As is the case throughout the Easter season, our first reading comes from the Acts of the Apostles – and the first line of today’s reading tells us that, “Philip went down to the city of Samaria and proclaimed Christ to them.”
Now, at first hearing, it sounds like Saint Luke is simply giving us some directional information and setting the scene. But in order to fully understand the import of this line, and in order to grasp the full impact of the rest of the reading, which tells us about the continued expansion of the Church, we have to ask why Philip went down to Samaria, and we need to speak for a moment about the events that come immediately before this passage of the Acts of the Apostles.
Last Sunday, we heard how the Apostles had been overburdened by both preaching and the need to caring for the physical needs of the Church – and how they selected Stephen and six other men and ordained them deacons to assist in caring for the needs of the widows, serving them at table.
But in the lines that follow immediately after the end of last week’s reading, Saint Luke recounts, at length, how Stephen was then brought before the High Priest and questioned because of his preaching and healing in Jesus’ name. Infuriated by his eloquence, the leaders of the people “dragged Stephen out of the city and stoned him … and Saul approved of their killing him.”
Saint Luke then gives us this crucial piece of information. He says, “that day a severe persecution began against the Church in Jerusalem, and all except the Apostles were scattered throughout the countryside of Judea and Samaria.”
So at the beginning of today’s reading, when Saint Luke simply tells us that “Philip went down to the city of Samaria,” it’s a bit like saying that Mrs. Lincoln left Ford’s Theatre! It’s certainly not inaccurate, but there’s a whole lot more we need to think about in order to fully comprehend the story.
Philip and the other believers didn’t simply move for a change of scenery. They didn’t even move so that they could spread the Gospel as widely as possible. They fled Jerusalem because Stephen had been murdered and a brutal persecution of Christians was underway!
It certainly must have felt to Philip and the other Christians that this was an unmitigated disaster. They must have, at least on some level, feared for their lives and imagined that before long they too would be called to emulate Christ, as Stephen had, and witness to their faith with their blood. They must have imagined that this meant the end of their fledgling community of believers.
But as our reading indicates, this was not at all what happened. Philip “proclaimed Christ” to the people of Samaria and they “accepted the word of God.” The people were baptized, and then the Apostles Peter and John came and laid hands on them and they received the Holy Spirit – we might say that they were Confirmed in the faith.
In other words, God’s Providence was at work in the life of the Church, and therefore even something that involved terrible suffering – something that could only have been reasonably understood as a great evil: namely, the persecution of the Church – was in fact able to be transformed into a tremendous good:
It was precisely in the spilling of the martyr’s blood that the roots of the Church were watered and grew, and it was in the persecution that scattered the believers from Jerusalem, that salvation came to be preached to the ends of the earth just as Jesus had commanded. Though powerless in the face of worldly authorities, the Church simply could not be destroyed.
This is the essence of the Christian mystery that we continue to celebrate throughout the Easter season: the paradox that it is in death that we find life; that it is in the Cross, that we find the Resurrection; that it is in loosing our life, that we find our life.
The Apostles and their companions truly believed and lived this central Christian mystery. They had faith and hope, even in the midst of terrible setbacks and suffering, that Jesus would not leave them as orphans.
And the proof of this can be found, not only in the fact that they were willing to die, to sacrifice their lives for the Gospel that they knew promised them eternal life – it can also to be found in the rich fruit that their ministry bore.
Saint Luke says in our first reading that when Philip went to Samaria and proclaimed Christ to them, the crowds believed, they were freed of unclean spirits, they were healed and cured, and finally, Saint Luke says that “there was great joy in the city.”
When we have faith and hope in God’s Divine Providence – when we yield our egos and our lives to Him – it is possible, even in the face of suffering, to know the freedom, the healing, and the joy of the Holy Spirit.
Our Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI has been fond of repeating in homilies a phrase he first used in his encyclical, Spe Salve (Saved in Hope). He says: “The one who has hope lives differently.”
There are many ways in which our Christian hope, born of Easter faith, should inspire us to lead lives that are markedly different from those who do not have a relationship with Jesus Christ – who have not received the gift of the Spirit as we hear in today’s readings. But perhaps most fundamentally, our lives should be markedly different because they should bear witness to Easter joy. The principle gift of the Holy Spirit is joy.
The people who we encounter each day should be able to see and hear in our lives what the people of Samaria found in Philip and the Apostles: the joy that is born of hope in God’s Divine Providence. Not giddy, superficial happiness – but the deep joy of the Spirit, that can endure even trials and suffering, in the knowledge that “there is no failure the Lord’s love cannot reverse; no humiliation He cannot exchange for blessing; no anger He cannot dissolve; no routine He cannot transfigure.”
If we live our lives with this kind of Easter joy, then in the words of Saint Peter from our second reading, people will indeed ask us … they will want to know the “reason for the hope that is within us.” They will want to know how they too can experience such hope and joy!
And then we must “be ready to give an explanation … with gentleness and reverence ...” that all our joy and all our hope is in the Cross of Christ Jesus, who died “for the sake of the unrighteous” but is now “brought to life” … that He might lead us all to the Father.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Homily for the Fifth Sunday of Easter (A)
Over the past week you might have heard news stories about a study just released by The John Jay College of Criminal Justice regarding the clerical abuse crisis in this country. And over the past week, you have almost certainly heard news stories about Harold Camping and his Biblical predictions that the world was going to end yesterday at 6 pm.
Now these two news stories might appear to be absolutely without connection, but I would propose that they both have something to teach us about the Church – and it so happens, that’s precisely what all of our readings on this Fifth Sunday of Easter are all about.
The Greek word for the Church is “Ecclesia,” which means “the ones called-out” … and today’s second reading, from the First Letter of St. Peter reminds us that we are the “chosen race, the royal priesthood, the holy nation … called out of darkness into His wonderful light.”
So our readings today are definitely speaking to us about “Ecclesia,” the Church – about those whom God has called together, out of the darkness of sin and death and into His light and life.
But what do the John Jay Report, and Harold Camping’s failed predictions have to say to us about the Church?
Well first, the negative: The John Jay Report. St. Peter who gives us our Second Reading, was the rock upon which Christ built His Church. But “we have grown accustomed to making a clear distinction between Peter the rock and Peter the denier of Christ … The denier of Christ: that is Peter as he was before Easter; the Rock: that is Peter as he was after Pentecost … But in reality, he was at the same time both of these: a firm foundation, and in the words of Peter in today’s second reading, “a stone that will make people stumble and a rock that will make them fall.”
Pope Benedict himself has noted that it has always been this way throughout the history of the Church “that the Pope, the successor of Peter, has been … both the rock of God and a stumbling-block.” By extension, we might say that because the Church is made of weak human beings like you and me, the Church itself can be, from time to time, a cause of contradiction and scandal. And certainly, the reports this week of the sad instances of sexual abuse committed by priests is a reminder of how even the Church can fail and become a stumbling block.
But there is also the positive. Throughout the Easter season, our first reading at Mass is taken from the Acts of the Apostles and the stories it contains of the earliest days of the Church. In today’s reading the Apostles realize that the community of believers has become so large that they need assistance in serving the people’s needs.
Knowing that their primary mission would always be to preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ and to celebrate the Sacraments, the Apostles selected Stephen and six other men to serve as the first deacons. These deacons were responsible for assisting the Apostles in their ministry by caring for the physical needs of the community and serving the poor at table. They are instituted into their ministry, through the gift of the Holy Spirit, when the Apostles lay hands on them.
In our first reading we are therefore given a glimpse into two central characteristics of the Church: works of charity and apostolic succession. From its earliest days the Church has always understood that its mission to preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ is absolutely inseparable from works of charity that serve others in love – and especially those who are most neglected and in need. Even to this day, the Catholic Church is the largest provider of education and health care services around the world, serving more people than the Red Cross or the United Nations! There are millions of people around the world who desperately need the Church to survive each day.
The first reading also shows us that the Church is marked by historical continuity – an unbroken succession – that comes down from the Apostles, who where themselves chosen by Christ, all the way down to today’s bishops, priests, and deacons. The mission of teaching and sanctifying the Church, and of preserving the authenticity of the faith has been passed down through the laying on of hands: the ancient sign still used to this day for ordination.
Quite frankly, this week Harold Camping has helped to show us what can happen when this line of succession is broken – when people separate themselves from the authentic faith of the Apostles as preserved by the teaching of their successors, the bishops. Christ has given us, and we need, the Church to ensure that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is authentically taught and preached, to ensure that we are not deceived by false teachings and splintered into factions, and to ensure that we have the nourishment of the Sacraments to sustain us.
These two news stories, and our readings today, remind us that the Church has never been, is not, and never will be perfect. But they also show us that Christ gave us the Church as a gift, and that we need the Church in order to know Him, and to serve Him, and to live with Him forever.
How can we deal with this seeming contradiction? Jesus says in today’s Gospel: “Do not let your hearts be troubled – you have faith in God, have faith also in me.” Let us have faith in Christ who has given us the Church as a means of our salvation – and in the words of St. Peter, let us be like living stones “built into a spiritual house.” Let us pursue holiness for our lives, and allow ourselves to be built up into the Church, the dwelling place of God in the Spirit – that we might offer up the “spiritual sacrifices” of our lives, and that others might see in us – in the Church – Jesus, who is “the way, the truth, and the life.”
(Given at Our Lady Queen of Peace Church, Staten Island, NY)
Now these two news stories might appear to be absolutely without connection, but I would propose that they both have something to teach us about the Church – and it so happens, that’s precisely what all of our readings on this Fifth Sunday of Easter are all about.
The Greek word for the Church is “Ecclesia,” which means “the ones called-out” … and today’s second reading, from the First Letter of St. Peter reminds us that we are the “chosen race, the royal priesthood, the holy nation … called out of darkness into His wonderful light.”
So our readings today are definitely speaking to us about “Ecclesia,” the Church – about those whom God has called together, out of the darkness of sin and death and into His light and life.
But what do the John Jay Report, and Harold Camping’s failed predictions have to say to us about the Church?
Well first, the negative: The John Jay Report. St. Peter who gives us our Second Reading, was the rock upon which Christ built His Church. But “we have grown accustomed to making a clear distinction between Peter the rock and Peter the denier of Christ … The denier of Christ: that is Peter as he was before Easter; the Rock: that is Peter as he was after Pentecost … But in reality, he was at the same time both of these: a firm foundation, and in the words of Peter in today’s second reading, “a stone that will make people stumble and a rock that will make them fall.”
Pope Benedict himself has noted that it has always been this way throughout the history of the Church “that the Pope, the successor of Peter, has been … both the rock of God and a stumbling-block.” By extension, we might say that because the Church is made of weak human beings like you and me, the Church itself can be, from time to time, a cause of contradiction and scandal. And certainly, the reports this week of the sad instances of sexual abuse committed by priests is a reminder of how even the Church can fail and become a stumbling block.
But there is also the positive. Throughout the Easter season, our first reading at Mass is taken from the Acts of the Apostles and the stories it contains of the earliest days of the Church. In today’s reading the Apostles realize that the community of believers has become so large that they need assistance in serving the people’s needs.
Knowing that their primary mission would always be to preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ and to celebrate the Sacraments, the Apostles selected Stephen and six other men to serve as the first deacons. These deacons were responsible for assisting the Apostles in their ministry by caring for the physical needs of the community and serving the poor at table. They are instituted into their ministry, through the gift of the Holy Spirit, when the Apostles lay hands on them.
In our first reading we are therefore given a glimpse into two central characteristics of the Church: works of charity and apostolic succession. From its earliest days the Church has always understood that its mission to preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ is absolutely inseparable from works of charity that serve others in love – and especially those who are most neglected and in need. Even to this day, the Catholic Church is the largest provider of education and health care services around the world, serving more people than the Red Cross or the United Nations! There are millions of people around the world who desperately need the Church to survive each day.
The first reading also shows us that the Church is marked by historical continuity – an unbroken succession – that comes down from the Apostles, who where themselves chosen by Christ, all the way down to today’s bishops, priests, and deacons. The mission of teaching and sanctifying the Church, and of preserving the authenticity of the faith has been passed down through the laying on of hands: the ancient sign still used to this day for ordination.
Quite frankly, this week Harold Camping has helped to show us what can happen when this line of succession is broken – when people separate themselves from the authentic faith of the Apostles as preserved by the teaching of their successors, the bishops. Christ has given us, and we need, the Church to ensure that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is authentically taught and preached, to ensure that we are not deceived by false teachings and splintered into factions, and to ensure that we have the nourishment of the Sacraments to sustain us.
These two news stories, and our readings today, remind us that the Church has never been, is not, and never will be perfect. But they also show us that Christ gave us the Church as a gift, and that we need the Church in order to know Him, and to serve Him, and to live with Him forever.
How can we deal with this seeming contradiction? Jesus says in today’s Gospel: “Do not let your hearts be troubled – you have faith in God, have faith also in me.” Let us have faith in Christ who has given us the Church as a means of our salvation – and in the words of St. Peter, let us be like living stones “built into a spiritual house.” Let us pursue holiness for our lives, and allow ourselves to be built up into the Church, the dwelling place of God in the Spirit – that we might offer up the “spiritual sacrifices” of our lives, and that others might see in us – in the Church – Jesus, who is “the way, the truth, and the life.”
(Given at Our Lady Queen of Peace Church, Staten Island, NY)
Thursday, May 19, 2011
A Month of Movies
Over the past several weeks I've gotten a jump-start on my summer movie watching by getting to my first two movies of 2011. Since the Church played prominently in the story lines of both films I felt I could justify seeing them in the midst of Holy Week, and the final weeks of the semester, which coincided so closely this year.
I'd been waiting for the first movie for quite some time. The French film Des Hommes et Des Dieux, or Of Gods and Men, is based on the true story of the French Trappist monks of Tibhirine in Algeria. In 1996, during the violence of the Algerian Civil War, seven of the nine monks in the monastery of Atlas were kidnapped from their cloister, and ultimately martyred by Islamic extremists.
The film is the moving tale of the discernment that the monks undertake, amidst the growing threat of anti-Christian violence, about whether or not to remain in Algeria or to flee to safety in France or elsewhere. The monks love, and have become beloved by, the Algerians who live around their monastery and who receive the ministrations of the monks. Some of these friends begged them to flee for their safety, while others felt that the monks were a kind of shield protecting even the local Muslims from the violence of the extremists.
The monks are, at first, similarly divided about whether to stay or leave - but over the course of the film, the monks communally discern that they are being called to remain with their "flock" in emulation of the Good Shepherd. I found two aspects of this discernment most interesting ... First, it is the elder monks who more quickly decide that they want to stay, even with the knowledge that this means facing certain death. The younger monks only come to this decision with time and with great personal struggle. I found this interesting, and felt that it indicated that the older monks had long ago begun preparing to face death as they aged and faced various illnesses. They had less to lose, in that sense at least, and the younger monks were less prepared for such an early and seemingly senseless death.
The second point is the role that the Liturgy played in the monks' discernment. The film does a most admirable job of portraying the silence and regular communal prayer that mark the life of a Trappist abbey. And ever so subtly the movie makes clear that it is precisely these aspects of their communal life that sustained these men in their heroic decision.
The movie raises fascinating questions about martyrdom and Christian witness, on the one hand, and reason and prudence on the other. It also raises interesting questions about the relationship between Islam and Christianity, especially in the Mideast and Africa. The superior of the Trappist community clearly knew this, and wrote before his death:
If it should happen one day – and it could be today – that I become a victim of the terrorism that now seems to encompass all the foreigners living in Algeria, I would like my community, my church, my family, to remember that my life was given to God and to Algeria; and that they accept that the sole Master of all life was not a stranger to this brutal departure. I would like, when the time comes, to have a space of clearness that would allow me to beg forgiveness of God and of my fellow human beings, and at the same time to forgive with all my heart the one who will strike me down.
I could not desire such a death; it seems to me important to state this: How could I rejoice if the Algerian people I love were indiscriminately accused of my murder? I know the caricatures which a certain Islamic ideology encourages and which make it easy for some to dismiss the religion as hateful…But such people should know that at last I will be able to see the children of Islam as He sees them—He whose secret joy is to bring forth our common humanity amid our differences.
My death, obviously, will appear to confirm those who hastily judged me naïve or idealistic: “Let him tell us now what he thinks of it!” But they should know that…for this life lost, I give thanks to God. In this “thank you,” which is said for everything in my life from now on, I certainly include you, my last-minute friend who will not have known what you are doing…I commend you to the God in whose face I see yours. And may we find each other, happy “good thieves” in Paradise, if it please God, the Father of us both.
Lots of great food for thought and prayer.
I also saw the newest film from Roland Joffe, the director of The Killing Fields and The Mission. There Be Dragons is set during the Spanish Civil War and traces the early life and priesthood of St. Josemarie Escriva, the founder of Opus Dei.
Unfortunately, the movie parallels the story of Josemaria with a fictional character, a boyhood friend of Escriva's who becomes a revolutionary in the Civil War. Although this helps propel the narrative, it contributes to the see-sawing nature of the film and does so at the price of historical accuracy.
I was more interested in the very compelling depiction of St. Josemaria and the earliest days of Opus Dei. I realize that more of his story would likely have made the movie to be too much like a documentary and therefore less likely to be distributed by a mainline production company. But I still would have liked more of his story, and less of the composite character.
Still, the movie raises interesting questions about the nature of evil and the workings of Divine Providence. Like Of Gods and Men, the movie also poses theological and philosophical questions about violence, resistance and pacifism
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Cosmos Comeback?
I very much enjoyed my trip to the DC United game earlier this spring, and I've been really excited by the rise of the Portland Timbers into the ranks of the MLS . . . but this ad campaign tops them all:
Obviously the campaign is for the New York Cosmos who may or may not become the next addition to MLS. I hope they are in fact on their way back ... I just can't quite bring myself to root for the Red Bulls!
"Our Liberty Depends on the Freedom of the Press."
In the final weeks of the semester, as busy as I was with school work, I still had to accept a couple of kind invitations to join students from Little Flower School on their annual class trips. Our pastor invited me to join the eighth grade class as he took them on their annual surprise graduation trip . . . this year to the Newseum, located just off the Mall, with fabulous views of the Capital:
The Newseum is a museum dedicated to the history of the free press, especially in the United States. It therefore documents the people and events of some of the biggest news stories of the last century, and the media that covered them. It also gives tribute to journalists who have been imprisoned or killed in the midst of their work, and calls attention to places where there is no freedom of the press.
One exhibit includes a section of the Berlin Wall - which not only serves as an artifact from a major news story of the twentieth century, but also helps highlight the lack of freedom that existed behind the Iron Curtain.
Another exhibit reproduces the office of Tim Russert, one of my favorite newsmen:
Finally, another exhibit includes the destroyed television antenna from the top of the World Trade Center towers. The wall behind the tower is covered with the front-pages of newspapers from around the world from the morning of September 12, 2001.
As you may be able to tell from the wall on the right, we were visiting the Newseum just days after the news that Osama bin Laden had been killed in Pakistan. The front pages of newspapers from around the world announcing this news were being projected onto a blank wall, adding a fitting final chapter to the exhibit.
(The quote in the title of this post is from Thomas Jefferson)
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
It's Still Easter!
This year, my Easter Triduum and Octave was spent hunkered down finishing up four major writing assignments at the end of the semester. But now that I'm finally done - one might say, risen from the tomb! - I'm happy that we still have a couple weeks of the Easter season to enjoy. So here's a picture I took of the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception all done up on Easter Monday. Enjoy!
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter (A): Good Shepherd Sunday and World Day of Prayer for Vocations to the Priesthood
In March of 2009 I was serving as the associate pastor of my community’s parish in Portland, Oregon. Our Holy Week liturgies were all bi-lingual, and I don’t speak Spanish, so my pastor offered me some time away from the parish, so that I could offer my services to a mission diocese that has an insufficient number of priests to serve the needs of its people.
I contacted the Diocese of Fairbanks, Alaska, which has only twelve diocesan priests, and about fifteen religious priests, serving approximately 18,000 Catholics spread across the northern half of our nation’s largest state. They gratefully accepted my offer, and asked me to serve St. Joseph’s Parish in Nome, Alaska for all of Holy Week.
Now I had a fabulous adventure, seeing a very different part of the country, and taking time to drive a dog sled, go snowmobiling, and eat moose stew and reindeer sausage. But the real purpose of my visit was also what most made the trip such a wonderful experience: each day I said Mass and heard Confessions; I presided and preached all the Triduum Liturgies; I visited the faithful who were imprisoned and hospitalized; and on Easter I performed several Baptisms.
Throughout the week, I was so moved by the deep hunger that the faithful in Nome had for the Sacraments of the Church, and for the presence of priests who could bring them the sacraments. People were so glad to have daily Mass and to have someone to hear their Confessions. Even the three Little Sisters of Jesus who live in Nome year-round were so grateful to have a priest amongst them, to bring them the Sacraments, and to compliment their own wonderful ministry of presence, prayer, and catechesis.
In our first reading, St. Peter, inspired by the Holy Spirit stands in the Temple before all Israel and fearlessly proclaims that Jesus the crucified is indeed the Messiah and Christ. And rather than scold or admonish the people for having put Jesus to death, Peter calls them to repentance, encourages them to “save themselves from this corrupt generation,” and gives them hope, by promising: “you will receive the Holy Spirit, for the promise is made to you and to your children and to all those far off whomever the Lord calls.”
And in today’s Gospel, Jesus describes Himself as a shepherd, and as the sheep-gate through which the sheep pass in order to find the rich pasture of eternal life. In the very last line of tonight’s Gospel, Jesus sums up His whole mission by proclaiming: “I came so that they might have life, and have it more abundantly.”
Friends, this is what the people in Nome, Alaska were longing for and why they were so grateful to have a priest to serve them. They did not need or want to have Stephen Koeth visit them for a week of vacation – and they did not need a fundraiser, or a manager, or a trained counselor.
They needed and wanted a priest to confirm them in the faith that Peter boldly professed in the Acts of the Apostles. They needed and wanted a priest to nourish them with the Eucharist and to cleanse them from sin in Baptism and Reconciliation. They needed and wanted a priest to be in the very person of Jesus Christ, to serve them as He did, and to continue His mission in their lives so that they too might come to have life, and have it to the full.
Each year on the Fourth Sunday of Easter we hear a section of the tenth chapter of John’s Gospel, in which Jesus uses these pastoral analogies to describe His mission. Therefore the Fourth Sunday of Easter is referred to as Good Shepherd Sunday.
It also therefore marks World Day of Prayer for Vocations to the Priesthood, because we recall today that God has promised, through the Prophet Jeremiah, to always provide His people with shepherds after His own heart. We pray in a special way, this day, that the Good Shepherd may send all of us, the priests we need and want to shepherd, guide, and serve the Church.
Not long after the Second Vatican Council, the great theologian, Karl Rahner asked: “Why would a modern man want to become or to remain a priest today?” In one way or another, this is the central question that people ask me about my own vocation to the priesthood.
And though I can give all sorts of answers from my own vocation story, I think that Rahner’s answer is simple and direct, yet profound. He said: “the deepest and most enduring reason why a man wants to become and remain a priest is the person of Jesus Christ … If our love for Jesus Christ is truly genuine, then there must stir within us the desire to be like Him. As St. Augustine said, the essence of religion is to imitate Him whom we adore, because to love, is to be like.”
To be a priest is therefore to be a shepherd in the model of Jesus Christ – to defend the people of God from the attacks of the Evil One, to offer prayer and intercede with God on the people’s behalf, to lead the people of God to the rich pasture of everlasting life, to bring them the fullness of life and joy.
But in order to do that – in order to truly be a shepherd like Jesus, the priest must also be a lamb of sacrifice, just like Christ – laying down his life in sacrifice for the bride, the spouse, whom he loves: the Church. Unfortunately, as a society we don’t like to think or talk much about sacrifice. The very word seems somehow dirty or unhealthy.
We would much rather think that fortune, success, and self-fulfillment are the highest ideals of life and the source of our greatest happiness. Perhaps that is why parents and grandparents are less likely than in days gone by to suggest to their sons, grandsons, and nephews that they might be called to be priests. We are, all of us, very much aware of the sacrifices that are involved in priestly life and maybe we would like to spare our children from demands that seem too onerous.
Indeed, since I entered formation for priesthood nearly twelve years ago, I’ve had the chance to talk with and mentor many young men who were also discerning a vocation to the priesthood – and one of the most common struggles these men have faced is that their families often fail to support their discernment because they cannot imagine that their son or brother could ever truly be happy as a priest.
So, then, allow me to be abundantly clear: the life of a priest, even with the sacrifices it demands, is a life of tremendous joy because it is a life lived in the person of Jesus Christ, who came to bring us life to the full!
I can’t begin to tell you what a wonderful gift the priesthood is and how much joy comes along with whatever sacrifices we may be required to make. In that regard, as in so many others, it’s really not all that dissimilar from the vocation to marriage – and it is definitely the witness of loving and faithful parents that is so crucial in nurturing the vocations of holy priests.
Aware as I am of my own weakness, I find it really humbling to be a priest, and even to speak of the priesthood in this way – but my week of ministry in Nome and so many other experiences over the last four years, have convinced me of the amazing need and desire that people have for good and holy priests.
And so that is reason enough to feel absolutely compelled to speak of the dignity of the priesthood, and the joy of the priesthood, precisely so that more of you young men will listen for and answer God’s call in your lives …
... So that all of us may never take for granted the fact that the Church here is so abundantly blessed with priests and religious – and that we will pray for vocations to the priesthood . . .
... And so that all of us, and especially all parents, will have the courage and wisdom to ask their sons, and the young men of our parish who you think exhibit the qualities that you most admire in priests: “have ever thought of being a priest – you’d make a good one, and here’s why” …
... And to do all of this in hopes that the people of God may always have the service of the holy priests that they need and want in order to experience the Lord who brings us life, life to the full.
I contacted the Diocese of Fairbanks, Alaska, which has only twelve diocesan priests, and about fifteen religious priests, serving approximately 18,000 Catholics spread across the northern half of our nation’s largest state. They gratefully accepted my offer, and asked me to serve St. Joseph’s Parish in Nome, Alaska for all of Holy Week.
Now I had a fabulous adventure, seeing a very different part of the country, and taking time to drive a dog sled, go snowmobiling, and eat moose stew and reindeer sausage. But the real purpose of my visit was also what most made the trip such a wonderful experience: each day I said Mass and heard Confessions; I presided and preached all the Triduum Liturgies; I visited the faithful who were imprisoned and hospitalized; and on Easter I performed several Baptisms.
Throughout the week, I was so moved by the deep hunger that the faithful in Nome had for the Sacraments of the Church, and for the presence of priests who could bring them the sacraments. People were so glad to have daily Mass and to have someone to hear their Confessions. Even the three Little Sisters of Jesus who live in Nome year-round were so grateful to have a priest amongst them, to bring them the Sacraments, and to compliment their own wonderful ministry of presence, prayer, and catechesis.
In our first reading, St. Peter, inspired by the Holy Spirit stands in the Temple before all Israel and fearlessly proclaims that Jesus the crucified is indeed the Messiah and Christ. And rather than scold or admonish the people for having put Jesus to death, Peter calls them to repentance, encourages them to “save themselves from this corrupt generation,” and gives them hope, by promising: “you will receive the Holy Spirit, for the promise is made to you and to your children and to all those far off whomever the Lord calls.”
And in today’s Gospel, Jesus describes Himself as a shepherd, and as the sheep-gate through which the sheep pass in order to find the rich pasture of eternal life. In the very last line of tonight’s Gospel, Jesus sums up His whole mission by proclaiming: “I came so that they might have life, and have it more abundantly.”
Friends, this is what the people in Nome, Alaska were longing for and why they were so grateful to have a priest to serve them. They did not need or want to have Stephen Koeth visit them for a week of vacation – and they did not need a fundraiser, or a manager, or a trained counselor.
They needed and wanted a priest to confirm them in the faith that Peter boldly professed in the Acts of the Apostles. They needed and wanted a priest to nourish them with the Eucharist and to cleanse them from sin in Baptism and Reconciliation. They needed and wanted a priest to be in the very person of Jesus Christ, to serve them as He did, and to continue His mission in their lives so that they too might come to have life, and have it to the full.
Each year on the Fourth Sunday of Easter we hear a section of the tenth chapter of John’s Gospel, in which Jesus uses these pastoral analogies to describe His mission. Therefore the Fourth Sunday of Easter is referred to as Good Shepherd Sunday.
It also therefore marks World Day of Prayer for Vocations to the Priesthood, because we recall today that God has promised, through the Prophet Jeremiah, to always provide His people with shepherds after His own heart. We pray in a special way, this day, that the Good Shepherd may send all of us, the priests we need and want to shepherd, guide, and serve the Church.
Not long after the Second Vatican Council, the great theologian, Karl Rahner asked: “Why would a modern man want to become or to remain a priest today?” In one way or another, this is the central question that people ask me about my own vocation to the priesthood.
And though I can give all sorts of answers from my own vocation story, I think that Rahner’s answer is simple and direct, yet profound. He said: “the deepest and most enduring reason why a man wants to become and remain a priest is the person of Jesus Christ … If our love for Jesus Christ is truly genuine, then there must stir within us the desire to be like Him. As St. Augustine said, the essence of religion is to imitate Him whom we adore, because to love, is to be like.”
To be a priest is therefore to be a shepherd in the model of Jesus Christ – to defend the people of God from the attacks of the Evil One, to offer prayer and intercede with God on the people’s behalf, to lead the people of God to the rich pasture of everlasting life, to bring them the fullness of life and joy.
But in order to do that – in order to truly be a shepherd like Jesus, the priest must also be a lamb of sacrifice, just like Christ – laying down his life in sacrifice for the bride, the spouse, whom he loves: the Church. Unfortunately, as a society we don’t like to think or talk much about sacrifice. The very word seems somehow dirty or unhealthy.
We would much rather think that fortune, success, and self-fulfillment are the highest ideals of life and the source of our greatest happiness. Perhaps that is why parents and grandparents are less likely than in days gone by to suggest to their sons, grandsons, and nephews that they might be called to be priests. We are, all of us, very much aware of the sacrifices that are involved in priestly life and maybe we would like to spare our children from demands that seem too onerous.
Indeed, since I entered formation for priesthood nearly twelve years ago, I’ve had the chance to talk with and mentor many young men who were also discerning a vocation to the priesthood – and one of the most common struggles these men have faced is that their families often fail to support their discernment because they cannot imagine that their son or brother could ever truly be happy as a priest.
So, then, allow me to be abundantly clear: the life of a priest, even with the sacrifices it demands, is a life of tremendous joy because it is a life lived in the person of Jesus Christ, who came to bring us life to the full!
I can’t begin to tell you what a wonderful gift the priesthood is and how much joy comes along with whatever sacrifices we may be required to make. In that regard, as in so many others, it’s really not all that dissimilar from the vocation to marriage – and it is definitely the witness of loving and faithful parents that is so crucial in nurturing the vocations of holy priests.
Aware as I am of my own weakness, I find it really humbling to be a priest, and even to speak of the priesthood in this way – but my week of ministry in Nome and so many other experiences over the last four years, have convinced me of the amazing need and desire that people have for good and holy priests.
And so that is reason enough to feel absolutely compelled to speak of the dignity of the priesthood, and the joy of the priesthood, precisely so that more of you young men will listen for and answer God’s call in your lives …
... So that all of us may never take for granted the fact that the Church here is so abundantly blessed with priests and religious – and that we will pray for vocations to the priesthood . . .
... And so that all of us, and especially all parents, will have the courage and wisdom to ask their sons, and the young men of our parish who you think exhibit the qualities that you most admire in priests: “have ever thought of being a priest – you’d make a good one, and here’s why” …
... And to do all of this in hopes that the people of God may always have the service of the holy priests that they need and want in order to experience the Lord who brings us life, life to the full.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter (A)
There is always a danger with anything that we do regularly and repeatedly, that we can grow to take that thing for granted. Even things that are really important and special can, over time, become mundane to us and we can fall into the trap of habit and routine. We can go through the motions, but miss the deeper meaning that makes the whole thing worthwhile in the first place.
This is true even of the Eucharist we celebrate together each Sunday. Now, it is not an entirely bad thing if routine and habit help you to remember and fulfill your obligation to attend Mass each and every Sunday.
But at the same time, none of us want Mass to be merely a fulfillment of an obligation – we are right to long for the Mass to mean something more in our lives. We want the Mass to be our worship of Almighty God, and a source of intimate friendship with the Lord – a wellspring of mercy, peace, consolation, and joy in our lives.
Our Gospel this weekend – and this Easter season that we are continuing to observe – are the perfect opportunities for us to stop and reflect upon the Mass, and what really happens when we gather for the Eucharist, and how it can change and shape our lives.
Saint Luke tells the story of two disciples who, on Easter Sunday afternoon, are walking the road from Jerusalem to Emmaus. The account Luke gives of their encounter with a Stranger along the way is not only the record of a Resurrection appearance of Jesus, it is a template we can use to reflect on the deeper meaning of what we do every time we celebrate the Eucharist together.
Luke records that as they were walking along, speaking with a Stranger, the disciples “stopped, looking downcast.” They recount to the Stranger all the things that have happened in Jerusalem to Jesus of Nazareth – how the chief priests “handed Him over to a sentence of death and had Him crucified.” And the two disciples explain their gloomy disposition by saying, “but we were hoping that He would be the one to redeem Israel.”
Brothers and sisters, the very first thing we do at Mass – whether it is a joyful occasion like a First Communion, or a sad occasion like a Memorial Mass – is the Penitential Rite.
Like those disciples on the road, we admit our brokenness and name the losses in our lives: the loss of our youth, and its hopes and dreams, the loss of our health, the loss of family and friends, the loss of innocence through sin … sometimes even the loss of faith – the loss of the conviction that our lives have meaning.
But rather than falling into isolation or despair, at Mass we are recognize that we are deeply connected to all of the suffering of our brothers and sisters throughout the world. And in Jesus’ presence, made manifest to us in the People of God, we pray together, “Lord have mercy!”
On the road to Emmaus, the Stranger listens to everything the two disciples have to say, but He does not remain silent. He also speaks, and His words are not entirely soothing – He is “strong, direct, and unsentimental.” He never says that there isn’t any reason for being sad – rather He makes clear that the disciples’ current sense of loss is part of a bigger picture in which their joy!
He also challenges them saying, “Oh, how foolish you are, how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets spoke.” Then “beginning with Moses and all the prophets, He interpreted to them what referred to Him in all the Scriptures … how the Christ should suffer these things and enter into His glory.”
So too, the second major part of every Mass is the Liturgy of the Word in which Jesus’ presence is manifest to us in the proclamation of the Scriptures. These are not merely cute stories from thousands of years ago. Jesus Himself speaks to us, opens the Scriptures for us, challenges and implores us, so that we can know Him better and come to realize that the story of the Scriptures is the story of our lives as well.
Saint Luke recounts that the disciples felt something stir inside them when the Stranger spoke, so when they reached Emmaus, and He appeared to be “going on farther,” the disciples “urged Him, ‘Stay with us, for it is evening and the day is almost over.” They invited Him in to a meal.
Friends, at every Sunday Mass, after the Liturgy of the Word, we all stand and recite the Creed: which is a statement of faith and trust, inviting the Lord to come and stay with us. We often think of Jesus as inviting us – but do we invite Jesus? Do we invite Him in, and open ourselves to Him, so that an otherwise brief encounter – one hour on a weekend – can actually be transformed and deepened into a real relationship, a true friendship?
That is what happened on the road to Emmaus, and what happens at each and every Mass. Saint Luke tells us that “while He was with them at table” the Stranger “took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them. With that their eyes were opened and they recognized Him, but He vanished from their sight.”
Of course they recognized Him in the context of a meal. Before He died Jesus had given His Apostles the Eucharist as the everlasting memorial of His sacrifice. And even in our daily, family lives, we recognize that meals are moments of encounter and intimacy. We know that we long to give ourselves to our loved ones by making a meal for them, and sharing a meal with them.
So, in the Eucharist, Jesus actually makes Himself the food that nourishes and sustains us. He gives us His very Body and Blood as His presence par excellence. We can no longer see or hear Jesus with our bodily senses – but our communion with Him is deeper than the physical dimension – He comes to live within us, closer to us than even the senses can grasp.
After they recognize Jesus the disciples say to one another, “were not our hearts burning within us while He spoke to us on the way and opened the Scriptures to us?” And Saint Luke records that “they set out at once and returned to Jerusalem” where they found the Apostles and they told them what had “taken place on the way and how He had been made know to them in the breaking of the bread.”
Everything has changed for the disciples. Their fear is gone. Even though the road to Jerusalem would have been dangerous at night, they are so overwhelmed with joy they simply must go at once and tell the good news to others.
And so too with us, at every Mass, we are quickly dismissed after having received Holy Communion – because the Eucharist is always a mission. Every part of the Mass moves us out of ourselves, into community, to communion, and finally to mission. The very name of our gathering, the Mass, comes from the Latin word meaning “dismissed” and from the earliest days of the Church it was instinctively understood that this meant mission – sending us out, like those first disciples, to proclaim the good news: to tell the world that “the Lord has truly been raised” and that He has been made known to us in the breaking of the bread.
Brothers and sisters, this is just a brief outline of the rich treasures that are to be found in the depths of our Eucharistic Liturgies. If we want to get the most out of Mass, if we want the Mass to change us, and become the “source and summit” of our lives, then we need to take the time to reflect, study and pray about the Mass and its meaning – lest it become mere routine, and not bear the fruit in us and in the world that God has intended.
“As He once did for His disciples, Christ now opens the Scriptures for us and He breaks the bread.” With hearts burning within us, may we recognize Him in the Breaking of the Bread, and set out at once, to proclaim this good news to the ends of the earth.
This is true even of the Eucharist we celebrate together each Sunday. Now, it is not an entirely bad thing if routine and habit help you to remember and fulfill your obligation to attend Mass each and every Sunday.
But at the same time, none of us want Mass to be merely a fulfillment of an obligation – we are right to long for the Mass to mean something more in our lives. We want the Mass to be our worship of Almighty God, and a source of intimate friendship with the Lord – a wellspring of mercy, peace, consolation, and joy in our lives.
Our Gospel this weekend – and this Easter season that we are continuing to observe – are the perfect opportunities for us to stop and reflect upon the Mass, and what really happens when we gather for the Eucharist, and how it can change and shape our lives.
Saint Luke tells the story of two disciples who, on Easter Sunday afternoon, are walking the road from Jerusalem to Emmaus. The account Luke gives of their encounter with a Stranger along the way is not only the record of a Resurrection appearance of Jesus, it is a template we can use to reflect on the deeper meaning of what we do every time we celebrate the Eucharist together.
Luke records that as they were walking along, speaking with a Stranger, the disciples “stopped, looking downcast.” They recount to the Stranger all the things that have happened in Jerusalem to Jesus of Nazareth – how the chief priests “handed Him over to a sentence of death and had Him crucified.” And the two disciples explain their gloomy disposition by saying, “but we were hoping that He would be the one to redeem Israel.”
Brothers and sisters, the very first thing we do at Mass – whether it is a joyful occasion like a First Communion, or a sad occasion like a Memorial Mass – is the Penitential Rite.
Like those disciples on the road, we admit our brokenness and name the losses in our lives: the loss of our youth, and its hopes and dreams, the loss of our health, the loss of family and friends, the loss of innocence through sin … sometimes even the loss of faith – the loss of the conviction that our lives have meaning.
But rather than falling into isolation or despair, at Mass we are recognize that we are deeply connected to all of the suffering of our brothers and sisters throughout the world. And in Jesus’ presence, made manifest to us in the People of God, we pray together, “Lord have mercy!”
On the road to Emmaus, the Stranger listens to everything the two disciples have to say, but He does not remain silent. He also speaks, and His words are not entirely soothing – He is “strong, direct, and unsentimental.” He never says that there isn’t any reason for being sad – rather He makes clear that the disciples’ current sense of loss is part of a bigger picture in which their joy!
He also challenges them saying, “Oh, how foolish you are, how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets spoke.” Then “beginning with Moses and all the prophets, He interpreted to them what referred to Him in all the Scriptures … how the Christ should suffer these things and enter into His glory.”
So too, the second major part of every Mass is the Liturgy of the Word in which Jesus’ presence is manifest to us in the proclamation of the Scriptures. These are not merely cute stories from thousands of years ago. Jesus Himself speaks to us, opens the Scriptures for us, challenges and implores us, so that we can know Him better and come to realize that the story of the Scriptures is the story of our lives as well.
Saint Luke recounts that the disciples felt something stir inside them when the Stranger spoke, so when they reached Emmaus, and He appeared to be “going on farther,” the disciples “urged Him, ‘Stay with us, for it is evening and the day is almost over.” They invited Him in to a meal.
Friends, at every Sunday Mass, after the Liturgy of the Word, we all stand and recite the Creed: which is a statement of faith and trust, inviting the Lord to come and stay with us. We often think of Jesus as inviting us – but do we invite Jesus? Do we invite Him in, and open ourselves to Him, so that an otherwise brief encounter – one hour on a weekend – can actually be transformed and deepened into a real relationship, a true friendship?
That is what happened on the road to Emmaus, and what happens at each and every Mass. Saint Luke tells us that “while He was with them at table” the Stranger “took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them. With that their eyes were opened and they recognized Him, but He vanished from their sight.”
Of course they recognized Him in the context of a meal. Before He died Jesus had given His Apostles the Eucharist as the everlasting memorial of His sacrifice. And even in our daily, family lives, we recognize that meals are moments of encounter and intimacy. We know that we long to give ourselves to our loved ones by making a meal for them, and sharing a meal with them.
So, in the Eucharist, Jesus actually makes Himself the food that nourishes and sustains us. He gives us His very Body and Blood as His presence par excellence. We can no longer see or hear Jesus with our bodily senses – but our communion with Him is deeper than the physical dimension – He comes to live within us, closer to us than even the senses can grasp.
After they recognize Jesus the disciples say to one another, “were not our hearts burning within us while He spoke to us on the way and opened the Scriptures to us?” And Saint Luke records that “they set out at once and returned to Jerusalem” where they found the Apostles and they told them what had “taken place on the way and how He had been made know to them in the breaking of the bread.”
Everything has changed for the disciples. Their fear is gone. Even though the road to Jerusalem would have been dangerous at night, they are so overwhelmed with joy they simply must go at once and tell the good news to others.
And so too with us, at every Mass, we are quickly dismissed after having received Holy Communion – because the Eucharist is always a mission. Every part of the Mass moves us out of ourselves, into community, to communion, and finally to mission. The very name of our gathering, the Mass, comes from the Latin word meaning “dismissed” and from the earliest days of the Church it was instinctively understood that this meant mission – sending us out, like those first disciples, to proclaim the good news: to tell the world that “the Lord has truly been raised” and that He has been made known to us in the breaking of the bread.
Brothers and sisters, this is just a brief outline of the rich treasures that are to be found in the depths of our Eucharistic Liturgies. If we want to get the most out of Mass, if we want the Mass to change us, and become the “source and summit” of our lives, then we need to take the time to reflect, study and pray about the Mass and its meaning – lest it become mere routine, and not bear the fruit in us and in the world that God has intended.
“As He once did for His disciples, Christ now opens the Scriptures for us and He breaks the bread.” With hearts burning within us, may we recognize Him in the Breaking of the Bread, and set out at once, to proclaim this good news to the ends of the earth.
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