the entire season of Advent, stress Jesus’ second coming at the end of time precisely so that we can spend more time thinking about how this truth about the future should shape our daily lives.

In the Gospel, Jesus warns us that “carousing and drunkenness and the anxieties of daily life” may cause us to lose our focus on Jesus’ promised return. “Be vigilant at all times,” He tells us, “stand erect and raise your heads because your redemption is at hand!”

St. Paul’s Letter to the Thessalonians makes a similar point. Paul tells his listeners: “conduct yourselves to please God.” And he prays that they will be “blameless in holiness before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus.” He instructs them that a key element in being pleasing to God when the Lord Jesus comes again is to “abound in love for one another and for all.”

Friends, we are invited this Advent to recall our hope and longing for the second coming of Christ and to let this hopeful view toward the future order every aspect of our lives.

Advent is a precious gift of time, amidst the busyness of the school year and our hectic preparations for Christmas, to slow down – “to look with hope toward the future and to straighten out what is not yet right; to overcome that one struggle, that one area of darkness—to heal what we’ve broken, to forgive, to be less addicted, to be more chaste, to be more generous.”

We are all given these four weeks of Advent to bring Christ back into the very center of our lives, to pray and to live as if this Advent were our very last Advent.

“May grace come and this world pass away – Amen, come Lord Jesus!”

Hall of Champions!!

Congratulations to the Ramblers of Siegfried Hall, who successfully defended their Interhall Football Championship by defeating St. Edward's Hall yesterday, 41-12. This is the second back-to-back championship run for my former dorm.

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to be in the stadium for the game, but providentially I was previously scheduled as the principal celebrant of the dorm Mass for the Solemnity of Christ the King. It was great to be there to celebrate with the Ramblers! Congratulations to Fr. John Conley, CSC and the men of Siegfried Hall!

Homily for the Solemnity of Christ the King (B)

Today’s Solemnity of Christ the King is a relatively new feast in the life of the Church: Pope Pius XI established the feast in 1925. And to understand what the feast really intends for us to appreciate about the Gospel and about our lives of faith, all we have to do is think about the feast’s name, and about what was going on in the world in 1925, when Pope Pius announced this feast.

In 1925, powerful political, social and economic forces were at work, claiming the allegiance of men and women. In Russia, Soviet Communism had arisen, asserting that individual rights were subservient to the rights of the State and of the Party – that human labor was not for a person’s own benefit, but entirely for "the People."

In Italy and Germany, fascism, another form of totalitarian rule claimed ownership of people’s lives and labor. Around the world, colonialism operated under the assumption that white Western European nations were entitled to dominate the people and the resources of “inferior” and “backward” regions of the world.

So the Church was properly asking, who really holds sovereignty over the hearts and souls of men and women? Who is really in command of the peoples of the world and its resources? Of course, the answer is God, and God alone. Jesus Christ is King of the universe and the Lord of our lives, and it is His Law that orders all creation. All human authority comes from God and is bestowed by Him for the peace and security of all men and women. That’s the truth of which this feast was instituted to remind us.

Therefore, our Gospel for today describes a scene in which earthly, human authority encounters Divine authority. Pontius Pilate, the representative of the Roman Empire – the ancient version of a totalitarian and colonial regime – questions Jesus, the true king of the universe. And yet, even standing before Jesus, Pilate is unable to grasp who Jesus really is and what He has come to accomplish.



Jesus Himself explains why this is when He tells Pilate, “For this I was born and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” With that sentence, Jesus shows that Pilate is blind to the truth – and Jesus teaches us the essence of His mission and the secret to intimacy with God: in order to know God, we must seek the truth.

Whoever searches for, and lets themselves be led by what is true, is drawn into communion, into intimacy with Christ. But being led by truth requires humility. It requires us to recognize an authority higher than oneself, higher even than that of human government. And if we must discover, and accept, and conform our lives to what it objectively true – not merely true for us, or true for our time and place, but true for all people, everywhere and always – then we are not autonomous – we are not the masters of our own personal universes. We are not god.

This act of humility is not easy. As fallen creatures, we tend towards pride, towards self-sufficiency, towards power and control. And so there are powerful forces in our culture that simply deny the role of God in the foundation of our lives and our society. Pope Benedict XVI has for years now been warning the world against a relativism that denies or hates universal truth.

He has said: “today's civil and secular society is found to be in a state of bewilderment and confusion: it has lost the original evidence of the roots of the human being and his ethical behavior… When the fundamental requirements of human dignity, of human life, of the family, of a fair social order, in other words, basic human rights, are at stake, laws devised by human beings that subvert the law that the Creator has engraved on the human heart dramatically affect the indispensable foundations of society itself …”

If we as individuals and as a society are going to experience the peace and true freedom for which we long, and which Christ promises, we must "belong to the truth," by refusing to allow selfishness and self-centeredness turn us into enemies of the truth. We have to take a more active role in searching for the truth and conforming our lives to it.

That’s why Pope Benedict chose as is papal motto, the eighth verse of St. John’s Third Letter: we must be “Coworkers in truth.” In a world that tends to rebel against any and all authority other than oneself, unless we are Christians who actively follow Christ, we will slowly slide into rebellion ourselves.

Even if we come to Mass each and every Sunday, if throughout the rest of the week, we have no place for God, and fill our hearts and minds with all sorts of secular images and information, then it’s no surprise that God is relegated from our hearts and from our society, and we make ourselves into gods. It’s no wonder we aren’t experiencing the interior peace and freedom that Christ promises. Following Christ the King, belonging to the truth, requires seeking Him out: spending time each day in personal prayer; spending quality time each week studying the Scripture and learning the truths of our faith.

Now be forewarned: "choosing Christ does not guarantee success according to the criteria of today’s world, but ensures the peace and joy that only Christ can give.” That’s why, in every age, men and women who have resisted earthly powers – have stood for Christ’s name, and for the truth, and for justice,” have faced martyrdom.

(Bl. Franz Jaggerstatter, murdered by the Nazi Government)

As those who belong to the truth, we too will have to sacrifice our egos, and our earthly ambitions, and may suffer certain kinds of persecution and indignities at the hands of human powers. But in so doing we will be imitating our Lord, who let Himself be taken into the hands of evil men, and nailed to a tree.

And yet, even those who are blind to the truth are subject to it. Remember that after the scene in today’s Gospel, it was Pilate himself who had inscribed atop Jesus’ cross, in Latin, Greek and Aramaic: “Jesus Christ, King of the Jews.”

It is in Christ the King that we place all our allegiance and hope. And it is in His name that we are coworkers in the truth.

Homily for the Thirty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

On Friday the new movie ‘2012’ was released – and it’s had a big opening weekend, earning some $225 million in ticket sales. But I can tell you that I will definitely not be seeing it. I’m simply done seeing movies about the end of the world! It seems like we’ve had a real proliferation of these apocalyptic movies recently, and on top of being bored by them at this point, I’m also a New Yorker – so I’m sick and tired of watching my hometown get destroyed by some Hollywood nerd’s computer graphics.

But here we are, just a week away from the end of one Liturgical Year and the beginning of a new one with the Advent season, and we’re faced with apocalyptic readings at Mass – Scriptural readings that have to do with the end of the world; the end of time.

And just like in the movies, these apocalyptic Biblical readings are filled with terrible images of strife, distress, war and suffering: the sun and moon darkened, stars falling from the skies, heaven and earth shaken by powerful earthquakes.

But that’s about where the similarities end, actually. In the movies, the scenes of the collapse and destruction of our modern civilization are meant to inspire feelings of fear, helplessness and loss. But the scenes foretold in the Scriptures of both the Old and New Testaments were written with quite a different intention: they were meant to inspire in the believer, the virtues of faith, hope, and even joy.

For our Jewish brothers and sisters before us and now for all Christians as well, God is not a distant god, who created the world and has let in spin on its own ever since. He is understood as being at work in the world, constantly cleansing and purifying it, restoring it and making it new.

So the apocalyptic readings of Scripture aren’t meant to be taken literally, first of all – and second, they’re certainly not meant to inspire fear. They’re meant to inspire hope, because they are yet another depiction of how God brings about a new order, a glorious kingdom.

Think of the Great Flood when God drowned sin and made a new covenant with Noah. Think of the Exodus when God battled for Israel and defeated slavery and then gave Israel the Promised Land through the waters of the Red Sea. Think of Jesus doing verbal battle with the Pharisees and Scribes, and physically chasing the moneychangers from the Temple.

In all of these examples, throughout salvation history, God has fought the forces of sin and the power of darkness. And yes, for Him to establish a new order, means that the old order, and the former kingdom must pass away. As in all battles, this cosmic battle involves some terrible strife and distress . . . transitions are often painful.

If we think about it, we feel the effects of this battle every day, in our own lives. We all battle with sin and failure in our lives, and endure the many other trials of life. We struggle to do the thing that we know is right, that we know will make us the better person we want to be, because that thing is hard and demands something of us.

Or we worry that we are always struggling with the same sins – never feeling like we’re making the progress we long to make. Still, we are constantly being made anew – we are in the process of becoming who God calls us to be and He is at work is us. These are the growing pains that accompany all rebirth; the labor pains that come before all new life.

So that we don’t become discouraged or fearful about this process, we need to pay attention to the rest of tonight’s readings, and not get stuck on the shock and awe of their apocalyptic scenes. Jesus says in tonight’s Gospel: “After those days of tribulation, they will see the Son of Man coming in the clouds with great power and glory, and he will send out his angels to gather His elect.”

And in the Book of Daniel we hear: “the wise shall shine brightly like the splendor of the firmament and those who lead the many to justice shall be like the stars forever.”

Friends, the point of reading these apocalyptic stories with the eyes of faith – unlike those Hollywood versions – is that we already know how the story ends! We know the end result of all this struggle and strife. We know who wins the battle and we know the good things God has planned to make of us.

When Jesus is nailed to the cross, He takes all of the evil and corruption, and sin and darkness and suffering of this world, and He absorbs it. He takes it upon Himself. Then in death He descends into Hell and battles with these forces of evil, and on the third day when He rises from the dead, He has conquered them all!

In the Death and Resurrection of Jesus, the world has been cleansed once and for all, and a new world has begun: a world where love really is stronger, and life really is more powerful than any sin or death or suffering.

That’s how these readings fill us with hope and faith and yes, even joy.
It’s true: this world is indeed ending – but it’s no cause for fear or trembling. It’s actually a cause for great joy. For with it ends all sin and suffering – and the world that replaces it is one of mercy and love.

Brothers and sisters, every time we gather for the Eucharist, Christ’s suffering and death is re-presented here on this altar: that cosmic battle by which our sin and death is defeated. And every time we gather for the Eucharist, we participate in the Liturgy of Heaven: that new world that is, even now, dawning in our midst. And so, as people of faith, we hope and pray that grace will come and this world will soon pass away – and until that day, we eat of the Lord’s Body and drink of His Blood and in them enjoy a foretaste of the world without end that is to come.

Fall Update

Since I was up early to preside and preach at the Basilica's 8 am morning Mass, I decided to use the extra time to write a long-overdue post about the last several weeks' activities. I've heard from several people who've noticed the relative quiet on the blog and I thought it was time to correct (and explain) that.

After returning from a little vacation in Portland, I hit the ground running preparing for yet another trip - this time a drive to the East Coast to visit prospective gradate schools over Notre Dame's Fall Break week. My first stop was the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia . . .

the city of brotherly love. Indeed I had a lovely visit there, meeting with a professor in the history department and getting a feel for the campus (and having a cheesesteak at the world famous Geno's!)

Unfortunately, a cough I had developed during my travels to the West Coast worsened while I was attempting to visit Princeton University. I only got to see the University Medical Center, where I was diagnosed with bronchitis, potentially brought on by a minor bout of pork (I'm sorry, swine) flu. When my fever broke, and I had some antibiotics in me, I made the drive back to South Bend.

All that week, as most of the students were away, South Bend had lovely Fall weather. So typical that it happens when the students are away! The leaves all seemed to change at once and the campus was just beautiful.

But it was also typical that once the students returned, and everyone was gearing up for the Boston College game, it rained like cats and dogs. Mom and Dad were on campus for the game, but I was still a bit too sick to attend the game. They were lucky enough to see a win and to stay dry during the game. Though I wish I had been healthier, we enjoyed the rest of their visit taking it easy and relaxing together.

This past weekend I enjoyed a visit from Kevin and Jeanette Haley for the Navy game. Though it was a quick visit, it was great to see them, and we were treated to some delightful weather during their stay. As for the game, I'll simply refer you to something I posted about our coach earlier this season.

In the meanwhile, I have been very, very busy with my applications for grad school - which is the main reason I haven't posted much on the blog. Amid my normal reading for class, my priestly obligations on campus, and my responsibilities in Old College, there's been a real uptick in the amount of time I'm giving over to my personal statement and writing sample for applications. There's about a month left before they're all due, and about three months until I hear back from these programs - so your continued prayers are much appreciated.

Fr. John Pearson, CSC tells me that I post a lot about food (I refer you to one of my earliest posts) and I wouldn't want to disappoint him . . .

so I'll share this picture of our Sunday evening community meal at Old College. Every Sunday the men take turns cooking for the house and we share a family supper. It's a bit crowded with twenty-three of us there, but that just makes it feel a little like Thanksgiving every week! We've had some really lovely meals and fun conversations - and it's just one of the many things I've enjoyed living and working here at Old College.

Homily for the Thirty Second Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Traveling in Notre Dame circles, and especially visiting campus on football weekends like this, one hears an awful lot about “the Notre Dame family.” Because it represents an emotion or experience that’s difficult to capture in words, the phrase risks being merely a cliché. And yet, somehow, we know its real when we see it or experience it for ourselves.

David Miller, a 1979 alumnus and State District Court judge in Colorado experienced it a little under a year ago when, of all people, his roommate from Flanner Hall was the suitable match he needed for a kidney donation and transplant. Having grown up an only child, Mr. Miller found in his college dorm-mates the brothers he never had – and thirty years later those bonds of family remained so strong, his roommate and friend Chris Nagle risked his health to save David’s life.

Anthony Depalma experienced it in the Fall of 1999 when his son Aahren was diagnosed with leukemia after only three days as a freshman in Siegfried Hall. Mr. Depalma wrote about how the students of Siegfried, and their rector Fr. John Conley rallied around Aahern during his treatments. They sent him a Siegfried sweatshirt, and copies of the Observer, they prayed and lit candles at the Grotto, and did innumerable things to let Aahern know he was one of them and they were with him in his battle.

Mr. Depalma said: “There hadn’t been time for anyone to check any manuals, to find out what the regulations required. They all simply did what they did because that was the only way they knew how to do it. It was a response that had to have been bred deep in their bones.”

On a slightly lighter note, even Pedro Moura, a student at the University of Southern California, experienced the “Notre Dame family” when he visited campus for the game a few weeks back. Back at Southern Cal he wrote in the student paper that, “I must have heard the words ‘Welcome to Notre Dame,’ at least 30 times from ushers and elevator staff to random old guys on the sidelines. I’ve never felt more welcomed anywhere in my life.”

I hope that all of you here – whether you’re a student or an alum, a parent of a student or just a visitor for a football game – I hope all of you have some story, some experience of this thing we call “the Notre Dame family.”

But I’d like you to think with me for a moment or two about what’s really at the heart of this family spirit we all hold dear. What is it that drives this kind of warm, selfless hospitality and generosity? Certainly there are other schools, other institutions with a similar spirit of camaraderie and service – our friends from the Naval Academy provide a perfect example.

What is it, then, about this place, when it’s at its best, that sets it apart? What exactly did Mr. Depalma experience as the soul of the university, bred deep in the bones of all its members?

I’d like to suggest that the faithful women in today’s readings provide the best possible answer to these questions.

In our first reading, the widow of Zarephath is preparing to use her last bit of flour and oil to make herself and her son a final meal. The drought-induced famine that has plagued her homeland is about to rob them of life. And yet, even in these dire straits, when the prophet Elijah asks her to bring him something to eat and drink, she does not hesitate to show him hospitality. She trusts Elijah’s promise that the Lord will provide for her, and that the flour and oil will not run out before the drought lifts and the rains fall. In her generosity and sacrifice, she trusts God, puts her life in His hands and gives everything she has in love of another.

In our Gospel, Jesus notices and comments upon people who are making offertory gifts at the Temple in Jerusalem. He notes that the rich were giving “large sums” to the Temple treasury – but He also spies and privately commends a widow who gave just two small coins. “This poor widow,” Jesus says, “put in more than all the other contributors to the treasury, for they contributed from their surplus wealth – but she from her poverty has contributed all she had, her whole livelihood.”

This widowed woman could have given nothing, saying that her poverty made her unable to give. She could have kept even one of her coins to ensure just a little bit of her own security. Instead, she sacrifices even the little she has. Frankly, she forgoes prudence and reason for generosity, trust, and faith. She let’s go of everything, including trying to provide for her own future, and has faith that God will provide for her, just as surely as He provided for the widow of Zarephath and her son.

Friends, I am convinced that the hospitality and generosity that marks the “Notre Dame family” has its roots, and its highest ideal, in precisely this selfless service of others that necessarily trusts and relies entirely on God’s providential care.

When Blessed Basil Moreau founded the Congregation of Holy Cross, and sent Fr. Sorin to Indiana to found Notre Dame, he modeled the priests, brothers and sisters of his community on the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph. He wanted the community he founded, and the schools they built, to be marked by a true family spirit.

But more than that, he was bold enough to give them as a motto, the phrase “Ave Crux, Spes Unica” – Behold the cross, our only hope. He wanted his band of religious, and the parishes and schools they served, to trust, not in themselves, not in their material wealth or their ability to secure their own future growth and prestige – but to trust in the love and mercy of God’s providence . . . to give everything over to Him, and Him alone. To serve others in love, especially the most vulnerable, trusting that no matter the sacrifice required, God would provide.

That, brothers and sisters, is precisely what Christ did for us, and showed us how to do, as He hung upon the Cross.

So it’s no coincidence that our Gospel this Sunday is the last account that Mark gives of Jesus’ public ministry. The chapters that follow immediately after this reading bring us with Jesus to His death on the cross. So, in today’s Gospel encounter, when Jesus points out the widow who gives away all that she has, He is using her as an image of the total self-sacrifice that He is about to make for us on the Cross.

That’s why Jesus calls his disciples together and makes them appreciate what is happening right there in front of them. He is once again giving them, and all His followers throughout history, an example to follow.

And so to this very day, here at Notre Dame, and wherever the men and women of Holy Cross live and work, we strive to build communities of believers that so trust in God’s loving providence, and in the power of Christ’s cross, that they are willing to give all of themselves in generous, hospitable, self sacrificing love.

Trust in Divine Providence, and confidence in the cross as our only hope – THAT is the soul of this university, and in turn it is the true source of the family spirit, bred so deep in the bones of her loyal sons and daughters.

New Deacons in Portland

Archbishop John Vlazny, of the Archdiocese of Portland, recently ordained three men to the permanent diaconate . . . among them was a Holy Redeemer parishioner and colleague of mine, now Rev. Mr. John Rilatt.

John and I worked closely together on the renovation of Holy Redeemer Church, when John served as our Director of Maintenance, before moving on to a new position in Campus Ministry at Central Catholic High School.

You can see above, that John had to learn that deacons are to assist the priest, not watch or supervise them! You know I'm kidding, John ;) It was my great honor to be bit-player in John's formation and to watch him progress toward this wonderful day.

Congratulations to Deacon John and his classmates, and blessings on their new ministry to God's Holy People. (You can read more about the ordination class and see a picture at the diocesan newspaper).