Apprentices in the School of Beatitude: the Feast of Saint Thomas Aquinas

About a year and a half ago, when Bishop Taylor called me to ask about coming to be the priest here at the U of A, I confess I was a little hesitant. I wasn’t very familiar with the university or the city, and I had no real training in campus ministry or working with college students. But there were also many aspects to the idea that attracted me. As silly as it may seem, one of the first of these that came to mind was being at a parish named for Thomas Aquinas.

Santi di Tito, Vision of Saint Thomas Aquinas (1593) 

Saint Thomas has always been one of my favorite saints, a man legendary – even in his own time – for his astonishing intellect and his profound holiness. He was a Renaissance man before the Renaissance: a philosopher, theologian, scientist, mystic – one of the greatest minds in the history of western civilization, let alone the Church. He understood well the human condition and the human person, and he knew we humans cannot find happiness apart from living in communion with God. He is also, to my mind and to the minds of many others, one of the most important saints for our time because the theological tradition he was a part of is so needed today – viz., that faith and reason are compatible, that science and theology are not mutually exclusive, that Truth with a capital T is real and rooted in God.

In the Gospel today, Jesus speaks about Truth, beginning his famous Sermon on the Mount. The imagery of the scene should not be too quickly passed over. Jesus goes to the top of a mountain where he then is seated, with the peoplle spread around him to listen. Quite intentionally, the Gospel writer is portraying him in the place of God, imparting to his creatures wisdom about how to live. And Jesus opens with the Beatitudes – the eight famous but paradoxical statements about how to find beatitudo, blessedness, happiness.

Thomas Aquinas wrote on the Beatitudes, as earlier Christian writers did. He saw in them not a series of platitudes about life as an ideal – as if a person should strive to live in such a way but without real hopes of doing so. Rather, he understood the Beatitudes as Jesus’s keys for true happiness, the acts by which we detach ourselves from the things of this world and hold fast to what truly will last. The blessed person – the person who embraces poverty in spirit, who is not enslaved to pleasure, who is humble, who is merciful, who is focused on God, who works for peace, who endures persecution for God’s sake – such a person becomes herself godly, becomes himself one who thinks with the mind of God and loves with the heart of God. That is true happiness, a happiness that anticipates the state of eternal happiness, beatitudo, of heaven.

So how do we grow in the Beatitudes? How do we become blessed in this way? One of the most important ways is what we’re doing right now – worshipping together in the Mass. The Mass is not just the service that we attend once a week out of habit or some vague sense of obligation. It is rather the school by which we are educated, the training ground by which we are formed in learning how to be happy. We are apprentices in the school of beatitudo – happiness, blessedness – and so we gather to hear God’s teaching and wisdom about how to live. We reflect upon our own lives to examine how we might be happier, according to God’s definition. And most importantly, in the Eucharist, we receive the Real Presence of Christ, literally taking him into ourselves so that his attitudes and virtues might become ours.

Saint Thomas had a deep love for the Eucharist. It was at the very heart of his spiritual life. In addition to his theological reflections, he wrote beautiful and mystical hymns about this greatest of the sacraments. In honor of his Eucharistic devotion, I would like to make some practical suggestions about how you and I can grow in our understanding of and love for the Blessed Sacrament. I wish to say in advance that I’m not trying to nitpick about behavior or to make any of us feel bad if we’re not doing something exactly the right way. Rather, I share these thoughts so that you and I can grow in our appreciation, as Thomas did, of the sacrament we receive each week.

· First, we need to understand well what it is we are receiving. It’s easy to get in the habit of getting in the communion line each week and letting our minds wander. But we remember we are preparing not just to do something symbolic or ritualistic. Rather, we are preparing to receive Jesus himself, his Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. It is our Catholic belief that while the appearance and characteristics of bread and wine remain, after the consecration it is Jesus himself who nourishes us.

· This act of communing with the Lord also means that we must be in communion with each other. We are always happy to welcome friends of other faith traditions to join us at Mass, but since our faith traditions are not fully united, we cannot extend to them the invitation to communion. If you invite a non-Catholic friend, to Mass, great! But it's also your responsibility to show them how they are to cross their arms in the communion line to receive a blessing. Similarly, those Catholics who are conscious of having committed serious sin should refrain from receiving the Eucharist without first making a confession, so that they can prepare a fitting place for the Lord to abide with them. They too are invited to receive a blessing.

· For those of us who do receive, we must make an effort to receive well. It is proper, for example, to make a slight bow of the head before communion (usually when the person directly in front of you is receiving). If one is receiving on the tongue, one should open one’s mouth sufficiently and let your tongue protrude slightly so that the minister can give you communion easily. It’s not proper to bite at the host with one’s teeth or lips. If one is receiving in the hands, make sure your hands are relatively clean, and that you hold them out flat in front of you and close to the minister, not way down low. It is not proper to grab at the host or try to take it with your own hands – remember you are receiving communion. Remember also that you should place the host in your mouth before you turn away from the minister; you are not to walk away with the host still in your hands. Finally, when the minister says, “The Body of Christ,” or “The Blood of Christ,” the proper (and only) response is “Amen,” not “Thank you” or no response at all.

· Having received the Eucharist, we should turn to prayer and reflect upon who we have just received. This may be in the prayers of the song that the congregation is singing or it may be in our own silent prayers. It is not proper to let our minds wander, or to start chatting with our neighbor, or to just watch as everyone else goes to communion. You and I have just received the Lord who has created all things, who formed us in our mother’s womb, who became man for us, who suffered on the Cross for us, who rose from the dead for us, who desires to bring us to his eternal happiness. Surely, we can offer a few moments of thanksgiving for all that he has done for us! Perhaps we might even consider staying after Mass a few moments for an extra prayer before we head out into the world, or consider coming a few minutes earlier the next week so that we prepare again with prayer.

Sassetta, St. Thomas Inspired by the Dove of the Holy Ghost (Arte della Lana Altarpiece), c. 1423

Friends, as we celebrate our patron today, Saint Thomas Aquinas, let us ask that God may instill in each of us a new and deeper devotion to the sacrament which is the source and summit of our faith. From the Eucharist, we receive strength to live the Beatitudes, to find happiness in the way that Jesus has given to us. Through the Eucharist, we are able to be disciples the rest of the week in all of the challenges that that presents – to love our neighbor as ourselves, to work for peace, we endure suffering, to find the courage to accept the invitation of Christ, even when it is the Bishop calling. In the Eucharist, we experience a foretaste of the eternal beatitudo, the blessedness, of heaven. May Saint Thomas Aquinas intercede for each of us this day that our faith may deepen, that our works may prosper, and that nourished by the Bread of Life each day sees us journeying closer to our heavenly homeland.

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Finding Unity in Christ

Christ Calling His First Disciples (1839) by Adam Brenner

In the Gospel today, Jesus begins his public ministry. He preaches repentance like his predecessor, John the Baptist, but he also goes beyond John’s preaching. Unlike John, Jesus travels. He doesn't just have people come to him – he goes out to them. As he does so, he attracts followers. We hear the names of some of the first of those followers, men who become his disciples. Jesus is bringing people together, building unity around himself.

And yet, the history of Christianity is fraught with division and discord. We heard in the Second Reading how even just a few decades after Jesus’s death and Resurrection there were factions developing in the Christian community in Corinth. Saint Paul urges unity, encouraging the Corinthians to be devoted to Christ rather than anyone else. But sadly, despite such calls for unity, division continues. As we know from history, the Christian religion fragmented over the centuries, sometimes over important issues but more often than not over misunderstandings.

We even see this here at the U of A – one just has to walk around campus to see the number of different campus ministries and faith groups, claiming to have the authentic Christian message. But while we are familiar with these divisions, we should not be content with them. As Catholics, we say that it is the responsibility of every baptized person to work for Christian unity – to pray for that unity and do our part to work toward what Jesus himself prayed for: “May they be one, Father, as you and I are one” (Jn 17:21).

This week, Christians around the world, including the Catholic Church, are observing A Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. It is a time for us to reflect upon and work toward Jesus’s desire that his followers be united. Much of the work of this effort happens at a level higher than our community – the Vatican, for example, has dialogues with international Christian groups; the US Conference of Catholic Bishops discusses with other American assemblies about how best to carry Jesus’s message forward to our world.

But Jesus’s desire for unity among his followers is not something that can be accomplished merely by conferences and committees. It also has to happen at a more fundamental level, at the level of each of us as individuals. I would like to propose, if I may, two concrete ways that each of us can work to building Christian unity, no matter what context we may be in:

First, all of us are called to a deeper sense of Christian forgiveness. There may be no more radical aspect of the Gospel message than, “Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you.” I am sure all of us recognize how great this idea is in theory – that love conquers hate, that prayer is the proper response to being treated badly. Living it out though is extremely difficult, but it’s precisely for this reason that it is so important. When someone insults or slights us, we Christians have at that moment a choice to love as Jesus loved ... or not, to be an instrument of his mercy to the other person ... or not. Forgiveness is not something we do merely by our own power or only once we feel like we are ready. Rather, it is a choice we make relying upon God’s grace, recognizing that just as he has forgiven us completely in Jesus's sacrifice on the Cross, so too we must seek to forgive completely in return. What a powerful witness we would be for others if we Catholics were as merciful as the Lord calls us to be!

In a broader sense, any work of charity that we do is also an act of mercy. Maybe it is volunteering for a service project, or helping a friend in need, or calling up a relative that lives alone. These things seem ordinary but they can be moments of great grace. When we make an effort to show kindness, to demonstrate mercy, we continue the work of Jesus, we undo division, we heal discord, we build unity. As Christians, our charitable works are not done merely for altruistic purposes, like any other person might do them. Rather, they are born out of our faith in Jesus and in our understanding that we are called to continue his mission of building the kingdom of heaven.

A second concrete way that I think we are called to work for Christian unity is to deepen our own knowledge of our Catholic faith. It may seem a little counterintuitive that we can grow closer to other Christians by deepening our own Catholic identity, but I think we can’t really seek to understand others until we first understand ourselves. Our Catholic tradition is so rich and comprehensive, stretching from our time all the way back to the time of Jesus and the apostles. Shouldn’t we want to learn more about who we are, where we come from, what we believe? Shouldn’t we wish to share that with others?

I’d like to encourage each of us to make an effort this year to deepen our Catholic identity in some way, maybe by joining one of our Bible studies here at St. Thomas, or by spending time with the Lord in Eucharistic adoration on Wednesday evenings, or by seeking out some spiritual or religious reading to learn more about some part of our faith that we find interesting or puzzling. The formation of our Catholic identity is a lifelong project, but the more we make an effort to begin now, the more we will come to know and love Jesus in a fuller way and be his witness to the world.

Friends, we hear many voices these days emphasizing the need for understanding, compassion, and unity in our society. As Christians, we echo these concerns; but we also know that these virtues are only fully realized in Jesus, since they are reflections of him and the Good News he has brought. The ministry that he started 2000 years ago continues today in us, and he calls us to follow him just as he did the first disciples. By our forgiveness, by our charity, by our faith, may God help us bear Jesus’s presence in a world which needs him now more than ever.
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The Best Version of Ourselves

This week’s Gospel may seem like we hit the rewind button. You may remember that about a month ago, in the middle of Advent, we heard a few Gospels about Jews going out to the desert to see John the Baptist. Then we moved on through the Christmas season, through Epiphany, and now this Sunday into Ordinary Time, and yet here we are, once again in the desert with John the Baptist showing up. So what’s going on?

Well, we’re seeing two sides of John the Baptist, but what the Gospel is really seeking to show us does not concern him but Jesus. In Advent, we looked at John the Baptist the prophet, the one who made straight the way of the Lord in advance of the Messiah’s coming. Now, he is the one pointing out the Lord – the one upon whom the Holy Spirit descended in the form of a dove, the one about whom the voice of the Father spoke, “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” The coming of Jesus has changed John; he had foretold the Messiah but now he has seen him with his own eyes and he points him out to all of his followers so that they may become his followers: “Behold the Lamb of God, behold him who takes away the sins of the world.” John’s whole identity has been changed by his encounter with Christ.

It might not seem evident at first, but something similar is happening in the second reading for today. St. Paul is writing the introduction to his first letter to the Corinthians, which in the opinion of most scholars just so happens to be the first of any of his letters. What’s the very first thing he does? He introduces himself: “Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God”. This was a very standard way of beginning a letter in the first century, and so one might assume that Paul is just following convention. Except remember who he is! His given name is not “Paul” but “Saul” and he was one of the fiercest persecutors of Christianity – until he too encountered Jesus on the road to Damascus and like John the Baptist had a complete change of his identity, from Jew to Christian apostle, from one advocating violence to one sent by God to preach the Gospel.

There are times in life when an encounter with someone changes who we are: a young man who meets the woman of his dreams, a mother who sees the child she has been carrying for nine months, a teacher or coach who inspires and transforms, a friend or mentor who lifts us up when we are at our lowest point. We don’t think of these formative relationships as ones that change our identity but they do – we’re different from before, if not in name than at least in perspective, in sentiment, in purpose.

Take those experiences – and multiply them by a million – and that’s what happened to John the Baptist and to Paul when they encountered Jesus. Their identities were completely reshaped by encountering the God-who-became-Man. They became saints, men whose lives found their very purpose and meaning in Jesus and what he called them to. The Good News, brothers and sisters, for this week is that that very same encounter is available to us, indeed it has already occurred – we need only unlock its graces. By virtue of our baptism, we have all encountered Jesus in a radically new way and have become a part of the supernatural reality that bridges heaven and earth, the Church. When we go through each day, we are not at our deepest level only son or daughter, husband or wife, student or employee, man or woman – each of us is one who knows Jesus, who has met him, who loves him and *especially* one who is loved by him.

Lorenzo Lippi, The Baptism of Saint Paul (c. 1655)

Does this mean we live our lives differently? It should. It should mean that we regard ourselves as changed as John the Baptist and Paul did. It should mean that we look at ourselves not merely as concerned with our own schedules and plans and priorities – but as those “sent” by the Lord to do his will, as much as the apostles were. We must be followers of Jesus not in name only but in reality, not just for the hour on Sunday we’re in Mass but at every moment of every day.

You know, each of us wants to be the best version of ourselves – it’s the reason why so many make resolutions in the New Year to improve in some area or another. As we start a new academic semester at the university, those of us who are students, or faculty, or staff also wish to grow upon the successes we’ve made and reform the errors we’ve committed. But as Christians, we also profess that the best version of ourselves is the version that has encountered Jesus – and that keeps encountering him anew, with Jesus always as our aim and as our purpose. The successes we have are his graces; the errors we make are his opportunities, and the lives we live should be defined not by whatever limited identity we would wish to create for ourselves but by the new and triumphant identity we have in him.

Friends, as we move away from the Christmas season into Ordinary Time, let’s not hit the rewind button in who we are. Just like John the Baptist and Paul, we too have encountered and continue to encounter Jesus – in the sacraments, especially in the Eucharist; in our prayer and in the graces that God gives us to be faithful to him each day; and in the encounters we have with one another, bearing Christ within us. And this encounter will change us, it will redefine our identity in the best way possible – if only we keep our eyes on Jesus. In the words of St. Paul, may God’s “grace and peace” be with us so that we can help others encounter Jesus in us and so become the very best version of ourselves.

God Amid the Ruins: The "Wonder-full" Season of Christmas

A little more than fifty years ago, two American songwriters penned a lyric about the celebrations this time of year: hosting parties, visiting friends, roasting marshmallows, caroling in the snow. They later said that they wanted to capture in the song the spirit of festivity and frivolity that many feel around the holidays. The song was recorded a year later in 1963 by Andy Williams, and over the course of the last several decades, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” has become an enduring Christmas standard.

There certainly is much that’s wonderful about this time of year: visits with family and friends, holiday parties, gift-giving, special foods and traditions. But it should be said that Williams’ song takes a pretty optimistic view. Many people struggle to endure this time of year, whether it’s handling all of the hustle and bustle, or because of personal experiences and memories that are difficult for them. Even for those of us who enjoy Christmas generally may find ourselves struggling to be merry. Our lives are still complex and challenging, and while we value the chance to celebrate with loved ones, the problems that we face don’t simply disappear.

Even in our religious context, there is much about Christmas that is difficult to bear. The Nativity scene that we see in our churches and on our mantles seems peaceful… only if we forget that it is a depiction of a young couple forced to give birth to a son in squalid conditions and out amid the elements. The angels praise and the Magi come to pay respect to the newborn King… whose authority will be rejected by his own people and whose person will be tortured and executed by the worldly powers of the day. The feast of Christmas is quickly followed by those of St. Stephen and the Holy Innocents… reminders that the birth of Jesus led directly to the deaths of many others. 

  The Nativity (1892) by Gari Melchers

So what is the Good News of this day? If there is so much in ruins in the world in general and in our personal lives, where is the cause for joy that the Church tells us should be in our hearts this season? It’s not the consumerism and schmaltz that makes up so much of the modern “Christmas” mentality. It’s not the holiday parties and merrymaking and gift-giving that occupy our time. It’s not even the fact that we usually spend this time visiting with or at least communicating with the people important to us. Rather our Christmas joy is rooted in a sense in a recognition of our own faults and failings, in our brokenness and messiness as human beings, and that despite all of that, God entered into our reality – he desired to share it, despite our flaws, that he might transform us from within.

Vigil Mass: The Gospel story we heard this evening is seemingly a strange one for the celebration of Christmas. We hear this long genealogy, with difficult names and even more obscure identities. But it is the testimony of the evangelist St. Matthew of how God’s covenant with his people – beginning with Abraham and continuing through the generations – is fulfilled in the coming of Christ. Despite the faithlessness of Israel, and the wickedness of many of the people whose names we heard, God did not rescind his promises. No, indeed, knowing well our need for salvation, he desired instead to become one with us, to reveal himself as God-with-us.

Mass During the Day: That plan, the scope of that divine design, is recounted in the beautiful words of the Gospel according to St. John. It is in many ways a summation of our entire faith – that the Word, the Logos, the Second Person of the Trinity, in and through whom God created all things, in the fullness of time took Flesh, not losing his divinity, but becoming fully man, so that he might be one with us, to reveal himself as God-with-us.

This is indeed Good News. Creation has been changed by the coming of Christ, and while the world often still seems dark and broken, we who believe can always point to this reality, the birth of Jesus, as a sign of God’s faithfulness, of his presence, of his continued love. If you find yourself happy this day, let it be for that reason, not for anything more superficial. If you find yourself unhappy, then let your heart find some comfort and hope in the love of a God who desires to enter into your unhappiness, to assure you of his love, and to deliver you from your sins and save you from all distress.

Friends, I propose that what Andy Williams first sang more than fifty years ago is true – it is the most wonderful time of the year, though not for the reasons he enumerated. Christmas is “wonder-full” – full of wonder – because it is a time when we recall again the deep love and abiding presence of a God who has come, and will come again, and who is with us at every moment in between. There is nothing in this life that is not made new by the birth of Jesus and through him, and with him, and in him, we are made new as well. 

May God grant you every grace in this season of joy!

Conflict Resolution: The Immaculate Conception of Mary

Every good story has a conflict. Think of a bestselling book, or a hit movie, or just an account that you might tell your friends over coffee. A story doesn’t engage us, doesn’t capture our attention unless it contains tension: something valuable at stake, some fundamental problem to be resolved. It can be epic or mundane, but there must always be a conflict for a story to revolve around.

The same is true for the story of our salvation. The 20th century theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar titled his 5-part magnum opus the “Theo-Drama”, that is the story of the relationship between God and humanity throughout time. That story too has a conflict, a tension to be overcome. We heard the basics of it in the first reading from Genesis. Adam and Eve have done the one thing God had forbidden them to do, and having sinned their relationship with him has been changed. Not only must they leave Eden; nature itself, including our human nature, is changed by the introduction of sin into the world.

Traditionally, we say that the original sin of Adam and Eve had four effects on us: our intellects were darkened; our wills were weakened; and physical suffering and death – not originally a part of God’s plan – are made a part of our lives. These are not what God wished for us – they are rather the consequence of the choice of our first parents and indeed the choices we make through our own sinfulness. The tension of our story is that God created us for himself – we desire nothing so much as to be in eternal union with God – and yet our own sinful choices made that union impossible.

Or, at least, so it was thought. We’re just about at the midpoint of Advent, and in a few short weeks we will celebrate the day on which the answer to our conflict, the One who resolves our fundamental problem, was born into the world. Jesus is the protagonist in our Theo-Drama, the New Adam whose obedience to his Father undoes the sinful disobedience of our first parents and restores us to union with God. It is through him that God has chosen to bless us – in the words of the Letter to the Ephesians – before the foundation of the world, to be destined for adoption through Christ that we also might be made “sons and daughters” of God. Jesus doesn’t just restore what Adam and Eve took away, he gives us something far greater. He doesn’t open the gate back to Eden; he throws open the gates to heaven.

Gustave Moreau, Pietà (1854)

In every story, there is a moment when the protagonist takes decisive action, when he or she seeks to tackle the fundamental problem head on to resolve it. Today, on the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception, we celebrate the very first moment when God acted through Jesus in history. It is not the conception of Jesus that we celebrate (that’s in March) but rather the conception of Mary, when God foresaw in his eternal wisdom Christ’s sacrifice on the cross and through the grace that comes from his Son’s obedience preserved Mary from the original sin of our first parents. God acted decisively not only to create a perfect, fitting vessel for his Son. He did so also to remind us that, like Mary, our human nature has been created for perfection, which is nothing short of total union with God.

Friends, if I might offer a bit of advice in these last few weeks of Advent, don’t sell yourself short on your role in the Theo-Drama. The story of God and humanity began with Adam and Eve, and reached its climax in the person of Jesus, but each of us has an important role to play it in as well. What God did for Mary, he desires to do for each of us; we need only submit our wills to be in accord with His, just as she did. Prepare for the coming of our Savior with a heart that yearns for nothing but to be with him, where every conflict is resolved, where every tear is wiped away. The great story has been written, and you have a part in it. How will you play it?

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Awaiting "the Sun of Justice" in a Dark World

We’ve all seen him – if not in real life, then certainly in the movies. The man standing on a busy street corner proclaiming that the end is near. For the last few summers, when I’ve been in Washington DC to study to canon law, I’ve seen one particular guy who stands outside of Nationals Stadium with a sign, a megaphone, and plenty to stay to anyone who will listen. People have been proclaiming the end of civilization since before the word “civilization” was coined. And yet, despite many terrible events of our past, things have continued on – the world has not ended. 

Here’s the thing though – some day, it will. In the Gospel today, the role of Doomsday Predictor is played by someone perhaps surprising: Jesus himself. While in Jerusalem, near the Holy Temple, Jesus shocks those listening to him by foretelling the destruction of the most sacred place in the world. For Jews, the Temple was not only the dwelling place of God – it was representative of the world itself. It was a symbol of God’s authority, God’s power, and God’s covenant with humanity – and so for it to be destroyed, as it was only some 30 years after Jesus’s death and resurrection – would have been a shocking and disorienting occurrence for every Jew.

From there, Jesus doesn’t get any more cheerful. He goes on to speak about the End Times, the day coming, “blazing like an oven,” in the words of the prophet Malachi, when God’s judgment and justice will finally be delivered upon the world and upon those who do evil. Before that happens, Jesus promises that those who are faithful to him will be persecuted severely – betrayed by family and friends, thrown into prison, even put to death. Yes, this week’s Gospel is surely not for the faint of heart.

The Destruction and Sack of the Temple in Jerusalem (1637), Nicolas Poussin

However, I would maintain that the fundamental message of this Gospel is not one of fear but rather one of hope. Because while Jesus assures us that these terrible things are in the future, he also encourages us to not be “terrified” by them – instead we are to trust that He Himself will be there to give us the strength to persevere.

As Christians, fear should be alien to us – it should never be our default reaction. Indeed, the only fear we should have is fear of the Lord. Why? Because we recognize that, in the end, only God remains. No worldly reality – good or bad, beautiful or terrible – truly lasts. Thus the only thing we have to fear is being separated from the one who himself is Love, Goodness, Beauty, Truth, Peace. And for the one who draws his or her strength from God, no suffering or persecution is too great to endure. The Cross is the reality for every follower of Jesus, but the Resurrection is so much greater than the Cross.

One of the important jobs of a preacher and pastor is to take the temperature, so to speak, of his flock. In other words, I try to anticipate how you’re doing – what the realities of your life are from week to week and to try to find something in God’s Word that speaks to those realities. This week though, I confess to being a little bit at a loss. I can’t presume to know how the events of this momentous week have affected you – with the important election and its result and some of the aftermath we’ve seen around the country. The truth is we probably have not all responded in the same way. Our reactions will vary depending on our backgrounds, our ages, our political views, and the like. Nonetheless, we see that our society is deeply divided on issues of real importance and on what kind of future we envision for our country.

If you agree with that, then I think the words of Jesus today should hit home for us in a special way. Notice how he describes what will pass away: “All that you see here.” That is, not just the Temple of Jerusalem, but everything of this world – the stones of all that we see around us will be cast down. If this life is running out, then, we don’t really have time for division and discord. We must instead be about building unity, about becoming reconciled, not just with each other but with God and with what he has commanded. That’s the key to awaiting the day of judgment not with fear but with hope and expectation, when God himself will finally right all wrongs.

None of this means that we become disengaged or disinterested or discouraged by the events that affect our daily lives. Jesus would never want us to be complacent about the issues facing us, to not work at bettering our society and assuring peace and justice and prosperity. But he does warn us to never place our hopes in anything – or anyone – that is merely confined to this world. What we must adjust is not our efforts but our attitudes. Politics and parties and candidates and elected officials – and in a broader way, countries and cities and civilizations – all of them are necessary in the present moment. But make no mistake: our lasting, eternal hopes must be placed in something – Someone – who will outlast them. And it is that Someone who remains our true hope, the One who helps bear well the persecutions that we will necessarily encounter because of Him.

Regardless of how the elections had turned out, the past week has shown us that much work remains to be done – not just for our newly elected leaders, but for each of us. I know you’ve heard calls from various leaders and individuals to encourage unity. I would particularly draw your attention to the letter of our bishop, Anthony Taylor, which you can find on the diocesan website and which will also be up on our parish website later this week. Perhaps each of us can consider how we can begin the work of healing division in our own lives – seeking to understand those who differ from us, laboring to forgive those who have maligned us, promoting what is best not just for some of us but for all of us, what we call “the common good.” As those who claim to be disciples of Jesus, indeed baptized into His Body, this work is all the more important – it takes on an urgency because it stretches beyond merely righting wrongs in this world. It’s about preparing us for the next. As good as our intentions may be, our efforts will be fruitless if we do not seek first to see with the eyes of Christ, to labor with His hands, to speak with His voice – to be at every moment an instrument of peace and justice not as the world understands them but as God does.

Friends, someday the Lord will return and this world will pass away, and we do not know the day or the hour. But rather than cause us to stand on a street corner predicting doom, or worse, to be filled with fear and worry, this knowledge should instead inspire us to action, indeed even lead us to hope. In the end, nothing will remain except “the Sun of Justice with its healing rays” and those who have placed their hopes not in the world but in Him. Let us learn anew to shine with His warmth, that we might bring His light into the darkness of a world that is passing away.

A Retrospective on Why I'm a Cubs Fan

People ask me why I’m a Chicago Cubs fan. Here’s the story.

When I was a kid, baseball was pretty much life. Though I eventually became a priest, I used to tell people when I was little that I wanted to be a baseball player in the summertime and a priest in the wintertime. I'm still not entirely sure that isn't possible.

Anyway, while I wasn't the most talented player, I loved the chess match of the game: the way in which a variety of skill sets are valued and valuable; how smarts are needed in addition to talent; the fact that a player who wasn't the most naturally gifted could outplay or outwit his opponent; how so much of the game depends upon controlling the little things.

When I wasn’t playing in organized leagues in the summer evenings, I played in the backyard by myself in the afternoons. When it got too hot, I would come inside and what would I want to watch? Baseball, of course. Back then, only a few professional teams were on national broadcast, and the only one that was on every afternoon were the Cubs on WGN. What started as a love for baseball soon blossomed into a passion for the Cubs. The summer ivy, the Friendly Confines, Harry & Steve calling games, the Stretch, and especially the players: Andre "The Hawk" Dawson, Shawn Dunston, Greg "Mad Dog" Maddux, Mark Grace, and especially Ryne Sandberg. I was hooked.

Over the years, I followed them pretty closely, checking the box scores each morning when I couldn’t watch them on TV. Unlike many Cubs fans, I didn't have family from Chicago or friends who supported me in being a Cubs fan. Instead, my devotion grew through faithful following, to the point that my own family became Cubs fans, to greater or lesser degree.

I watched through Ryno’s retirement and un-retirement, the drought of the mid-90s, Sammy’s emergence and the ’98 home run race, "Kid K" (Kerry Wood's) epic 20 strikeout game, and the unexpected playoff push in ’01. That year, I started college in St. Louis, and for the first time, I found a group of baseball fans as passionate as I was – the problem was they rooted for the Cardinals, the Cubs’ chief rival.

I attended a lot of Cardinal games during my years at SLU. I enjoyed the baseball culture of the city and I followed the team closely. But I could never become a fan of the Redbirds. It just felt wrong. In 2003, the Cubs made a late and great push through the playoffs, at one point as close as five outs away from the World Series. The story doesn’t need recounting here, but they didn’t make it. 

I had always known that the Cubs were the "Lovable Losers" of baseball. And while I knew about 1969 and 1984 and 1989, the team had been usually middling during my fandom. It wasn't until 2003 that I think I really realized what the cost of being a fan of the Cubs could be. But rather than be dissuaded or disheartened, I came to value my fandom in a much deeper way. The heartbreak of the end of that season cemented my fandom into something closer to obsession. I began to follow prospects, read blogs, discuss trade rumors, and understand the strategy of how front offices did (or did not) craft a team for success. It was also during this time that I was able to first venture to Wrigley Field and to see the team live for the first time. The Cubs amassed great teams in the mid-2000’s, crowned by a couple of division titles in ’07 and ’08. But again, playoff hopes were dashed.

When the Cubs were sold in 2009 from the Tribune Company to the Ricketts family, hope dawned anew. After a couple years giving the old regime a last chance, they turned to Theo Epstein and his brain trust in 2011, who formulated “The Plan”. Since then, for those of us who followed the logic behind it, it was clear that this methodical approach toward building the system with young talent would be painful in the short term but pay off in the future.

This season has been amazing. The Cubs started the season as the clear World Series favorites, and despite hiccups along the way, they have been the best team in baseball wire to wire. Despite numerous chances to choke throughout the playoffs, they persevered and eventually prevailed. I got the chance to see them a couple of times over the summer, when they came to D.C. to face the Nationals and on a trip to Wrigley with my dad in June.

In the playoffs, I was tempted to count out the Cubs a few different times, especially during the latter part of Game 7 of the World Series. But like many other Cubs fans, I always had a different feeling about this team, even when the chips were down. And after a regrouping during “the greatest rain delay in history”, the Cubs at last came out on top. Following so many years of frustration and failure, it’s great to say the Chicago Cubs are the World Champions.

Today, Cubs fans around the country watch as the team bring the Commissioner’s Trophy to the city of Chicago for the first time in 108 years. If I dare to speak for all Cubs fans, this feels like vindication, redemption, the fulfillment of things hoped for. I have often reflected upon the religious overtones of waiting and hoping for a thing that seems far off, impossible, unlikely to ever come ... and then finally, on one glorious day, seeing that dream fulfilled in a way more glorious than one could imagine. It's trite, certainly, that it takes sports to show it, but truly "hope does not disappoint" (Romans 5:5). In that way, fandom is much like faith – a common belief with others to hope in something greater than ourselves.

I wish I could be along Addison Street or in Grant Park to watch the team go by today, as surely hundreds of thousands, maybe millions gather to greet and cheer the beloved team. I’ll be celebrating, however, in my own way, grateful for all that my fandom has meant for me and so many others over the years. Perhaps the best part of it all is to know how this could be the beginning of a great thing; the team is young, talented, and has much room to grow. You can’t predict baseball, but it’s tremendously exciting to see what the next few years will bring. A new horizon stretches out before us -- for us fans of the baseball Chicago Cubs, and indeed for anyone who dares to hope in a dream bigger than them.

Go Cubs Go!

The Lover of Souls

How often do you think about God’s love for you?

I ask that question somewhat rhetorically since I can imagine the answer for most of us is “not often”. We have a tendency to focus on the immediate things in front of us and so things that seem more abstract, like the love of God, don’t come to the forefront of our attention. And sometimes, surrounded by our problems or the suffering that we see in the world, we question – maybe even doubt – just how much God’s love really is there.

If that’s the case, then I think it’s good that we take a look back at the first reading, from the Book of Wisdom. It’s a reflection upon the mystery of our relationship with God and his love for us. Let’s do a little exegesis – or critical reading – of the text.

“Before the LORD the whole universe is as a grain from a balance
or a drop of morning dew come down upon the earth.”

That is, the entire universe – the myriad numbers of galaxies and solar systems, and the whole earth, with all of us upon it – is, compared to God, nothing more than a speck, a drop of dew on the grass. God is infinitely greater and grander than anything we could possibly imagine.

“But you have mercy on all, because you can do all things;
and you overlook people's sins that they may repent.
For you love all things that are
and loathe nothing that you have made;
for what you hated, you would not have fashioned.”

Though all of creation is almost as nothing compared to God, that doesn’t mean he treats us as nothing – in fact, just the opposite. Because God is so infinitely greater than us, his approach to us is always one of infinite love and mercy. His love for us is contingent upon nothing – because he doesn’t need us for anything, everything he gives to us is purely given out of love for us and for the desire of our own true good. He is a merciful Father, a loving Creator.

"And how could a thing remain, unless you willed it;
or be preserved, had it not been called forth by you?"

At every moment of our lives, God is willing us – indeed, the entire universe – into being. If he were to stop for even the briefest moment, we wouldn’t simply die – we and all of creation would simply cease to be. And yet, that doesn’t happen. So God continues to be focused on us completely, in pure love, though we are as small to him as a grain or a drop of dew is to us. One last part:

"But you spare all things, because they are yours,
O LORD and lover of souls,
for your imperishable spirit is in all things!
Therefore you rebuke offenders little by little,
warn them and remind them of the sins they are committing,
that they may abandon their wickedness and believe in you, O LORD!"

In other words, God does all of this – loving us, willing us into being – despite the fact that we are sinners. Though we so often reject him by our actions, he is patient and merciful with us. He gently reminds us of our sinfulness – especially by means of our conscience – and calls us to repentance, so that we might return to him.

So God does indeed love us, infinitely and mercifully, and yet the story doesn’t end there. The love by which God created us, the love with which he sustains us in being and calls us to repentance with gentleness – it is with that same love that God desired even to become one of us, to walk among us, to seek out and save we who were lost. The love that God has for us is none other than Jesus himself, who encountered Zacchaeus in Jericho, who encounters each of us every day, in various ways, especially here in the Eucharist.

Jesus Summoning Zacchaeus, William Brassey Hole (c. 1900)

If we view God’s love in that way, if we see that his love has a face – that of Jesus himself – then we will be changed as Zacchaeus was changed. We will begin to live always in the joy that God’s love for us indeed infinite, merciful, life-giving, but even more than that – it is relational, it is has a name and a face, it is a Person himself.

Friends, whether we think often of it or not, the love of God for us is real – it is creative, transformative, merciful, and personal. Like Zacchaeus, let us seek to encounter that love anew – to climb over any obstacles keeping us from it, and not to grow tired, or distracted, or discouraged by the opinion of others as we seek it. Instead, let us focus on Jesus, the love of God made incarnate, he who wishes to encounter us, who wishes to stay with us, who has come to seek out and to save what was lost.
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From Disciples to Saints: Following Mother Teresa

If you were to ask a person in the 1970s, ‘80s, or ‘90s to name a living saint, chances are good that person would have named Mother Teresa. If you’ve paid attention lately to the news, no doubt you’ve seen the stories and opinion pieces written about this little nun, all in anticipation of her canonization this morning in Rome. Today, Pope Francis declared definitively what many of us knew intuitively years ago – that that small, spunky, smiling sister – so famous for serving the poorest of the poor in the slums of Calcutta and spreading that work around the world through her Missionaries of Charity – was also a saint, a true disciple of Christ for the 20th century.

In the Gospel today, Jesus speaks about the costs of discipleship, and he puts those costs in plain language. The Gospel says “great crowds” were following him, and perhaps he felt as if many were not getting the message. To be his disciple, he says, we must “renounce all of our possessions”, we must “hate” our loved ones and even our own life, we must take up our cross and follow him. If this sounds daunting, it is – as Jesus warns, we must not take this discipleship lightly. Just as a builder considers his resources before beginning to build a tower, just as a king considers his coffers before considering raising an army, Jesus beseeches us to consider our own inner resolve to ensure that we will not fall short of our goal.

Today’s canonization of Mother Teresa should be a sign of hope for you and me – that discipleship is possible, that the lofty bar which Jesus sets is possible with his grace, that you and I too can reach sainthood. However, I think there’s a possibility that this particular saint – one with whom so many of us were familiar during her life – may feel too far beyond us. This was a woman who exemplified a life of poverty and service to the utmost degree, feeding the poor, nursing the diseased, embracing the orphan and addict and outcast. Even more, she changed the world around us, by founding houses of her sisters throughout the globe, by speaking truth to power by addressing world leaders, being an advocate for peace, justice, and respect for all peoples. All of this might make her become, in our own estimation, a saint outside of our own reach. In other words, how could you and I aspire to being like someone so holy?

That way of thinking, however, gets discipleship all wrong. Jesus calls us all of us to holiness, but he tailors each of our paths according to our own individual person. The Lord did amazing things through Mother Teresa, but her way to sainthood is not our way. Instead, each of us are called to finding the radical call to discipleship that is ours alone. How do we do that? Well, I think we can take a cue from the life of Mother Teresa, just as we could from any of the saints – while the individual path varies for each of us, the tools we use to walk that path are the same.

First, we must continually open ourselves to honest, prayerful dialogue with Jesus. We can’t hear him inviting us to the path toward sainthood if we’re letting his voice be drowned out by external noise, be it our own desires and ambitions, societal pressures, or even the expectations of family and friends. Jesus asks us to prefer him to all of those – even to “hate” them in comparison, so that we might love him completely. We do that first by hearing his voice, carving out a space each day for silence, for prayer, when we can be in his presence.

Second, we have to be ready to sacrifice what is easy. The road to sainthood is never a convenient one. While Jesus may not be calling us to serve the poor of Calcutta, he surely is going to ask us to embrace a cross – perhaps bearing a difficult relationship with dignity and humility, perhaps humbling ourselves by working without the recognition we desire, perhaps suffering internally in ways that only we know. No suffering is too small, no act of love is too minor to be a part of taking up our cross each day. But we must be intentional in offering it to God.

Third, we must be faithful. After her death, the diaries of Mother Teresa revealed that despite her immense labors of love, she had experienced a profound spiritual dryness for decades. Despite conveying God’s presence to others, she did not feel that presence in her own heart; instead she felt God’s silence. Sometimes, the heaviest cross we bear is the cross of perseverance, struggling onward to do what we know is right even when we are discouraged or feel distant from God. Even in those cases, though, we believe that God is not far away – indeed, that it is his grace that sustains us and keeps us going, through our prayer, in the sacraments, by virtue of the people that we encounter. Though we may not always feel it, Jesus never asks us to embrace a cross that he does not himself help us to shoulder.

Friends, the universal Church today celebrates Saint Teresa of Calcutta, a faithful disciple, a woman who loved Christ above all else, a woman whom many of us knew was a saint even in her lifetime. But even as we give thanks to God for her, we must not set on her too lofty a pedestal, as if her holiness is somehow beyond what we too can attain, as if sainthood is outside of our grasp. Her sanctity consists ultimately not in things beyond us, i.e. some extraordinary work, but in things that we too can reach in our own lives: namely, extraordinary love and extraordinary faith. Jesus calls each of us to be his true disciple, indeed to be his saint, but each according to our own path, each endowed with the particular grace that he gives us according to our own life. To be sure, the path he calls us to is always costly – it will involve suffering, it will involve renunciation, it will be an embrace of the Cross – and we must continually seek it through prayer, through humility, and through fidelity. But it is a path always paved by the Lord, and it is he who walks on it with us, ahead of us and behind us and beside us. May Mother Teresa, saint of God in heaven, pray for us, and may the words which she spoke on this earth years ago echo again from her to us today, this time from heaven: “My prayer for you is that you answer Jesus’s calling with the simple word: Yes.”