. . . On the Feast of Stephen . . .

. . . when the snow lay 'round about, deep and crisp and even.

Even if the Church didn't observe his feast because it fell on Holy Family Sunday, I think I shall refer to the blizzard of December 2010 as the St. Stephen's Day Blizzard.

On Christmas Eve, Mom, Dad and I watched the eleven o'clock news and the forecast called for absolutely no snow in New York City. The storm which brought the Southeastern United States its first White Christmas in decades (or in some cases ever!) was going to be too far out to sea to hit us. Eastern Long Island and New England would be the only areas effected.

But by the time our Christmas dinner guests arrived at midday on the 25th, the forecast had changed completely. All of the necessary variables had aligned and the storm was now headed right up the coast.

On the 26th, I presided at the 10 a.m. and Noon Masses at Our Lady of Lourdes and Our Lady Queen of Peace, and the snow was already flying as I greeted the congregation after the 10 a.m. Mass.  It kept snowing throughout the afternoon, and the true blizzard conditions arrived at about 8 p.m.

Throughout the night the snow and wind kept coming, and when we woke Monday morning there was approximately 30 inches of snow on Staten Island. In Manhattan, the 20 inches in Central Park made it the 6th largest snowfall in NYC recorded history. Apparently the snow was even worse on Staten Island and some nearby parts of coastal New Jersey: further inland, in New Jersey and upstate New York, the accumulations were not as severe.

What most makes this storm stand out, however, is the wind and the amazing drifting that it's caused. All of us have said that we've never seen snow drifts like this on Staten Island.

This storm won't affect any of my travels to or from Washington, D.C. so I'm just enjoying the snow - but obviously many others are dealing with cancellations and closures. I wish them all good luck and safety!

Fall Visitors in DC

Beginning just before Thanksgiving, and running right up until my departure for home, I had several visitors in Washington, D.C.  Stacey came down to Washington after several days at a conference in Baltimore.

Among other things, we enjoyed visiting the Norman Rockwell exhibit at the Renwick Gallery.  The paintings and drawings were all from the private collections of Steven Spielberg and George Lucas and were most impressive.

We also made a foray into Georgetown for dinner as the temperatures began their first real dip of the season and the stores began their decorating for Christmas.

Thanksgiving weekend, Kevin, Jeanette and Will joined me for a day on campus during their holiday travels to Maryland.

And then, when the semester's work had finished, I had several free days to relax with Fr. Michel Wurtz, C.S.C. who stopped in D.C. on his way home to Arkansas from graduate studies in Rome.

Michael and I toured the National Cathedral, which I always think is more impressive from outside than from within, and the always impressive Basilica Shrine of the Immaculate Conception.

We walked the National Mall, visiting the World War II Memorial - and when dark had descended, we stopped by the National Christmas Tree in front of the White House.

Michael's visit gave me first real opportunity to explore some restaurants and cocktail lounges in the District, and I'll post more on them later.  In the meanwhile, I'm looking forward to visits - early in the new year - from several Holy Cross confreres who will be attending the annual March for Life, as well as from two of my ordination classmates.

Zoo Lights

This year, the National Zoo's annual Christmas decorations, dubbed "Zoo Lights," were free and open to the public. The animals were, of course, all asleep for the evening, but the paths and lawns of the zoo were nicely lit with animal themed decorations.

Bobbie, Jess, Andrea, Brendan and I enjoyed a little Christmas cheer together, sharing dinner and then a walk through the displays. All that was missing was the snow!

Christmas at Catholic

In the last few weeks of the semester, amid all of the research and writing, there was still time to enjoy some of the Christmas decorations that sprang up across the District and especially on the campus of Catholic University.

The Shrine of the Immaculate Conception was nicely decorated . . . 

. . . as were the academic buildings on campus.

And back home, at Little Flower, the rectory was also nicely lit for the season.

I hope to be able to get some more pictures of the trees and nativity scenes at Little Flower and the Basilica Shrine, as they went up after my departure for New York in the fourth week of Advent.

Homily for the Vigil of Christmas

Whenever I come home and preside at Mass here at Our Lady Queen of Peace – and especially when I climb into this pulpit – it’s impossible for me to do so without thinking of one of our former pastors, Fr. Robert Gannon, and all the times I heard him preach and preside in this Church during my childhood.

I know that many of you will fondly remember his preaching as well, and will probably think, as I do, of Fr. Gannon reaching into the well of the pulpit, producing one of his beloved Peanuts figures, and placing it on top here, as he told one of Charles Schulz’s illustrated stories and related it to the Gospel message.

We’re currently observing the 60th anniversary year of the Peanuts strip, and I recently read a biography and history of Charles Schulz and the comic strip that very much defined his life. One of the particularly striking stories it contained was the one surrounding the production of the great TV classic: A Charlie Brown Christmas.

In 1964, CBS executives approached Schulz and asked if he would write a Christmas TV special to be sponsored by Coca-Cola. In just six months’ time, Schulz wrote the story and drew the cartoon, Bill Melendez did the animation, and Vince Guaraldi composed the now famous soundtrack.

And today we all know the story well. While his sister, friends, and even his dog are all excited for the arrival of Christmas, Charlie Brown is depressed.

“I think there must be something wrong with me, Linus,” Charlie Brown says to his best friend. “Christmas is coming, but I’m not happy. I don’t feel the way I’m supposed to feel. I just don’t understand Christmas I guess. I like getting presents, and sending Christmas cards, and decorating trees and all that, but I’m still not happy. I know I should be happy but I’m not. I sort of feel let down.”

Finally, after all his attempts at holiday cheer have failed, Charlie Brown cries out in exasperation: “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?!”

And of course, as you will undoubtedly remember, Linus Van Pelt comes to the rescue – he stands up on the school auditorium stage, asks for the lights to be lowered, and he recites the very verses from Luke’s Gospel that we’ve just heard tonight . . . “Behold I bring you tidings of great joy which shall be for all people: for unto you, is born this day, in the city of David, a savior which is Christ the Lord.”

And when Linus finishes – the soundtrack hushed and the audience listening in – he walks over to his friend and says the simple, yet powerful punch-line: “That’s what Christmas is really all about, Charlie Brown.”

What most amazed me about the story of the show’s production was how close we came to never hearing Linus proclaim this Gospel and speak that powerful witness to Charlie Brown. Whereas Schulz was proud that the show would climax with “one whole minute of Linus’ recitation,” the CBS executives who had ordered the show were queasy about such an explicitly religious message in a children’s Christmas special. They feared that faithful Christians would be upset at the use of Scripture in something so profane as a cartoon – and they feared that non-Christians would think it too overtly Christian.

But when the producers tried to talk Charles Schulz out of his plan to feature Luke’s Nativity, he wasn’t having any of it. When they said that “religion and entertainment didn’t mix on television,” Schulz is reported to have said, “we have to get the passage of St. Luke in there – if we don’t do it, who will?”

When the half hour special aired at 7:30 pm on December 9th, 1965 the executives at CBS still thought they’d produced a flop. But around the country, half of all televisions in the nation – some fifteen and a half million households – were watching the Peanuts.

The next day, the critics called it an instant classic: “The New York World-Telegram proclaimed Linus’ recitation ‘quite simply, the dramatic highlight of the season,’ and letters poured into CBS, thanking Charles Schulz for ‘keeping Christ in Christmas.” Months later, the special won both a Peabody and an Emmy – it’s been aired every year since 1965.

I don’t think it’s at all a stretch to suggest that the reason the special was so well received, and remains so beloved today, is that it captures quite well how each of us struggles to keep our focus on the real meaning of Christmas.

But, as Charles Schulz knew so well, it is the simplicity and power of the Nativity story that can still call us back to the feast’s true meaning, and bring us the true happiness that only ever eludes us if we search in decorations and presents.

That’s why he was so insistent that Luke’s Gospel be included in the show – and why he said, “if we don’t do it, who will?”

Friends, just as “God’s chosen people, the children of Israel, had lived in intense expectation, waiting for the Messiah that God had promised,” so too our world today, longs to find the meaning and peace that can only come from God.

The real good news of Christmas, conveyed so well in that Peanuts special, is that Luke’s Gospel is not merely a sweet children’s story or a fantastic myth: Luke’s account of that first Christmas is detailed proof that all that God had promised and foretold through the prophets had come true.

And so, even today, the Nativity reminds us that “God is always faithful to His promises.” He has not abandoned us, He is not distant or foreign, He does not delight in our suffering or pain.

Rather, the child born in Bethlehem is God Incarnate. “Out of love for us, God has taken upon Himself our human condition, our fragility, our vulnerability and He has opened for us the path that leads to the fullness of life, to a share in the life of God Himself.” All our burdens and pains, our longings and loses are all swallowed up in the victory He begins to accomplish as a tiny, helpless child in a manger.

This is “what Christmas is really all about,” and it is precisely this that the world needs to have proclaimed to it, and made real for it – and “if we don’t do it, who will?”

In a special way, I want to welcome and make an invitation to anyone who has been away from the Church, or who doesn’t regularly join us for Sunday Mass: You are missed! Welcome home, and please continue to join us each week for Mass. We need you to help us tell the world this fabulous good news of Christmas.

Brothers and sisters, our prayer for one another this Christmas is that we will all know the true meaning and true joy of Christmas – not just this evening, and not just during this season, but throughout the year. And that we will all live our lives in such a way, that everything we say and do tells the world “what Christmas is really all about.” Because if we don’t do it, who will?

Homily for the Third Sunday of Advent (A)

Last week I pointed out that John the Baptist is one of the key figures of the Advent Scriptures – that he fulfills the prophecy of Isaiah, of one crying out in the desert: “make straight the way of the Lord.” And in today’s Gospel, citing another passage from the prophet Malachi, Jesus Himself confirms that John is the one sent to prepare the way for the promised Messiah.

It’s precisely for these reasons, that at first glance, today’s Gospel can almost be scandalous. John the Baptist has sent his disciples to Jesus to ask: “Are you the One who is to come, or should we wait for another?”

Now, mind you, this is the same John who as a child in Elizabeth’s womb leaped for joy when Mary, pregnant with Jesus, came to visit them.

This is the same John who foretold the coming of one greater-than-he. The same John who Baptized Jesus in the Jordan and heard the voice from Heaven saying, “This is my beloved Son.”

This is the same John who pointed his disciples toward Jesus, saying, “Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.”

How can it possibly be, then, that this same John the Baptist now asks Jesus if He is the one for whom the world had been waiting? How dare he, we might say. We would love to have the kind of certainty, the kind of proofs that John was given – and yet he has the nerve to doubt, to question if Jesus is really the Messiah?

What’s changed, we might ask? What has made John seemingly forget all he had once known so well?

Yes, John had been able to witness to Christ at the Jordan, in a moment of fulfillment that gave meaning to the entirety of his life and mission. But now, Matthew’s Gospel tells us that John was in prison, about to be beheaded by King Herod. He was facing the seeming failure of his entire mission – a failure so utterly complete that the glorious moments of his life, the moments of clarity and faith, “seemed to have been cancelled out” completely. That’s what had changed.

So perhaps we shouldn’t be scandalized after all. Maybe, in the end, we can have some compassion for John – we can relate to how he must have felt. Because we too have had moments of clarity – moments when we are completely convinced of God’s closeness and love – moments of faith, when we found it easy to believe and easy to follow.

And then, we have also had moments of doubt – moments when everything seemed to be going so completely wrong that we found it nearly impossible to believe – nearly impossible to trust in God’s promises.

Friends, it’s exactly to those moments of darkness and uncertainty, that the joyful hope of this Advent season – of this Gaudete Sunday – speaks most directly. And what exactly is the message this season speaks to us?

Well, the season of Advent has a kind of modern day apostle in Father Alfred Delp. He was a German Catholic priest imprisoned and murdered by the Nazi government during the Second World War. Like John the Baptist, Fr. Delp faced the failure of his entire life’s mission. He witnessed an evil regime take his country by force, saw the ravages of war all around him, and then in the end, faced the torture of prison and a sentence of death.

He wrote a powerful set of “Prison Diaries” and, though I rarely do this, I want to read to you from it, because I think it tells us so well the message Advent intends to give us. Fr. Delp writes:

“Advent, even when things are going wrong, is a period from which a message can be drawn. May the time never come when men forget about the good tidings and promises, when, so immured within the four walls of their prison that their eyes are so dimmed, they see nothing but grey days through barred windows . . . The first thing man must do if he wants to raise himself out of this sterile life is to open his heart to the golden seed which God’s angels are waiting to sow in it.”

“And one other thing; he must himself throughout these grey days go forth as a bringer of glad tidings. There is so much despair that cries out for comfort; there is so much faint courage that needs to be reinforced; there is so much perplexity that yearns for reasons and meanings. God’s messengers, who have themselves reaped the fruits of divine seeds sown even in the darkest hours, know how to wait for the fullness of harvest.”

Friends, we know that Advent is a season of patient waiting, and Fr. Delp is clearly echoing St. James, who said, in the brief section of his letter that we heard in our second reading: “be patient brothers and sisters . . . make your hearts firm.”

But Fr. Delp is also imploring us to heed the words of Isaiah from our first reading, to be heralds of glad tidings: “Strengthen the hands that are feeble,” Isaiah says; “Make firm the knees that are weak, say to those whose hearts are frightened: be strong, fear not, here is your God, He comes to save you!”

It seems clear, from John the Baptist’s experience, and from the Diary of Fr. Delp, that actively proclaiming the glad tidings of salvation – being a messenger of joy and hope – is itself a means of watering and nurturing the seed of Divine life planted within our hearts – it’s precisely how we keep ourselves from ever forgetting or doubting all we have seen and believed.

This, then, is true Advent patience; true Advent waiting. It is not a passive – it is active, and not just with nervous, fretful preparation. Advent is an active proclamation to the world’s many needs, of our faith and hope in salvation. And it is especially such a proclamation to the many eyes for whom Isaiah’s vision of a desert blooming with abundant flowers seems a mere hallucination.

You will note, of course, that our Third Sunday of Advent, Gaudete Sunday, is a Rose Sunday. In the midst of our Advent waiting and hoping, in the midst of our prayer and penance, we are reminded of the Divine seed that has been planted within us – and we are confirmed in our faith that a flower is indeed blooming in winter – a rose, sprung from Jesse’s stem: Jesus the Christ!

And this year, a coincidence of the calendar gives us yet another source of hope. Many of you will know that if today, December 12th, were not a Sunday, we would be celebrating the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe: the commemoration of our Blessed Mother’s appearance, in 1531, to St. Juan Diego on the hill at Tepeyac, outside Mexico City.

In the middle of December, to prove that she was who she said she was, Mary made roses bloom on that hill. And when Juan Diego collected those roses in his cloak, and then dropped them at the feet of the bishop, the image of Mary was there, on his cloak, where the roses had been.

Mary comforted Juan Diego that day, saying in his native tongue: “Am I not here, I who am your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not the fountain of your joy? Are you not in the fold of my mantle, in the cradle of my arms?”

Brothers and sisters as we move toward the conclusion of our Advent journey, Our Blessed Mother, Our Lady of Guadalupe, once again gives us roses – a sign of the Son she bore to the world, and of her motherly care and protection for us. May our Advent mission to be heralds of these glad tidings, help nurture and bring to maturity the seeds Christ has sown in the fields of His Church.

Homily for the Second Sunday of Advent (A)

Along with the Prophet Isaiah, and our Blessed Mother Mary, St. John the Baptist is one of the central figures of the Advent Scriptures – and on this Second Sunday of Advent we hear about his ministry in our Gospel reading from Saint Matthew.

St. Matthew tells us that “at that time, Jerusalem, all Judea, and the whole region around the Jordan” were going out to see John in the desert. It’s clear that he was no minor figure – John was a major attraction. But I think it’s absolutely essential that we ask ourselves, just why all of these people were going out to see John. What precisely was the attraction? What did people go to see, hear, or experience?

Given the Gospel descriptions of John, and thus the way he is portrayed in art and in popular culture, we might assume that people were going to see a wild and exotic attraction. St. Matthew tells us that “John wore clothing made of camel’s hair and had a leather belt around his waist,” and that “his food was locusts and wild honey.”

So John was indeed quite the character. But were people really going all that way, into the desert, just to have some fun and see a crazy man? We live in a major city – we can well imagine that people could have just stayed in Jerusalem if all they wanted was to find a wild character to amuse them. A good number of those urban characters may even have been street preachers.

But no, the Scriptures make clear, the people went to see John for much more than a freak-show.  St. Matthew says the people “were being baptized by John in the Jordan River as they acknowledged their sins.”

People were drawn to the Baptizer because he convicted them of their sins, and preached the nearness of the Kingdom – and friends, it is, in fact, deeply attractive to confess our weakness and sin and to be convinced of the nearness of God’s Kingdom to our lives.

You might be slightly dubious at this point. You might be wondering: Is it really so attractive to admit and confess our sinfulness and failure? Don’t most people prefer to keep such things to themselves so that others are more likely to think highly of them?

But take as an, admittedly extreme, example so many of the television programs of our modern culture. Think of how people of all stripes sit with Barbara Walters, or Jerry Springer, or Oprah Winfrey, and freely and publicly confess the deepest most embarrassing sins of their lives. Years ago, it was MTV’s “The Real World” which took this to a whole new level – installing what they called a “confessional” in their reality TV house, where residents could come and “privately” spill their guts to the anonymous millions watching their lives on TV.

Make no mistake: confessing one’s sinfulness is in fact very attractive to the human psyche. We long to get things off our chests – we long for forgiveness and absolution – we long to know that redemption is possible for us and that our sins and failings don’t have to define us.

And yet sadly, our modern popular culture is only preying on this deep human longing. It offers no real forgiveness, no real chance at redemption. It either tries to convince us that the shame we carry is the real problem – that there is no such thing as sin – or it mocks any thought we might have that sin can be forgiven; that we are not merely defined by our worst failings and weaknesses. It gets a laugh or two out of such people and then casts them aside – on to the next poor victim.

And so, yes, the vast majority of us do indeed fall back into keeping our sense of weakness and sinfulness to ourselves, and find all sorts of ways to avoid confronting ours sinfulness and weakness – and we thereby forfeit any chance of knowing the true peace of forgiveness.

But there is, of course, another way – and this season of Advent and the figure of John the Baptist offer us that way forward. The Baptizer is a central figure of Advent, of the season of the Lord’s coming, because he is “the voice of one crying in the desert, ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight His paths.’”

Advent helps us prepare a way for Christ into our hearts – it helps us make straight what has been curved and twisted inward by sin – and it does so by proposing for us the gift of Confession; the Sacrament of Reconciliation.

Unlike our popular culture, our faith teaches us not to deny or excuse the reality of sin. John the Baptist uses gardening and agricultural images in today’s Gospel. He says that fruitless branches must be cut off and burned, and that the Holy Spirit must separate the wheat from the chaff.

Do we have chaff in our lives? You bet. Do we have fruitless branches? We certainly do.
There are parts of our lives – ways of acting and thinking – that have grown up around the wheat of God’s grace, and they threaten to choke it out. These sins must simply be cut down and burned away. They hold us back from our full growth – they keep us from bearing fruit. Our sins must be acknowledged and confessed.

But also unlike our popular culture, our faith promises us that when we confess our sins in Reconciliation, God gives us the forgiveness and wholeness, the peace and unity, for which we so long. In Reconciliation, the Spirit brings about that peace that Isaiah speaks of, when he says, “the wolf shall be the guest of the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid.” Reconciliation leads us to the unity, of which St. Paul speaks, when he says we will “think in harmony with one another, in keeping with Christ Jesus . . . that we may with one voice . . . glorify God for His mercy.”

Brothers and sisters, the attraction of confessing our sinfulness, and of being assured of God’s mercy and the nearness of His Kingdom, is fulfilled in the Sacrament of Reconciliation!

That’s why I think it’s so very sad that more Catholics don’t go to Confession more often. If I asked the average Catholic parish, if they wanted a way of becoming a more loving and caring person, of building peace in our families and communities, people would all raise their hands. And yet if I asked how many people go to Reconciliation regularly, most of those hands would go down.

I was blessed to truly discover the grace of this great Sacrament when I was in high school. And though, at first, I went to Confession nervous, and with embarrassment and shame, I found that I always left with a feeling of immense relief and deep peace. I began going regularly, and I am convinced that it was in Confession, that I was able to discover God’s will for my life and discern a call to the priesthood. To this day, I try to go to Confession every two or three weeks – and I invite all of you to find the same gift I found:

This coming Saturday our parish will observe “Come Home for Christmas.” All day, from 9:00 in the morning, until the 5:00 evening Mass, Confessions will be heard here in our church – and the parish will gather at noon for a Penance Service. Take advantage of this opportunity to make the Sacrament of Reconciliation a more regular part of your life. Invite a family member, neighbor, or friend who might have strayed from the Church and needs to be welcomed home in a special way. If you’re worried you won’t remember how to go to Confession, or aren’t sure you know how to get the most out of the Sacrament, just ask: the priest can help you.

Brothers and sisters, in this Advent season let us heed the Baptist’s cry and prepare a place in our own hearts for the coming of Christ our Savior.

Thanksgiving in NY: The Macy's Balloons

Living on the East Coast certainly has many benefits. One of them is that I'm closer to home than at any point since I left home for my freshman year at Notre Dame. That means that this past week I was just a three and a half hour drive away from home for the holiday. Indeed this was the first Thanksgiving in ten years that I was on Staten Island for the feast!

On Wednesday evening, Mom, Dad and I went into the city to see the balloons inflated for the bog Macy's parade the next morning. It was just a little cold, but otherwise a lovely evening and the crowds were out and in a celebratory mood.

We enjoyed listening to the families with young children as they correctly named balloon characters we would never have been able to guess ourselves. But there were plenty of the old classics you'll recognize below.

This one 'new' character is here in the post especially for Simon, Lucy, and Oscar, who are big fans:

These are more my speed, or I guess I should say, age!

Although I'd been to the parade itself as a kid, I had never been to the balloon inflation before. It was a great New York tradition to share in.

Homily for the First Sunday of Advent (A)

As many of you will remember, I’m originally from New York, and I come from a family of New York City firemen. Almost without fail, whenever I tell someone those facts, they immediately ask something about September 11th 2001.

By the grace of God, none of my family or friends were taken that day. Still, as peoples’ instinctive questions indicate, there’s really no way to be from New York and not to have been deeply effected by the terrible events of that day.

As it turns out, I was a long way from my hometown on that fateful day. I was in the mountains of Colorado, beginning my novitiate: a mandatory yearlong retreat that all consecrated men and women complete as part of formation for their religious order.

Unable to go home to New York; unable to walk the now empty streets that I knew so well, I was left to search, from a distance, for hope in the ruins of the Twin Towers. But like so many others, I found it so hard to see anything but suffering.

In the weeks that followed, I knew that what I really needed was to go home, even to a home in ruins, to be with those I loved. I knew I couldn’t “fix” anything, but I sensed that that was where I was supposed to be – home – not to “do” anything, but to wait with my family and friends for the arrival of some sign of hope, for which we so desperately longed.

I tell you all of this, because it was that feeling of longing, both for home and for some form of hope, that helped me to finally understand what the season of Advent is all about.

In Advent we, like Mary, are pregnant – so to speak – we are longing, anticipating, waiting, hoping. Like Mary, who heard the angel’s message, and then went in haste to assist her kinswoman Elizabeth, we too go to the homes of those we love, and we prepare and we wait with them. We anticipate Jesus’ coming by readying a house for the newborn Messiah, just as Mary and Joseph surely must have done in Nazareth.

The season of Advent, and its theme of longing and waiting, and the ultimate hope that it offers, are thus uniquely and intimately linked with the home.

If you think about it, so much of this time of year speaks of this connection. As the weather gets worse and worse we spend more and more time in our houses – and we spend a great deal of time, and effort, and money, on decorating – and we clean and prepare our houses to welcome guests, and host dinners, and parties – or we travel great distances to go home to be with our families and loved ones for the holidays.

It’s fitting, therefore, that in our first reading – which is a quintessential Advent reading – the prophet Isaiah, gives a vision of the Messianic kingdom – a vision of how things will be when the Lord comes at the end of time – and he says: “the mountain of the Lord’s HOUSE shall be established as the highest mountain . . . all nations shall stream toward it, many peoples shall come and say, “come let us climb the Lord’s mountain to the HOUSE of the God of Jacob.”

Building off of the readings we’ve been hearing these past several weeks, about the end of time, Isaiah offers a hopeful vision of the Lord’s coming – and it is a vision of all the nations streaming towards God’s house, where He readies and prepares a place for us, as Jesus promised – and where we gather with all people as brothers and sisters around the Banquet Table of Heaven.

This is undoubtedly a vision of great hope and peace. But thinking about this theme of God’s house might also unsettle us just a little . . .

Remember with me, back just a few weeks ago, when our Gospel reading was the story of Zacchaeus, the little sinful tax collector who climbed a sycamore tree to see Jesus. Remember that in response, Jesus calls Zacchaeus down and says, “I must stay at your house this day.”

I pointed out then that this is how grace works. It doesn’t ask politely, it doesn’t wait for an invitation. It pretty much barges right in, virtually unannounced, and it makes demands, and it takes over the house completely!

Especially at this busy time of year, this can be a terrifying thought: “Jesus is coming to dwell in my house? But my house is cluttered with piles of dirty dishes, and laundry, and decorations, and gifts.

And then there are the cobwebs and dust-bunnies, and things that are out of place and out of order.” And of course, if we’re honest, we’re not just talking about our house – we’re talking about the house of our souls as well.

God’s house is the place where all things are ordered according to Him – where all people correctly worship Him alone – that’s what gives the world the peace for which we long. And God desires to establish that house not just at the end of time, on the mountain of the Lord, but in the minds, hearts, and souls of each and everyone one of us. He wants to dwell in us.

But which one of us can say that the house of our own lives is ordered perfectly according to God and ready for His coming? None of us, I think.

So, this Advent season is more than a time for us to prepare our house for Christmas parties, and for our long winter nap. It’s a chance for us to prepare our souls for “the days to come” when “salvation will come to our house.” We are given this season each year to prepare a home for the Lord’s coming, a place for Him to dwell within us.

I want to conclude by briefly returning to the lessons I learned from that long Advent of 2001. I learned not only that Advent is a time of homing, and a time of longing, and of hope – I learned that Advent is a time of homing, and longing, and hope, even in homes that lie in ruins.

Even when things are going wrong, especially when things are going wrong, Advent is a season from which a message of hope can be drawn.

Even when there is war, and hunger, and suffering in the world; even when our hometowns, or our homes, or our souls, seem to lie in ruins, Advent reminds us that Jesus is still Emmanuel – God with us.

Jesus does not come only to houses that are perfectly prepared – He does wait to come into the world until all is already ordered and at peace. He comes to dwell with us in the ruins, and it is Him who rebuilds, and cleans, and restores right order.

Saint Augustine once wrote: “Lord, the house of my soul is too small for you to enter – make it more spacious by your coming. It lies in ruins – rebuild it.”

Brothers and sisters, as we observe this Advent season, let this be our prayer as well. Yes, let’s clean and decorate and prepare our homes for the holidays, and yes, let’s commit ourselves during Advent to the spiritual practices that will prepare our souls for the Lord’s coming. Let’s commit to prayer, and penance, and the Sacraments, and to acts of charity.

But let’s also recognize that in the end it will be the Lord who accomplishes these things in us. Let us give thanks that He comes to bring hope and salvation to the House of Israel, and to our homes, even should they lie in ruins.

Homily for the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ the King (C)

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 our life 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, or for the family, but entirely for the People.

In Italy and Germany, fascism, another form of totalitarian rule claimed ownership of people’s lives and labor. And 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 at that time 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.

And yet Pope Pius lamented that people had “thrust Jesus Christ and His holy law out of their lives” and imagined that Jesus had “no place in public affairs or in politics. As long as individuals and states refuse to submit to the rule of our Savior,” he wrote, “there will be no really hopeful prospect for a lasting peace among nations.”

Pope Pius wrote that in 1925. Sounds like it could have been written yesterday, don’t you think? That’s why, now at the end of every liturgical year, we mark this feast in honor of Jesus Christ the King. We remember and celebrate that Jesus Christ is indeed the King of the Universe and that only under His rule will the world know peace.

In light of this meaning of today’s feast, we can appreciate that our Gospel from St. Luke, his account of Jesus’ Passion, is particularly scandalous. In His preaching and ministry, Jesus had claimed, and demonstrated, an authority unlike any other leader in Israel. He was hailed by the crowds as the Son of David, and now, it was specifically for claiming to be the King of the Jews that the authorities were putting Him to death.

The sneers of the leaders, the derision of the soldiers, and the mocking of the crowd that we hear in today’s gospel, all point out the harsh reality that at the foot of the Cross, Christ’s claim of Kingship seems like a tragic joke. The sign nailed above his head is meant merely to mock and ridicule. Even the disciples run in fear and shame, and wonder how the Crucified One could possible be the Messiah they thought He was.

And of course today there are still a great many people who stand at the foot of the Cross and mock and deride the idea, the reality, that God could became flesh for us and be killed as a common criminal.

And yet, at the same time, it is precisely at the Cross that Jesus’ Kingship is fully realized, and fully understood. The one who hangs upon the Cross is indeed the King of the Jews, the King of the Universe – and thus, we arrive at the essential paradox and challenge of believing in Jesus Christ. If we are to believe that Jesus really is who He says He is – that He really is King of the Universe – we have to amend our understanding of what a king is, and we have to make sure it includes the suffering and death, the self-sacrifice of the Cross.

After the Resurrection, the disciples who once ran from the Cross, come to realize that the Cross is not merely an instrument of torture to which Jesus is nailed, it is a throne of glory that Jesus mounts triumphantly. They see that the Cross is the very essence of Jesus’ Kingship. But in today’s Gospel, even in the midst of the scandal of the Cross, there is one who already sees with the eyes of faith.

The repentant thief, named Dismas by Tradition, confesses his own guilt, recognizes Jesus’ innocence, and with tremendous faith humbly asks: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Dismas is able to understand and believe what St. Paul explains in his Letter to the Colossians: “In Him all the fullness was pleased to dwell, and through Him to reconcile all things for Him, making peace through the blood of His cross.”

Jesus is King precisely in that He is the Redeemer, extending forgiveness and peace to all the world, not through violence or domination, but by offering Himself up and washing us clean in the blood of His Cross.

Friends, in Baptism we became, in the words of the first reading, “flesh of His flesh, and bone of His bone.” We were anointed, like Christ, as priest, “prophet and king.” We can say, therefore, that we have not only been washed clean by His blood, we have His royal bloodline flowing through us.

And so St. Paul says in today’s second reading that we have been “delivered from the power of darkness and transferred into the Kingdom of God’s beloved Son.” We have been transferred into the Kingdom of God’s Son. The promise of our Baptism is the very promise made to Dismas: “Today you will be with me in Paradise.”

As this liturgical year comes to a close, we should ask ourselves if we live our lives, day in and day out, as if we live in the Kingdom of God’s beloved Son. Do our words, and our actions, show to the world the authority and power of Christ the King, and extend the reign of His love? Do we see ourselves, and treat ourselves, and act towards others with the dignity of an heir of the kingdom of God?

Or do we, rather, make all sorts of other things the king of our hearts.

If our world is ever to know the peace that only Christ’s Kingship can give, it will only know it through our fidelity to His reign. So, on this feast of Christ the King, let us all be reminded of our dignity as members of the Baptized – that we have been purchased at the price of His blood, and now share in the Kingship of Christ. And may we all be strengthened by this Eucharist to live and act as citizens and heirs of Christ’s Kingdom.

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

Given the beautiful weather we’ve been having, it may be hard to believe, but we’re just two weeks away from the end of the Liturgical Year, on the Feast of Christ the King – and just three weeks away from the start of a new Liturgical Year, on the First Sunday of Advent.

At this time in the Liturgical calendar we always hear Scripture readings with an eschatological focus – that is, readings that focus on the end of time. In today’s Gospel, Jesus stands in the Temple – the pride of all of Israel – and He predicts a day when “there will not be left a stone upon another stone.”

Now Israel had already known such destruction, at the time of the Babylonian Captivity – so Jesus’ listeners were hardly skeptical of His prediction; they were likely terrified by His prophecy. They want more details, so they ask Him: “what sign will there be when all these things are about to happen?”

And Jesus answers with yet more terrible visions of the end of time: “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be powerful earthquakes, famines, and plagues, and awesome sights and mighty signs will come from the sky.”

Jesus still isn’t finished, though. Perhaps most importantly, He says: “Before all these things, they will seize you and persecute you, they will hand you over to the synagogues and to prisons . . . you will be hated by all because of my Name.”

In the end, Jesus’ answer isn’t meant to give His listeners, or us, a foolproof way of knowing when the end of time is actually coming. Elsewhere in the Scriptures Jesus makes clear that, in fact, only the Father knows the day and the hour. And today, He warns us “not to be deceived” by those who say, “the time has come.”

What Jesus does make clear, however, is that in every age, faithfully following after Christ and proclaiming His Name will most certainly lead to some form of persecution and suffering.

Comfortable as we are here in modern America, we might me dubious. We might imagine that this is a story from a different era – a story of Christians in the amphitheatres of ancient Rome, or of missionary priests in Africa and Asia – but not of today.

And yet just two weeks ago tomorrow, a dozen or so Islamic militants strapped themselves with bombs and entered Our Lady of Salvation Cathedral in Baghdad. They shot the priest celebrating the evening Mass and another priest, and then slaughtered over fifty lay people while they were praying Holy Mass.

Friends, we do our brothers and sisters in Christ a grave disservice, if we fail to recognize, and pray over, the suffering that is still endured to this day, by so many of those around the world who faithfully proclaim the Name of Jesus Christ.

But even if we do recognize that such suffering in the Name of Christ is still a modern day reality, here in the safety of the United States we might convince ourselves that we will not be asked to endure such suffering for our faith.

In thinking this way, though, we risk allowing our own faith to slide into complacency. We might forget that every disciple of Christ can, at some point, expect to be misunderstood, and mocked, and rejected, and persecuted if they truly follow in the footsteps of our Lord, who was Himself despised, and rejected, and crucified.

And I think if we’re honest with ourselves, we can, in the end, easily imagine how following the Way, the Truth, and the Life might indeed lead us to experience such misunderstanding, such mockery, such persecution even here in our own nation and community.

Still, none of this is the most important lesson that we are meant to take from today’s readings, or from the story of those Iraqi martyrs at Our Lady of Salvation Cathedral.

These Iraqi brothers and sisters of ours have imitated the great saints and martyrs, just as St. Paul asks us to do in today’s second reading. They have “given testimony” just as Jesus said in today’s Gospel. So what is that testimony – what are the lessons we need to learn from their witness, and from this weekend’s Scriptures?

Well, it’s not a lesson about how to tell that the end of time is near. And it’s certainly not a political lesson about the modern Middle East or any other place.

The witness of these Iraqi martyrs, and of their neighbors and families who survived but still suffer greatly, is the very truth of today’s Gospel passage: “by your perseverance you will secure your lives.”

The Iraqi Catholics who were killed two weeks ago knew the danger they were in by staying in Baghdad and continuing to live their faith in Christ. And yet they stayed, and they remained faithful to Christ.

And last Sunday, just a week after that horrific attack, the survivors and the families of the murdered were once again at Our Lady of Salvation Cathedral to celebrate Sunday Mass. One of them was Husan Sabah, a twenty year old, who said that he hid inside a cabinet holding a small child, when the attackers took over the church.

Since then, he’s had recurring nightmares, and he admitted he was “terrified” returning to the cathedral, seeing the blood still on the walls. But he had to come back, he said. He had been unable to finish his prayers last week. “We have to finish them,” now, he said.

Another survivor, thirty-two year old Sama Wadie, said that the attack “gives us more strength.” “We’re not afraid of death,” he said, “because Jesus died for us.”

Friends, our Lord said in today’s Gospel: “not a hair on your head will be destroyed. By your perseverance you will secure your lives.” Our Iraqi brothers and sisters in Christ have shown us, and are showing us, what this Gospel truth really means.

It doesn’t mean that we won’t face suffering in our discipleship. It doesn’t mean that we won’t encounter misunderstanding, and hatred, and persecution because we remain faithful to Jesus Christ, and proclaim His truth, and seek to serve those weakest ones whom society would prefer to ignore or to do away with.

But it does mean that we shouldn’t fear such suffering. It means we have no reason to be afraid of those who attack us. It means we shouldn’t shrink from the Cross, and shouldn’t shy away from doing the difficult thing, when it’s the right thing. Because it’s precisely by such perseverance that we will secure our eternal life.

As we heard in our first reading, from the Prophet Malachi, “Lo, the day is coming, blazing like an oven, when all evildoers will be stubble, and the day that is coming will set them on fire, leaving them neither root nor branch. But for you who fear my name, there will arise the Sun of Justice with its healing rays.”

We pray and long for the coming of the Sun of Justice, and for those healing rays to shine upon our brothers and sisters around the world, who suffer for Christ’s name. And for ourselves, we ask for the grace, courage, and strength to persevere in the faith, confident in the Lord’s promise.

(UPDATE: You may also want to see this article. I think it's a good example of the kind of righteous anger that it is appropriate even for a Christian to have in light of such a monstrously evil act.)

Leaf Peeping Along the Skyline Drive of Shenandoah

After returning from the Midwest, I was anxious to enjoy some of the fall colors here in the Mid-Atlantic, and thankfully, things here were a few weeks behind northern Indiana. Indeed, even now there are still plenty of nice leaves to be seen around the District - but before it was too far past peak, I wanted to take a drive south, to the upper elevations of Shenandoah National Park, and take a drive along the famed Skyline Drive.

I'll confess that in many spots there was more green than I had expected, but there were also some spectacular stretches of bright colors - and the pictures here don't do them justice, in part because they came in stretches where I couldn't stop the car to take a picture!

I picked a perfect day for my trip - cool, clear and sunny - and I very much enjoyed the whole one hundred mile drive.

And I want to note that I took none of these pictures while driving - I was fully stopped or parked for everyone's safety!

Liam's Baptism

The real reason for my trip to the Midwest was for the Baptism of Liam Lazinski, the son of my friends Mike and Amanda Lazinski, whom I had the pleasure to stay with in their home in Salt Lake City during Road Trip USA.

On Sunday morning I drove from South Bend to St. Teresa of Avila Parish on the north side. After concelebrating the parish's feast day Mass, I had the privilege of "claiming Liam for Christ our Savior by the sign of His cross."  Here, Liam watches carefully, as I exorcise Satan . . . 

. . . and godfather Matt Schoettler holds Liam as I anoint him with the Oil of the Catechumens.

Finally, I baptize Liam and pose for the photo with mom and dad that makes it all official ;)

Canonization Weekend at Notre Dame

Before my alma mater publicized its plan to cancel its football program by losing back-to-back games to Navy (again) and Tulsa (yes, Tulsa), I spent the Western Michigan (yes, Western Michigan) football weekend on campus. 

The game was fine - we even won! - but I was much happier to be on campus to enjoy the lovely fall weather and foliage . . .

. . . as well as the festivities for the canonization of St. Andre Bessette of Montreal (which included the Notre Dame Band forming the Cross and Anchors at halftime, and the Basilica being adorned with special canonization banners) . . .

. . . and most importantly, the opportunity to see so many friends and confreres. I was able to enjoy dinner with Fr. Michael Wurtz, csc before he returned to Rome for the start of his school year, and my classmates Frs. James Gallagher, csc and Pete McCormick, csc before they left for Rome for the canonization. 

I was also able to spend some nice time catching up with Fr. Drew Gawrych, csc and a number of the fine men of Old College whom I had the privilege to live and work with last year. Thanks be to God all these brothers and friends seem to be thriving! Though it was a quick trip, and I left campus tired from burning the candle at both ends, I was very glad to have visited the Dome.

UPDATE: The tragic death of Notre Dame student Declan Sullivan came only after my trip to Notre Dame, as the team was preparing for the Tulsa game. I didn't have the privilege of knowing Declan, but this story about the campus' response to his death is a beautiful read. We are blessed with wonderful students!

"It is as if they had gone to the edge of an abyss..."

Several weeks ago, the Pew Forum released a new study examining the state of religious knowledge in the United States. It's not good news. It shows that people of all faiths, especially Catholics (and among them, especially Hispanic Catholics whose numbers are swelling) are woefully uneducated about the basic tenants of their traditions. Even atheists and agnostics knew more about faith traditions than believers! And especially among the younger generations of Americans, more and more people describe themselves as belonging to no church or faith community. A significant number of these have left the nation's largest faith community: the Catholic Church.

Of course there have already been a bevy of responses and commentaries on the study. All of the articles I've read have seen the study's statistical data as a confirmation of what we have actually known anecdotally for  quite some time. When these articles differ, they tend to disagree about the reasons for these disastrous numbers.

As you might imagine, there are many who blame the Church's unwillingness to adopt the author's preferred liberalizing reform. The problem with this analysis is that it ignores the Pew Forum's other astonishing finding: the death of mainline Protestantism in the United States. The very Protestant traditions that dominated the commanding heights of American society nearly since its founding are all but completely gone, replaced by Evangelical Protestantism.

The reason these startling numbers pose a problem for those who advocate a liberalizing trend in the Catholic Church, is that the primary cause of the death of Mainline Protestantism is its embrace in the last century of Liberal theology!

So Fr. Steve Grunow has correctly suggested: "If we are looking for possible reasons for the decline of Catholicism in the United States and its possible remedies, it might be a good idea to begin with a serious appraisal of the kind of theological ethos that came to dominate the Church in America for several decades."

Sadly, any such intellectually serious examination leads to the undeniable conclusion that "the ethos of Catholic leadership has been for decades that of assimilation and accommodation to the American experience." So, we must further ask ourselves, is it really "all that shocking that so many Catholics would 'drift' or find the category of 'none' to best describe their religious and spiritual identity? Given that the Catholic Church in the United States has so emphasized the importance of assimilation and accommodation to the American cultural experience, is it any wonder that so many Catholics would find Protestantism appealing? They are simply coming to terms with the fact that Protestantism is a better fit for an American than that of the 'ancient regime' of the Catholic Church."

I've referenced and linked to Fr. Robert Barron on this blog before. He is by now a nationally famous preacher and commentator. I am proud to call him a friend and I'm grateful for the many ways he's inspired and supported me and countless other young religious and priests. He had this phenomenally accessible and accurate commentary on the study, and on what he sees as the root causes of its troubling findings:



I really couldn't agree with this more. And yet, I fear that there are many who fail to recognize this self-evident truth.

Fr. Barron says at the end of the video, "we need a new generation of priests, brothers, sisters, teachers, catechists etc. who know and love this tradition, who know it from the inside and are passionate to communicate it." Through my work in campus ministry, and especially since I entered formation for religious life, I have met so many young men and women who make up this new generation. They are deeply in love with the Church's rich and diverse tradition, they seek out mentors and teachers who will assist them in unlocking the Church's theological, liturgical, artistic and musical treasures, and they are zealous for bringing these riches to bear for their peers as answers to the longings of the modern age.

These young people would, for example, take to heart this advice given to seminarians by the Holy Father, as a remedy to the "beige Catholicism" decried by Fr. Barron:

I urge you to retain an appreciation for popular piety, which is different in every culture yet always remains very similar, for the human heart is ultimately one and the same. Certainly, popular piety tends towards the irrational, and can at times be somewhat superficial. Yet it would be quite wrong to dismiss it. Through that piety, the faith has entered human hearts and become part of the common patrimony of sentiments and customs, shaping the life and emotions of the community. Popular piety is thus one of the Church’s great treasures. The faith has taken on flesh and blood. Certainly popular piety always needs to be purified and refocused, yet it is worthy of our love and it truly makes us into the "People of God."

And yet, in the same time since I entered formation for religious life, I have also seen how terribly misunderstood, dismissed, and even mocked and villainized such young people are in certain circles of the Church's life - especially in broad swaths of the Catholic academy and most sadly in religious life itself!

Archbishop Augustine DiNoia, OP currently serves in Rome in the Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments. Not long ago, he gave an address to the provincial chapter of his Dominican community here in Washington DC. In it, he notes that his community has been blessed with a remarkable influx of new seminarians - but that these seminarians, because they are like the young people I described above, pose a challenge to older generations of religious who came of age in a different Church and world.

He describes what issues comprise the generational divide that leads to the misunderstanding, dismissal, and mocking I have described and which must be combated. I am so convinced that Archbishop DiNoia's observations are accurate and prescient to the discussion raised by the Pew Forum study, I'm going to quote him here at length:

"There is something new afoot among the young men being who are today being drawn to the priesthood and religious life . . .  I have noticed it over the past few years, but it seems more pronounced or at least more evident to me in the people born in the mid- to late 80s and early 90s. My sense is that these 20- and 30-somethings have been radicalized by their experience . . . in a way that we were not. 

Homily for the Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Today, the Church celebrates World Mission Sunday, and Pope Benedict XVI has described this day as “an opportunity to renew our commitment to proclaim the Gospel and to give pastoral activities greater missionary perspective.”

We might add, that promoting just such a “missionary perspective” is also the goal of our soon to be Cardinal-Archbishop, who has asked all of us to focus our attention and activity here in this archdiocese, on a New Evangelization.

Men and women around the world, and here in our own local community – our neighbors, friends and coworkers – are desperately searching for the life and meaning that is to be found only in Jesus Christ. All of our pastoral efforts, and all of our service, must therefore, as the Holy Father says, have a true “missionary perspective.” What does he mean?

When we think of the missions, I think it’s fair to say that our thoughts most readily turn to people scattered in the remotest parts of the world – and over the past forty years, we tend to think especially of people’s temporal needs: the victims of war and refugees who cry out for peace; or the victims of disease and natural disaster who cry out for emergency relief and medical care; or the chronically poor around the world who struggle to ward off starvation.

But we often fail to recognize the mission fields that are much closer to home: the urban poor, and the underemployed who ask for assistance in providing daily sustenance for their families; the undereducated, those without adequate medical care, or unwed mothers who seek help in protecting their health and future, and that of their children.

And what is more, when we think of the missions we often forget to think of human needs that are more than physical – emotional and spiritual needs: the many young people who search for meaning in their lives; or the coworker or neighbor whose marriage and family life is in threat of collapse.

Throughout its history the Church has strived to fulfill its mission, responding to the cry of the poor and providing manifest relief to such needs all around the world. The Catholic Church, not the UN, or the Red Cross, or the Gates Foundation, is the largest charitable and social relief provider in the world.

And yet we must also be clear that no social service alone is able to answer the deepest needs and longings of humanity. No amount of humanitarian relief, or new schools and hospitals, or homeless shelters and drug prevention programs will ever save any human being. Jesus Christ alone is our salvation.

So all of our pastoral activities, all of our forms of service, need the context of what Pope Benedict calls a “missionary perspective” – they need to be rooted in bringing others not only the physical and material relief that they must have, and indeed are owed by right, but they must be rooted in bringing others Jesus Christ, and the truth of His Gospel.

Pope Benedict wrote this week that those we serve in missionary activity “must perceive that Christians bring Christ's Word because He is the Truth, and because we have found in Him the meaning and the truth of our own lives.”

How can this be accomplished? How can we come to appreciate and fulfill our own call to be a part of the Church’s missionary activity and bring Christ to others? Well, we’re not likely to start by packing our things and moving to some remote corner of the world. So where do we start?

Again, from Pope Benedict. He says: “an adult faith, capable of entrusting itself totally to God . . . fostered by prayer, meditation on the Word of God, and study of the truth of the faith – this is the prerequisite” for developing a “missionary perspective.”

Brothers and sisters, we need to start by becoming ever more convinced of God’s profound love in our own lives, doing this through prayer, meditation, and study of the faith – and rest assured, once we come to have that relationship with the Lord, we will not be able to keep ourselves from inviting others to share in that love. And that is of course the very essence of the “missionary perspective.”

We have numerous guides to follow along this missionary path. The tax collector in today’s Gospel is just starting out on such a path. His prayer is simply, “be merciful to me a sinner.” And yet it is precisely this attitude that allows us to “entrust ourselves totally to God,” as Pope Benedict said.

“The tax collector’s experience of his own limitations and failures led him not to despair but to depend.” That kind of total trust and reliance upon God is the first stage of preparing to pour ourselves out in service, and having the courage to proclaim the Gospel even in difficult situations or to uninterested listeners.

Then in our second reading, we see St. Paul who is coming to the end of his missionary path. He too started out in an awareness of his own sinfulness, and in trusting reliance upon God. Now, sure enough, near the end of his journey he is able to look back at his missionary efforts and say: “beloved I am already being poured out like a libation . . . but the Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that through me the proclamation might be completed.”

We also have the example of any number of missionaries and missionary saints in the life of the Church. My own community is essentially a missionary community. Our founder, Blessed Basil Moreau, first founded our community to serve as home missionaries within his native France, rebuilding a Church devastated by the French Revolution.

Then, within the first few years of our founding, he also sent religious from France, to Algeria, to Bangladesh, and here to the United States. And we tell all sorts of amazing stories about the hardships our members faced, and the amazing work they did – and in some cases we tell the story of their ultimate sacrifice: their martyrdom.

But, you know, none of these missionaries is my community’s first saint. Our first saint, just canonized a week ago, never traveled more than a few hundred miles from his home. He spent forty years doing the same simple work as a doorkeeper at our college in Montreal.

And yet when Pope John Paul II declared Andre Bessette to be Blessed, he noted that: “daily a crowd of the sick, the afflicted, the poor of all kinds came to Andre at the college. They found in his presence a welcome ear, comfort, and faith in God. Very often, they also found relief of mind and body.” And then John Paul asked, “Do not the poor of today have as much need of such love, of such hope, of such education in prayer?”

Brothers and sisters, that’s the “missionary perspective” which sees everything, even suffering, and even simple work like answering the door, as an opportunity to preach the good news, and to invite people into the love of Jesus Christ. This proclamation of the Gospel must now be completed in us. We too must pour out our lives to respond to the deepest longings of our brothers and sisters. Let us all think of the ways that we can answer that longing by bringing them Christ, and then let us pour ourselves out to do it.