Deacon Dan Wright

Epiphany Homily: The Essential Gospel

In Epiphany we joyously celebrate the sudden appearance and perception of God entering our world. In it we recall what is most essential about our faith, and about our humanity in relation to God and each other. In Epiphany we celebrate the light that is Jesus, and we consider what is most pertinent and most essential to us in our lives today. This is the meaning of epiphany: to see what is what is most essential in a thing—to see what is most essential in our faith.

This last Friday, New Year's Day, my wife pointed out an article to me in the faith section of the Austin American Statesman. The title was, "Lubbock pastor seeks to strip away 'added' rules from Gospel". Perhaps you read it too. The purpose of the article was to highlight a book entitled The Naked Gospel in which the author, a non-denominational Evangelical pastor, advocates a "Jesus plus nothing" approach. In the Statesman article the author says that his book is about "God's grace without the poison of 'religion.'" He says that his intention is to strip away the rules that people have added to Christianity, rules like the 10 Commandments and having to ask God to forgive our sins, which he claims are unnecessary and even harmful.

In the article he recounts his own experience. He says "I found myself lying on the floor of my apartment, begging God for answers: 'God, I'm doing everything they say to do. I'm reading my Bible four or five hours a day. I'm sharing my faith with everybody I meet. I'm at church every time the doors are open. But I still don't feel like I'm growing spiritually. I'm stalled, and I can't explain why. You say the truth will set me free. I'm anything but free!'"

Now certainly this was on my mind as I was driving to confession yesterday. However, I took more than a little comfort in recognizing that what the pastor was presenting was a version of the "faith only" approach, which is nothing new. Actually it's been around for better than 500 years, from the time of Martin Luther, and furthermore it's anything but free from the so-called taint of religion.

So, while it didn't take me long to respond to the article with a clear "no" based on my Catholic formation, I do think that it presents something important to reflect on here at Epiphany. Especially this seems true in light of our reading today from Ephesians in which St. Paul talks about his stewardship of God's grace. People today are hungry for what is essential in a relationship with God. We desire grace because we recognize that grace is essential. What happens is that we as Catholic Christians who are decided and committed in our faith have the responsibility of pointing the way to God's grace in all that we say and do.

Really, in the sense of our longing for communion with God, things haven't changed all that much over the vast centuries from the time of the prophet Isaiah, whom we heard from in the first reading, up to now. We desire that which has the power to bring peace to our lives. However, we should be mindful that discovering the essence of something doesn't involve stripping away and ignoring the details or rules, rather it requires that we take the time to explore the depths of the many facets of our faith. We can do this by reading the bible or by reading the Catechism of the Catholic Church, or perhaps by attending an adult education class. If you're the type to make New Year's resolutions, there would be few better resolutions than to do something in order to learn more about the Catholic faith.

Giving the newspaper pastor his due recognition, it's probably true that there is something unhealthy about becoming overly concerned with our personal sinfulness or perhaps always feeling like no matter what we do we can't please God. It doesn't take a book to teach us that. Actually, if we are concerned with sin or failure the solution is simple. Scripture teaches us to confess our sins. I'm thankful that we have ample opportunities to do this.

While being at inner peace is important, having true religion isn't necessarily so much about looking within oneself as it is about reaching out to others. Again, this is something that scripture teaches clearly. Probably the more we reach out, the more concern we show for others, the less we will have to confess in terms of failure. The outward reach of peacemaking is where the true light lies. Where do we find the essential Jesus? We find him when we work with one another to bring truth, justice, and healing to our world.

On January 1 this year the Catholic Church celebrated the 43^rd World Day of Peace. On the Catholic Bishop's website, usccb.org, there are ample suggestions on how you can help bring peace to the world in 2010. A great resolution this year would be that you will do something to bring about peace in the world.

As the light of Epiphany shines on us we should consider that God really wants us to be happy. God really wants salvation to be easily accessible. In this we thank him for the great gift that the Church is, and for everything that our faith—our religion—is in its fullness. We also recognize that God has invited us into a partnership in which we work to bring the peace and presence of Christ to the entire world.

The Second Sunday of Advent: The In-Breaking Kingdom of God

The readings for today, the second Sunday of Advent, convey a message of fulfillment, completion, and restoration. We are reminded that God's love for us is such that his kingdom, the completed kingdom of Jesus Christ, breaks forth into the world of our everyday experiences, into the personal here and now of each of us, and has the power to make everything entirely new.

Rather than being a message that serves only as a mere reminder that if we could just somehow believe things would be better, it is a message that goes much further and has real meaning for people who live real lives. The message for today is one that assures us of in-breaking of kingdom of God into our present.

Too often the situations of life can tempt our faith—the best we can do with life, we may feel, is to be stoic about it. Perhaps we may be tempted to say, "Fine, go ahead and put on all the trappings of the season, but does anything really make a difference? Does anything really change at all?" Today's message is for the realists among us. It is for those whose ability to believe has been tempted by the events of life. Nevertheless, it's also a reminder both of the glory to come and that which has been given to us already.

The first reading today, which is actually the entire fifth chapter of Baruch, is set against the background of Babylonian exile and the fall of Jerusalem. Certainly it was a situation in which a mere admonition—a few words of encouragement—only to believe or to understand that all things are surely serving a purpose, would not have been taken well. The people to whom Baruch was written had lost everything—their enemies had triumphed over them and they were led away in defeat. It's doubtful that they would have been open to being told that all they need is to have a better attitude about the whole thing. It's doubtful that they would have accepted a message of "just believe."

Nevertheless, they do receive a message of God's love—it is a message of the power of God to enter into the world of existence and to transform it in real way. It is a message that speaks to the now of individuals and to the now of a nation of people. It points us simultaneously to the time of completion and to the in-breaking of God into our world. Therefore, today's is a message of incarnation: of what is hoped and longed for being made present in a real and substantial way. It's the message of a gift to us and looking forward a little we might see that it's also a message of a sacrifice that frees us from an even greater captivity, which is at the root of all spiritual exile.

We too may look for God's real in-breaking kingdom to be revealed among us in our lives individually and as a whole, as a Church and as a human family whose divisions long—and even cry out—to disappear. The kingdom of God is such that we learn by observation that it comes into our world in every period of human history. The kingdom comes to us from the time of completion of all things to somehow be made present to us in a real way, in a way that has the power to affect our lives and our world. It is the power of a reconciling God making the central event in reconciliation—the coming of Christ and his sacrifice—always present to us.

The message for today is indeed one of the love of God who is able to do all things, and it's also a message filled with hope. The Advent season in itself teaches us to be forward-looking to the day of the Lord's coming, to the last day, but also teaches us to look to the here and now for the kingdom of God. The present itself must hold the seeds of hope, else wise we are left with emptiness and void of hope. In a real and concrete way the present must yield to that power that makes every lofty mountain low and fills the deepest age-old depths.

Five hundred years—more or less—had passed from the time of the writing of Baruch to the birth of the Lord. The people were told to put away their misery and to expect the desert to bloom, and to know with certitude that the angels of mercy and justice were leading and lighting the way. Rather than being a given a hope to be long-delayed, the people to whom Baruch wrote experienced the kingdom of God entering their world—their here and now—from the time of final completion. They were given a vision and accompanying hope, but more they were given the ability to realize that God was at work among them in their situation of exile.

While we too look with faith to the future completion of God's work on earth, we must also look to the past, to a time when God broke into the world of human affairs with the birth of the infant Jesus at Bethlehem. We also look, perhaps in a way that some may consider to be more realistic, to our present lives because our everyday lives are where we experience our truest struggles. It is also in the here and now where past and future collide and where we take our beliefs into consideration and make decisions that are ultimately important for us.

The lesson of the in-breaking of the kingdom of God into our world, into all times of human affairs, is that we are not left alone. The power of God is at work always and at all times reconciling, healing, and loving us. He whom we call God, our Lord Jesus, is present before us inviting us to partake in his presence and in the love that has the power to transform us. We keep in mind that he transforms real lives, lives that struggle in the here and now, and perhaps struggle even to begin to believe. His kingdom enters our world and does something so wonderful that it can only be approximated in the language of metaphor.

He comes to us to, to move the mountains and fill the valleys, to populate the seeming wastelands of our lives with forests of fragrant evergreens. He breaks forth into the world of personal longings to bring us his kingdom of peace, mercy, and justice in a real and lasting way.

All Saints Day

If you have ever had the opportunity to attend a retreat at the Cedarbrake Retreat Center of the Diocese of Austin, you may recall that on the grounds there is an area for meditation built on a small elevated mound with a few benches positioned around a metal tree that has ornaments hanging on it, each with one of the beatitudes. Undoubtedly it's meant to inspire thoughts of the Sermon on the Mount, which we heard in the gospel reading today.

For several years I have attended October retreats at Cedarbrake, and when time allowed I took the opportunity to pause for a moment or two and consider the meaning of beatitude or blessedness. It's really the blessedness of the life in Christ that we celebrate on All Saints Day. What truly makes a saint is his or her participation in the holiness of God, but I've found that needs to be unpacked a little—as does All Saints Day.

The celebration of All Saints Day has been a part of the Church's worship for a long time. The date of November 1 was officially adopted as a "day of obligation" in the ninth century. However, there were already other culturally important November 1^st celebrations in place dating from pre-Christian times. As with other Christian celebrations All Saints Day is situated so that it coincides, and offers an alternative, to the pagan harvest festival. Personally I find it interesting that many non-Catholic Christian communities, and perhaps some Catholic churches and schools, have begun to have a harvest festival in place of celebrating the vigil of "All Hallows", or Halloween, in a Christian context.

Where I'm headed with this has to do with the importance of reclaiming and celebrating true Christian holiness in every situation, time, and place—not just All Saints or the preceding evening. There's no better place to look for the true meaning of holiness in life than the words of the Lord in the Sermon on the Mount—the Beatitudes.

As with many previous years, last week I returned to Cedarbrake for the annual deacon's retreat. While this year I didn't venture out to the Beatitudes mound for prayer and meditation, another kind of beatitude or blessing was definitely on my mind, and I think it fits in perfectly with our celebration and our readings for today.

There were actually two great blessings that became clear to me on my retreat this year. The first, and perhaps the most important to consider on All Saints Day, has to do the degree of our solidarity with the poor and marginal people of the world, which I'll say more about momentarily. The second has to do with the profound reconciliation and grace that we experience—that the whole world experiences—through the God's gift to us of his Son, Jesus Christ.

When we look at the list of those who are called blessed in the Lord's sermon it is not rich, the powerful, and the popular who are named as blessed—rather it is the marginal people of the world. The Lord pronounces that hallowed are the poor, the mournful, the meek and the hungry. It is the poor little ones on the outside who stand to receive the greatest blessing. It is they who are blessed out of their need and capacity to receive. Along with them are the merciful, the pure, the peacemakers, and those who suffer on account of making a stand for just such holiness. In other words, those who somehow stand with God to fill the world's needs are also equally blessed.

Being among the saints, then, is all about receiving a blessing and being a blessing. To be a blessing, and to live as a blessing, that is, to be holy and to live as one destined for heaven means taking upon ourselves qualities that may be foreign to we have previously consider as blessedness.

To be holy we must turn to those who cry out for the mercy of God, stepping into their shoes and their lives. True saints take on meekness and gentleness, a spirit of oneness with the poor and the suffering. Saints understand that the essential feature of humanity remains untouched when all other things are laid bare.

Being a holy one takes a commitment to healing and peace in our world today. True peace is not a mere feeling of well being but it is the cessation of the atrocities of conflict. It is the healing of disease, poverty, hunger, and prejudice. It is the eradication of that which puts us in opposition to others. The true victims of that which is opposed to peace are those who have the least power—most typically it is the children. Being among the saints means acting decisively to bring about change in our world. To be holy requires the courage to be merciful and to understand the hunger and fear of those who are least wanted, least accepted, and least loved.

In a big way All Saints Day is a celebration of the true Christian identity—of our identity as partners in the work of God. All Saints is a celebration that we are indeed among the Communion of Saints, surrounded by great cloud of witnesses, and that we share in common calling and a common mission to be radically for every human being. Especially we are to be for those in the greatest need of God's mercy because God sent his Son to those cried out with the greatest need, to those whose hearts longed for justice.

Perhaps the greatest justice to consider is the gift of God's reconciling power. The gift of reconciliation: it's the gift of healing and hope common to the experience of the sanctified. We gather with one another to hear the words of reconciliation and to recall and participate in the central reconciling event in salvation—the gift and sacrifice of the Son of God. Because Eucharist is the re-presentation and memorial of the sacrifice of the cross, it is the central reconciling event for us. It is the source and summit of lives we are taught.

In our failures in being holy or blessed, whatever those failures may be but especially in our failure to live a life that reflects the Beatitudes, in our failure to live a life of solidarity with the poor of God, we find grace. It isn't only the grace of total forgiveness but the gift of total reconciliation that empowers us to be one with the blessed and to participate in this seasonal celebration of sainthood.

 

Homily for Respect Life Sunday

Today both the Old Testament reading and the gospel speak to us of marriage. Genesis speaks of the divine origin of the man and the woman, who are made male and female for one another, made to be one in a lasting union. From the joining together of male and female the generation of human life comes forth, sacred and blessed, instituted by the very will of God.

Our readings on the theme of marriage today are indeed fitting for this Sunday, which is Respect Life Sunday. In our gospel, we are not only reminded of the origin and sacred nature of the joining of man and woman in marriage, we recall also that the Lord invited those who come forth from that sacred union, the little children, to gather around him and pronounced them blessed saying that unless we accept the kingdom of God like a little child, unless we somehow become like them, we cannot enter the kingdom.

Certainly on Respect Life Sunday we are to reflect upon the sacred nature of every human life—we recall the reasons that we are to promote God's gift of life by taking a stand against the evils that belong to the culture of death. We remember that we stand against abominations such as abortion, euthanasia, capital punishment, and unjust war. Indeed to hold a consistent ethic of life we must stand against whatever there is that threatens life, whatever challenges the sacred nature of that which God has made. If our reflection is complete and our logic is sound, if our ethic of life is truly consistent, then there will be many other challenges to the sacred nature of life that we must add to the list.

We may not always consider it, but to be for life—that is to hold that all human life is sacred—means much more than simply being against something. It means that in action and in attitude we must be for those whom the culture of death threatens the most.

Too often in our world it is the children who suffer at the hand of our decisions and attitudes. Is it really being pro-life of us to say that we are against abortion but then take a stand, based perhaps on economic fears or political ideology, to deny children their right to basic things like healthcare, food, clothing, or even education? Are we truly being pro-life when we ignore the innocent victims of guns and bombs? Are we being truly pro-life when we put a claim to personal security in front of well-being of any child on this planet?

To be truly pro-life we must begin to ensure and establish the existence of a pro-human world where poverty, disease, hunger, war, and killing are no longer acceptable in any way whatsoever. We must make the world a welcoming place for the newborn as well as for every person.

Frankly it comes down to something extraordinarily simple. We are asked to love—no less than this really—but true love demands a giving on our part that is such that we empty ourselves heart and soul for others. Love demands that we give not only to our own but that we love the stranger among us and the stranger far away.

Giving of ourselves and loving completely far from being easy tasks—perhaps for many it might be impossible to even fathom the thought. Our truly accepting all human life as sacred demands sacrifice. It may also mean that in some way we learn to embrace suffering, that is, that we learn to be healers by sharing our lives with those who experience pain and agony in life.

Several years ago I was acquainted with a gentleman in his early 80s who would volunteer in special education classrooms for children with mental and physical disabilities. One day he asked me why I thought God would allow children to suffer in this way. I wasn't able to answer really, but I did tell him that I thought it was his opportunity, and mine, to love more perfectly.

The epistle to the Hebrews reminds us that in the suffering of our Lord Jesus perfection came about. In considering the gift that Jesus made of himself to us through his suffering, in considering his perfect giving, we must also consider that he gave himself for all human beings.

Jesus offered himself that we might learn to forgive and to be forgiven. He suffered and died so that suffering and death would no longer mean condemnation, rather that salvation might come about instead. Our call today is to come to Jesus and embrace him as our savior—and to bring the children of the world along with us.

When we approach Jesus we bring with us the unborn and those born in poverty. We bring with us those who are racially and ethnically different from ourselves. We bring the children of our enemies and those of our neighbors. We bring those condemned to die. We bring man and woman, sinner and saint; we never stand alone because we are part of something bigger. We stand at the Cross with the children of the world and we ask to be judged for we have called sacred the life that he created, that he gave to us in creation. We asked to be judged for what we do, in both attitude and action, with his sacred gift.

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.