Today we reflect on the reality of God being a Trinity:
Three Persons, yet one essence.
It was God the Son in human flesh – Jesus – who told us about this.
He told us that Father is God; and that he is God;
and that there is a relationship of love, total, full love,
between Father and Son.
He told us about the Spirit, who is “another Advocate”—
another Person in the Trinity.
So here’s the thing: we believe God is a Trinity,
first and foremost, because Jesus told us this.
We believe it, because we believe him.
If you are a parent or a teacher, how do you explain things?
Maybe you will use a diagram, or an image.
And God did that too.
Recall what Genesis says:
“Let us make man in our image, after our likeness…”
God has given us an image of the Trinity – in us, in human beings.
Notice, first, that in creating humanity,
he did not create a solitary being.
No, he created us male and female.
This is no mere detail.
It’s completely fundamental to who we are.
If you think back to science class in school,
we learned that some of God’s creation
multiplies simply by splitting apart. One amoeba, two amoebae.
When you were in school, did you look through a microscope?
Or maybe you saw a film of the little creatures
with all the hairy things around them.
And for all the teachers here,
I do know that those were called paramecium—plural, paramecia—
and those hairs are called cilia, and it’s how they move.
God created those, too; but that’s not how God created us to be.
Instead, he created us so that we would enter into
an intimate, totally self-giving relationship with each other:
“male and female he created them.”
So there’s an insight here about this whole marriage question.
This isn’t about “hook ups,” but about a unique reality
baked into the very bone and sinew of human nature.
Human beings are, by our nature, created in relationship.
A man, a woman; a husband, a wife; a father, a mother—a family!
When each of us began our lives,
we began it in relationship—
obviously with our mother, who carries us, but with our father, too.
And we need that relationship for many years.
First, just to survive; but later, that relationship, which we call family,
enables us to be happy and healthy and truly human.
Even much later in life, we still need our family;
and, as many of us have found, if there is a wound,
it’s not something that we ever forget.
See what God did? He did indeed create us in his image:
he created humanity not as a solitary being—all alone—
but as persons-in-relationship. Just like him.
Let’s carry that one more step.
And this will give us a very practical take-away from this homily.
God in himself—in Three Persons—is complete, and whole;
God doesn’t need creation, he doesn’t need the universe,
and he doesn’t need us.
God chooses—out of generous love—to create us, in order to include us.
If you and I are God’s image,
then what I just described is part of what we are.
To be truly who we are—truly human—
we too are called to give and love,
not out of any necessity, but out of self-gift, out of generosity.
And we do that for our fellow human beings.
And what does Jesus tell us to do?
Love not just your friends and families, but to care for the needy,
the poor; and to love our enemies,
and to pray for those who persecute us.
God sends rain on the just and the unjust.
God died on the Cross, not for the righteous, but for sinners.
God provides an abundance for all his children, but he relies on us to share it around.
And God is always ready, at every moment, to forgive his children and welcome them back.
How about you, image-of-God? Do you want to show God to the world?
Feed the needy, lift the burden from the backs of the oppressed,
pay a just wage, speak up for those who are oppressed and forgotten,
and forgive readily, instantly, and generously.
This is what it means to be the image of God.
Sunday, May 31, 2015
Sunday, May 24, 2015
Light or darkness, Babylon or Christ? (Pentecost homily)
The readings for Pentecost are different for the Vigil and the Day.
I don’t expect many of you to do this, but—
ideally we would come to Mass both on the vigil, and on the day.
I know that’s a lot to ask, but: Pentecost really is that important!
So at the vigil, we hear from Genesis about how early in human history,
people tried to make a name for themselves
by building the city of Babel.
They aren’t interested in God; they don’t seek God’s help.
This is the same city later called Babylon –
which becomes, in Scripture,
a symbol of all in the world that demands our loyalty other than God.
You will remember how King Nebuchadnezzar built a golden statue,
and the three Hebrew boys, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, refused to worship it,
and they were thrown into the fiery furnace.
Babylon always opposes God directly.
Babylon lives on in our culture and government.
On the day of Pentecost, we hear about
how the Apostles and the other first Christians,
including the Mother of Jesus, are gathered in Jerusalem,
praying for the Holy Spirit.
So while God frustrates the designs of the city
that worships itself: Babylon;
the Father pours out the Holy Spirit
on the gathering of people who trust in Jesus Christ.
In one sense, Pentecost is a conclusion.
It’s the completion of what Jesus came to do:
to bring us from darkness to light, from sin to hope.
But in another sense, it’s not a conclusion but a beginning:
the beginning of the new creation.
While the color at Mass today is red—
standing for the fire of the Holy Spirit—
there’s a reason why it’ll be green after today.
Green is the color of things that grow—
like our grass outside, at long last!
When the universe began, long ago,
scientists describe that event as “the Big Bang”—
a sudden, intense burst of energy that set everything in motion;
and billions of years later,
the force of that is still propelling the galaxies further outward.
We know, of course, that that “Big Bang”
was God saying, “Let there be light.”
Pentecost is the new Creation:
heavenly power bursting forth upon the first 120 Christians,
led by Peter—and they all went out in different directions,
sharing Jesus with the world.
And that outward movement continues, 1,985 years later.
God’s People faced Babylon long ago;
Peter and the Church faced Rome, and we face our own Babylon.
So it will always be
until Christ completes the New Creation at the end of time.
Now, one of the things that I have noticed about Saint Remy Parish
is that people know their Faith.
That doesn’t just happen;
it’s something that the priests before me, and many of you,
helping to teach and share, have made happen.
It’s a strong refuge in stormy times.
But, the truth is that what wins people
isn’t just knowing the Faith, but living it.
Faith, hope and love, these three remain—
but the greatest of these is love.
We need to know our Faith, to be sure;
but what wins people is when they are convinced we practice it.
When they see we make sacrifices to live holy lives,
that we really put God first, and that we really believe in forgiveness—
not just in getting it for ourselves, but even more in giving it to others.
Present-day Babylon tells people
that Christianity is nothing but rules and empty rituals.
We tell each other stories to make ourselves feel better.
We light candles because we’re afraid of the dark.
But we don’t really have anything to offer.
Babylon says, worship sex, worship power, worship beauty,
worship the money you can make, worship yourself—
because that’s all there is.
What Babylon doesn’t say is that man without God really is empty;
and what begins as the exaltation of man
ends with concentration camps and piles of bones.
Jesus knew what he was doing when he told the Apostles,
stay in Jerusalem and pray for the Gift of the Holy Spirit.
He knew that the task he gave them
wasn’t going to get done with a pep talk or a few clever phrases.
They would need the Big Bang of the Holy Spirit filling their lives,
and driving them outward.
In that regard, nothing’s changed.
We wonder why we face difficult times;
people wonder, where did the insanity of our times come from?
But it’s always been there.
Jesus knew the power of the spirit of the world.
That’s why he said, pray for the gift of the Holy Spirit.
Now, I want to call attention to something I know you’ve noticed: this candle.
It was so tall when we first lit it at Easter!
No doubt some of you wonder if someone let it burn all night.
Why does that crazy Father Fox let it burn down like that?
It’s not very pretty anymore. You’re right—it’s not.
A candle has but one purpose: it burns to give light.
The Easter Candle stands for the Light of Christ.
I wanted to keep it burning during Easter
not only to remind us both where our light—our power—comes from,
but also as a reminder of why Jesus came into the world:
to be spent—used up—for the salvation of souls.
God doesn’t light us with the fire of the Holy Spirit
so we can quickly put it out,
and save ourselves for later.
We’re only going to get so many years in this life.
When our time ends, will we want to say to Jesus:
look, I didn't burn my candle, I kept it pretty, I saved it?
I said a moment ago that those who mock us
claim we’re afraid of the dark.
In one sense they’re right: there is darkness in the world,
and it’s growing, and it is something to fear.
But you and I have the light of Jesus Christ, and we fear nothing!
Light that candle, keep it burning! Burn with the fire of God!
This is what the Church of God is. This is what you are, O Christian!
Lift up that light! Lift it up! Let it shine!
I don’t expect many of you to do this, but—
ideally we would come to Mass both on the vigil, and on the day.
I know that’s a lot to ask, but: Pentecost really is that important!
So at the vigil, we hear from Genesis about how early in human history,
people tried to make a name for themselves
by building the city of Babel.
They aren’t interested in God; they don’t seek God’s help.
This is the same city later called Babylon –
which becomes, in Scripture,
a symbol of all in the world that demands our loyalty other than God.
You will remember how King Nebuchadnezzar built a golden statue,
and the three Hebrew boys, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, refused to worship it,
and they were thrown into the fiery furnace.
Babylon always opposes God directly.
Babylon lives on in our culture and government.
On the day of Pentecost, we hear about
how the Apostles and the other first Christians,
including the Mother of Jesus, are gathered in Jerusalem,
praying for the Holy Spirit.
So while God frustrates the designs of the city
that worships itself: Babylon;
the Father pours out the Holy Spirit
on the gathering of people who trust in Jesus Christ.
In one sense, Pentecost is a conclusion.
It’s the completion of what Jesus came to do:
to bring us from darkness to light, from sin to hope.
But in another sense, it’s not a conclusion but a beginning:
the beginning of the new creation.
While the color at Mass today is red—
standing for the fire of the Holy Spirit—
there’s a reason why it’ll be green after today.
Green is the color of things that grow—
like our grass outside, at long last!
When the universe began, long ago,
scientists describe that event as “the Big Bang”—
a sudden, intense burst of energy that set everything in motion;
and billions of years later,
the force of that is still propelling the galaxies further outward.
We know, of course, that that “Big Bang”
was God saying, “Let there be light.”
Pentecost is the new Creation:
heavenly power bursting forth upon the first 120 Christians,
led by Peter—and they all went out in different directions,
sharing Jesus with the world.
And that outward movement continues, 1,985 years later.
God’s People faced Babylon long ago;
Peter and the Church faced Rome, and we face our own Babylon.
So it will always be
until Christ completes the New Creation at the end of time.
Now, one of the things that I have noticed about Saint Remy Parish
is that people know their Faith.
That doesn’t just happen;
it’s something that the priests before me, and many of you,
helping to teach and share, have made happen.
It’s a strong refuge in stormy times.
But, the truth is that what wins people
isn’t just knowing the Faith, but living it.
Faith, hope and love, these three remain—
but the greatest of these is love.
We need to know our Faith, to be sure;
but what wins people is when they are convinced we practice it.
When they see we make sacrifices to live holy lives,
that we really put God first, and that we really believe in forgiveness—
not just in getting it for ourselves, but even more in giving it to others.
Present-day Babylon tells people
that Christianity is nothing but rules and empty rituals.
We tell each other stories to make ourselves feel better.
We light candles because we’re afraid of the dark.
But we don’t really have anything to offer.
Babylon says, worship sex, worship power, worship beauty,
worship the money you can make, worship yourself—
because that’s all there is.
What Babylon doesn’t say is that man without God really is empty;
and what begins as the exaltation of man
ends with concentration camps and piles of bones.
Jesus knew what he was doing when he told the Apostles,
stay in Jerusalem and pray for the Gift of the Holy Spirit.
He knew that the task he gave them
wasn’t going to get done with a pep talk or a few clever phrases.
They would need the Big Bang of the Holy Spirit filling their lives,
and driving them outward.
In that regard, nothing’s changed.
We wonder why we face difficult times;
people wonder, where did the insanity of our times come from?
But it’s always been there.
Jesus knew the power of the spirit of the world.
That’s why he said, pray for the gift of the Holy Spirit.
Now, I want to call attention to something I know you’ve noticed: this candle.
It was so tall when we first lit it at Easter!
No doubt some of you wonder if someone let it burn all night.
Why does that crazy Father Fox let it burn down like that?
It’s not very pretty anymore. You’re right—it’s not.
A candle has but one purpose: it burns to give light.
The Easter Candle stands for the Light of Christ.
I wanted to keep it burning during Easter
not only to remind us both where our light—our power—comes from,
but also as a reminder of why Jesus came into the world:
to be spent—used up—for the salvation of souls.
God doesn’t light us with the fire of the Holy Spirit
so we can quickly put it out,
and save ourselves for later.
We’re only going to get so many years in this life.
When our time ends, will we want to say to Jesus:
look, I didn't burn my candle, I kept it pretty, I saved it?
I said a moment ago that those who mock us
claim we’re afraid of the dark.
In one sense they’re right: there is darkness in the world,
and it’s growing, and it is something to fear.
But you and I have the light of Jesus Christ, and we fear nothing!
Light that candle, keep it burning! Burn with the fire of God!
This is what the Church of God is. This is what you are, O Christian!
Lift up that light! Lift it up! Let it shine!
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
Dinner for family
It's funny that a commenter asked, in another thread, for a cooking post -- because it so happens I have company coming tonight, and was planning a post about that.
My sister and her husband are coming over. The plan is pot roast, plus salad, plus some hot rolls (if I don't forget to throw them in the oven). I don't really have any hors d'oeuvres planned, but I have some cheese, crackers, chips and pretzels, and some celery hearts, so that'll do, don't you think?
For dessert? Strawberry shortcake, all home-made.
So, first I prepared the strawberries. All I did was wash them, cut off the green parts, and halve them. Then I add some sugar and a little red wine, and let them sit.
Next, I dredged the roast -- about six pounds -- in a good amount of flour mixed with garlic and pepper, and brown it in butter and olive oil. Meanwhile, I cut up carrots, celery, onions and potatoes, which went in the bottom of the baking pan. On top goes the browned roast. Over all that goes some vegetable stock (no salt for my brother-in-law) and some dry vermouth.
All that gets covered in foil, and into a 300-degree oven. I started it early because the roast wasn't quite thawed, and I set the oven a bit lower than the 325 degrees called for. Do you think that'll work?
After doing the dishes -- always clean up as you go! -- I set the table:
Everything will just cook away all afternoon, while I take care of other business. The shortcakes are easy to make and don't take long to cook, so I'll do that when my guests are here, so they'll be very fresh.
Update, 5/21/15...
Sorry for no followup photos, but I thought it would be bad form to make my sister and brother-in-law wait while I snapped pictures of their dinner!
The roast was pretty good, but a little dry to my taste. I probably left it in too long; next time, I'll use the meat thermometer. The gravy was fantastic! I forgot the salad; and you can't really go wrong with strawberry shortcake.
We had a nice visit. My brother-in-law had never tried Tuaca, an Italian digestivo, but he liked it. And my sister and brother-in-law helped with the dishes, which sure was nice of them!
It was a huge roast -- about 6 pounds -- so I have plenty of leftovers. Hmmm...
My sister and her husband are coming over. The plan is pot roast, plus salad, plus some hot rolls (if I don't forget to throw them in the oven). I don't really have any hors d'oeuvres planned, but I have some cheese, crackers, chips and pretzels, and some celery hearts, so that'll do, don't you think?
For dessert? Strawberry shortcake, all home-made.
So, first I prepared the strawberries. All I did was wash them, cut off the green parts, and halve them. Then I add some sugar and a little red wine, and let them sit.
Next, I dredged the roast -- about six pounds -- in a good amount of flour mixed with garlic and pepper, and brown it in butter and olive oil. Meanwhile, I cut up carrots, celery, onions and potatoes, which went in the bottom of the baking pan. On top goes the browned roast. Over all that goes some vegetable stock (no salt for my brother-in-law) and some dry vermouth.
All that gets covered in foil, and into a 300-degree oven. I started it early because the roast wasn't quite thawed, and I set the oven a bit lower than the 325 degrees called for. Do you think that'll work?
After doing the dishes -- always clean up as you go! -- I set the table:
Everything will just cook away all afternoon, while I take care of other business. The shortcakes are easy to make and don't take long to cook, so I'll do that when my guests are here, so they'll be very fresh.
Update, 5/21/15...
Sorry for no followup photos, but I thought it would be bad form to make my sister and brother-in-law wait while I snapped pictures of their dinner!
The roast was pretty good, but a little dry to my taste. I probably left it in too long; next time, I'll use the meat thermometer. The gravy was fantastic! I forgot the salad; and you can't really go wrong with strawberry shortcake.
We had a nice visit. My brother-in-law had never tried Tuaca, an Italian digestivo, but he liked it. And my sister and brother-in-law helped with the dishes, which sure was nice of them!
It was a huge roast -- about 6 pounds -- so I have plenty of leftovers. Hmmm...
The Protohomosexual
This Crisis Magazine article is provocative and profound, about the ideological terms, "heterosexual" and "homosexual," in relation to what true sexuality is.
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
'Big Dig' update...
It's not a "dig" anymore! See for yourself:
Sorry about the finger in the first shot...
Sorry about the finger in the first shot...
Sunday, May 17, 2015
Prepare for the coming persecution (Sunday homily)
This is going to be somber homily. I hesitated in giving this homily;
but I am convinced it needs to be said,
and that the time to give this warning is running short.
I’ve been thinking about something
a lot of us have been thinking about:
the growing gulf between our Faith, and our society.
And it raises a question: are we facing a time of persecution?
I realize how strong a word that is.
What is happening in Iraq and Syria and many places in Africa, and elsewhere: that’s persecution.
Having your church burned down, and being ordered to convert,
or you will die—that’s persecution.
I’m not talking about that.
But something is coming in our country; it’s already begun.
Something very different from what we’re used to.
Let’s call it a climate of hostility,
as opposed to acceptance, which is what we’ve known.
But what’s coming is more than just hostility.
What’s beginning to happen is coercion.
And it’s going to get worse, very soon.
Let’s review:
First, we have, for the first time ever,
our federal government bringing all its power to bear
to force Catholic institutions to embrace
that which is morally impossible:
to promote and provide contraception, sterilization
and abortion-inducing drugs as part of health insurance.
Think about that: who would have thought
that our government would seek to destroy the Little Sisters of the Poor—
and if the sisters lose,
they won’t be able to operate any longer in this country.
A host of Catholic dioceses, colleges and religious communities
like the Little Sisters of the Poor
are locked in a legal battle with the government.
Second, our government, hand-in-hand with big media,
the entertainment industry, political groups, large corporations –
in other words, pretty much the entire culture –
is all united in pushing a new morality about same-sex behavior.
The catalyst has been the fight over redefining marriage;
and we all wait to see what the nation’s highest court will rule.
Isn’t it interesting that almost everyone seems to think
the Supreme Court will force a new definition of marriage
on the whole country?
Let’s be very clear: this is far bigger than just marriage.
As I said, it’s a new morality.
The military has been forced to accept it.
The Boy Scouts have been forced to adopt it.
The organizers of the Saint Patrick’s Day Parade in New York—
a Catholic, religious event—were forced to yield.
And, by the way, legally,
that parade is no different from our Corpus Christi procession
in the streets of Russia.
There are a number of business people—
photographers, bakers, florists and others—
who are being sued, accused of crimes, fined,
and threatened with the loss of their businesses,
and with financial ruin—
if they don’t give their own, personal approval to this new morality.
And a few weeks ago, when the U.S. Supreme Court
was hearing arguments over the question of redefining marriage,
Justice Alito asked this question:
“In the Bob Jones case, the Court held
that a college was not entitled to tax exempt status
if it opposed inter-racial marriage or inter-racial dating.
So would the same apply to a university or a college
if it opposed same¬-sex marriage?”
Listen closely to how the government’s top lawyer responded:
“It’s certainly going to be an issue. I don't deny that. I don't deny that, Justice Alito.
It is going to be an issue.”
Understand what that means:
religious organizations that don’t endorse same-sex marriage
will lose tax-exempt status.
But here’s the thing. People think this will fall hardest on clergy.
That this will be about whether I’ll be forced to officiate at a wedding
between two men or two women.
That’s not the main thing to worry about,
because if I refuse—and I assure you, I will—
the worst the government is likely to do to me
is to take away my license to perform marriages.
Which means, I can still celebrate weddings,
but they won’t count as legal marriages.
Couples would have to get legally married somewhere else.
That won’t be a problem for me—but for the couples.
Now, if our parish no longer had a tax exemption, it would cost us;
but I think we could manage.
Those who donate to the parish would lose a tax-deduction,
but a lot of us don’t even use that tax-deduction,
so that won’t hurt as bad as you may think.
No, do you know who is going to be hit the hardest?
You will. You’re the target.
When political figures, business owners,
TV shows and advertising and the rest of the culture
start calling people who embrace Catholic teaching
“bigots” and “haters,” that’s aimed at you.
That’s about making you ashamed to say what you believe,
to question your beliefs, and ultimately renounce them.
That’s not something any of us have had to endure.
And I really think this is going to be a brutal shock for a lot of folks.
It’s going to be a rough, rough experience.
The effects and the consequences
are going to be far worse than anyone realizes.
It’s like this: you and I, for being faithful Catholics,
upholding the truth that marriage and family are man-and-woman,
will be put in the same category as the KKK.
Let that sink in.
And if I’m correct, here are some things
that we need to brace ourselves for:
There will be a sudden and shocking wave of hostility unleashed.
Remember, this isn’t just a human conflict; this is a spiritual conflict.
And the real enemy is the devil,
whose malice we cannot begin to imagine.
And there are people who harbor contempt for the Catholic Faith,
but haven’t felt free to let it loose. Soon, they will.
Do you think the media is unfair now? Expect ten times worse.
Does the media worry about being fair to the KKK?
That scrutiny will find rottenness. We’re not perfect.
If there is a bad apple, our enemies will find it;
and it will be on TV seven days a week, 24 hours a day.
Lots of people won’t be able to take it.
Look: when we talk about sharing our faith in a friendly context,
most of us squirm—we’re not comfortable.
Lots of people will admit they are embarrassed
to make the sign of the cross in public.
That’s without any manifest hostility.
So don’t be surprised when you see people just fall away.
When Islam conquered the Holy Land in the 7th and 8th centuries,
most people were Christian, but now those in power were not.
As a result, if you wanted to advance, to do better in business,
to make something of yourself, it paid to become Muslim.
And that’s exactly what happened.
Lots of people just converted—
not because they were threatened with death,
although that happened—
but simply because they saw greater advantage that way.
So don’t be surprised when people cave in,
because it means saving their jobs, their businesses, or getting ahead.
In fact, don’t be surprised by anything you see or hear.
Prominent Catholics will give in. Priests and bishops will give in.
When King Henry VIII declared himself head of the Church
in England—instead of the successor to St. Peter—
only Thomas More and Bishop John Fisher stood up to him.
Most of the clergy went right along.
Now, I’ve painted it pretty dark. But nothing is set in stone.
The future can be changed, particularly by our prayers and sacrifices, and by conversions.
But even if it is as bad as I’ve forecast, it won’t all be bad news.
Let me talk about some of the wonderful things that will happen.
There will be conversions. People will see what is happening,
and rally to the cause of Jesus Christ.
Those who resist will grow in their faith.
When you swim against the tide,
your muscles and endurance grow very strong.
While the Church may become smaller, and certainly poorer,
she will also grow in holiness, in beauty, and union with Christ.
Many of you have experienced what I’m going to describe.
When you are in trouble, your back is against the wall,
and you feel very alone—
that’s when you experience the presence of Christ in a wonderful way.
There is a fusing of heart-to-heart, ours to his.
And that is a tremendous power and consolation—
knowing Jesus and I are ONE!—there is nothing to match that.
When our Lord spoke about giving us the power of the Holy Spirit,
that’s what he was talking about.
And remember—all the words in the readings we heard today,
were addressed to Christians facing persecution.
This power is what enables the martyrs to be strong.
And we saw it, a few months ago,
when a group of men were lined up on a beach in Libya, and told:
deny Jesus or you will die.
And one by one, they proclaimed their faith in Jesus,
even after they saw the man next to them die.
That is a power and a peace the world cannot give!
The Church has been persecuted before; in fact,
that’s pretty much the normal state of the Church.
The peace and quiet we’ve known is the exception.
Don’t miss the meaning of the Ascension.
Our task here is to make him known; not to make this world our home.
Our destination isn’t this world,
but to follow Jesus Christ into the New Creation.
Jesus did not leave us. Just as he did not leave the Father,
when he came among us as man,
so he is not abandoning us as he returns to his throne.
Jesus is here—above all, in the midst of a suffering, crucified Church.
Jesus’ victory was on the Cross!
So it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.
but I am convinced it needs to be said,
and that the time to give this warning is running short.
I’ve been thinking about something
a lot of us have been thinking about:
the growing gulf between our Faith, and our society.
And it raises a question: are we facing a time of persecution?
I realize how strong a word that is.
What is happening in Iraq and Syria and many places in Africa, and elsewhere: that’s persecution.
Having your church burned down, and being ordered to convert,
or you will die—that’s persecution.
I’m not talking about that.
But something is coming in our country; it’s already begun.
Something very different from what we’re used to.
Let’s call it a climate of hostility,
as opposed to acceptance, which is what we’ve known.
But what’s coming is more than just hostility.
What’s beginning to happen is coercion.
And it’s going to get worse, very soon.
Let’s review:
First, we have, for the first time ever,
our federal government bringing all its power to bear
to force Catholic institutions to embrace
that which is morally impossible:
to promote and provide contraception, sterilization
and abortion-inducing drugs as part of health insurance.
Think about that: who would have thought
that our government would seek to destroy the Little Sisters of the Poor—
and if the sisters lose,
they won’t be able to operate any longer in this country.
A host of Catholic dioceses, colleges and religious communities
like the Little Sisters of the Poor
are locked in a legal battle with the government.
Second, our government, hand-in-hand with big media,
the entertainment industry, political groups, large corporations –
in other words, pretty much the entire culture –
is all united in pushing a new morality about same-sex behavior.
The catalyst has been the fight over redefining marriage;
and we all wait to see what the nation’s highest court will rule.
Isn’t it interesting that almost everyone seems to think
the Supreme Court will force a new definition of marriage
on the whole country?
Let’s be very clear: this is far bigger than just marriage.
As I said, it’s a new morality.
The military has been forced to accept it.
The Boy Scouts have been forced to adopt it.
The organizers of the Saint Patrick’s Day Parade in New York—
a Catholic, religious event—were forced to yield.
And, by the way, legally,
that parade is no different from our Corpus Christi procession
in the streets of Russia.
There are a number of business people—
photographers, bakers, florists and others—
who are being sued, accused of crimes, fined,
and threatened with the loss of their businesses,
and with financial ruin—
if they don’t give their own, personal approval to this new morality.
And a few weeks ago, when the U.S. Supreme Court
was hearing arguments over the question of redefining marriage,
Justice Alito asked this question:
“In the Bob Jones case, the Court held
that a college was not entitled to tax exempt status
if it opposed inter-racial marriage or inter-racial dating.
So would the same apply to a university or a college
if it opposed same¬-sex marriage?”
Listen closely to how the government’s top lawyer responded:
“It’s certainly going to be an issue. I don't deny that. I don't deny that, Justice Alito.
It is going to be an issue.”
Understand what that means:
religious organizations that don’t endorse same-sex marriage
will lose tax-exempt status.
But here’s the thing. People think this will fall hardest on clergy.
That this will be about whether I’ll be forced to officiate at a wedding
between two men or two women.
That’s not the main thing to worry about,
because if I refuse—and I assure you, I will—
the worst the government is likely to do to me
is to take away my license to perform marriages.
Which means, I can still celebrate weddings,
but they won’t count as legal marriages.
Couples would have to get legally married somewhere else.
That won’t be a problem for me—but for the couples.
Now, if our parish no longer had a tax exemption, it would cost us;
but I think we could manage.
Those who donate to the parish would lose a tax-deduction,
but a lot of us don’t even use that tax-deduction,
so that won’t hurt as bad as you may think.
No, do you know who is going to be hit the hardest?
You will. You’re the target.
When political figures, business owners,
TV shows and advertising and the rest of the culture
start calling people who embrace Catholic teaching
“bigots” and “haters,” that’s aimed at you.
That’s about making you ashamed to say what you believe,
to question your beliefs, and ultimately renounce them.
That’s not something any of us have had to endure.
And I really think this is going to be a brutal shock for a lot of folks.
It’s going to be a rough, rough experience.
The effects and the consequences
are going to be far worse than anyone realizes.
It’s like this: you and I, for being faithful Catholics,
upholding the truth that marriage and family are man-and-woman,
will be put in the same category as the KKK.
Let that sink in.
And if I’m correct, here are some things
that we need to brace ourselves for:
There will be a sudden and shocking wave of hostility unleashed.
Remember, this isn’t just a human conflict; this is a spiritual conflict.
And the real enemy is the devil,
whose malice we cannot begin to imagine.
And there are people who harbor contempt for the Catholic Faith,
but haven’t felt free to let it loose. Soon, they will.
Do you think the media is unfair now? Expect ten times worse.
Does the media worry about being fair to the KKK?
That scrutiny will find rottenness. We’re not perfect.
If there is a bad apple, our enemies will find it;
and it will be on TV seven days a week, 24 hours a day.
Lots of people won’t be able to take it.
Look: when we talk about sharing our faith in a friendly context,
most of us squirm—we’re not comfortable.
Lots of people will admit they are embarrassed
to make the sign of the cross in public.
That’s without any manifest hostility.
So don’t be surprised when you see people just fall away.
When Islam conquered the Holy Land in the 7th and 8th centuries,
most people were Christian, but now those in power were not.
As a result, if you wanted to advance, to do better in business,
to make something of yourself, it paid to become Muslim.
And that’s exactly what happened.
Lots of people just converted—
not because they were threatened with death,
although that happened—
but simply because they saw greater advantage that way.
So don’t be surprised when people cave in,
because it means saving their jobs, their businesses, or getting ahead.
In fact, don’t be surprised by anything you see or hear.
Prominent Catholics will give in. Priests and bishops will give in.
When King Henry VIII declared himself head of the Church
in England—instead of the successor to St. Peter—
only Thomas More and Bishop John Fisher stood up to him.
Most of the clergy went right along.
Now, I’ve painted it pretty dark. But nothing is set in stone.
The future can be changed, particularly by our prayers and sacrifices, and by conversions.
But even if it is as bad as I’ve forecast, it won’t all be bad news.
Let me talk about some of the wonderful things that will happen.
There will be conversions. People will see what is happening,
and rally to the cause of Jesus Christ.
Those who resist will grow in their faith.
When you swim against the tide,
your muscles and endurance grow very strong.
While the Church may become smaller, and certainly poorer,
she will also grow in holiness, in beauty, and union with Christ.
Many of you have experienced what I’m going to describe.
When you are in trouble, your back is against the wall,
and you feel very alone—
that’s when you experience the presence of Christ in a wonderful way.
There is a fusing of heart-to-heart, ours to his.
And that is a tremendous power and consolation—
knowing Jesus and I are ONE!—there is nothing to match that.
When our Lord spoke about giving us the power of the Holy Spirit,
that’s what he was talking about.
And remember—all the words in the readings we heard today,
were addressed to Christians facing persecution.
This power is what enables the martyrs to be strong.
And we saw it, a few months ago,
when a group of men were lined up on a beach in Libya, and told:
deny Jesus or you will die.
And one by one, they proclaimed their faith in Jesus,
even after they saw the man next to them die.
That is a power and a peace the world cannot give!
The Church has been persecuted before; in fact,
that’s pretty much the normal state of the Church.
The peace and quiet we’ve known is the exception.
Don’t miss the meaning of the Ascension.
Our task here is to make him known; not to make this world our home.
Our destination isn’t this world,
but to follow Jesus Christ into the New Creation.
Jesus did not leave us. Just as he did not leave the Father,
when he came among us as man,
so he is not abandoning us as he returns to his throne.
Jesus is here—above all, in the midst of a suffering, crucified Church.
Jesus’ victory was on the Cross!
So it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.
Sunday, May 10, 2015
The wrong and right ways to welcome others (Sunday homily)
If we ponder the passages of Scripture we just heard,
one theme that might stand out –
it did for me, and I suspect it might for others –
is one of inclusion: welcoming others into the Family of God.
Notice how, in the first reading,
God creates a situation in which not only Peter, but those with him,
are forced to say, yes God wants to share the Holy Spirit
with everyone, even those outsiders we call Gentiles.
It’s hard to appreciate how shocking this would have been.
To Jews in that time, Gentiles were not only foreigners;
they were “unclean,” unholy. But most of all, they were a threat.
When Peter and his companions visited the house of Cornelius,
their whole mindset was shaped by a powerful fact:
for almost their entire history,
the Jewish people had always been in mortal peril.
They experienced only brief respites of peace in their land.
Otherwise, it was one Gentile nation after another
that came to conquer and scatter.
We hear something just as shocking in the Gospel:
the Lord Jesus says to the Apostles, “you are my friends.”
This is shocking when we realize
it is not just a mere man who says this,
but the Lord God, the Creator, who says this.
A politician will get up and say, “dear friends,”
but that’s because he wants something!
But God is not a politician; he needs nothing from us.
God doesn’t use language in the empty way we often do.
So when Jesus calls them friends, that’s a powerful statement.
As I said a moment ago,
we could call it a statement of welcome or inclusion—
and that’s true—but it’s far more than that.
When we talk about how the Church should welcome or include people,
here’s where that usually ends up:
as an argument for the Church not teaching something we teach
that’s either unpopular, or hard to live up to.
Almost every day, it seems,
someone is saying we should change our teaching on marriage,
or on protecting the unborn, or contraception, and so on and so forth.
Here’s the thing: when people tried this with Jesus,
he never went for it.
When Jesus taught about the Eucharist,
some of his own followers didn’t like it.
He didn’t back down; and they left.
People came to him with a question about divorce,
and his answer was tougher than what any of the rabbis taught.
They cited Moses, and Jesus actually overruled Moses!
Moses, he explained, made a concession
“because of the hardness of your hearts.”
Of course, people cite how readily Jesus forgave, and it’s true.
And he commands us to do the exact same thing.
Folks remember him teaching generosity,
and they remember him eating at the houses of sinners.
All true. And we are called to do the exact same thing.
But when it came to what is true and what is good,
Jesus never budged an inch.
Notice what we just heard Jesus say:
“you are my friends if you do what I command you.”
How could it be otherwise?
To be friends with someone is to have some things in common;
and the closer a friendship, the more we have in common.
The friendship Jesus offers
isn’t a “hey, howyadoin?” wave of the hand;
but mind-to-mind, heart-to-heart.
That’s what the Holy Spirit coming upon Cornelius and his family meant:
Despite any barriers of language, culture, history or prejudice,
Jews and Gentiles were now one heart and one mind, in Jesus Christ.
So it’s not the truth that gets set aside for the sake of welcome;
but those other barriers that get in the way of the truth.
And that challenge remains for us.
One of the things I’ve talked about, and I will continue to emphasize,
is that each of us has a task:
to share Jesus Christ with everyone around us.
That is the reason this parish is here.
That was what Jesus told his disciples
right before he returned to heaven.
Until this world becomes heaven, that task remains,
and none of us is exempt. Not a single one of us.
So if we’re Peter, or one of his companions,
what are the barriers that may get in our way?
We all know that a growing number of Catholics in this country
are Spanish-speaking – obviously, because of immigration.
Now, a lot of us aren’t happy
with how the government is handling that issue;
and in another setting,
we can debate what sort of immigration policy we ought to have.
But meanwhile, we have people God calls friends who are here,
and they need the sacraments; they need Christ.
So, our seminarians are learning Spanish.
In Sidney, and some of the other parishes,
Mass in Spanish is being offered.
My Spanish isn’t great, but I work at it.
Now, a few years ago, I stood up in another pulpit,
in another parish, and said,
maybe we ought to think about using some Spanish at Mass,
in the prayers and hymns, in order to put out the welcome mat.
I said similar things in a parish meeting.
The most discouraging response wasn’t the hostility,
of which there was some.
No, the worst was the indifference!
I don’t know how we call ourselves friends of Jesus
if we are indifferent in matters
when we know Jesus is anything but indifferent!
Now, in our parish, it’s not a question of Spanish vs. English.
But that day may come. Will we be willing to change, for Christ’s sake?
Meanwhile, we search our hearts and ask:
what are the barriers
that keep us from being effective witnesses to our Faith?
We might think, oh, I’m not smart enough.
But sharing our Faith doesn’t mean we have to be scholars or experts.
We really only need to do one thing:
tell our own story of why we put our faith in Jesus Christ. That’s it.
What does Jesus mean—to me? How has he changed my life?
Why am I willing to give up anything, even my life,
if that’s what it takes to keep my friendship with Jesus Christ?
And if we’ve never asked ourselves those questions, then start there.
In fact, we might even just start with an even more basic question:
what does it mean to say, Jesus is…my friend?
Do I have a friendship with Jesus Christ?
I realize that may feel strange: Jesus is my Lord!
Yes, but I’ll say it again:
Jesus never said anything he didn’t mean.
So when he calls us “friends,” he means it.
So, there’s your “homework”: find that friendship. Deepen it.
And then there’s no wondering
about what you or I have to share with others about our Faith.
one theme that might stand out –
it did for me, and I suspect it might for others –
is one of inclusion: welcoming others into the Family of God.
Notice how, in the first reading,
God creates a situation in which not only Peter, but those with him,
are forced to say, yes God wants to share the Holy Spirit
with everyone, even those outsiders we call Gentiles.
It’s hard to appreciate how shocking this would have been.
To Jews in that time, Gentiles were not only foreigners;
they were “unclean,” unholy. But most of all, they were a threat.
When Peter and his companions visited the house of Cornelius,
their whole mindset was shaped by a powerful fact:
for almost their entire history,
the Jewish people had always been in mortal peril.
They experienced only brief respites of peace in their land.
Otherwise, it was one Gentile nation after another
that came to conquer and scatter.
We hear something just as shocking in the Gospel:
the Lord Jesus says to the Apostles, “you are my friends.”
This is shocking when we realize
it is not just a mere man who says this,
but the Lord God, the Creator, who says this.
A politician will get up and say, “dear friends,”
but that’s because he wants something!
But God is not a politician; he needs nothing from us.
God doesn’t use language in the empty way we often do.
So when Jesus calls them friends, that’s a powerful statement.
As I said a moment ago,
we could call it a statement of welcome or inclusion—
and that’s true—but it’s far more than that.
When we talk about how the Church should welcome or include people,
here’s where that usually ends up:
as an argument for the Church not teaching something we teach
that’s either unpopular, or hard to live up to.
Almost every day, it seems,
someone is saying we should change our teaching on marriage,
or on protecting the unborn, or contraception, and so on and so forth.
Here’s the thing: when people tried this with Jesus,
he never went for it.
When Jesus taught about the Eucharist,
some of his own followers didn’t like it.
He didn’t back down; and they left.
People came to him with a question about divorce,
and his answer was tougher than what any of the rabbis taught.
They cited Moses, and Jesus actually overruled Moses!
Moses, he explained, made a concession
“because of the hardness of your hearts.”
Of course, people cite how readily Jesus forgave, and it’s true.
And he commands us to do the exact same thing.
Folks remember him teaching generosity,
and they remember him eating at the houses of sinners.
All true. And we are called to do the exact same thing.
But when it came to what is true and what is good,
Jesus never budged an inch.
Notice what we just heard Jesus say:
“you are my friends if you do what I command you.”
How could it be otherwise?
To be friends with someone is to have some things in common;
and the closer a friendship, the more we have in common.
The friendship Jesus offers
isn’t a “hey, howyadoin?” wave of the hand;
but mind-to-mind, heart-to-heart.
That’s what the Holy Spirit coming upon Cornelius and his family meant:
Despite any barriers of language, culture, history or prejudice,
Jews and Gentiles were now one heart and one mind, in Jesus Christ.
So it’s not the truth that gets set aside for the sake of welcome;
but those other barriers that get in the way of the truth.
And that challenge remains for us.
One of the things I’ve talked about, and I will continue to emphasize,
is that each of us has a task:
to share Jesus Christ with everyone around us.
That is the reason this parish is here.
That was what Jesus told his disciples
right before he returned to heaven.
Until this world becomes heaven, that task remains,
and none of us is exempt. Not a single one of us.
So if we’re Peter, or one of his companions,
what are the barriers that may get in our way?
We all know that a growing number of Catholics in this country
are Spanish-speaking – obviously, because of immigration.
Now, a lot of us aren’t happy
with how the government is handling that issue;
and in another setting,
we can debate what sort of immigration policy we ought to have.
But meanwhile, we have people God calls friends who are here,
and they need the sacraments; they need Christ.
So, our seminarians are learning Spanish.
In Sidney, and some of the other parishes,
Mass in Spanish is being offered.
My Spanish isn’t great, but I work at it.
Now, a few years ago, I stood up in another pulpit,
in another parish, and said,
maybe we ought to think about using some Spanish at Mass,
in the prayers and hymns, in order to put out the welcome mat.
I said similar things in a parish meeting.
The most discouraging response wasn’t the hostility,
of which there was some.
No, the worst was the indifference!
I don’t know how we call ourselves friends of Jesus
if we are indifferent in matters
when we know Jesus is anything but indifferent!
Now, in our parish, it’s not a question of Spanish vs. English.
But that day may come. Will we be willing to change, for Christ’s sake?
Meanwhile, we search our hearts and ask:
what are the barriers
that keep us from being effective witnesses to our Faith?
We might think, oh, I’m not smart enough.
But sharing our Faith doesn’t mean we have to be scholars or experts.
We really only need to do one thing:
tell our own story of why we put our faith in Jesus Christ. That’s it.
What does Jesus mean—to me? How has he changed my life?
Why am I willing to give up anything, even my life,
if that’s what it takes to keep my friendship with Jesus Christ?
And if we’ve never asked ourselves those questions, then start there.
In fact, we might even just start with an even more basic question:
what does it mean to say, Jesus is…my friend?
Do I have a friendship with Jesus Christ?
I realize that may feel strange: Jesus is my Lord!
Yes, but I’ll say it again:
Jesus never said anything he didn’t mean.
So when he calls us “friends,” he means it.
So, there’s your “homework”: find that friendship. Deepen it.
And then there’s no wondering
about what you or I have to share with others about our Faith.
Wednesday, May 06, 2015
Russia's Big Dig, update...
I was out taking a walk this evening, and visiting some of our families along the way; and so I stopped by the Nine Mile Creek project, aka "the Big Dig."
Here's the latest. Looking upstream (roughly northwest):
And downstream:
One of the workers told me they expect to cover it with dirt in a few days, and then grass I suppose. I'll keep you posted!
Here's the latest. Looking upstream (roughly northwest):
And downstream:
One of the workers told me they expect to cover it with dirt in a few days, and then grass I suppose. I'll keep you posted!
Sunday, May 03, 2015
Not bearing fruit isn't an option (Sunday homily)
The Lord Jesus’s words seem pretty clear:
if we want life, we need to be part of the Vine, part of him.
How do we become part of the Vine?
A few weeks ago, on the Vigil of Easter,
we had a boy receive baptism, and be confirmed,
and make his first holy communion.
He wanted the life of the Vine; and he is part of Jesus now.
The life of the Vine is grace—God’s life,
which God eagerly gives us day-by-day.
God gives us his grace in uncountable ways.
For example, after Mass today,
Deb Timmerman will be giving away
some free information about the Holy Rosary.
A lot of us pray the Rosary,
but maybe some of us don’t really know much about it.
Maybe we are afraid to admit that.
There are lots of great ways to pray:
reflecting on Scripture, making a holy hour,
coming to adoration on Thursdays.
The Rosary is one of the most powerful prayers—
and there have been too many signs and miracles
associated with the Rosary to ignore.
It was Pope Pius V, leading Europe in praying the Rosary,
that saved Christendom at the Battle of Lepanto –
you’ll have to look that one up!
At Fatima, in 1917, the Blessed Mother
promised that praying the Rosary would change the world—
and about 70 years later, the Cold War ended without a shot fired!
No one has to pray the Rosary, but it’s a wonderful source of God’s life.
The most important sources of God’s grace—his life—
are the sacraments.
Last Sunday, our second-graders made their first communion.
One of our children was so eager to receive more of the Life of Jesus,
he came to daily Mass all week! That’s a powerful example.
In three weeks, on Pentecost,
we have two men, who are married to Catholics,
who themselves will become Catholic.
They became part of the Vine in their baptism years ago;
but they want all the life Jesus offers,
which comes through the fullness of the Catholic Faith.
So they will make a profession of faith, and be confirmed,
and receive their first Holy Communion.
Where does the sacrament of penance fit in?
If you’ve ever tried to grow tomatoes or cucumbers, or other vines,
you know how easy it is to break a branch.
It’s still on the vine, but it’s hanging limp.
And if it’s got a tomato on it, you know you’ll lose that fruit.
That’s what sin does. We’re the branch;
and sin bruises that link to the vine.
Mortal sin breaks it.
We might still be hanging on the vine,
but the life that flows between the vine and the branch is cut off.
When it’s a cucumber branch, we break it off and throw it aside.
But with his Vine, God heals that break: that’s what confession does.
Of course, that’s just the bare minimum
of what the sacrament of reconciliation does.
Frequent confession is a powerful tool to giving us strength,
to increasing our ability to be holy: to make us fruitful.
It’s like the boy I mentioned who came to Mass every day,
to receive Holy Communion.
No one said he had to;
he wouldn’t have been a bad Catholic for not doing it.
But he figured, why not? Why not?!
If Buschurs put a table out front, piled with cuts of beef,
with a sign that says, “Free!”
Who’s going to say, “well, I don’t know…maybe later…
only if I’m really hungry…”? Seriously? It’s FREE!
And yes, I know Buschurs can’t actually give away free meat.
But God actually can give away free grace, and he does.
And did I mention it’s FREE?
And it’s God’s own life, forgiveness of sins, God’s grace, poured into us.
Life in the vine. It feels so good!
Let me mention other ways we sustain the life of the Vine.
There are folks who have the idea
that they can be part of Christ without having any part in anyone else.
So they don’t really take part in the life of the Church.
Maybe it’s treating Holy Mass as something that isn’t for them.
Or it’s folks who think—who actually say—they can be good Catholics
without heeding the teachings of the Church.
That’s not being part of the vine; that’s rebelling against it.
It was Jesus who said, he’s the Vine, and we are the branches.
And he’s also the one who said to the Apostles,
he who hears me, hears you.
And, “as the Father sent me, so I send you.”
The Faith of the Church isn’t a buffet table,
where we pick and choose what appeals to us.
It’s a living thing, whole and entire—like a Vine.
There’s one more aspect of this we can’t ignore.
When we know what we have—life in Jesus, God’s life flowing into us—
how can we not share it?
We often ponder and pray about what God’s plan for ourselves:
what does God want me to do?
But God has a plan for every single soul he created.
That means our family members, our neighbors,
our coworkers, our county, our country, our world.
Jesus said that the Father wants us to “bear much fruit.”
What might that be?
Well, in other parables, Jesus speaks of the harvest—
and he means souls, winning souls for him.
So while I think the “fruit” means our own lives,
how can it not also include bringing Jesus others who he wants to give life to?
In the first reading, we saw how Paul was first received.
That is to say, he wasn’t received.
People didn’t trust him. Can you blame them?
They knew he’d persecuted the Church.
He’d stood by, cheering as the mob murdered Saint Stephen.
But God inspired Barnabas to reach out to him. Thank God!
Imagine if Barnabas hadn’t done that?
Maybe Paul would have given up.
If someone moves into our community,
and we don’t make him or her welcome, what then?
If there are other kids at school, but we avoid them, what then?
There are so many great things about a small, close community;
but what can be hard is to be “the new kid.”
You welcomed me, and I am grateful.
But then, I invited all of you over to the hall.
Most new people coming to town, or being hired on at work,
aren’t going to do that.
It’s up to us to be a Barnabas—especially if others are shying away:
that guy’s a little odd; that girl’s not one of us.
There’s something sobering in what Jesus said about life in the Vine:
we are supposed to bear fruit. It’s not an option.
So the question for you to ponder is this:
what fruit are you going to bring to Jesus this week?
if we want life, we need to be part of the Vine, part of him.
How do we become part of the Vine?
A few weeks ago, on the Vigil of Easter,
we had a boy receive baptism, and be confirmed,
and make his first holy communion.
He wanted the life of the Vine; and he is part of Jesus now.
The life of the Vine is grace—God’s life,
which God eagerly gives us day-by-day.
God gives us his grace in uncountable ways.
For example, after Mass today,
Deb Timmerman will be giving away
some free information about the Holy Rosary.
A lot of us pray the Rosary,
but maybe some of us don’t really know much about it.
Maybe we are afraid to admit that.
There are lots of great ways to pray:
reflecting on Scripture, making a holy hour,
coming to adoration on Thursdays.
The Rosary is one of the most powerful prayers—
and there have been too many signs and miracles
associated with the Rosary to ignore.
It was Pope Pius V, leading Europe in praying the Rosary,
that saved Christendom at the Battle of Lepanto –
you’ll have to look that one up!
At Fatima, in 1917, the Blessed Mother
promised that praying the Rosary would change the world—
and about 70 years later, the Cold War ended without a shot fired!
No one has to pray the Rosary, but it’s a wonderful source of God’s life.
The most important sources of God’s grace—his life—
are the sacraments.
Last Sunday, our second-graders made their first communion.
One of our children was so eager to receive more of the Life of Jesus,
he came to daily Mass all week! That’s a powerful example.
In three weeks, on Pentecost,
we have two men, who are married to Catholics,
who themselves will become Catholic.
They became part of the Vine in their baptism years ago;
but they want all the life Jesus offers,
which comes through the fullness of the Catholic Faith.
So they will make a profession of faith, and be confirmed,
and receive their first Holy Communion.
Where does the sacrament of penance fit in?
If you’ve ever tried to grow tomatoes or cucumbers, or other vines,
you know how easy it is to break a branch.
It’s still on the vine, but it’s hanging limp.
And if it’s got a tomato on it, you know you’ll lose that fruit.
That’s what sin does. We’re the branch;
and sin bruises that link to the vine.
Mortal sin breaks it.
We might still be hanging on the vine,
but the life that flows between the vine and the branch is cut off.
When it’s a cucumber branch, we break it off and throw it aside.
But with his Vine, God heals that break: that’s what confession does.
Of course, that’s just the bare minimum
of what the sacrament of reconciliation does.
Frequent confession is a powerful tool to giving us strength,
to increasing our ability to be holy: to make us fruitful.
It’s like the boy I mentioned who came to Mass every day,
to receive Holy Communion.
No one said he had to;
he wouldn’t have been a bad Catholic for not doing it.
But he figured, why not? Why not?!
If Buschurs put a table out front, piled with cuts of beef,
with a sign that says, “Free!”
Who’s going to say, “well, I don’t know…maybe later…
only if I’m really hungry…”? Seriously? It’s FREE!
And yes, I know Buschurs can’t actually give away free meat.
But God actually can give away free grace, and he does.
And did I mention it’s FREE?
And it’s God’s own life, forgiveness of sins, God’s grace, poured into us.
Life in the vine. It feels so good!
Let me mention other ways we sustain the life of the Vine.
There are folks who have the idea
that they can be part of Christ without having any part in anyone else.
So they don’t really take part in the life of the Church.
Maybe it’s treating Holy Mass as something that isn’t for them.
Or it’s folks who think—who actually say—they can be good Catholics
without heeding the teachings of the Church.
That’s not being part of the vine; that’s rebelling against it.
It was Jesus who said, he’s the Vine, and we are the branches.
And he’s also the one who said to the Apostles,
he who hears me, hears you.
And, “as the Father sent me, so I send you.”
The Faith of the Church isn’t a buffet table,
where we pick and choose what appeals to us.
It’s a living thing, whole and entire—like a Vine.
There’s one more aspect of this we can’t ignore.
When we know what we have—life in Jesus, God’s life flowing into us—
how can we not share it?
We often ponder and pray about what God’s plan for ourselves:
what does God want me to do?
But God has a plan for every single soul he created.
That means our family members, our neighbors,
our coworkers, our county, our country, our world.
Jesus said that the Father wants us to “bear much fruit.”
What might that be?
Well, in other parables, Jesus speaks of the harvest—
and he means souls, winning souls for him.
So while I think the “fruit” means our own lives,
how can it not also include bringing Jesus others who he wants to give life to?
In the first reading, we saw how Paul was first received.
That is to say, he wasn’t received.
People didn’t trust him. Can you blame them?
They knew he’d persecuted the Church.
He’d stood by, cheering as the mob murdered Saint Stephen.
But God inspired Barnabas to reach out to him. Thank God!
Imagine if Barnabas hadn’t done that?
Maybe Paul would have given up.
If someone moves into our community,
and we don’t make him or her welcome, what then?
If there are other kids at school, but we avoid them, what then?
There are so many great things about a small, close community;
but what can be hard is to be “the new kid.”
You welcomed me, and I am grateful.
But then, I invited all of you over to the hall.
Most new people coming to town, or being hired on at work,
aren’t going to do that.
It’s up to us to be a Barnabas—especially if others are shying away:
that guy’s a little odd; that girl’s not one of us.
There’s something sobering in what Jesus said about life in the Vine:
we are supposed to bear fruit. It’s not an option.
So the question for you to ponder is this:
what fruit are you going to bring to Jesus this week?
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Picture time!
I had a bunch of photos from the past few days, so I'm just going to post them all together. Is that bad?
While in Cincinnati on Friday -- in anticipation of the Deacon Ordination Saturday morning -- I drove by Eden Park. It was a lovely afternoon, and many people were enjoying it. Here's a famous monument, commemorating Cincinnati being a sister city to Rome. By the way -- do you know which famous world leader presented this (remotely) to Cincinnati? The next picture explains it.
While I was snapping the photo of the she-wolf, I heard one guy nearby say, "everyone takes a picture of that!"
Here's why you don't see more pictures...
That was supposed to be a picture of a couple, in wedding attire, having their picture taken.
Here's a view of the mighty Ohio, looking upriver (i.e., east). It's flooded a few weeks ago; and it still looks a little high to me, but I think that's normal for this time of year:
And here's downriver.
Here's last night's dinner, with the Neapolitan Ragu again. I did the recipe a little differently this time. Instead of spare ribs and braciole, I used Italian sausage and some meat balls I bought. A second change involved the tomatoes -- I had bought an Italian brand before, but this was a Kroger brand.
The sauce was quite good, but it needed salt and pepper; and the meats weren't as good. The Italian sausage was too mildly spiced, for one. Next time, I'll get a better sausage, and I may try my hand at meatballs.
Here's an update on Russia's "Big Dig." You can see the workers have built the walls of the channel, and they are preparing to create the cover. A couple of parishioners walked over after Holy Mass with me to see it: a grandpa and his grandson, who just made his first communion on Sunday, and wanted to go to Mass every day this week. Isn't that awesome?
Monday, April 27, 2015
First Communion in Russia (and more!) -- updated with pictures!
It was First Communion Sunday -- and I confess that each year, this fills me with both joy and, yes, some dread. The joy is obvious; why the dread?
In years' past, the other priests I've worked with in my prior parishes and I have agreed the First Communion Mass can often be a "zoo Mass": a lot of irreverence and disruption, due entirely to the adults who are scrambling for seats, angling for a better view, snapping constant photos, and yakking loudly whenever possible. It's not edifying.
This year was the best ever -- and while I am a bit jaded, that's not the main reason. The people of this parish, with the encouragement and good work of my predecessor, have a strong sense of reverence. The church is normally very quiet before and after Mass (I am probably the worst offender, greeting people in the vestibule). For the First Communion Mass, there was some commotion in the back as folks gathered for the group picture beforehand, and some chatting in church before Mass, but far less than I've seen. It helped that someone started the Rosary, as usual, about 20 minutes before.
Have I mentioned the outstanding altar servers we have? We have a crew of high school boys who love to serve; and whenever we have a "high Mass" (which now is every 9 am Sunday Mass), we have a crew of six to eight who don cassock and surplice, white gloves, and take care of the incense, the torches for the consecration and for communion. We have a battery-operated clicker that triggers the tower bells during the consecration, so that everyone in the village can know the miracle has happened!
Well, we had our regularly scheduled "high Mass" at 9, and then another crew (one carry-over) for the 11.
Then there's the special way we distribute Holy Communion to the first communicants. We set up three kneelers, and the child comes up with his parents. Everyone kneels down, and I give the child, then his parents, the Body and Blood at once, by intinction; which means, on the tongue.
This has many advantages:
> The child comes up with his parents; that's easier and very appropriate.
> The child doesn't have to make two stops; again, easier.
> There's far less problem about what communion tastes like: sometimes the children don't like the dryness of the host, or the taste of the Precious Blood. This solves both problems.
> The child is settled; sometimes, when they receive standing, they don't stay still.
> This teaches the age-old practice of both kneeling and receiving on the tongue. (We only do it this way the first time.)
> It's all very calm and peaceful for the children.
The Mass went about 80 minutes or so -- the church was packed so communion took awhile -- and then we had individual pictures with the 30 or so children. After that, one of the families invited me over, so I joined them for a very nice party. (Another family invited me, but it was later, and I had a conflict. Yet another family invited me, but it was in passing, and I didn't write it down, so I couldn't remember, I'm sorry!)
Later that afternoon, we had our boys' program, the Knights of Saint Remy -- attendance much reduced due to First Communion. I gave a talk on the four cardinal virtues (Justice, Temperance, Fortitude and Prudence), comparing them to parts of the armor a knight might wear. Fortitude was the breastplate that wraps all around, temperance the mouth-guard, justice the sword, and prudence the helmet. After that -- at the end of a very busy weekend that had me in Cincinnati Friday afternoon, for the deacon ordination on Saturday morning, then back to Russia for Mass, then the high school prom (they invite the priest to come! I've never had that anywhere else), then all I just described -- I was pretty tired! But a great weekend; I love being a priest!
Update, April 28...
Here are pictures!
The children entering...
Here's one to warm Father Z's heart (you have to look closely to see why):
Don't we have a beautiful church? My venerable predecessor did all this.
By the way, we would have had more torches, but we had the "High Mass Crew" at two Masses straight, and a lot of our high school boys had been out at the prom the night before.
Here's the kneeling-intinction method I described. Everything worked like clockwork. It helps (a lot) to have well motivated, well trained altar servers.
These boys are brothers, not twins but they made their First Communion together.
And here you see me in my biretta'ed splendor...
Update, April 28...
Here are pictures!
The children entering...
Don't we have a beautiful church? My venerable predecessor did all this.
By the way, we would have had more torches, but we had the "High Mass Crew" at two Masses straight, and a lot of our high school boys had been out at the prom the night before.
Here's the kneeling-intinction method I described. Everything worked like clockwork. It helps (a lot) to have well motivated, well trained altar servers.
These boys are brothers, not twins but they made their First Communion together.
And here you see me in my biretta'ed splendor...
Jesus' Eternal Word -- the Eucharist -- transforms us into God's children (Sunday homily)
This was one of those weekends where I never wrote down my homily. What follows is my best effort to recall the main points -- I didn't necessarily do it the same way at each of the four Masses...
As I reflected on the first reading -- on Peter, as he stood up so courageously, despite the great risk, a question came to mind, which I'll share with you: why did Peter -- and the rest of the Apostles -- place their faith in a crucified Savior? If they can kill him, how can he be God? How can he be the Messiah? After all, that's what many said at the cross: come down from that cross, then we'll believe in you.
We know that Peter's faith was shaken when Jesus was arrested, and so for all the apostles. But they didn't despair, as Judas did. Why?
As I thought about that, I recalled an episode described in John chapter 6, where our Lord was telling people about the Eucharist, that it would be his true Body and Blood, and there were people who couldn't accept that. And so they left him. Jesus turned to the Apostles and said, are you going to leave me too? And Peter replied, no Lord, because you have the words of everlasting life.
That, I think, is why Peter believed in Jesus: he spoke words of eternal life (and I wonder if Judas didn't believe that; and so he gave up).
One of the things I like to do is read about science topics; not that I am any kind of expert, but I want to learn more. And I've been reading about scientists who claim -- very seriously -- that they may be in the verge of making discoveries that would dramatically lengthen human life. Hold onto your hats: they claim by hundreds of years!
And we've all seen the movie stars and celebrities that are as old as Methuselah and they try to pretend they are in their 30s; and after awhile, it just becomes silly. See, there are people who think this life is all their is, so they're trying to make it go on and on. That inspires them; but the prospect of this life going on and on fills me with despair. I want more than just this life, endlessly. And we all hunger for that: for eternal life.
Eternal life isn't just this life, forever; it's the fullness of life. So when people do extreme things, they climb mountains and jump out of planes and ride roller coasters and try to eat and taste everything, they are expressing that longing. But this life is only a foretaste. Of eternal life.
Jesus has the words of eternal life -- above all, in the Eucharist. We hear those words of everlasting life spoken: "This is my Body" and "This is my Blood." The Eucharist is the food of everlasting life.
Last week, when I spoke about the Eucharist, I quoted something many of the saints said; and I hoped it would get you thinking: "God became man so that men might become God." And that's just another way of saying what John the Apostle said in the second reading: see what love the Father bestows on us, in calling us "children of God."
(Here I illustrated how we, as children, bear a likeness to our parents. I told the story of a man who approached me on a street in downtown Cincinnati some years back, asking me if I was "Rose Ann Dehoney's son." And I was -- but that's my mother's maiden name, and this man hadn't seen her since before she was married; which was over 30 years prior. Yet he recognized me as her son! And I talked about how we take on the attributes of our parents; and we all become our parents!)
So when we say we become "children of God"--that means we are like God, we love what God loves, we have life with God. And it is the Eucharist that brings us there. Not just one time, but week after week, even every day, all through our lives.
(I might add, the 11 am Mass was First Communion, so I tailored this toward the children and their families more at that Mass than the others. And I don't recall just how I moved to the conclusion, but I mentioned how it's the Good Shepherd who does all this -- laying down his life to give us his flesh and blood in the Eucharist, so that we can become children of God. And I talked about how a lifetime of receiving the Eucharist leads us to what the Apostle John also said: we don't know what we shall later be -- and I cited how we really can't see the true reality of the Mass -- yet we know that we shall be like him because we shall see him as he is! And I talked about how, when we close our eyes the last time, if we've been seeking Jesus all our lives, and receiving the Eucharist, we open our eyes in eternity, and "we see Him! As he is!")
As I reflected on the first reading -- on Peter, as he stood up so courageously, despite the great risk, a question came to mind, which I'll share with you: why did Peter -- and the rest of the Apostles -- place their faith in a crucified Savior? If they can kill him, how can he be God? How can he be the Messiah? After all, that's what many said at the cross: come down from that cross, then we'll believe in you.
We know that Peter's faith was shaken when Jesus was arrested, and so for all the apostles. But they didn't despair, as Judas did. Why?
As I thought about that, I recalled an episode described in John chapter 6, where our Lord was telling people about the Eucharist, that it would be his true Body and Blood, and there were people who couldn't accept that. And so they left him. Jesus turned to the Apostles and said, are you going to leave me too? And Peter replied, no Lord, because you have the words of everlasting life.
That, I think, is why Peter believed in Jesus: he spoke words of eternal life (and I wonder if Judas didn't believe that; and so he gave up).
One of the things I like to do is read about science topics; not that I am any kind of expert, but I want to learn more. And I've been reading about scientists who claim -- very seriously -- that they may be in the verge of making discoveries that would dramatically lengthen human life. Hold onto your hats: they claim by hundreds of years!
And we've all seen the movie stars and celebrities that are as old as Methuselah and they try to pretend they are in their 30s; and after awhile, it just becomes silly. See, there are people who think this life is all their is, so they're trying to make it go on and on. That inspires them; but the prospect of this life going on and on fills me with despair. I want more than just this life, endlessly. And we all hunger for that: for eternal life.
Eternal life isn't just this life, forever; it's the fullness of life. So when people do extreme things, they climb mountains and jump out of planes and ride roller coasters and try to eat and taste everything, they are expressing that longing. But this life is only a foretaste. Of eternal life.
Jesus has the words of eternal life -- above all, in the Eucharist. We hear those words of everlasting life spoken: "This is my Body" and "This is my Blood." The Eucharist is the food of everlasting life.
Last week, when I spoke about the Eucharist, I quoted something many of the saints said; and I hoped it would get you thinking: "God became man so that men might become God." And that's just another way of saying what John the Apostle said in the second reading: see what love the Father bestows on us, in calling us "children of God."
(Here I illustrated how we, as children, bear a likeness to our parents. I told the story of a man who approached me on a street in downtown Cincinnati some years back, asking me if I was "Rose Ann Dehoney's son." And I was -- but that's my mother's maiden name, and this man hadn't seen her since before she was married; which was over 30 years prior. Yet he recognized me as her son! And I talked about how we take on the attributes of our parents; and we all become our parents!)
So when we say we become "children of God"--that means we are like God, we love what God loves, we have life with God. And it is the Eucharist that brings us there. Not just one time, but week after week, even every day, all through our lives.
(I might add, the 11 am Mass was First Communion, so I tailored this toward the children and their families more at that Mass than the others. And I don't recall just how I moved to the conclusion, but I mentioned how it's the Good Shepherd who does all this -- laying down his life to give us his flesh and blood in the Eucharist, so that we can become children of God. And I talked about how a lifetime of receiving the Eucharist leads us to what the Apostle John also said: we don't know what we shall later be -- and I cited how we really can't see the true reality of the Mass -- yet we know that we shall be like him because we shall see him as he is! And I talked about how, when we close our eyes the last time, if we've been seeking Jesus all our lives, and receiving the Eucharist, we open our eyes in eternity, and "we see Him! As he is!")
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
'Clean out the icebox'
When I was a boy, one of my favorite meals was what my mom called, "Clean out the Icebox." It might be soup, or a casserole, baked or fried, but I always liked it. My older siblings have somewhat different recollections.
What's "Clean out the Icebox"? Just what it sounds like. Whatever leftovers mom found that could, reasonably (to her) be combined.
Yesterday I made my own attempt. I had some leftover pot roast, as well as a little bit of the ragu I made weeks ago. (It had been frozen and thawed in the meantime.) Plus I had some vegetables that were wilting, and some leftover beef broth.
So, I chopped up the roast and the vegetables left with it. I dumped in the broth; I chopped up some carrots and celery from the fridge, and set all that on the stove to simmer. At some point, I added some salt, pepper, and garlic; later, a bay leaf; and later, a handful of broken up spaghetti (because I had neither barley nor noodles). I simmered it some more, and had some last night for dinner. It was helped by some Parmesan cheese. Here's today's lunch:
Yes, it does rather taste like what mom would have cooked!
Oh, and FYI, this is an icebox. (There are pictures at the link.) We actually had one, growing up, but we also had an electric refrigerator, so mom used the icebox to store other things. My clever mom sawed off the bottom of it, so that it was just tall enough for the top to be a great work area. I think my brother has that now.
Sunday, April 19, 2015
Why the Eucharist is so important (Sunday homily)
At the beginning of the Gospel passage I just read, we heard,
The two disciples recounted what had taken place on the way,
and how Jesus was made known to them in the breaking of bread.
Let me explain what that refers to.
The day Jesus rose from the dead—the first Easter Sunday—
two of his disciples were walking from Jerusalem
to a nearby town called Emmaus.
Jesus met them as they walked along,
but they didn’t recognize him at first.
I think it’s pretty clear Jesus did this on purpose,
for a reason that will become clear in a moment.
As they walked, they talked to him as if he were a stranger;
and they told him about the crucifixion
and the stories of resurrection—
which, it appears, they are hesitant about.
Then the Lord Jesus—again, while they still think he’s just a visitor—
explains how all that happened was foreshadowed in the Scriptures.
As they reach their destination,
the two disciples invite the visitor to stay with them,
and as they sit down to eat,
Jesus takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them.
And it is at that instant their “eyes were opened,
and they recognized him”—in the breaking of the bread.
Then these two rush back to Jerusalem,
where they find the Apostles—and they tell them what happened.
And then Jesus appears in their midst—and what we heard follows.
I said a moment ago that the Lord Jesus had a purpose in all this.
Here’s what I think it is:
Jesus was showing them how important the Eucharist would be.
Let me ask a question: haven’t you ever wondered
what was going on with the followers of Jesus between the day of Resurrection
and the day Jesus ascended to heaven?
For all the information the Gospels give us
about Jesus’ teaching, his miracles, his death and resurrection,
they say very little about the 40 days after he rose from the dead.
I think what was happening was that they were making sense of it all,
especially after the shock of his death.
And after they started sorting this out, then what?
The Eucharist, that’s what.
They remembered the miracles of the loaves,
in which so many had been fed—
and there were twelve baskets’ full left over. A light went on.
This is when they began to realize what Jesus meant
when he said to the Apostles, “Do this in memory of Me.”
Do you want to see Jesus? Is there any Christian who wouldn’t say yes?
Don’t we all long to see him?
We do see him! He is made known to us “in the breaking of bread.”
In the Holy Mass. In the Holy Eucharist.
This is why the Holy Mass is so important.
Now, there’s a question many of us wrestle with.
We say that the bread and wine become Jesus—
his body, blood, soul and divinity.
And yet, at the same time,
we admit that the taste, the appearance,
and the chemical properties don’t change.
So let’s acknowledge the question easily comes to mind:
why should we believe that the Eucharist
is really anything more than merely wine and bread?
Why not just agree with those who say,
it’s only a symbol, but it’s not really Jesus himself.
Let me offer three answers to that.
First, the reason we believe the bread and wine aren’t just symbolic,
but they really become Jesus, is because that’s what he said.
In the 6th chapter of the Gospel of John—
which we’ll hear at Mass in August—he said, over and over:
“eat my flesh, and drink my blood”,
for “my flesh is real food, and my blood, real drink.”
And, on the night before he died, he took bread, and took wine,
and said, “this is my body”; “this is my blood.”
Second, this is clearly what Saint Paul believed and taught,
as is clear from what he wrote about the Eucharist.
And it’s what the early Christians believed.
They were very explicit on this point—
so much so, that pagans accused them of “cannibalism.”
But let me approach this in a third way.
Try to think about this from God’s point of view.
This is your plan: you’re going to come to earth as a man,
suffer and die for the rest of humanity, and rise again.
And, based on the rituals of sacrifice, and the Passover,
from the Old Testament,
give the faithful a new rite: the Eucharist.
If this is what you are going to do –
and you want people to “eat my flesh” and “drink my blood” –
tell me, just how would you do it?
I don’t mean to be gross, but—
would you do something involving real flesh and blood?
That would be repulsive.
OK then, so what do you do?
Just tell people, here, eat bread. Drink wine?
OK, so we do that. But the question remains:
how do bread and wine save us?
Even if you give me the best bread and wine,
if that’s all they are, so what?
I don’t want to be united forever with bread and wine.
Do you? Does anyone?
But I do want to be united forever with Jesus.
That’s what he promised. That’s what the Eucharist is!
So it seems to me Jesus hit upon the perfect solution.
It’s his Body and Blood—it’s really him;
but, in a manner that is human and approachable.
The Eucharist reminds us that Jesus didn’t just come to be a teacher.
I don’t know how many times I’ve heard people say that.
Oh, he was such an admirable teacher.
Well, that’s true. But it’s weak tea.
They didn’t crucify him because he was a teacher.
God didn’t need to become human in order to teach us.
He sent Moses. He sent the prophets. They did just fine as teachers.
God became human to be one of us.
And then, as one of us, he suffered and died with and for us.
And to come back to what I said a moment ago:
the point was that we would be one with God—forever.
Look, if you’re a student in our school, you listen to the teachers;
you learn from them; you may even want to imitate them.
But who says you have to become “one” with them?
God became man so that men could become God. That’s what it’s about.
I’ll say it again: God became man so that men could become God!
Not “become God” in the way only God can be God—
but “become God” in the sense of being sharers
in all that God is and has.
That’s why we have the Mass—and that’s why we need the Eucharist!
As Saint Augustine explained, when we feed upon Christ,
unlike all other food, the Eucharist does not change into us—
but rather, Christ says, “you shall be converted into me.”
The two disciples recounted what had taken place on the way,
and how Jesus was made known to them in the breaking of bread.
Let me explain what that refers to.
The day Jesus rose from the dead—the first Easter Sunday—
two of his disciples were walking from Jerusalem
to a nearby town called Emmaus.
Jesus met them as they walked along,
but they didn’t recognize him at first.
I think it’s pretty clear Jesus did this on purpose,
for a reason that will become clear in a moment.
As they walked, they talked to him as if he were a stranger;
and they told him about the crucifixion
and the stories of resurrection—
which, it appears, they are hesitant about.
Then the Lord Jesus—again, while they still think he’s just a visitor—
explains how all that happened was foreshadowed in the Scriptures.
As they reach their destination,
the two disciples invite the visitor to stay with them,
and as they sit down to eat,
Jesus takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them.
And it is at that instant their “eyes were opened,
and they recognized him”—in the breaking of the bread.
Then these two rush back to Jerusalem,
where they find the Apostles—and they tell them what happened.
And then Jesus appears in their midst—and what we heard follows.
I said a moment ago that the Lord Jesus had a purpose in all this.
Here’s what I think it is:
Jesus was showing them how important the Eucharist would be.
Let me ask a question: haven’t you ever wondered
what was going on with the followers of Jesus between the day of Resurrection
and the day Jesus ascended to heaven?
For all the information the Gospels give us
about Jesus’ teaching, his miracles, his death and resurrection,
they say very little about the 40 days after he rose from the dead.
I think what was happening was that they were making sense of it all,
especially after the shock of his death.
And after they started sorting this out, then what?
The Eucharist, that’s what.
They remembered the miracles of the loaves,
in which so many had been fed—
and there were twelve baskets’ full left over. A light went on.
This is when they began to realize what Jesus meant
when he said to the Apostles, “Do this in memory of Me.”
Do you want to see Jesus? Is there any Christian who wouldn’t say yes?
Don’t we all long to see him?
We do see him! He is made known to us “in the breaking of bread.”
In the Holy Mass. In the Holy Eucharist.
This is why the Holy Mass is so important.
Now, there’s a question many of us wrestle with.
We say that the bread and wine become Jesus—
his body, blood, soul and divinity.
And yet, at the same time,
we admit that the taste, the appearance,
and the chemical properties don’t change.
So let’s acknowledge the question easily comes to mind:
why should we believe that the Eucharist
is really anything more than merely wine and bread?
Why not just agree with those who say,
it’s only a symbol, but it’s not really Jesus himself.
Let me offer three answers to that.
First, the reason we believe the bread and wine aren’t just symbolic,
but they really become Jesus, is because that’s what he said.
In the 6th chapter of the Gospel of John—
which we’ll hear at Mass in August—he said, over and over:
“eat my flesh, and drink my blood”,
for “my flesh is real food, and my blood, real drink.”
And, on the night before he died, he took bread, and took wine,
and said, “this is my body”; “this is my blood.”
Second, this is clearly what Saint Paul believed and taught,
as is clear from what he wrote about the Eucharist.
And it’s what the early Christians believed.
They were very explicit on this point—
so much so, that pagans accused them of “cannibalism.”
But let me approach this in a third way.
Try to think about this from God’s point of view.
This is your plan: you’re going to come to earth as a man,
suffer and die for the rest of humanity, and rise again.
And, based on the rituals of sacrifice, and the Passover,
from the Old Testament,
give the faithful a new rite: the Eucharist.
If this is what you are going to do –
and you want people to “eat my flesh” and “drink my blood” –
tell me, just how would you do it?
I don’t mean to be gross, but—
would you do something involving real flesh and blood?
That would be repulsive.
OK then, so what do you do?
Just tell people, here, eat bread. Drink wine?
OK, so we do that. But the question remains:
how do bread and wine save us?
Even if you give me the best bread and wine,
if that’s all they are, so what?
I don’t want to be united forever with bread and wine.
Do you? Does anyone?
But I do want to be united forever with Jesus.
That’s what he promised. That’s what the Eucharist is!
So it seems to me Jesus hit upon the perfect solution.
It’s his Body and Blood—it’s really him;
but, in a manner that is human and approachable.
The Eucharist reminds us that Jesus didn’t just come to be a teacher.
I don’t know how many times I’ve heard people say that.
Oh, he was such an admirable teacher.
Well, that’s true. But it’s weak tea.
They didn’t crucify him because he was a teacher.
God didn’t need to become human in order to teach us.
He sent Moses. He sent the prophets. They did just fine as teachers.
God became human to be one of us.
And then, as one of us, he suffered and died with and for us.
And to come back to what I said a moment ago:
the point was that we would be one with God—forever.
Look, if you’re a student in our school, you listen to the teachers;
you learn from them; you may even want to imitate them.
But who says you have to become “one” with them?
God became man so that men could become God. That’s what it’s about.
I’ll say it again: God became man so that men could become God!
Not “become God” in the way only God can be God—
but “become God” in the sense of being sharers
in all that God is and has.
That’s why we have the Mass—and that’s why we need the Eucharist!
As Saint Augustine explained, when we feed upon Christ,
unlike all other food, the Eucharist does not change into us—
but rather, Christ says, “you shall be converted into me.”
Thursday, April 16, 2015
What's exciting in a small town? Digging a hole...
Across the street from the parish, the village is doing some work on Nine Mile Creek.
The retaining walls are being redone, a concrete basin is being poured, and then a "cap" will be put over it, followed by soil and grass. The mayor, who was watching the guys work when I walked up, explained that the existing wall is deteriorating, and "if it were to fail, we'd lose Main Street and have to shut it all down."
The area where the yellow bulldozer (is that what it's called?) will actually become a small park down the road, after all this is complete.
And -- ha! -- I have a scoop on the Fish Report!
The retaining walls are being redone, a concrete basin is being poured, and then a "cap" will be put over it, followed by soil and grass. The mayor, who was watching the guys work when I walked up, explained that the existing wall is deteriorating, and "if it were to fail, we'd lose Main Street and have to shut it all down."
The area where the yellow bulldozer (is that what it's called?) will actually become a small park down the road, after all this is complete.
And -- ha! -- I have a scoop on the Fish Report!
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Tax Day, Pot Roast Day
Today was tax day for me. I filed my federal and state taxes online, no problems -- although I ended up owing a lot more to Uncle Sugar than I thought. Remember the payroll tax cut that expired in 2013? Well, I forgot; and my tax withholding was based on the prior year's total owed. Hopefully Uncle Sugar doesn't assess a penalty.
My state taxes, as always, were a breeze. By the way, did you know that there's a $50 credit for giving money to a politician? If you have someone you like, give him or her $50, and you get a credit on your taxes. Meaning: the campaign contribution costs you nothing! I think $50 is the max, however.
And here's everything crammed into the pan. Over this I poured about 3/4ths cup of dry Vermouth (per the recipe), but omitted the dry onion soup mix and the cream of mushroom soup. Instead, I added some beef broth. Now I'm thinking I might have salted it. What do you think?
I also found out that the amount I can contribute to my IRA was higher than I thought. So I have a check on my desk which I'll run over to my friend in Piqua tomorrow.
It also turns out that in Russia, I have to file a tax return. Only that must be done on paper. So I printed off the papers and spent a good hour trying to fill it out correctly. I think I got it right. I owed nothing; I get nothing back.
After that, I got working on a pot roast I was planning. I found a recipe at Allrecipes.com, with which I've had good luck. Especially helpful are the reviews, where I often see variations that look better than the original.
Anyway, this recipe started with a roast (I can't recall what cut of beef), some flour and pepper (I added garlic powder), and some butter. I was a little short on the butter, so I used the rest of the oil I had.
Here's the roast, after having been dredged in the flour/pepper/garlic mixture, browning in the butter and oil. As a matter of fact, it did smell good!
Meanwhile, I chopped up these vegetables for the pan. I will add some potatoes shortly.
And here's everything crammed into the pan. Over this I poured about 3/4ths cup of dry Vermouth (per the recipe), but omitted the dry onion soup mix and the cream of mushroom soup. Instead, I added some beef broth. Now I'm thinking I might have salted it. What do you think?
Stay tuned, as always, for further developments.
Update, 5:47 pm...
After cutting up some red potatoes, I got the roast from the oven and pulled back the foil. Why, yes, it does smell good! As you can see, it's rather brothy. That's good, I think. Remember the butter and oil I used to brown the meat? I saved that. That, plus this, will make some splendid gravy, don't you think? And since I won't want to explain that later, this is a good time to tell you how I do that...
Gravy is easy. The basics are some flavorful juice from the meat you're cooking, and/or some added broth, plus some fat and some flour. Yes, flour, not corn starch. First you start with the fat, and add a bit of flour, making a roux. The flour won't be lumpy that way. Then you take the broth -- this pan, for example, after the meat and vegetables are removed -- and this should be cooked down a bit, being careful to scrape all the crusty, tasty bits into the broth. If you don't have a lot of liquid, but you do have lots of browning on the pan, You can add some liquid and "wash" that goodness into the liquid. This is called "deglazing," and you can't miss with this. Any liquid will do, but I wouldn't use water unless I had nothing else. Wine works nicely, although you may want to cook it a bit if you don't want to taste the alcohol. The roux -- which can be browned, by the way, but I tend not to do that -- goes in, adding thickness. I happen to like gravy that's not overly thick; mainly because that's how I remember mom doing it.
I was thinking of sauteing some spinach, but I'm not sure now. What do you think?
Oh, and about the salt -- I decided to add some Kosher salt, along with some more pepper and garlic powder. Can't go wrong with that!
Update, 7:18 pm...
OK, it's time to take the roast from the oven. Here it is...
And here's dinner, with a bit of gravy on it, and some red wine from the next county over. The containers in the picture hold the remaining broth (bottom) and gravy (top). The pan full of meat and veggie goodness is nearby. Now I eat! (Actually, I started before I posted these pictures!)
The Verdict?
Quite good! After all that, it needed a bit more salt and pepper, and more garlic wouldn't have hurt. The carrots, despite cooking for three hours, were perfect. The onion was a little soft, but I don't mind that. I really like onions baked this way. The meat was nearly fork-tender; which means it'll be even better after it sits a bit in the fridge. The potato was good, although the half left on my plate might benefit from a bit more gravy...Which was very good. Even the wine was good, if a bit...thin.
I can't believe this would be the first pot roast I've made, yet I can't remember doing it. This is something I'd definitely make again, and with guests, next time! This wasn't hard, and I didn't need a crock-pot for this, although that would work. Nor did I need to keep a close eye on it, which is good!
Update, 5:47 pm...
After cutting up some red potatoes, I got the roast from the oven and pulled back the foil. Why, yes, it does smell good! As you can see, it's rather brothy. That's good, I think. Remember the butter and oil I used to brown the meat? I saved that. That, plus this, will make some splendid gravy, don't you think? And since I won't want to explain that later, this is a good time to tell you how I do that...
Gravy is easy. The basics are some flavorful juice from the meat you're cooking, and/or some added broth, plus some fat and some flour. Yes, flour, not corn starch. First you start with the fat, and add a bit of flour, making a roux. The flour won't be lumpy that way. Then you take the broth -- this pan, for example, after the meat and vegetables are removed -- and this should be cooked down a bit, being careful to scrape all the crusty, tasty bits into the broth. If you don't have a lot of liquid, but you do have lots of browning on the pan, You can add some liquid and "wash" that goodness into the liquid. This is called "deglazing," and you can't miss with this. Any liquid will do, but I wouldn't use water unless I had nothing else. Wine works nicely, although you may want to cook it a bit if you don't want to taste the alcohol. The roux -- which can be browned, by the way, but I tend not to do that -- goes in, adding thickness. I happen to like gravy that's not overly thick; mainly because that's how I remember mom doing it.
I was thinking of sauteing some spinach, but I'm not sure now. What do you think?
Oh, and about the salt -- I decided to add some Kosher salt, along with some more pepper and garlic powder. Can't go wrong with that!
Update, 7:18 pm...
OK, it's time to take the roast from the oven. Here it is...
While that rests, I whip up the gravy. Sorry I didn't give you a shot of the crispy bits left over from the browning, but you can see them if you look closely. I had so much broth, I decided not to turn it all into gravy. I can always make more. Here I am stirring it so it's a little bit thick, as I like it.
And here's dinner, with a bit of gravy on it, and some red wine from the next county over. The containers in the picture hold the remaining broth (bottom) and gravy (top). The pan full of meat and veggie goodness is nearby. Now I eat! (Actually, I started before I posted these pictures!)
The Verdict?
Quite good! After all that, it needed a bit more salt and pepper, and more garlic wouldn't have hurt. The carrots, despite cooking for three hours, were perfect. The onion was a little soft, but I don't mind that. I really like onions baked this way. The meat was nearly fork-tender; which means it'll be even better after it sits a bit in the fridge. The potato was good, although the half left on my plate might benefit from a bit more gravy...Which was very good. Even the wine was good, if a bit...thin.
I can't believe this would be the first pot roast I've made, yet I can't remember doing it. This is something I'd definitely make again, and with guests, next time! This wasn't hard, and I didn't need a crock-pot for this, although that would work. Nor did I need to keep a close eye on it, which is good!
Anon comments now enabled
Since almost no one comments, I decided to take a chance on allowing "anonymous" comments.
Here's the deal. If you post anonymously, still please sign some name. It doesn't have to be real; but it's helpful so that I or others can respond to you -- it helps sort out different "anonymouses."
If I start getting spammed with fake comments, I may have to stop this. But let's try.
And please comment when you read my posts, if only to say, "I was here!"
Here's the deal. If you post anonymously, still please sign some name. It doesn't have to be real; but it's helpful so that I or others can respond to you -- it helps sort out different "anonymouses."
If I start getting spammed with fake comments, I may have to stop this. But let's try.
And please comment when you read my posts, if only to say, "I was here!"
Sunday, April 12, 2015
It's the needy who are generous (Divine Mercy homily)
It was Pope Saint John Paul II who declared this Sunday
to be “Divine Mercy Sunday.”
Now, it often happens
that popes will promote a particular devotion or spirituality.
And when they do, it’s not a matter of faith or morals,
so it’s not an exercise of their infallibility.
No one has to pray the Divine Mercy chaplet.
Still, it’s worth noting how this devotion
has caught the imagination of so many.
That suggests that the messages it is based on are genuinely from God.
It was a Polish nun, Saint Faustina, who, in 1931,
began receiving visions of Jesus,
telling her about his eagerness to forgive sins;
and later, she received messages about
creating the image that is displayed,
as well as the Divine Mercy chaplet.
It’s also worth noting that this isn’t a new message.
In the 1600s, it was the devotion to the Sacred Heart,
which was spurred by messages
received by another nun, another mystic, Saint Margaret Mary Aloque.
By the way, this is a good time to talk about
why the Church needs religious brothers and sisters.
We often talk about the priesthood.
I talk about it because it’s what I live.
But it’s important to realize how much the Church benefits
from the various religious communities
that have sprung up over the millennia.
Some of our religious societies got started
because someone saw a need and got to it.
Saint Vincent de Paul, for example, in helping the poor;
or Mother Seton, in fostering Catholic schools in this country.
Some of our religious congregations began around a way of life,
such as Saint Francis or Saint Clare.
Some were formed around a devotion to intense prayer,
such as the Benedictines;
some were about calling people to conversion, such as the Dominicans.
Faustina joined the Sisters of our Lady of Mercy.
She was drawn to them
as a result of prayer before the Blessed Sacrament.
The Lord spoke to her heart,
drawing her to a life of intense prayer and intercession for mercy.
Now, I can imagine that when men or women
consider entering religious life,
the thought comes to mind: well, what will you be doing with your life?
Don’t you want to do more than just…pray?
Can’t you just picture people saying such things to Faustina?
Or how about when Therese, the Little Flower,
revealed her longing to join the Carmelites?
Or Mother Theresa, when she entered religious life?
What do you think? Do you think these three women –
Faustina, the Little Flower, and Mother Theresa –
have made an impact?
And there are so many men and women we could add –
Saint Benedict, Saint Francis, Saint Katherine Drexel, and more –
who told their families they knew their call
was to give their hearts totally to Jesus,
in a life of prayer and caring for others.
They not only changed the Church; they changed the world!
We all needed Faustina to make herself available to the Lord in prayer;
not just a few minutes a day, but for hours. This became her life.
It’s not for everyone; everyone has a role to play,
and my vocation isn’t necessarily yours.
But I say it again: we all needed Faustina to answer the call she received.
And as a result, she became the Apostle of God’s Mercy.
And if you feel a call to the religious life, as with any other vocation:
you won’t find full happiness doing anything else.
The thing about the message of Divine Mercy –
in all the ways God has offered us mercy –
is that it only makes sense if we have something to be forgiven for.
If I saw in the paper that Gov. Kasich had granted me a pardon,
I’d be…concerned! I hadn’t known I needed one!
But if I did; I’d sure be grateful.
We all need God’s mercy. Not one of us can say, “I have no sin.”
But being reminded of God’s ready mercy
may help us face the truth about our sins.
Many carry a terrible weight of sin – God is eager to lift it.
Yet there are others who have a prior problem:
They don’t think they have all that much to be forgiven of.
That isn’t just other people. Quite a lot of Catholics think that way.
It’s an easy temptation. Oh, I’m sarcastic, occasionally;
I gossip…a little. I’m a little selfish. But that’s all.
This will never happen, but what if we had to bring our children,
or our spouse, a neighbor, or a coworker, to confession with us?
Do you think they might offer a rebuttal?
So the flip side of Divine Mercy is human honesty:
I am a sinner, in more ways than I care to admit.
The more I know myself that way, the more I come to God for mercy.
One of the things many people say they struggle with is forgiving – that is, giving mercy.
It reminds me of something that is certainly true, and I’ve seen it:
sometimes the most generous, and giving, people, are poor people.
I read a story last week about a man who travelled the world,
relying solely on others to give him food, shelter and transportation.
He told the story of meeting a homeless man,
who gave him food and clothing. Another beggar did that.
That’s how you become someone who freely forgives.
to be “Divine Mercy Sunday.”
Now, it often happens
that popes will promote a particular devotion or spirituality.
And when they do, it’s not a matter of faith or morals,
so it’s not an exercise of their infallibility.
No one has to pray the Divine Mercy chaplet.
Still, it’s worth noting how this devotion
has caught the imagination of so many.
That suggests that the messages it is based on are genuinely from God.
It was a Polish nun, Saint Faustina, who, in 1931,
began receiving visions of Jesus,
telling her about his eagerness to forgive sins;
and later, she received messages about
creating the image that is displayed,
as well as the Divine Mercy chaplet.
It’s also worth noting that this isn’t a new message.
In the 1600s, it was the devotion to the Sacred Heart,
which was spurred by messages
received by another nun, another mystic, Saint Margaret Mary Aloque.
By the way, this is a good time to talk about
why the Church needs religious brothers and sisters.
We often talk about the priesthood.
I talk about it because it’s what I live.
But it’s important to realize how much the Church benefits
from the various religious communities
that have sprung up over the millennia.
Some of our religious societies got started
because someone saw a need and got to it.
Saint Vincent de Paul, for example, in helping the poor;
or Mother Seton, in fostering Catholic schools in this country.
Some of our religious congregations began around a way of life,
such as Saint Francis or Saint Clare.
Some were formed around a devotion to intense prayer,
such as the Benedictines;
some were about calling people to conversion, such as the Dominicans.
Faustina joined the Sisters of our Lady of Mercy.
She was drawn to them
as a result of prayer before the Blessed Sacrament.
The Lord spoke to her heart,
drawing her to a life of intense prayer and intercession for mercy.
Now, I can imagine that when men or women
consider entering religious life,
the thought comes to mind: well, what will you be doing with your life?
Don’t you want to do more than just…pray?
Can’t you just picture people saying such things to Faustina?
Or how about when Therese, the Little Flower,
revealed her longing to join the Carmelites?
Or Mother Theresa, when she entered religious life?
What do you think? Do you think these three women –
Faustina, the Little Flower, and Mother Theresa –
have made an impact?
And there are so many men and women we could add –
Saint Benedict, Saint Francis, Saint Katherine Drexel, and more –
who told their families they knew their call
was to give their hearts totally to Jesus,
in a life of prayer and caring for others.
They not only changed the Church; they changed the world!
We all needed Faustina to make herself available to the Lord in prayer;
not just a few minutes a day, but for hours. This became her life.
It’s not for everyone; everyone has a role to play,
and my vocation isn’t necessarily yours.
But I say it again: we all needed Faustina to answer the call she received.
And as a result, she became the Apostle of God’s Mercy.
And if you feel a call to the religious life, as with any other vocation:
you won’t find full happiness doing anything else.
The thing about the message of Divine Mercy –
in all the ways God has offered us mercy –
is that it only makes sense if we have something to be forgiven for.
If I saw in the paper that Gov. Kasich had granted me a pardon,
I’d be…concerned! I hadn’t known I needed one!
But if I did; I’d sure be grateful.
We all need God’s mercy. Not one of us can say, “I have no sin.”
But being reminded of God’s ready mercy
may help us face the truth about our sins.
Many carry a terrible weight of sin – God is eager to lift it.
Yet there are others who have a prior problem:
They don’t think they have all that much to be forgiven of.
That isn’t just other people. Quite a lot of Catholics think that way.
It’s an easy temptation. Oh, I’m sarcastic, occasionally;
I gossip…a little. I’m a little selfish. But that’s all.
This will never happen, but what if we had to bring our children,
or our spouse, a neighbor, or a coworker, to confession with us?
Do you think they might offer a rebuttal?
So the flip side of Divine Mercy is human honesty:
I am a sinner, in more ways than I care to admit.
The more I know myself that way, the more I come to God for mercy.
One of the things many people say they struggle with is forgiving – that is, giving mercy.
It reminds me of something that is certainly true, and I’ve seen it:
sometimes the most generous, and giving, people, are poor people.
I read a story last week about a man who travelled the world,
relying solely on others to give him food, shelter and transportation.
He told the story of meeting a homeless man,
who gave him food and clothing. Another beggar did that.
That’s how you become someone who freely forgives.
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