Deacon Dan Wright

Sunday Homily: On Justice and Healing

In today's reading from Isaiah we hear the encouraging and hope-filled words of the promises of salvation. They are words that describe an experience of divine justice. God himself comes to us, we are told, with vindication and recompense. God enters the world of human experience in order to make right everything that has gone wrong and to establish fairness, truth, and righteousness throughout the world.

Thus, Isaiah announces the world-shaking change to be brought about through the justice of God being established on earth. However, it can't stop there—God asks more. We must ask where our own blindness lies, where we can't hear and where we are unable to proclaim the good news and justice of God.

I think it does us some good to step back and consider the overall picture because in all of this talk of justice and vindication there is an implicit response demanded on our part. What are we to do, and what should our habitual attitude be concerning life in a world made entirely new by the plans of God? Let's see how the scripture today helps us.

In both the first reading and the gospel, disability plays a pivotal role in illustrating the manifestation of God's justice. It may help us in understanding to bear in mind that for long millennia—for thousands of years—people held a punishment concept of disease. We can see it coming through in both the Isaiah reading and in the gospel. Disease and disability were thought to be the result of sin. If someone had a disability, say blindness, deafness—or perhaps things that weren't understood at all in those days—barely even now—things such as autism or intellectual disability, it was believed that they, or even a parent or ancestor, had sinned and that the disease or disability was a consequence of that sin. Disease and disability were believed to be punishment for sins that had been committed.

I'd like to think that we've moved beyond such ways of thinking, but have we really? It wasn't all that long ago that I remember there being stories in the news media of certain religious groups claiming that the AIDS epidemic was God's punishment against people who engage in intravenous drug use or in homosexual activity—never mind the innocent children born with AIDS. I suppose people with that mindset would say that it was their parents' sin—God forbid! The point is that the punishment concept is, in fact, still with us and it lurks in insidious ways in attitudes, for example, that see health care as a privilege reserved for those with enough money—or the right insurance—to pay for it rather than as a basic human right no different from the right to have food and water. The punishment concept also reveals itself in the way that we tend to set people with disabilities—and other differences—apart.

In a view that sees sin as having been forgiven, in one that sees the price of all sin as having been paid, it becomes somewhat more difficult to continue to understand disease and disability in terms of punishment or as the result of sin. In the justice of God a radical equalization has occurred and from that equalization a new imperative emerges for humanity. It is the "law of love." St. James, who in today's Epistle tells us to show no partiality, goes on to say that if you really fulfill the law you will love your neighbor as yourself.

The real lesson of justice for us doesn't really have as much to do with curing disease, or with the eradication of a particular disability, as it does with God's telling us that we shouldn't let those things matter when it comes to accepting all people as human beings on equal footing with ourselves and everyone else. In the same way that we are not to show partiality to the rich over the poor, we also are not to show partiality based on disease and disability—or anything else that society uses to set people apart. The true healing, the cure, takes place in our own hearts when we reach out to embrace those who are different and accept them as equal human beings to ourselves.

The Gospel story reveals to us where the source of justice lies. In the story the people bring a man to Jesus who can't hear or speak. They beg Jesus to heal the man—to take his differences away—but how is he so different from those who bring him? Jesus puts his finger in the fellow's ear then touches his tongue with a little spit and then everyone is able to see that the man they brought for healing is really not a bit different from anyone else. Where did the greater healing occur? In the deaf man or in those who brought him to be healed? Establishing God's justice on earth does not mean doing away with all diseases and disabilities, all differences, so that we have nothing to be prejudiced against, it means eliminating the prejudice itself so that we truly can love one another.

The passage from Isaiah today concludes with a description of a parched, arid land that suddenly bursts forth with streams, rivers, pools and springs of water. It is a metaphor that we can easily relate to here in our drought stricken central Texas. With every passing shower—no matter how small—we give thanks and see the goodness of God. Justice is like relief from a long drought. It takes the heart of the human race, long dry from the absence of communion with God, and saturates it with the living water of Jesus who makes God available to our world and who levels the field for all humanity regardless of seeming inequalities that we have perpetuated.

Sunday Homily: The Sign of Transformation

In last week's readings we heard of the Lord's abundance toward us in the story of the loaves and fishes. We also considered that in his feeding us he not only gives us all that we need, but he always provides enough for there to be plenty left over. God gives us what we need and more. He not only provides richly for us but he also invites us to feed others in the same manner that he gives to us.

In comparison, the readings this week continue along a similar pathway. They too speak to us of God's feeding the people. We consider the story of the exodus from Egypt. During their wandering in the wilderness of Sinai, the Hebrew people complain from their hunger, "O Lord, did you lead us into this desert just to make us die of starvation!"

Probably all of us are familiar the narrative of Moses leading the Hebrew people from their slavery in the land of Egypt. We know from the account that God didn't abandon them to die in the desert. Rather they received a sign from heaven. God fed them daily on manna, which was a mysterious bread that fell out of the heavens.

I have to admit that I tend to identify the story of the Hebrew people in the desert more as a Lenten narrative than one we would necessarily consider here in the summer, in the midst of Ordinary Time.  However, it really is a message that speaks to us clearly of our everyday journey along the path of ordinary life. It bears a huge relevance to where our lives are spiritually at all times. So at least it's a story that we should consider in terms of what it means for us to be participants in the everyday reality of salvation.

For the Hebrew people, the sojourn in the Sinai was an event of transformation and a journey of conversion. Thus, we may see it as symbolizing our journey and conversion as well.

Personally I love the story we have today because it speaks in terms of signs and symbols, and thereby it sparks our spiritual imagination and invites us to enter the story from where we are in the here and now. It engages us in the spiritual reality of that which for us is the ultimate sign and symbol of transformation. That is, it engages us and invites us to reflect on, and to take hold of, that which is the source of our spiritual nourishment, namely the reality of the Eucharist.

Nineteen years ago, as a catechumen in the RCIA, I recall considering what a great privilege I had of being able to offer thanks for something as simple as a meal. I might not have been able to find all the right words to express it then, but to make the sign of the Cross and give thanks before eating a meal seemed somehow to connect to what was I was doing in becoming a Catholic.

Indeed, Eucharist is an act of thanksgiving. In fact, it is the act of thanksgiving above all others. Our participation in Eucharist immerses us in that which is the source of all goodness and it reaches a place in us where nothing else can reach. It touches us in depths of our being and transforms us into the image of God who, in an elegantly simple truth, is love.

In the gospel today the Lord Jesus speaks about coming to us from heaven. "I am the bread of life," he says, "…the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world." In this we consider God's great gift to us of his Son. We consider the miracle of the incarnation, which the world—even in many of its great religions— says is not possible. However, faith makes it possible for us to confess, and to know, and to give thanks, that God himself came into the world as a savior among us offering the gift of abundant food that lasts to eternal life.

God invites us to his banquet and our partaking in the abundance of Christ sustains us in every situation, but it also has the power to act on us: it moves us from one place to another in a movement that is analogous to the movement of the Hebrews out of Egypt, where although they had the comfort of their fleshpots, they did not have the bread from heaven. Interestingly, we must often experience the desert before we can understand the significance of the feast that comes from God.

Our lives reveal the power of the Eucharist to transform us when we yield to God and allow ourselves to be moved from the spiritual Egypt of life, which symbolizes a place where we may live only as strangers and aliens never to know the sweet goodness of God's abundance but only tasting the paltry bitterness of slavery. Contrariwise, in our experience of conversion we learn to know the power of God and to apprehend or grasp the real presence of Christ among us, which makes true interior renewal possible.

St. Paul's exhortation to the Ephesians is to be transformed and to put away the former way of life and to seek out the way of God. He says to be renewed in the spirit of your minds and to "put on the new self, created in God's way in righteousness and holiness of truth."

The scriptural lessons today involve an invitation for all of us to enter into true relationship with the one who identifies himself as the bread from heaven. It's an invitation to begin a totally new way of living, a way that looks beyond the passing world to that which has a true and lasting reality—a reality of life that is such that we have only begun to glimpse it.

In the gospel Jesus asks only that we believe in the one sent from heaven. He makes it possible for us to believe because we are witnesses of the power of God to provide. Each of us knows the goodness that God gives us—perhaps some are more aware of it than others, but each of us has received a God-given invitation to live a life that reflects what is lasting, real, and abundantly satisfying. No wonder it is called Eucharist for on our part it is indeed the act of thanksgiving for such a great and abundant salvation—so great a presence—that it fills our lives to overflowing and impels us to seek it all the more.

Sunday Homily: The Prophets of Our Time

About 10 years ago when I was finishing up the process of formation for being ordained as a deacon, I recall one class session in which we were asked to identify the prophets of our time. I recall hearing the names, among others, of Pope John Paul II, Mother Theresa of Calcutta, Martin Luther King Jr., Dorothy Day, Gandhi, and Archbishop Oscar Romero. Something I noticed was that, other than two or three notable contemporary names, we tended to select figures from the past 40 years or so of recent history.

It seems a fairly easy task to identify the prophets of the past—say the ancient prophets of the Bible, or perhaps those more recent historical figures who have made an impression in terms of faith on our world or nation. However, it becomes a little more difficult to identify those who are the prophets of our own time. Especially we tend not to see the prophets who live among us, those who in our day and age, and perhaps in our own communities, call out to us and direct our attention to those situations that cry out from God. Perhaps the difficulty is not so much in recognizing the prophets as it is in being able to accept their message.

I'm sure that we can easily think of more than a few situations in our world that could bring about a prophetic warning, and which would either be the cause for decisive action or outright rejection of the bearer of the message. Probably a foremost example in the minds of Catholic Christians is the situation of legalized abortion.

Given that abortion divides our country, it comes to mind easily on this Independence Day weekend when we also consider what is important to us in our identity as a nation of people. Surely, we think, a prophet among us will direct our attention—even more so the attention of our elected leaders—to such an abomination and disregard for human life as abortion. Indeed every instance of disregard for human life is an abomination. Therefore, would a prophet not also direct our attention to reach out in such a way that no one would ever feel compelled to have an abortion in the first place?

Indeed, there are multiple situations in our times that cry out for a prophet to awaken our hearts. Again, as we celebrate Independence Day weekend, many people may be thinking about those who currently defend our country by their military service. We also remember those who served in the past, perhaps they offered the ultimate sacrifice of giving their lives, and we offer thankful prayers on behalf of those who preserved our freedom by their service.

However, as we look toward the future of a world that will be home to our children, grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren, a prophet among us will direct us to pray and work even more fervently for peace in our world and in theirs. A prophet will ask us to question the legitimacy of going to war except where all other possibilities have been utterly exhausted. A prophet will see war as an abomination and will tell us that a just war in our day and age has become increasingly improbable and unlikely. A prophet will demand that we make world peace our priority out of respect for all human life. If we truly believe that God is love, then we will look into the eyes of our enemies and see enemies no longer.

Again, looking toward our future generations, a prophet among us will direct us to be a people of vision in creating a hospitable world in terms of environment, health, sustenance and economy. A prophet will direct us against the destruction of our planet. He or she will urge us to change the way we live by better using renewable resources and to abandon those things of the past that have damaged the quality of our world. A prophet will speak to us of justice and urge that we take responsibility for quality of life for all people in every place. A prophet will ask that we be willing to sacrifice from our vast wealth for betterment of all. A prophet will ask us to be a people of courage, of moral strength, of resolve, but also of love, compassion, and clemency.

However, I think that above all other things a prophet in our day will ask us to reconnect with God spiritually. The voice of the prophet in our world asks us to experience God afresh so that we might be empowered to build a new world on the foundations of justice, righteousness, healing, and peace.

The prophets among us demand that we respect the faith and traditions of others and that we speak of their faith with honor and reverence. They demand that we embrace all with the love that Christ has for the Church. Yet the same prophets demand that we respect and revere our own faith and that we speak up to defend it against those who deem it as a legitimate target of prejudice and derision.

The prophetic voice is one that points us to radical grace of the true life in Jesus Christ in which the guilt and mistakes of the past are no more. The prophet today urges us to reestablish a relationship with God in which we no longer treat others with fear, suspicion, and judgment but where we show willingness to listen, dialogue, and thereby accomplish the works of peace, humility, healing, and hope.

It is truly a difficulty to identify the prophets of our own time—even more those of our own community—but nevertheless they are among us. In all likelihood we may not recognize them: our hearts may be turned against their words. We may have an agenda of our own that takes precedence over other things. It may be that we prefer to be guided by the political voices of our times or by the morality and standards of a world that refuses to consider that a word from God is possible at all.

When we sit down to read the news, and when we read of the woes—of wars, poverty, immorality, disease, and death—we must ask what voice speaks to us today of this world, and what voice of a prophet there is to direct us to a new world, a new life, based on a reality formed in the image of he who came to give us hope for tomorrow.

While the prophets of today may not be easy to identify, and those who are identified are surely to encounter opposition as such, we can nevertheless know that prophetic situations exist among us now as much as, perhaps even more than, at any other time in human history. In a way that we may not have yet considered, the Holy Spirit has given the role of prophet to the Church. Each of us shares by virtue of Baptism in Christ's role as priest, prophet, and king.

While prophets will come and go, and some are surely to be great, we do well to bear in mind that each of us is to share in the voice of the prophet by standing up and acting for what is good, righteous, decent, just, and true. Each of us is to be a defender of the faith in everything it means to live faith by building a world of lasting peace, hope, healing, and restoration.

Trinity Sunday Homily

A priest went into a second-grade classroom of the parish school and asked, "Who can tell me what the Blessed Trinity means?" A little girl lisped, "The Blethed Twinity meanth there are thwee perthonth in one God." The priest, taken aback by the lisp, said, "Would you say that again? I don't understand what you said." The little girl answered, "Y'not suppothed to underthtand; 't'th a mythtewy."

On more than one occasion I have the opportunity to discuss the Church's teaching on the Holy Trinity with someone who could not or would not accept the idea of a triune God. It seems that on each occasion, if I happened to mention anything about the "mystery" of the Trinity, the mere mention of "mystery" was taken to be a sign of weakness in my explanation, if not in the Church's teaching overall on the sacred doctrine.

However, we should realize that to acknowledge the ultimate mystery of God is anything but a weakness. Rather, it shows that we stand in relation to that which is ultimately beyond the scope of our human understanding, but also we stand in relation to that which by means of the Spirit becomes accessible to us and bears the evidence of fruit in our lives in terms of all that it means for one to live his or her humanity as fully as can be.

Our readings today for Trinity Sunday point us to the gradual revelation of the mystery of God made possible by the power of the Holy Spirit among us. God desires greatly to be known among the people chosen to be recipients of salvation. Moses questions the people, "…ask from one end of the sky to the other…Did a people ever hear the voice of God? …did any god ever venture to go and take a nation for himself?"

In effect, Moses describes God as moving from beyond being a distant, static, and entirely conceptual divinity to being experienced as a dynamic and living God who is able to enter the affairs of human life. In Moses questioning he knows already that the people cannot answer him affirmatively because the gods of human understanding—perhaps more correctly, the old gods of human creation—must remain ever in the cold and remote distance of mental objectivity, never to enter the life-world of humanity. Thus Moses makes the point that there is but one true God, and indeed God is one.

The doctrine of the Holy Trinity stands as a fulfillment and as a positive answer to Moses questioning of the people, for in Jesus Christ's humanity we hear the voice of the unseen God, and even more so we see God venture forth and enter into our world to take humanity and to sanctify it in order for it to be his own; that is, for us to be his sons and daughters—the heirs of God.

The Trinity, as expressed by the action of the Holy Spirit in the Church, fully reveals the God of Moses who is living and dynamic and who is able to transcend from the realm of being a unitary and static ideal, an absolute and singular monad, forever set apart from human experience. Our grasping the mystery of God as Trinity, and understanding God as Trinity, reveals God with us and active among us, in relationship to us, at all times.

The doctrine of the Holy Trinity serves the purpose of informing us that God is not distant or unreal, but is such that he desires to know and relate to us as well as we know and relate to ourselves and one another. Furthermore, the Trinity informs us of the divinity of Jesus Christ, that he is God, and that all we might possibly desire to know about God in the deepest mystery can be known by looking to Jesus. The Trinity also reveals the Holy Spirit as alive and with us today in the Church—even here among us—as our constant teacher and comforter, and as he who is effective and acting in the life of the Church.

A good life lesson is that the Trinity reveals how God has desired to have a relationship with humanity throughout time, throughout salvation history—from the days of Moses and the exodus of the Hebrew people from Egypt, to the time when Jesus walked among us, to the early Church following Pentecost and to the modern-day times of the Church. God continually reaches out to us in an overture of holy relationship. In this reaching out God is continually being revealed to us and among us.

In relating to us God teaches us by example to relate to one another in the same way. God teaches us to forgive one another and to forgive ourselves, for in Jesus he has forgiven each of us. God teaches us to give of ourselves for the essence of the Trinity is God's continual self-giving.

By the power of the Holy Spirit we find Jesus, sent from the Father, in the Sacraments we celebrate and then carried forth into the world of our everyday existence. Each one of us becomes a vessel of the mystery of God. Each one of us becomes the evidence and example of God to the world.

God's mystery, the mystery of the Holy Trinity, is a mystery to be lived rather than comprehended—it is a mystery sung in the songs of the psalmist and by the mystic poets. It is a mystery we see in the depth of life, in new life and in the life of the old, in the turning of the seasons and the slow and gradual changes each of us comes to know in birth and in passing.

The power and the beauty of the Trinity is that it shows us clearly that God is able to do all things and does them in such a way that not one of his laws must be broken, not one logical inconsistency must be admitted. The perfect threefold form of God continually reveals the one great overall truth that God is love and is the source of all being.

There is nothing on earth or in heaven that can prevent the unending depths and mystery of grace from being made known. Today we celebrate the mystery of godhead. We celebrate that God is with us always and continues to teach us and guide us and show us the way. We celebrate the God who, rather than being hidden from us, is revealed to us.

Homily for the World Day of Prayer for Vocations

In the gospel today Jesus proclaims, "I am the good shepherd…" Probably not many people in our times can relate well to the occupation or vocation of shepherd—that is, to one whose livelihood and daily existence consists in tending and caring for sheep. Yet in ancient times, and really into the beginning of the last century, one could more easily find the vocation of tending to a flock or herd. People in ancient times, like people in today's developing world, understood well what it meant to be a shepherd. Still with a little effort we too may see what the Lord wants to impart to us.

In the Latin Vulgate edition of the bible Jesus tells us, "Ego sum pastor bonus," – "I am the good pastor." Indeed Jesus speaks of a vocation or way of life that he receives from the Father to faithfully provide for and protect his flock, namely the Church—those who belong to the Good Shepherd by virtue of their baptism and their belief in the name of Jesus. Certainly, today's message speaks to us of the depth belonging to what it means to have a vocation.

Today the Catholic Church celebrates the World Day of Prayer for Vocations, which Pope Paul VI instituted on April 11, 1964

When I was much younger, in my 20s, and even before I became a Catholic, I dreamed of someday having a vocation in the Church. I wanted something that would go beyond what we normally mean when we say vocation. I wanted something more than merely a job or career. I knew well how a true vocation reflects the Lord's calling us into his service, and how a vocation flows from the Holy Spirit who empowers us in ministry. Indeed a true vocation reflects and reveals the ministry and presence of Christ in our world today.

Almost 20 years ago I visited about the priesthood with the director of vocations for the diocese where I lived. Mostly I remember that he told me to pray about it, and so I did. The only reservation that I had at the time had to do with a strong sense or intuition that marriage lay in my future. I left the meeting taking seriously the advice I had received. I prayed about vocations, but I also prayed about marriage, and even more I made myself open to the will of God. It was not long afterward that I met the woman to whom I am now married.

So it turned out that I didn't find a vocation in the priesthood, but marriage and ordination as a permanent deacon I found another kind of vocation. At this point in my life I feel fulfilled vocationally in my role as a husband, a father, and as a permanent deacon. I should also add my vocation as a special education teacher to the list; I say I feel fulfilled yet I certainly invite God to add anything he wills to my life and vocation. You see, regardless of the role we have in life God gives us the responsibility of being shepherds or stewards over certain things.

When I was asked to address vocations today I wanted to include marriage because we live it too as a vocation from God—indeed we should always view marriage as a true vocation given to us from God. Several years ago I had someone make an objection to me that she thought the Catholic Church ranked marriage as somehow less important when it comes to the order of vocations. However, I couldn't disagree more with that opinion. In marriage God sets us over many things and gives us great responsibilities and duties. Marriage occupies a great and unequalled place in God's plan and in the order of creation. The marriage between baptized people conveys the sacramental grace of being a pathway to salvation. The Catechism of the Catholic Church reminds us that scripture begins with the creation of man and woman and concludes with a vision of the wedding feast of the Lamb.

However, without diminishing the importance of the vocation of marriage I'd like to consider the gift of being single and especially invite single people to consider what they have to offer God in terms of their being single. Many long years ago I knew a Pentecostal preacher who made light of the fact that his teenage daughters couldn't wait to get married. Though they had barely passed their 14^th or 15^th birthday they talked frequently about the future joys of married life. Their dad would say, "Oh boy, if they only knew just how lucky they are right now!"

In his first letter to the Corinthians St. Paul tells us that unmarried people are free to serve the Lord entirely where a married person must consider the needs of his or her spouse. St. Paul, like the Pentecostal preacher I knew, recommends celibacy, though perhaps for different reasons. Indeed, being single for the sake of God's kingdom opens a conduit for grace to enter the world through the devoted and unhindered service of the kingdom of God. What a great gift it is to order one's life completely and totally toward the things of God!

In my vocation as a teacher I have had the opportunity over the years to work alongside several single people. I once remarked casually to a single colleague that I thought being single probably afforded a better opportunity to devote oneself to his or her career than a married person has. The remark wasn't well received—it seems that single teachers are no more interested in working late than the married ones—but it is true that being single gives time to do things that having a family often takes up. As a married deacon I must always consider that my vocation to my family comes before everything else. It can be quite difficult to balance service to the Church, family, and career all at the same time. Yet the mark of vocation is the love that goes into it—to devote oneself completely to something takes true passion. Certainly such passion pleases God immensely.

Too often in our world today the gift of being single gets lost in the cares and blurry values of the post-modern world, or maybe it never manages to find a way of being realized to begin with. However, for those who know Christ as the Good Shepherd and Cornerstone of their faith, the gift of being single offers a special opportunity; that is, for those who hear the call.

Families, married people especially, play an important role in the future of Church vocations through the examples of love and faithfulness, through courage and a spirit of sacrifice, and through generosity toward others, especially toward those with the greatest needs. However, perhaps more than anything else our participation in the life of the Christian community will make the biggest difference in terms of future vocations to the priesthood and religious life.

This fourth Sunday of Easter, Good Shepherd Sunday, a day of prayer for vocations, offers everyone an opportunity to pray that many will discover the true joy in the gift of a vocation to the priesthood or religious life and to pray that many will hear the call—a call to live out the vocation of holiness in service to God and one another. True indeed, the Easter season offers us many gifts and graces including the opportunity to reflect upon and pray for vocations.

Several years ago Pope John Paul II offered this prayer on the World Day of Prayer for Vocations:

Holy Father, look upon this humanity of ours, that is taking its first steps along the path of the Third Millennium. Its life is still deeply marked by hatred, violence and oppression, but the thirst for justice, truth and grace still finds a space in the hearts of many people, who are waiting for someone to bring salvation, enacted by you through your Son Jesus. There is the need for courageous heralds of the Gospel, for generous servants of suffering humanity. Send holy priests to Your Church, we pray, who may sanctify your people with the tools of your grace. Send numerous consecrated men and women, that they may show your holiness in the midst of the world. Send holy laborers into your vineyard, that they may labor with the fervor of charity and, moved by your Holy Spirit, may bring the salvation of Christ to the farthest ends of the Earth. Amen.

Sunday Homily: Sacrifice and Blessing

In 1965 the popular singer and songwriter Bob Dylan wrote:

Oh God said to Abraham, "Kill me a son"
….Abe says, "Where do you want this killin' done?"
God says, "Out on Highway 61."

I recall that when I was a young child, about the same time as the song was released, the family Bible had a print by the Italian baroque artist Giovanni Pittoni that depicted the sacrifice of Isaac. It was an image that I looked at many times, but I never asked much about it. I may have been the only member of the family who actually paid close attention to it. However, I remember well how it revealed the fury in Abraham's eyes and how it showed his powerful arm ready to thrust the dagger but stopped only by the hand of an angel. From that point on I felt that I had a good reason to believe in angels.

Undoubtedly, the biblical narrative of Abraham's sacrifice of his son Isaac is a story that has the power both to capture the religious imagination and inspire vivid poetic and artistic imagery; it's also a story to which, on the surface at least, most of us would have a hard time relating. As a parent I can't bring myself to step into the shoes of Abraham. Indeed there's probably not one parent here today who, outside of certain behavioral situations, can relate to the willful sacrifice of a child.

So, what exactly does the story of Abraham and Isaac really have to say to us on the second Sunday of Lent? Also, what are we to make of the juxtaposition of the gospel narrative of the Transfiguration, which, unlike the loss inherent in sacrifice, reveals a blessing resplendent in its glory?

If there is one point being made today in the readings, it has something to do with the spiritual lesson that sacrifice always leads to blessing, and that consequently the blessing is often proportional to the sacrifice. Now, this is certainly a good Lenten theme considering that Lent is the time of year when we make sacrifices. Not to worry too much if you haven't given a lot of effort to it so far because as long as it's still Lent it's not too late. Besides, you can sacrifice any time of year—Fridays throughout the year are still a good time for us to do this.

Before I talk about our particular way of sacrificing as Christians, which I don't need necessarily to say a lot about because we all know the areas we need to sacrifice in our own lives, I'd like to point out a few things about the sacrifice that Abraham was about to make before the angel intervened.

To grasp the full picture it's important to understand that Isaac was the child of promise, the long awaited son who was born when Abraham and Sarah were well-advanced in their years. The old couple finally had their baby whom God had promised to them. However, God spoke to Abraham, and the scripture says that he told him, "Take your son Isaac, your only one, whom you love… and offer him up as a holocaust." Therefore not only is the sacrifice of Isaac seen as the sacrifice of ultimate value and importance, but it serves to inform the Christian interpretation of the Good Friday sacrifice of Jesus as the beloved and only begotten Son of God who was not spared but willingly laid his life on the altar of sacrifice for the sake of all humanity—the same sacrifice that God allows to be present to us here as a reality in the sacrifice of the Mass, though the fear and dread inherent in Abraham's sacrifice is replaced with the fulfillment of God's love toward us in the Eucharistic sacrifice where he gives us his body and blood to atone for our failure.

Both the sacrifice made by Abraham and that offered freely by Christ bear the mark of a true test. Something that the parents of practically all school-aged children are aware of, along with their teachers and administrators, is that the testing season is upon us. Talk to any of them and they'll tell you that it's quite a sacrifice. It's not always easy to see what emerges from testing—it usually feels like a blessing to be done with it. However, God's test of Abraham's faith was quite different. From that test emerged not only the nation that gave us the law and prophets, but a more complete reality of salvation emerged. The sacrifice of Isaac became a prototype for future salvation.

Writing to the Romans St. Paul says, "Abraham believed God and it was reckoned to him as righteousness." Thus out of his sacrificial willingness Abraham becomes the father of all who believe. From Abraham's faith, demonstrated by his sacrifice, comes the great blessing of the Hebrew people, "I will make your descendents as countless as the stars of the sky and the sand of the seashore… in your descendents all nations of the earth will be blessed." We can add that in his descendents all who believe will be saved since from his descendents came the Christ.

If we take blessing as being truly reciprocal of sacrifice made in faith, we can see blessing revealed fully in the Transfiguration narrative in which the voice of God identifies Jesus as his beloved Son. He is the only one of the Father; the one whom the Father loves. The Transfiguration of Jesus allows us a glimpse into the finished work of God in the fullness of time. The Transfiguration transports us to a place where we can clearly see the glory of total and complete blessing. However, just as with the narrative concerning Abraham we know that the protagonist is about to be put to the test in the Good Friday sacrifice, and no angelic arm will dare reach forward to stop the hand of God who in his faithfulness toward us offers his beloved only Son as the price of salvation given once and for all.

Whatever sacrifices we choose to make, whether during Lent or any other time, we should make them in faith, and we should make them with the understanding that a sacrifice made in faith always carries a blessing. Sure, Lenten sacrifice can mean giving something up or doing without something. It can also mean taking the time to do something special for someone—especially if it's something we wouldn't ordinarily do. Praying for our friends and loved ones or doing something good for them takes less of a sacrifice than praying for or doing something good for an enemy. Sacrifice most commonly will mean accepting life's everyday difficulties with joy of knowing that whatever we do or go through with faith there will always a corresponding or reciprocal blessing, though be it one that we may not see immediately.

The true blessing of which Lent and its sacrifices serve to remind us is the blessing of salvation—a blessing that we should share with others while not counting any personal cost. Our sacrifices made in faith along the Lenten journey always lead us to the transfigured glory of the Easter blessing.

Sunday Homily: Defining Epiphany

While I was beginning to prepare today's homily, my wife asked, "What does the word epiphany mean?" Not that she was unaware of the answer, but that she was asking in order to give me a better idea of where to go with my homily preparation.

Given that epiphany isn't a word we typically use in everyday conversation, I thought that looking into it might add something to what I might share with you this morning. So I avoided the temptation to say, "You know where the dictionary is. Look it up." Not that I'm mean or anything like that. It's just the schoolteacher in me always wanting to say "sit down back there, and spit out that gum." So instead of "look it up for yourself," I got up from the computer and went to the book shelf.

After all, what better way is there find out about something than to explore its meaning—and not just the dictionary definition only but the aspect of meaning that informs us where we live it out on a daily basis? So I scrapped my original plans for the homily, which wasn't such a bad deal for you since in its nascent state my homily plans were still based loosely on last year's notes and on the bad dream I had from eating undercooked black-eyed peas late Thursday night.

My Random House American College Dictionary, which I've somehow managed to keep in my possession for the past 39 years, defines Epiphany as "A Christian festival, observed on January 6, commemorating the manifestation of Christ to the gentiles in the persons of the Magi." It's important that we not stop there, though this definition, aside from the date being moved, gives us the most basic information. The definition goes on to describe an epiphany as the appearance or manifestation of a divine being, and the more up-to-date dictionaries add a common usage where we may speak of an epiphany as a sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something.

Historically, and from the perspective of the prophet Isaiah, the coming of the long-awaited Messiah was indeed something to get excited about; he was to be the light that would brilliantly contrast the darkness of the past. It was he who was to come and free the captives and offer justice to the impoverished. Therefore, if you step into the shoes of a first-century Palestinian Jew, it might take an unusual amount of vision or faith to see the great Messianic light in the face of a newborn infant lying not too far the donkeys and oxen.

In fact, in the way that we are conditioned to interpret things both historically and now, it would have been nothing less than a practically impossible stretch of the imagination to have identified Jesus lying in a feed trough as a king. An image I'll never be shed comes to me from my childhood. In the 6^th grade, say around 1971 or 72, a classmate who sat across from me, and whose father was a Missionary Baptist preacher, announced loudly to the entire class that "poor little baby Jesus was born in a hog trough." The teacher nearly fell out of her chair and the class had such a stir that several students had to be disciplined. Well, a hog trough it wasn't but in reality it wasn't far from it.

Epiphany has the power to speak something to us beyond "We Three Kings." That is, it can speak beyond its primary definition as an annual feast that commemorates a brightly starlit night in Bethlehem when mysterious visitors came from the east to gaze upon a newborn king. When we take the word epiphany in its latter definition, as a sudden perception of the essential nature or meaning of something, it has the power to allow us to see Christ essentially in things and events, or where he sheds light upon them and gives them meaning.

Just as the darkness of the Bethlehem night was brightened by the presence of Jesus the Christ, our world and our lives today can still be brightened by the same light, who in his humble surroundings at Bethlehem certainly didn't appear at all to be what he was essentially or really. In an interesting parallel we often still have to reinterpret appearances to see the great light—to see the presence of Christ, but there's nothing hokey about interpreting or reinterpreting experience. We do it all the time without giving it a second thought.

I count it as a wonderful way to begin the New Year to celebrate that a great light has come into the world—a light and a presence that has the power to transform every situation, a light that still has the power to touch and to heal every pain and difficulty while brightening the perceived darkness of life.

Inasmuch as Epiphany is about the manifestation of Christ, it's also about the eyes of faith being able to perceive his presence in the world. Often our world and the events of life tempt us to doubt—we tend to go by surface appearances alone and not look much further. It is a condition of modern humanity that if we were to witness a baby being born in a stable, we would likely not perceive royalty or divinity.

Faith doesn't suggest that we discount appearances or that we live in some sort of fantasy world. On the contrary faith demands that we be realists about the situations of life and of the world in which we live, situations that include hardships as well as its joys. Nor does faith suggest that we look beyond appearances, rather it demands that we look deep into them to discover the meaning they hold in their depths.

Faith in the appearance of Christ demands that we look at life face to face, that we see what is really there—without fanciful imaginations—and that we believe in the power of God to permeate all things. In the true Epiphany experience God manifests divinity to us in the most common but unexpected ways. Indeed epiphany is full of surprise—faith makes it possible for us to see what is really present in our midst. It makes it possible to see Christ among us in many and varied ways.

Sunday Advent Sermon: The Next Coming of Jesus

I have always had a great deal of appreciation for the season of Advent. This year is no different—you might even say that Advent, with its sense of waiting for Christmas and the building of anticipation that comes with each day, is my favorite time of year. It's something I never outgrew. In addition to Advent being a special time of year to get us ready for Christmas, it also gives us a special time to reflect and remember—not only on the fond memory of past years spent with family and friends, but on the things of our faith that give the season its special significance.

This year we've been reflecting on the theme of being receptive; that is, our parish reflections have been centered on being open to hearing from God and being open to receiving God's actions in our lives. In a special way this year we have an invitation to reflect on how the great figures of our faith were open, and how they heard from God, and how they responded. This week, the second week of Advent, we focus on Isaiah and on his being receptive to speaking the word of God. The flip side of Isaiah's receptivity to speaking the word of God is our willingness to receive it.

In our first reading today God tells Isaiah to speak words of comfort to the people—to speak tenderly and to assure the people that something special, something unlike anything ever before, was going to come into the world. From our Christian perspective we understand that Isaiah was prophesying the coming the coming of Messiah—the first coming of Jesus, which in multiple cultural and familial expressions we celebrate, reenact, and remember each year. The first coming of Christ as an infant at Bethlehem is one of the major themes of Advent. Therefore, on one level, Advent prepares us for the coming of Christmas in which we focus on the birth of Jesus.

By contrast we also consider the Advent theme of Second Coming of Christ: we consider that which deals with last things and which presents an altogether different tone for the season. The reading from second Peter today, with the heavens passing away with a great noise and the elements melting with fervent heat, is a good example. Indeed the Lord will come as a thief in the night—and perhaps it's a little harder to find the comfort that Isaiah was instructed to share in such a passage—yet we have the comfort of the assurance that the Lord is patient and that he doesn't desire for any of us perish. Peter, like Isaiah, invites us to be receptive to world-shaking or foundational change, which ultimately entails personal repentance as preparation for the coming of Christ.

Part of being receptive—even perhaps the biggest part of it—has to do with our being open to the coming of Christ. For us, with our lives somewhere between the first coming of the infant Messiah born in the stable at Bethlehem and the coming day of God when all things will pass, there is still a real-life everyday way to relate to the coming of Christ. In a real way we should expect it today.

Years ago I remember hearing an Advent sermon on television in which a Catholic priest said that we shouldn't consider the first coming of Christ to be the only important appearance of Christ in our faith. He also said that we shouldn't think of the next coming of Christ as the final coming.

It's true that some may tend to relate their Christian faith almost entirely to the biblical or historical past: perhaps they relate to Jesus born at Bethlehem, or Jesus in his Galilean ministry, or perhaps Jesus in his Passion—and of course these are important realities of faith, but is that all? Also consider that just as there are those whose faith experience centers on the historic or biblical Jesus, there are Christians who relate almost entirely to the last things—to prophecies about the end times, the tribulations to come and getting snatched away and others being left—indeed some live their faith as if that particular aspect of it were everything.

Not to diminish the importance of either the First Coming or the Second Coming, I'd like to offer us a third possibility and a great opportunity for being receptive this Advent, namely that we should be receptive to the next coming of Christ that isn't the final coming of Christ. Another way of putting it is that we should be open to Christ coming into our individual lives and concrete existence today in such a way that profoundly impacts everything about who we are and everything about the world in which we live our daily lives.

A truly fitting Advent prayer echoes the final few words of the bible found in the book of Revelation: "Come Lord Jesus." As we consider the important faith figures in salvation history who are prominent in our Advent readings this season, Isaiah, John the Baptist, Joseph, Elizabeth and Mary, we should consider their receptivity and the real possibility that their prayer was, "Come into my life Lord…I invite you to be part of it from now on."

When, in a genuine way, we invite God into our lives and when we are truly receptive, we're sure to be amazed at where we will find the power of Lord—perhaps the Lord himself—showing up. Indeed we may find that our biggest obstacles have disappeared, and that every valley has been filled and every mountain has been laid flat, and so we pray, "Come Lord Jesus."

Sunday Homily: Superabundant Goodness

Today the Lord invites us to consider, and even to receive from, the ever-abundant goodness that is the Eucharist. Indeed scripture teaches us to recognize, and to receive with gratitude and recognition, the goodness of God toward us in every situation and in all the times of our lives. In reflecting on the goodness of God through the gift of the Eucharist we also consider the greater sense of how God meets our needs daily in a superabundant fashion.

For most of us we frequently pray, as the Lord taught us, give us this day our daily bread. As I was considering these words it occurred to me that we often tend to say them without giving much consideration to their meaning. All my life I thought of our "daily bread" as that which we need to survive and nothing more. After all, "daily bread" does sound sort of minimalistic.

Although the Our Father, or The Lord's Prayer, isn't a part of today's readings, there is something about the prayer for daily bread that connects to them. Because meaning tends get lost in translation, most of us may not realize that in praying for our daily bread the Lord was teaching us to pray not only for basic subsistence but for that which satisfies all the needs of our lives—through and through—with something left over besides. The original language says give us this day our supersubstantial bread.

The first reading from Isaiah points us to the satisfying goodness of God that is ours without cost. The lesson shows us that receiving from the goodness and grace of God has always been an intricate part of being in relation to God. If we have an idea or image of God that is something other than God's loving and giving freely to satisfy our deepest needs, then perhaps it's time to reconsider what we know about God—perhaps it's time to unveil something new and refreshing.

The call "come to the water" summons us to partake freely in the refreshing reality of the God who makes all things new. Again the message of grace, unmerited, free favor, is clear—that God gives to us all we need, and that we only have to ask. The call to come to the water also reminds us of Christian baptism, the sacrament that opens the door for us to the Eucharistic abundance of life in Christ.

Whenever I have the opportunity to preside at baptisms I like to remind parents and godparents that Jesus told us to become like little children if we desire to enter into the blessed live of heaven. Indeed what he asks us is to recognize that our Father in heaven provides everything for us. We are to look to God as the source of all that we have and need in the same way that small children look to the adults in their lives as their total providers. This too is what it means to live a Eucharistic life.

What we receive from God—the richness and depth of the spiritual life as well as being provided with our material needs—is nothing other than the pouring out of God's love for humanity. Thus Eucharist is the true sign of the love that God is. It is the love, as St. Paul tells us, that conquers everything, and it is the love that God manifests in us through Jesus. It is the love in which we may rest with assurance, knowing that no power is great enough to separate us from it. To live in love, that is to have our very being situated within love, is Eucharist. With unsurpassable gratitude we recognize the gift of God in life all around us.

Over the years we have revisited, time and again, the miracle of the loaves and fishes. We have also considered the possibility and the importance of the multitude sharing with one another from what they had already. I have never believed that Jesus had to break any of the laws of nature to make the miracle of the loaves—or any other miracle—happen, but I do believe that it is a great sign of God's supernatural power and of his intervention into human affairs. Undeniably the feeding of the multitude is a sign of the superabundant love and grace that God gives us. Interestingly, the gospel tells us that there were twelve baskets left over, and this too points to the fact that God gives us more than we need as a matter of course. He gives us our supersubstantial daily bread.

The challenge for us is to connect completely with the Eucharistic lifestyle—to be living vessels of grace and signs of God's love in the world today. As tough as it may seem sometimes, it's not impossible. Really, it's about faith: believing in something is the first step to receiving it. Human beings typically ask for evidence to believe. The evidence, the sign of truth, is in our living a Eucharistic life—our witness to the world. Yes that means providing for others, being there in times of need for others, living, being, and doing all that loving implies. However, it also means being willing to be the recipient of God's goodness.

We might say to ourselves, "Today I'm going to receive Eucharist…I'm going to admit my need for God…I am going to acknowledge that everything I have is God's gift to me…I'm going to receive grace…I'm going to admit that I am forgiven and I'm going to forgive others…Today I'm going to receive love and I'm going to love others…Today I'm going to yield to God and be satisfied with much more than I simply need."

The Non-Sacramental Marriage/Wedding

My blog has never really been one where people write in questions but, as things are always changing, I'm certainly willing--even eager--to go in that direction.  So if you have questions about the faith, or anything else about which I might advise you, feel free to email me.  I may post your question, along with my response, and your anonymity is always guaranteed.

A reader writes in to me with the following:

I am a permanent deacon at a small parish...and have a wedding to assist at in August. As in most wedding homilies, they always focus on the sacramentality of marriage. This is fine when one or both of couple is a Catholic. However as you know, whenever a Catholic marries an unbaptized non-Christian person, the marriage is not a sacrament but just a “valid” Catholic marriage. Do you have any ideas as to how to tackle this?

True, only the marriages of baptized persons are sacramental marriages--even between a Catholic and a validly baptized non-Catholic.  The marriage between a Catholic and a non-baptized person, and even the the marriage between two non-baptized persons (at which, as deacons, we do not preside), is considered a "natural marriage" as opposed to its being sacramental. Nevertheless, it is still a marriage, and as such it holds the intrinsic dignity of marriage.  It is also important to keep in mind that in the event that the non-baptized party is baptized, the marriage will become sacramental without anything else having to be done. 
 
Beyond getting the necessary permissions or dispensations from your bishop, which I am sure you have done, you will indeed want to concentrate on your homily and on the wedding ceremony.  Keep in mind that even with a sacramental marriage, where both parties are baptized, your homily does not necessarily have to focus on the sacramentality of the marriage, though there's certainly nothing wrong with it doing so.  

For the non-sacramental marriage, I suggest that you focus on the readings (primarily the gospel) the couple has chosen, especially, if possible, bring in the aspect of marriage being a lasting relationship.  Also, try to focus as much as possible on love and the love that God is.  I have found a good rule to follow in ministry is to temper everything with love.  In doing so, you'll have no problem when disputing with your foes--so to speak.
 
Here's a homily I did some time back at a wedding where one spouse was not baptized.  Perhaps there are elements you can use.  Keep in mind that although one party is not Christian, the other one is.  Thus, it is quite appropriate to emphasize elements of the life in Christ and the Church. Here it is:
 

I have heard it said, "It is not love that sustains your marriage, but marriage that sustains your love."  This is something that almost all married people will attest to.  It means that you'll always have more love to look forward to in your life with each other, which you are beginning in an entirely new way today.
 
There's a secret to a happy marriage that's in the readings that you chose for your wedding.  The theme of unity comes through clearly, especially in the gospel reading, but does it make sense to talk about the unity of husband and wife if we're not given instructions on how to be one with each other?  The instruction is part of the scriptures.  The Lord tells us, through his prayer to the Father, to expect that the love of God be with us and part of our lives.  Put another way, husband and wife learn to be for one another the way that God is for us.
 
In marriage, it's good to pause occasionally and say, "Remember, I'm on your side; I'm for you."  This is a lesson that we take from our faith, which speaks of the marriage in heaven between Christ and his bride.  We, as the Church, understand that he is for us, his bride, in all ways and at all times.  Perhaps above everything else, being on one another's side means to learn to be forbearing and forgiving with each other.  The love sustained by marriage forbears, forgives, and learns always to say, "I will never leave you."  It's the secret to the lasting marriage.

So as you go forth this morning as husband and wife, I offer you my blessing as the Church's minister.  However, when you first found each other you likely found the blessing that means the most to the two of you.  It's with joy that we celebrate that blessing, as well as the Church's blessing, today.