Sunday Readings
Note: This Wednesday I am off to Lourdes with the Knights of Malta. I will be back the following week and will remember you at the Grotto on this providential trip.

Is It There?

I was flying around YouTube and God Tube the other day when I came across a number of videos from the past. They were period pieces showing a well-filmed world of churches and seminaries and convents packed with intense and happy people. It all was so depressing! We could ask what happened over the past 50 or 60 years and lament the loss. But I found myself wondering something rather different – I wondered what happened to them. Did they stay? Were they faithful? Did they make a difference? Will I? That’s right, it’s all about me – again! But it’s a fair question. We all spend our lives being part of a group. We begin in a family, join a school or a club, and we are inducted into a faith. And in the present day, all of these associations are taking on different and strange forms. We can look at churches - empty or packed – and conclude that something is right or wrong. We can make this same evaluation of a family gathering, the yearly meeting or the big reunion. But what would be nice is not exactly the same as what is very true.

From the earliest days of the Church, it was clear that some would accept and others would reject the message of the Gospel. The ultimate vision of heaven is a crowd – a big crowd – gathered together around the throne. We can easily land up in the monumental category of ‘us verses them.” We conclude that the more ‘us’ in the line-up, the stronger we are. It’s an easy place to go and we live in the statistical world of polls to reinforce it.

But the message of the Gospel is community, not competition; this is about holiness. This is about realizing that we are called by the Father and live as a member of Christ’s flock. And, yes, we are called to live that together with each other. But as we see those images of the past or consider the predictions of the future, we can forget this. And it is a destructive force chipping away at the foundation of anything we try and build.

So can we conclude that missionary work – foreign and domestic – is useless? Sad to say, many have. Should we arrogantly congratulate ourselves under the banner of ‘quality not quantity’? We have no right to that either. But when we do the stats and status routine, we should wonder if we are looking around us to the exclusion of looking within us. Are we sadly concerned that so many ignore the message to the point that we miss the Gospel?

Why bring this up? It’s not Mission Sunday or another appeal. No, dear friends, it’s worse than that. We are beginning the annual festival known as the Silly Season. That’s right folks, it’s once again time for the ‘meaningful and pretty, the memorable and cute.’ First Communions, Graduations, Confirmations, Weddings and Funerals – the big days, the significant events and, oh, the crowds! The usual categories will apply. They will fall into the groupings of ‘never-again’, ‘see you on Christmas’ and ‘catch you next week.’ With few exceptions, most will not overtly or directly reject the grace of God offered by these milestones. Some will claim their future absence because of some perceived or petty offence that ruined the day. And I can say this because chances are they are not here to listen. We can all bring up the tales of eulogies that would make Mother Theresa look bad or church weddings that didn’t involve God. But would that make us any holier even if it makes us feel superior? Yes, some one who does not go to Church is not a practicing Catholic. But some one who does not pray isn’t one either. We can all manipulate the data but the one thing we cannot change is the standard: My sheep hear my voice.

We can be impressed or discouraged by what we see or fail to see. But our truest concern is more personal. Do we hear that Voice or not? Where and how do we hear it? What helps or hinders us from hearing it? I’ll be very honest here; I am sick and tired of religion that has no sound. I am growing impatient with controversies and challenges that lead to – well not much or less of anything. Sure, I wish that the kids who know the transcendence of First Communion would crave it as much as basketball or baseball. I would hope that years of Catholic education (and the billions we put into it) would lead to the fidelity that founded it. And, yes, I want to preside at weddings and funerals of people who can see that day as a true vocation. But the action is God’s and the timing is His as well. The true Voice of the Shepherd is what truly matters.

And that voice is both comforting and demanding. Above all, it is honest. It says that we are a mixed bag of tricks and pure motive is impossible. It says that we have a great ability to do good and a remarkable tendency to do wrong. Just be honest about both and leave it at that. Notice who’s absent from here but focus on how present God is in your day. Don’t condemn the ‘baptized pagans’ but don’t condone their justifications for sin. Rejoice in the faith you have and do not surrender it to anything that says you are wrong for having it.

This has never been about more or less, stronger or weaker. This Easter event is about the Voice of the Shepherd speaking to each soul. Without that sound, there is only a sad silence even if the noise of opinion and controversy is thunderous. The Christian who has heard the Voice and is beginning to respond is tuned into something remarkable. They are starting – in some small way - to hear eternity itself. What we do in this life is an echo of that glory.

Is it there?

Sunday Readings

Don't Skip Breakfast

Imagine that. The Son of God, the risen Lord, makes breakfast. Essentially, Jesus offered His disciples bagels and lox. As they were having their miraculous BBQ, you know there must have been an awkward glance between Peter and Jesus. And it would not be the first. As Peter was chomping down his meal, he must have been reminded of the look Jesus gave him as they were taking Him away. And then it happened. Jesus quietly said, “Hey, you got a moment?” Peter must have felt a hole in his stomach and wished that an even bigger hole would open up and swallow him.

For Peter’s three denials, Jesus asks him three questions. We would have asked three very different questions than Jesus. We would have asked: How could you have done that? Why did you do that? How can I trust you again? Peter, no doubt, expected these as any normal person would. Jesus would certainly be entitled to ask these. Betrayal is a serious issue, denial is something no one takes lightly. When people pull that on us, we are hurt and we are mad. We know that they are going to get a ‘piece of our mind’ and pay the consequences. I’ve felt this betrayal of trust as I am sure every one has here. Like the audience on Jerry Springer, we’re ready to whoop it up and unleash some serious wrath.

And then comes the screeching brakes. Jesus asks a different question. Justice, at long last, reasonably demands a tongue-lashing of Peter. But ‘finally it is not a matter of reason; finally it is a matter of love.’ “Do you love me?” That’s all. There is no demand to do better, no apology required. Peter who had been as unfaithful as Judas is not required to offer an Act of Contrition. You love me? Yes. Okay, follow me.

Why? Why did Peter get off so easy? In justice, he should have been punished. In mercy, he becomes a martyr and a pope. The Apostles were always scrabbling among themselves about who was Jesus’ favorite. You can imagine how this pre-Pentecost gang felt about Peter now! So, again, why didn’t Jesus, who is God, open a can of lightning bolts or at least a little plague on this guy?

The answer is easy. This is a God who makes breakfast. This is the glorious Victor over the gates of death who spent more time over a campfire than distributing the fires of hell. This is the Incarnation who hands us bread, not damnation. In a word, this is God, not us.

And the Easter mystery is to be a part of this. In Lent, we attempted to unite our fallen human nature with the crucified Christ. In Easter, we attempt to allow Christ’s glorified humanity to change ours. In those 40 days, we gave up foods; in these 50 days we are fed. And if we thought that humbling ourselves before God and asking for forgiveness was a type of death, asking for mercy is surprisingly more difficult. The ‘Alleluia’ of Easter really can be a grinding sound of breaks more than trumpet blasts and fanfares. The Easter reconciliation is tough because we know we deserve so much worse.

Our world tells us that there is no sin and we even believe that ourselves sometimes. But just spend a few minutes with Judge Judy and that doesn’t hold out. People like Peter – and you and me – can be rotten. Too often we are. Fear not, little lambs, God knows that. But at the heart of any rebuke, any correction, and for that matter, any rule or law, is the one thing that matters – love. If God is not overly impressed with our successes, how can we believe that He is devastated by our failures? Sure, we can be rotten or we can be stellar, but what is God looking for?

Ask Peter. On that early morning so long ago, he found the answer. He found a treasure among the sands and nets of a fishing trip. Peccátum meum contra me est semper. My sin is always before me. We prayed that in Lent. In Easter, by experience, we add: “And so is my God.” And admitting this, God replies: “Follow me.”

We gather for Mass in the Easter season as we do every week and even every day. We come to the sacrifice of Calvary and mystically share in the Last Supper. But we also join in this glorious breakfast. At this banquet, we are forgiven and we are restored. Pardon without love is worthless but forgiveness with mercy is the greatest reconciliation of all. If we do not know God, we can never know this. We can - and we should - approach the mercy God with awe. But even as we do, we cannot forget that we approach a God who cooked breakfast.

Sunday Readings

Mercy Theory

Complete Aside and a Quote of the Week:

"To the extent that I made judgments that ultimately proved to be incorrect, I apologize to the three students that were wrongly accused."

Translation: I was wrong. I am sorry.

People, let's starting speaking English and worrying less about other languages!

And now, your regularly scheduled homily....

On Wednesday, I was sitting there having a tire replaced. As I did, I received two calls in a row. The first was made from Hawaii. The second was from Rome. I couldn’t help but notice that there was a 12-hour difference between the two points. Sitting there I spoke with two places on opposite sides of the world. Vast differences of time and cultures came together on my cell phone as I waited for my new tires.

So is this a homily about the wideness in God’s mercy? It could be, but I want to think of what happened on my cell phone. I was amazed by the ends of the world coming together on Rt. 9. But that they do is something we take for granted. We assume technology and feel no desire to try and figure out how it works. We get to that level when it doesn’t, we feel its loss. Sounds an awful lot like mercy.

Faith has an enemy and this is it. Assuming God’s grace is the first exit from it. Presuming God’s mercy is a u-turn on the highway to heaven. Empty churches especially in culturally-supportive places, testify to this. Perhaps even our own witness as well.

Technology can be passive and normal. Mercy does not operate like that. And it is easy in a world where so much is normative, expected and even a right, mercy can be just one more thing. God is good, so am I, and I can expect redemption. Religion is a universal experience of the best of creation and so mercy must be accessible to all. And it is. -no question about that. But the Easter mystery says that mercy while free, is never cheap. Belief is a gift that calls us to give our assent. Grace is hoped for, but cannot be assumed. Like cell phone service, it is pretty clear when it is not there.

Mercy is the love of God that forgives our worst and sanctifies our best. It tolerates our silliness even as it assures us of an undying love. It is God’s greatest attribute and gives us a share in a peace beyond all understanding. And mercy leads us to a peace Thomas discovered only in the presence of the Risen Christ. It leads us to worship and adoration. A mercy that cannot be assumed can be expected to lead us to the Presence of God.

Now imagine if Thomas had continued in his unbelief. What if he had grown comfortable with the good things and good message of Jesus even if things did not work out so well for Him in the end? Perhaps he even could be satisfied with an intellectual assent to the witness of the resurrection and God’s mercy. But then, it all changed. Thomas encountered something greater than the ordinary and bigger than his own assumptions. He was amazed at what was in front of him and was caught up in it.

I have always noticed that people will come from a retreat or have a spiritual experience and they are amazed by it. They recount it as if they were the first people to know it. They seem to be telling something I have never known or heard of. Even if I compare it, they seem a tad annoyed that another soul could know what they know. Thomas would take the rest of his life to process the experience. The Christian journey is precisely this processing. It goes beyond theory and theology. It leads us to the side of God and ends in worship. The questions and doubts find a meaning and even an answer only in prayer. The assumption of mercy is replaced with “my Lord and my God.”

This is the Octave day of Easter, Divine Mercy Sunday. We celebrate the mercy of the resurrected Christ. We venerate the trust that Thomas discovered, the peace which only reconciliation with God can give. We assert that no faith will grow or survive without it. And we look to the history of our faith as a warning to keep far from any form of religion that tells us we can. Progressive or traditionalist, it makes no difference if mercy is not a part of the agenda.

If we dare to celebrate this mercy of God, we also can challenge ourselves to ask if we personally have known it? Beyond the grace of sacramental absolution, have we experienced the presence of the power of God? Can we respond to Divine Mercy – as did Thomas – with a prayer of adoration in worship? Can we move from “is there a God?” to “my Lord and my God”?

The experience of God cannot be assumed nor taken for granted. It’s okay to admit that we sometimes do. But in the light of the Risen Christ, we ask the mercy of God to reveal that power to each of us. Thomas’ doubt was ultimately not a healthy skepticism but a lack of experience. It’s very easy to know the stats and facts of something we have no desire to experience. Experiencing it is a brand new story.

Now that Lent is over and Spring may come sometime soon, religion can be put on hold until Advent. We are people of habit and we tend to take the ‘Alleluia’ of Easter for granted. But the risen Christ, with His peaceful message of mercy, can pass through the doors we put up. Be alert to these moments of mercy. Routine can lock up our hearts but mercy can break them. Just be there, be open. As Jesus said: “doubt not, but believe.” He says to us the same thing. “Doubt not that you are capable of knowing the mercy God. Believe that God has chosen you for peace by His own grace.”

Religion is great but nothing compares to ‘my Lord and my God.’

Sunday Readings


Body of Hope

As I reviewed my Easter homilies of years past, I was struck by the elements common to each. I tried to reflect on the meaning of Easter, especially in light of world events or trends in our society. And while I am sure you would agree with me, these are excellent and inspiring, there is one aspect we cannot escape. That one thing is the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. Does it even matter?

Recently there was a flurry of excitement over the purported discovery of the bones of Jesus Christ. Thankfully, few – Christian and non-Christian – took this seriously. But many did ask if it made a difference if they had? Folks, let me assure you of one thing on this happy morning. If Jesus Christ did not rise from the dead, I would not be here. I would be in a condition that, for the sake of younger and more tender sensibilities, I will not describe but you can imagine. None of us should waste our time in any church if this never happened. And I certainly cannot find a good enough reason to begin acting in a moral and charitable manner. Should this all be a myth, than to quote the thunderous lyrics of Linkin Park, “in the end, it really doesn’t matter.” If Easter is no more than a story, we have no hope.

But some say that human nature touches a higher power and all living things contain a ‘divine spark’. The modern paganism of religious wishy-washy garbage says that the details of faith do not matter since we all basically believe the same. Hogwash. It may be true for some, but this morning we are here to mark more than a rebirth of the earth. Persephone may have stirred, but Christ stood up. We try to live in the moment while we celebrate life eternal.

‘Christ is risen.’ Easter can stop there. The sacrifice has been offered and accepted. The debt of sin has been paid. Humanity condemned itself to mortality and the Immortal One has reversed the sentence. Absolute justice has been supplanted by total mercy. True hope is more than we could have hoped for but what we been given.

But is this just speculative or theological? We often leave this to the mists and mystics. Resurrection is more. There are few who escape the deepest human desire for it. No one is free from longing for the eternal and the unchanging. At the heart and center of the human person, there is a dialogue between the changing and the permanent. It is the wounded human soul that cries out for things to be lasting and the God who answers this prayer. Whether the party we wish would never end or the pain we pray would stop, we are really searching for beatitude. The human struggle to acquire the good and stamp out the bad could only exist if there was a reasonable hope of achieving either. At the most fundamental level, we could never rise above if there was nothing to rise toward.

And that brings us to the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ. The fullness of human misery and happiness finds its meaning in it. If Christ be not risen, we are the most foolish of all. Christ is risen and in the end, it really does matter. This singular event says that everything, the worst and the best, have a place in the eternal. The constant onslaught is not final. The peace does not end.

We often hear that we are an ‘Easter people’ and that ‘Alleluia’ is our song. This is true but we get stuck on Good Friday. We see the discomfort, demands and challenges and say we can take no more. We see the stinging pain of loss and death and are consumed by them. We feel the end of love and the cold of hate. We rarely can sing an ‘Alleluia’ when our songs are so sad. We are told to hope when we don’t want to.

In these moments, without passion, without exuberance, faith says weakly ‘Christ is risen.’ Still mourning or murmuring, we scratch out a joyless ‘Alleluia.’ And something happens. There is a movement. We see in the actual and risen Christ a hope greater than the moment. We may or may not feel it through our garish emotions, but we do perceive it in our souls. Our ugliest sins and darkest motives cannot prevent it. And often – to our own surprise – we find true faith.

Today will not illustrate the mechanics of the resurrection. It does not argue for how or by what means. It simply proclaims it to be so. Faith takes it from there. We can all look at a mirror or around this church and find any number of reasons to abandon hope. No one could blame us and others would encourage us. Misery really does love company; hope is not popular. And like cliques in a high school cafeteria, nary the twain shall meet.

But the resurrection of Christ says that one wins over the other for the sole reason that He did. We do not mistake the image of the resurrection for anything but a victory. This is war and the price is just as high. The gates of hell are built of despair and the resurrection of Christ is the only power that can bring them tumbling down. Easter celebrates that moment when this happened. Those who celebrate Easter ask if that same thing is happening now. Is this renovation going on? Is this make-over making things new? Or are we content with the shabby history of hopelessness we sometimes find so…er…’charming’?

You know what we call areas whose streets are lined with the neglect of beauty and reminders of pain? We call them ‘run down.’ Don’t we say the same of people? But look at areas where people have chosen hope. Look how renovation can bring beauty out of ugliness to the point of being fashionable. Just go to Chelsea and the West Village.

If hope can change the face of the earth and rebuild neighborhoods, no one can deny it is real. How can we see the resurrection as anything else? How can we discount the martyrs who laid down their lives or the saints who built hospitals? If Christ did not rise, why bother? If Christ did not burst the gates of death, how ever could we?

Jesus Christ rose from the dead. And because of that, so shall we. Glorified in the future and hopeful in the present, we press on in our journey. We go through the pain and difficulties because His on Friday brought us to Sunday. Our faith in this witnesses to the hateful and gregarious despair all around and even within. The hope we know braces us against the threat of final failure life throws. Death is a phantom that horrifies us but that dissipates in the primal light of an Easter morning.

Does the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ really matter? In the end, as at the beginning, and so now, it certainly does.

Tu nobis Victor Rex, Miserere. Our Victor King, have mercy. Christ, our hope, is risen.

Sunday Readings

There is no homily for Palm Sunday because of the reading of the Passion.

Have a great Holy Week and see you on Easter