Generosity's Reward

Do you know the saying, “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach”? I don’t know if that is true of all men, but I think it’s definitely true of priests. Recently, I saw a joke on Facebook: “What word could be used to describe all priests?” I thought to myself: “Oh, ‘holy,’ ‘wise,’ ‘a funny-and-insightful-preacher’…” But no, the answer was ‘hungry.’ It’s true that we priests love to eat, as many of us attest by our waistlines.

In today’s first reading, we hear the story of another man who loved a good meal – not a priest, in this case, but a prophet. The prophet Elisha, it seems, loved a good meal and he knew where he could get it, too: at the house of the couple who lived in Shunem. In today’s passage, we hear that apparently he came over so often the Shunemites decided to furnish a little apartment for him, so that when he visited he could spend the night.

That’s taking hospitality to a different level. I’ve been over to people’s houses for dinner lots of times, but I don’t think anyone has ever invited me to spend the night. Understandably so! It’s one thing to welcome someone to share your table, but to invite them to stay the night is a different thing. But that’s just what the Shunemite couple does. Why? Because they sensed the presence of God in him, and were attracted by that. They saw Elisha’s staying with them as a blessing, and a way in which – in a sense – they welcomed God into their home. And as we heard, Elisha was grateful for their kindness, so much so that he promised her God would bless her with a son.

Jan Pynas, Elisha and the Shunemite Woman (c. 1620)

It’s a nice story, but it’s also an important one because it tells us something about how God acts in our lives. When we open our hearts in generosity to another, we diminish just a little bit the withering self-focus that comes from our own egos. And in doing so, we open ourselves to God and what he might wish to do with us. That’s why the Scriptures tell us, again and again, about the importance of welcoming the stranger, of showing hospitality to the uninvited guest, and of inclining our hearts to those who ask something of us. And not just in our individual lives and homes, but also more broadly in our society, in every aspect of the community. The generosity in itself is good, but it’s also about something more – about seeing in the other the possibility of the presence of God.

In the Gospel today, Jesus says to the apostles that they too will be welcomed into people’s homes – not necessarily to have dinner, but to share the Gospel. The apostles will be sent forth to preach the Lord’s Good News, and when they do so, others will sense God’s presence within them. As we heard last week, some will reject them, and even persecute and kill them. But others will open their doors – and even more, open their hearts, open every aspect of their lives, in order to become disciples. And when they do so, they will be rewarded by Christ himself – both the apostles and the disciples: “whoever receives you, receives me, and whoever receives me receives the One who sent me” and “he will surely not lose his reward.”

The readings today invite us to consider how we bring the Lord’s presence to others, according to our own lives and circumstances. After all, like the apostles, by virtue of our baptism we too have been “sent” into the world, entrusted with the message of the Good News. It’s crucial then that our words and actions are consistent with that identity – that there be nothing in our own lives and characters which is a hindrance to bringing the presence of Christ to others. There are few things these days that are a bigger turn off than those who say one thing but do another, who profess themselves to be good Christians but don’t live like it. As Christ’s representatives in the world, we must constantly make sure we are never giving anyone cause to dismiss what we come to bring, to tune out our message, and so fail to receive Jesus himself.

These readings also encourage us to be open to where the Lord desires to come to us, especially in unexpected ways. The generosity and hospitality of the Shunemite woman was rewarded in an amazing way, by the birth of a son. What might the Lord desire to do for us, or in us, if we open our hearts to him? Let’s be careful not to close the door on him, and especially on those in whom he might be found: the poor, the marginalized, the outcast, the relative who irks us, the acquaintance who gets on our nerves, and anyone else who might be coming to mind right this minute. It might be that, just like Elisha, that person could be a source of grace for us and the beginning of something wonderfully new.

Friends, by means of hospitality, and generosity of heart, the Lord often desires to make himself known. And this is never more true than here – in the Mass. By opening ourselves to the Divine Guest who comes to us in the liturgy, God’s presence fills our hearts anew, so that we can go forth to bring that presence to others and so contribute to the sanctification of the world. “Whoever receives you receives me and whoever receives me receives the One who sent me… he will surely not lose his reward.”

A Love to Cast Out Fear

This week, the coronavirus finally reached our town. We knew it was coming, and we had a few cases before now, but this was the first cluster of cases that seemed to garner widespread attention. No doubt there will be more cases to come; that’s the nature of this pandemic. While individuals and businesses take proper precautions, and respond appropriately when necessary, it’s hard not to feel just a little bit more on edge to know the pandemic is so close.

The last several months have provided lots of reasons to be concerned and even afraid. There is the coronavirus itself, of course, and all that goes along with it: the hardships of quarantine and social isolation, the devastating effects to the economy, and the suspension of public Masses and worship services. There were the severe storms around Easter that led to widespread power outages and property damage. More recently, we have been alarmed to see both structural racism and police brutality as well as resulting civil unrest and violence. I’m sure we could add many more things to the list, especially things from our own personal lives that give us cause for fear and uncertainty. There is no shortage of things to worry about!

Perhaps it is very providential then that our Gospel today begins as pointedly as it does. “Fear no one,” Jesus says to the apostles. That sounds like a tall order, and maybe unrealistic – I mean, does Jesus know all the things we are dealing with right now? Well – yes, in fact, as he goes on to explain. He tells how God the Father has accounted for all things, from the sparrows that fly in the sky to counting the hairs on our heads, and he has ordered all things in the mystery of his Divine Providence – the arrangement of all the events according to his ultimate purpose. And eventually, Jesus says, that purpose or plan will be revealed to all, in eternity: “Nothing is concealed that will not be revealed, nor secret that will not be known.” What is important then is not understanding, but faith – faith in the Lord, and fidelity to what he has commanded us.

Illustration of two red birds and a white flower (1892) by Imao Keinen

In this Gospel passage, Jesus is speaking to the Twelve apostles particularly about what they will suffer in his name: persecution, rejection, even arrest, torture, and death. Those sound like some pretty fearful things, to be sure! But in the context of eternal life – and an eternal plan by which God has ordered all things to the ultimate good of those who love him, as St. Paul says – then even those fearsome things can be accepted, endured, even suffered willingly and joyfully in faith. In our own circumstances, we can do what those saints and martyrs did in history – embrace the present moment, find the voice of God speaking to us in the midst of our trial, and believe that despite our present suffering, somehow God in his great wisdom and love has provided for this moment *for our good* – and provided us for this moment. Our previous pontiff, Pope Benedict XVI, once said: “Dear friends, may no adversity paralyze you. Be afraid neither of the world, nor of the future, nor of your weakness. The Lord has allowed you to live in this moment of history so that, by your faith, his name will continue to resound throughout the world.”

This past Friday, we celebrated the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, one of the great feasts of our Church and I think especially important for our present time. The Feast of the Sacred Heart is a testament of the love of God for us, a love made known in the human heart of Jesus. The love of Christ’s Heart is triumphant, but it is also a love that empties itself, that pours itself out for others – first, in the Lord’s Incarnation, most clearly in his Crucifixion and Death, and then eternally at the Father’s right hand, where it seeks always to reconcile sinners with God. In other words, in the Sacred Heart of Jesus, we see that Love is not incompatible with suffering – indeed, true love is purified and strengthened in suffering.

José de Paéz, The Sacred Heart of Jesus with St. Ignatius Loyola and St. Aloysius Gonzaga (c. 1770)

The Love of the Sacred Heart is a model for our own form of loving. Even if we recognize the love of Christ will always exceed our own, we must strive to love in that same self-emptying, sacrificial way. That’s why the love of a Christian is often best expressed and shared in the context of suffering: whether that is enduring joyfully and prayerfully hardships that come upon us unexpectedly; or re-prioritizing what is most important, especially when money or other resources are tight; or sacrificing our own comfort or well-being to care for those who are within our ability to help; or enduring the scorn of others in order to stand up for our Christian values, or to not shirk from what our Catholic faith calls us to do. In these ways, and in many more, we have the opportunity not just to renew our faith in the providential plan of the Father, but to give witness to it in the love of the Son, a love that does not shy away from suffering, but embraces it as part of the mystery of redemption.

Friends, all of this can be summarized by that wonderful passage from the 1st Letter of John: “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear” (1 Jn 4:18a). As we face the various things of the present time, whether the coronavirus or any of the other things which make us worried or afraid, let’s be careful not to let our fears overcome us. Indeed, let’s do better than that. Let's strive to “cast out” our fears, by renewing our belief in the ever-present love of God and by reaffirming our commitment to revealing that love in our own lives – to "speak it in the light" and "proclaim it on the housetops." Our trials and our sufferings and even our fears (4:18b) provide us with the opportunity to be further perfected in love (4:18b) – that is, to be more closely conformed to the sacrificial but triumphant love of Christ. May the saints, our brothers and sisters in heaven, assist us with their prayers so that after our trials have ended, we may join them in glory.

True Food

A number of years ago, I read the autobiography of Fr. Walter Ciszek. Do you know that name? I think Fr. Ciszek’s life is one of the more inspiring stories of 20th century Catholicism. The son of Polish immigrants to Pennsylvania, he joined the Jesuits as a young man because of his desire to be a missionary in Russia. After being ordained, he was sent to Poland and then to Russia to minister in secret to the Catholics there. Shortly after the outbreak of World War II, he was arrested and convicted of spying for the Vatican. He spent five years in jail, and then another fifteen years doing hard labor in Siberia.

As you might imagine, Fr. Ciszek had to endure many sufferings both in the prison and the gulag. One of the worst of them was constant hunger. However, Fr. Ciszek and his fellow prisoners soon learned that hunger can sometimes lead one astray. He tells a story about how one day he and another prisoner each ate a whole bowl of egg soup, despite the fact that it looked and smelled suspicious. They regretted it — the soup had spoiled, and it soon made them very sick. As Fr. Ciszek says, “A man has to be careful what he eats, hunger or no.”

In the Gospel today, Jesus describes a meal that no doubt appeared unappetizing to the minds of his listeners. He says that his Flesh is true Food and his Blood is true Drink. We shouldn’t overly spiritualize his words – from the Greek words being used, it’s clear Jesus isn’t talking symbolically but rather about actual eating and drinking. Thus, the confusion from his listeners: “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” And yet, as Jesus says, those who do not eat his Body and drink his Blood have no life within them.

Luca Giordano, The Communion of the Apostles (c. 1700)

As Catholics, we understand these words to be a clear reference to the Eucharist, the Living Bread because it is the Lord’s very Body and Blood made present at every Mass. Our passage through this world is often fraught with dangers and difficulties, and it is tempting at times to look for sustenance among the things of this life – pleasure, power, prestige, and possessions. But those things aren’t truly life-giving. As Fr. Ciszek learned about spoiled soup, our hunger can sometimes lead us astray. The things of this world – which at times can seem so tempting to feed upon – will lead only to sickness and, ultimately, spiritual death.

That’s why Jesus desires to feed us with himself – to give us spiritual sustenance for this life that can also lead us to eternal life. Just as God sustained the Israelites in the desert with manna, so too the Lord sustains us in our sojourn through this life with the Eucharist. Not only does he nourish us, but he strengthens us for the trials of our journey. The Eucharist is our participation in the Cross of Christ; as St. Paul says to the Corinthians: “as often as you eat this Bread, and drink this Cup, you proclaim the Lord’s Death until he comes” (1 Cor 11:26). The Eucharist helps us not to fall into the tempting traps of this world, but to place our hope in the Lord’s Death and Resurrection, enduring whatever trials of the present moment that we face.

Fr. Walter Ciszek, at the time he was sent to a Siberian gulag

Fr. Walter Ciszek learned that lesson too. During much of his imprisonment, he had no ability to celebrate the Mass, since bread and wine were unavailable to him. Instead, he prayed the prayers of the Mass by memory, and offered the Holy Rosary three times a day. When he was sent to the gulag, he was able to minister to the sick and the dying, hearing their confessions and speaking to them words of comfort. Although he could not offer the Mass, he remained united to it, finding strength in the Lord to endure his trials and sufferings. Finally, after many years, he met another priest among a group of Catholic prisoners who invited him to join them for Mass. He says, “They made the Mass wine out of raisins they had stolen on the docks, the altar breads from flour ‘appropriated’ in the kitchen. My chalice that morning was a whiskey glass, the paten to hold the host was a gold disc from a pocket watch. But my joy at being able to celebrate Mass again cannot be described.” Many years later, after he had been released and returned to the United States, Fr. Ciszek said, “Sometimes I think that those who have never been deprived of the opportunity to hear or say Mass do not really appreciate what a treasure the Mass is.”

Friends, may that never be said of us! Our experience of the last few months has hopefully taught all of us how much we should value the Mass and depend upon the Eucharist offered here. Because we know this gift can be taken away, we must be aware of our hunger and be careful of what we eat – not just physically, but spiritually. Let’s make sure we prefer to be sustained by the Lord’s Living Bread and not by the false attractions of this life. Whatever struggles or trials we face, the Eucharist strengthens us to endure them with faith and hope. May we always be worthy to participate in this Most Holy Sacrament of the Altar, and ever find there a preview of the joys of the life to come.

Deepest Truths

It is unfortunate that conversations from the heart seem to be increasingly rare these days. Perhaps it is because we communicate so often online or over the phone. Perhaps we are more guarded than previous generations, only exchanging pleasantries or chatting about passing realities because those feel safer. Even when we do have more serious conversations, they tend to be debates about the news or current affairs, or the like. Rarely do we share something deeply personal – about the deepest truths of ourselves.

However, it is just that type of deep and honest dialogue that we find in our readings today. In the Book of Exodus, Moses speaks to God on Mount Sinai. The leader of the Israelites had returned to seek forgiveness for the people’s idolatry of the golden calf and to receive again the Law – the Ten Commandments – on the stone tablets. For good reason, Moses might have thought God would be angry and vengeful at the people’s betrayal, but instead God assures him that he “is a merciful and gracious God, and rich in kindness and fidelity.” Moreover, God shares with Moses something deeply personal – his own name, “LORD” as it is rendered in English, the same name he shared with him in the burning bush. Having received this insight into just who God is, Moses invites God to accompany the people, as they journey from Sinai closer to the Promised Land.

Moses on Mount Sinai (c. 1900) by Jean-Léon Gérôme

In the Gospel, we jump ahead 1500 years. Here too there is a dialogue and encounter, and Jesus shares with Nicodemus something deeply personal – that the gracious and merciful God, whom Moses met on Sinai, has indeed accompanied his people in a new and radical way: by sending his only Son into the world. Why? To save the world, as he says. That is, God wants all people to come to know him and how rich in kindness and fidelity he is. At the core of his being, God is Love, and by sending his Son Jesus into the world, God desires that every person come to know him as Love and to enter into that Love. Today we celebrate the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity, recognizing that in Christ, God has revealed the deepest truth of himself: that he is a communion of Love – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – and into this relationship of eternal, redeeming love, we have been invited.

The dogma of the Most Holy Trinity is the fundamental mystery of all of reality: that in the one God there are three Divine Persons, each of whom is fully and equally God. Our belief in this mystery may seem very abstract. But just as our human relationships thrive – and in a certain sense, only thrive – when we share the deepest truths of our hearts, and when we receive the same from others, whether friends or relatives or spouses, so too our relationship with God is made stronger and more sincere when we know him as he truly is.

And just as important as the dogma itself is the reason why God has revealed it to us. The idea of “God” can often feel very remote, very unconnected to our daily life. Even when we do think of God, it’s easy to think of him in terms that are overly simplistic or cartoonish – an old man with a long white beard, sitting on a cloud. But in the Trinity, we are shown that God is nothing other than relationship – a dialogue, you might say, in which Love is given and received and returned eternally between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. This is crucially important because if Love is the identity of God, and God is the foundation of all that exists, then it means that everything which exists is an expression and a communication also of love. All of creation – all the stars and galaxies in the heavens, everything on earth, and most especially you and me, and every human being – is rooted in the existence of Love, the eternal Love that is the nature of God.

Perhaps you might say, “Father, that all sounds very nice, but how does that relate to the problems I’m currently having, or the things I see out in the world that are so troubling, or the struggles my loved one is currently going through that I feel helpless about?” Well, because to every one of those questions, and more, the Christian revelation of the Holy Trinity is a kind of answer – in the communication of Love that is the essence of God, we find the response to every longing of our heart. Our problems, whether individual or societal, are real, and they demand real dialogue and discernment to work toward solutions. But the Christian understands that these problems – like all of the realities of this life – are also passing away. They are temporary and fleeting because in the final analysis the only thing that will remain is the Love of God – a Love that is personal and self-revealing and extended as a gift and invitation to us.

Corrado Giaquinto, The Most Holy Trinity and the Sacred Heart of Jesus (1754)

Therefore, as Christians, we have the unique privilege and responsibility to always speak to others this deep truth about Love – not just "love" in the abstract, but the Love of God revealed in the Holy Trinity. We need more deep and honest conversations about what that Love means, practically, in our daily life – conversations between pastors and people, but also between spouses, between parents and children, between people at home but also in workplaces, in other arenas of society, in every discussion about justice and the common good and what life is all about. God has revealed to us the deepest truth about reality – the deepest truth about himself – and so in a certain sense, that must always be the message that we communicate also to others. If we as Christians fail to speak to the foundational truth of Love, who will?

Friends, this week, spend some time reflecting on the Trinity, as you understand it. If the mystery of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit seems too challenging, then reflect upon how God has revealed himself to you as the Lord of Love – rich in kindness and fidelity, who sent his Son for your salvation. That's something that every one of us should always be in touch with. And just as that deepest of truths has been shared with us, we must also consider how and where and to whom we are now called to go and share it with others – perhaps in words, perhaps by example, but always by communicating from the heart. 

The Lord who journeyed with his people in the desert, and who came to save us, continues to accompany us, especially in the Holy Eucharist that now we prepare to receive. May this Sacrament of Charity help us to understand and address all of the passing realities of this life, good and bad, in the light of that deepest and truest reality, the Trinity of Love, One God in Three Persons.

The Spirit Who Creates and Unifies

I can’t remember who said it, but I once read somewhere that we human beings are the most like God when we create. There’s something inherently wondrous, for example, about writing a poem, or painting a picture, or playing music – anything that springs forth from within ourselves. Or, in a different context, think of how spouses cooperate with God in the creation of new life through the mutual sharing of their love. When we participate in creation, in whatever form, we rise above our status as creatures and share in something godly.

The human spirit of creativity though can go awry. This is perhaps most clearly seen in the Bible in the Book of Genesis, when the inhabitants of Babel desire to glorify themselves by building a tower into the heavens. When the ingenuity of the human spirit is separated from the creative purposes of God, disaster results. What is produced is not something artistic or life-giving, but something destructive and divisive.

Antonio Palomino, Pentecost (c. 1705)

Today we celebrate the Solemnity of Pentecost, the third greatest feast of our liturgical year and the commemoration of that event when 50 days after the Lord’s Resurrection the Holy Spirit descended upon the apostles and other disciples. The Holy Spirit comes to inaugurate the Church, to radically reorient the followers of Jesus to make them capable of fulfilling his mandate to spread the Gospel.

How does the Spirit do this? In two ways. The first is by re-creating those who receive it. In the Old Testament, the Holy Spirit is the breath of God that gives life to all creation, especially the body of Adam, formed from the clay, into which God breathes life. In the New Testament, this Spirit comes not to give life to our bodies, but to breathe life into our souls – to re-create us in virtue and grace. We see this clearly in John’s account of Easter Sunday evening when the Risen Jesus, who comes to the apostles saying, “Peace be with you,” also breathes the Holy Spirit upon them. The disciples are created anew by the Holy Spirit, forgiven of their sins and made sharers in the divine grace.

The second action of the Holy Spirit is to unify. In Luke’s account of the Pentecost event, the Holy Spirit comes upon the early Church and enables them to speak to all peoples and to be understood by them – Jews and non-Jews of every different race and nationality. It’s clear that this is unification is the reversal of the divisions of Babel – that in the Holy Spirit a common language of love is spoken that unites what otherwise would be divided. The Holy Spirit thus is the ultimate creative force: remaking what had been corrupted, unifying what had been divided.

These two works of the Holy Spirit ­– to renew and to unify – are still happening today, in the communal life of the Church but also in the heart of every believer. When we reflect upon how the gifts of the Spirit are given to us, in order to produce the fruits of the Spirit, we should consider these actions, “How does the Spirit want to renew me? In what way do I need to be re-created?” In the bulletin this week, you’ll find a beautiful quote from Pope Francis from a couple Pentecosts ago that speaks to this point. Here’s just an excerpt of what he said: "The Spirit keeps our hearts young – a renewed youth. Youth, for all our attempts to prolong it, sooner or later fades away; the Spirit, instead, prevents the only kind of aging that is unhealthy: namely, growing old within. How does he do this? By renewing our hearts, by pardoning sinners." The Holy Spirit brings forgiveness, reassurance, and peace. He reawakens within us the belief that things can really be different, be better, and then he inspires in us the conversion and renewal to begin that with ourselves first.



Once we have been re-created ­– forgiven and renewed – then we are ready to work toward unity. I don’t know if we think of division today as an evil, as a spiritual danger, but it is. We may not want to admit, but we have become too comfortable with the seeds of division present among us – certainly as a society, but even as individuals too. Maybe that manifests itself in the fear of someone with a different skin color, or frustration with someone who speaks a different language, or hardheartedness toward someone we deem to be violating law and order in some way. The Spirit here, too, speaks to us – to root out from within our hearts and from society as a whole the evil of racism, the ever-present dangers of partisanship, the systemic corruptions that lead to poverty, indifference, and injustice.

The current pandemic has exposed injustices present in our society, and we have seen in recent days other injustices manifested and even spilling over into violence. As Christians, of course, we always insist upon peace; violence and destruction are not the answer. But we also should wrestle honestly with the questions of why so many people in our country are upset. After all, peace and justice go together; without one, the other is impossible. That’s why Pope Saint Paul VI, whose feast we celebrated on Friday of this past week, was right to say: “If you want peace, work for justice.” As Christians, we have the responsibility to do both. Just as the Spirit worked through the disciples to bring together the different races and nationalities on Pentecost, so too he desires to work through us for harmony and unity in our day as well.

Friends, the prayer of the Psalmist today should be our prayer, too: “Lord, send out your Spirit, and renew the face of the earth.” The greatest work of creativity we human beings can do is to be authentic disciples – that is, to open our hearts to the Spirit’s work of renewal, rooting out the darkness and division that still may dwell there. Only then can we honestly continue the Spirit’s work of unifying rather than dividing, to work for harmony and forgiveness, to labor for justice and to strive for a peace that will last.

"Be My Witnesses"

The Ascension (1775) by John Singleton Copley

Throughout the liturgical year, we celebrate various feasts of events in the life of Jesus. We all know the most important of these are Easter and Christmas, but there are others too: for example, the Presentation of the Lord in the Temple, the Baptism of the Lord, the Transfiguration. These feasts give us the chance to reflect upon some aspect of the life of Christ. Today we celebrate another – the Solemnity of the Lord’s Ascension. We believe that forty days after his Resurrection, having appeared numerous times to the apostles and other disciples, Jesus ascended to the right hand of his Father in heaven. And there he remains, and from there he will return one day to judge the whole world, the living and the dead. We profess these beliefs every Sunday in the Creed, but today we remind ourselves of them and celebrate in a particular way.

However, sometimes feast days like today’s can feel a little distant from our daily lives. We might ask, “Okay, I believe those things – but how are they relevant to my life right now?” Especially in a difficult time, a time of suffering like this current pandemic? It’s a good question. While it’s good to know and recall the doctrines we believe, we sometimes have to work a little harder to understand how they are important for us here and now.

Today’s Gospel gives us the answer. In today’s first reading, we heard the story of the Ascension itself, but it’s in the Gospel that we find its practical importance for our lives. Jesus has gone up to heaven and will one day come back; in the meantime, he has given his disciples work to do. We call this passage from the Gospel of Matthew the Great Commission – the great sending forth of the disciples to go and share his teachings with the world, making disciples of all nations. The Church never tires of this work; it is her fundamental task, her mission until the day Jesus returns. And that includes us, as well – every baptized person, not just the apostles long ago, or priests and bishops today. It’s the calling and obligation of every Christian. To share our faith with others, to evangelize – that is how we strive for holiness, seeking to follow after Jesus so as to join him in heaven.

Still, we might ask, “But how do I do that, Father? Me, in the time and manner of my life here and now?” Another good question. Evangelizing – bearing witness to our faith – can often be done in ways that aren’t as obvious as being a literal missionary. Sometimes, holiness that is quiet and humble can nonetheless impress itself upon others in a remarkable way. I’d like to share with you three examples of this kind of holiness from the lives of saints whose feasts we celebrate around this time of year. While their circumstances are different than ours, perhaps their stories can give us an insight into how we too can fulfill what Jesus commands in our own lives.

Isidore was a farmer who lived in Spain in the 11th century. He was a peasant, and a laborer — a farmhand specifically. He was a simple man, who loved the land, and worked it with great care. He had a wife and a son, although his son died at a young age. Despite his own poverty, he shared what he had with those with even less. He was known by his peers as a man of prayer, and even was believed to have the power to work miracles, especially on behalf of the poor. Today St. Isidore is honored as the patron of farmers, peasants, day workers, and those who work in agriculture.

Rita was born to a noble family in Italy in the 14th century. Despite the fact she wanted to be a nun, her family arranged for her to be married. Unfortunately, it was not a good match. Her husband was immoral, unfaithful, and even abusive. Whereas today Rita might well have had a good reason to flee the union, or even seek to have it declared null, things were different in her time. She remained in the marriage and endured the ill treatment. Slowly, with humility, kindness, and prayer, she had a transformative effect on her husband. When he was killed some years later, she prevailed upon her sons to not avenge his death. Eventually, living in a time of pandemic herself, she entered the local monastery and dedicated the rest of her life to prayer. Today St. Rita of Cascia is the patroness for the lonely, survivors of abuse, those in difficult marriages, and widows.

The third story is more recent. Franz Jägerstätter was born in Austria in 1907. He also was a farmer, and a bit of a wild man in his early years. However, he married a devout Catholic woman and through her influence became a pious man who worked hard to support his family. When Austria was annexed by Nazi Germany, Franz knew he would be conscripted into the army. He also knew that his conscience would not allow him to swear an oath of loyalty to Hitler. His friends in the village encouraged him to not put himself at risk over something as meaningless as a signature on a piece of paper — he could keep on thinking whatever he wanted in private. Even his parish priest told him it would be okay to lie, but Franz knew he couldn’t. He told the priest he was prepared to die rather than commit a mortal sin. Only his wife, Franziska, supported him in his stance, despite the great cost to her and their three daughters. Up until the last hour of his life, Franz could have avoided his fate if he merely signed his name to the oath. Instead, he went to his death at the guillotine, a few months before Hitler and the Nazi regime came to their own end. Although Franz’s story was not well known for many years, it’s become better known in recent decades, and in 2007, Pope Benedict declared Franz a martyr, and he was beatified in Austria with his widow in attendance. Today Bl. Franz is the patron of conscientious objectors.

Franz and Franziska Jägerstätter on their wedding day in 1936. He was martyred in 1943.

All three of these stories are about relatively simple people. While they lived in different times and places than we do, they probably weren’t all that different from us. Each of them, in their own way, were faithful to Jesus’s Great Commission – not by becoming great evangelists or missionaries, not priests or theologians or founders of religious orders – but by listening for and responding to the call of the Holy Spirit. Isidore did it by faithful, prayerful labor; Rita by suffering in humility; Franz by obeying his conscience rather than the voice of the world. We too can find holiness appropriate to our lives and circumstances, and so give witness to our faith to others. And that must always be relevant to what we do.

Friends, at the end of today’s Gospel, Jesus tells us that he will be with us always. Let’s trust in that too – that he empowers us with his Spirit, poured out on us from the right hand of his Father. And he comes to meet us in the sacraments, especially in the Holy Eucharist, where he offers himself as Food for our journey. With these gifts, his Spirit and his Sacrament, he bids us to go forth and bear witness.

Love's Labors

How great it is to be back with you at Mass, preaching from this pulpit to actual people again and not just to a screen. By my count, it’s was just over two months ago that we last had public Mass, and so despite the restrictions and the precautions we are taking, it’s a joy to be gathered around the altar of the Lord again with you.

A lot has changed over the past two months. We have all had to endure difficulties in one way or another, some more so than others. We have had to get used to a new way of doing even the most basic things of daily life, and we’ve been motivated to do them for different reasons. Sometimes others have told us to do them: a business having to temporarily close its doors, for example, or a church suspending public services. Other things we have done perhaps because we have felt a sense of duty or obligation: practicing social distancing, wearing a mask, washing our hands frequently.

But in the midst of those things we’ve been told to do, or felt a duty to do, I imagine we can all think of things we have done because we *want* to do them: perhaps, reaching out to a loved one who lives alone; sharing some of our resources with those less fortunate; even deciding to refrain from visiting friends or family out of a desire to keep them safe. That’s because love is always the best motivation for anything; even more than when they are commanded or done out of duty, difficult things are done best when they’re done out of love.

In the Gospel today, Jesus speaks to his disciples about what they will do after he has left them. He has spent the better part of three years instructing them, forming them – showing them what it means to be his disciples. They have a whole body of teaching to live out, to proclaim – both in word and especially in action. But still, here, Jesus reminds them the reason for all that he has given to them: love. “If you love me,” he says, “you will keep my commandments.” Love is the motivating principle – it’s the foundation for everything else and it’s what makes these commandments doable. And not just a generic love, either – the love of Jesus.

Loving Jesus is probably the best way to sum up the essence of our Christian faith. But don’t we often fall short of that? We have some other motivation: maybe personal benefit – “What’s in this for me?” or a desire to just follow the rules – “I’m doing this because the Church says so” – or a sense of duty – “I guess I shouldn’t do that because I’m a Christian.” While those motivations can sometimes be useful, they all fall short in one way or another of the standard of love. The highest form of following Jesus isn’t something that can be done by a single action or in a concrete moment – it’s something that has to be continually lived out. It’s a relationship, a friendship – to love Christ, and to love others out of love of Christ.

Gustave Doré, The Apostles Preaching the Gospel (1891)

I hope that the last several months have given us all time and opportunity to consider our own friendship with the Lord – a friendship that perhaps has been disrupted like so many other things have, especially without the ability to come to Mass and to receive the Eucharist. But as with any friendship, distance can make it stronger – absence can make the heart grow fonder. Perhaps this time away from our worship routine has made us better understand why we believe what we believe, why we do what we do. To be authentic, our faith has to be rooted in love; to fulfill the Lord’s commandments, we have to love him above all else. We have had the chance to learn that truth in these last many weeks, and no doubt we will have the opportunity to do so again and again in the time to come. Even as we return to public worship, the world is still in difficult straits, and it needs our witness – now more than ever – of what the love of Jesus spurs us on to do. I don’t just mean in the things that relate to the pandemic, although those are good places to start – public safety, using good judgment, bearing our burdens with patience and humility. But even more, we have seen so clearly in these past months how much our world needs the light and the love of Christ. Who better to share that than his disciples, his friends, we who say we love him?

Friends, in the Gospel today Jesus promises the gift of the Holy Spirit, and it is that gift – the divine gift of the Third Person of the Holy Trinity – that the Lord gives to assist us in loving him. The Holy Spirit teaches us how to love – how to obey God’s commandments with joy, how to endure our sorrows with hope and strength, how to express to others the love of friendship with Jesus that undergirds all we do. As we prepare to receive the Eucharist again this day, with great love for the Lord present in this Sacrament of Charity, may the Holy Spirit motivate us to find each day the opportunity to renew our love for the Lord Jesus and to be renewed in it.

Embrace the Change

Over the last two months, we have watched as our world has been turned upside down. The coronavirus pandemic, and the measures taken to mitigate it, have deeply affected the lives of every person. There have been a few positives: for example, more people are staying in touch with distant relatives and the elderly, and also reaching out to help those who are poor and in need. But the overwhelming experience of most of us has been great difficulty: isolation, economic hardship, a change in the most fundamental routines of daily life.

What we have experienced, you might say, is grief – that is, the sorrow that comes with loss. Now, many folks are trying to return to something like a normal, but it’s a different normal than before, and we still face a lot of uncertainty about what we face in the months ahead. And even if some sense of normalcy returns, many things will be changed: some jobs won’t come back, some things won’t go back to the way they were before, and some of our loved ones will no longer be with us. It’s natural to feel aggrieved at all of that.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus directly addresses the grief of the apostles. They are mourning the fact that he has told them he will be going away – first to his death, just a few hours away from this scene, and then after his resurrection, he will leave them again, ascending to his Father’s side, from whence he came. All that the apostles had come to believe, all that they had known – it was about to change.

What does Jesus say? “Do not let your hearts be troubled.” That seems like an impossible thing, right? How can we not be troubled by having everything we knew and relied upon totally turned upside down? The next verse gives us the answer: “You have faith in God; have faith also in me.” Faith in the Lord makes us ready for change. The apostles may not have felt ready for the change that was coming, but ultimately it was for their good. As Jesus says, he’s going ahead of them to prepare a place for them in heaven. He has shown them the way to the Father – he himself is the Way – and now he leaves so that he can allow them to journey on that way. Without the change, they would have been satisfied to stay where they were. But he knows what is best – for them to go out, to proclaim the Good News, to fulfill the purpose God has given them.

Last Supper (1903) by Ilya Repin

Perhaps something similar will be true of us in this moment. We still don’t know how God is going to bring forth some good from all of this change; but as people of faith, we believe that he will. Maybe it will mean a smaller Church, but a holier one, one that is more faithful, one more willing to proclaim the Good News in our daily lives. Maybe it will mean a change of priorities so that we truly remember what is most important: claiming our dwelling place in the house of the Father. Maybe it will mean an increased love for the sacraments, especially the Eucharist, knowing that those things can be taken away from us. In some way, whether at an individual level or more broadly, God always brings forth good from evil. But accepting change by our own power is impossible. We need faith to trust in God’s will and not our own.

Friends, next weekend, we’ll have the chance to return to Mass in person, to receive the Eucharist again, and to receive the spiritual strength we need to embrace this moment of change. It hasn’t ended; it may only just be beginning. But like the apostles, the Lord will lead us on his Way – he will help us to embrace the change that he desires. Let’s renew our trust in him, our faith, so that where he is, one day we also may be.

The Lord's Flock

A number of years ago, when I was still a seminarian, I helped teach first communion classes to the children of the local parish in Rome. One day, we were discussing the story of Noah and the ark, and the question arose, “If you could be an animal, what animal would you be?” The students had lots of creative answers. One said he would be an eagle so he could fly high in the sky. Another wanted to be a shark to explore the depths of the oceans. However, one student had the best answer. She proudly raised her hand and said, “I would be a lamb so that Jesus would be my Shepherd.”

That’s an adorable answer, but it’s probably not one many of us would think of. We tend to view sheep as not very intelligent; in fact, sometimes we insult people who are gullible by calling them “sheep” or “sheeple”. But the Scriptures often describe humanity as sheep, not so much because we aren’t very smart, but because God is a shepherd. The relationship of love, trust, and protection that exists between a shepherd and his sheep describes well the relationship God desires to have with us.

Today’s Gospel helps us understand this relationship even more. This passage comes from the tenth chapter of John, between two of Jesus’s great miracles, both of which we heard several weeks ago during the Lenten season. After he has healed the man born blind, but before he raises Lazarus from the dead, Jesus enters a discussion with the Pharisees about who he is and what he is doing. The Pharisees cannot understand how he has the authority to perform such signs; they thought they were the ones specially entrusted by God to care for the people and show them how to be holy. Since Jesus isn’t part of their group, they criticize and reject him.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus uses two metaphors to explain to them how he is the fulfillment of the relationship between God and humanity. He is the true shepherd, and he is the gate by which the sheep pass into safety. These two images might at first seem confusing, so perhaps a little background is helpful. In first century Palestine, sheep were pastured on the hills surrounding the towns. At night, to protect them from predators and thieves, the various shepherds would gather their flocks together into one sheepfold for safety. The sheepfold had walls to keep intruders out — the only way in or out was through the gate. Since the sheep were too valuable to leave alone, one of the shepherds would himself serve as the gate, sitting or sleeping across the entrance so that no one came in or out without him knowing. In the morning, when daylight returned, the shepherds would return and the gatekeeper would let them in to call their own sheep back out to pasture. The sheep would not follow any shepherd; rather, they would only follow the one whose voice they recognized.

Sina van Houten, Shepherd with His Sheep in a Landscape (c. 1900)

We can see then why these two images are helpful in understanding just who Jesus is. We are born into the world scattered and separated; as St. Peter says in today’s second reading, like sheep we had gone astray. However, in Jesus, we enter to become part of the Lord’s flock. In the early Church, Christians often spoke of the “gate of Jesus” or the “door of Jesus” as a symbolic way of speaking about our participation in the Easter mystery: the Lord’s suffering, death, and resurrection. In the sacraments, especially in baptism, we undergo a change — we pass through from one reality to another. We enter into the Lord’s sheepfold, the Church, and recognize that we have been given a special status and identity as part of the flock of the Lord. This means though that we have to live differently, as well; we have to turn away from sinfulness and error and undergo conversion, so that we live in the light of God’s truth. In a sense, we exist in the world differently than everyone else; we are not distracted by the voice of false shepherds who would lead us astray ­– whether that is those who would do us spiritual harm or the temptations of this world that promise us a fleeting happiness and false security. Instead, as the Lord’s flock, we listen for the voice of the Good Shepherd and we follow him alone into the pastures of eternal life.

Perhaps the challenging time of the coronavirus gives us an opportunity to reflect upon where we fit in this Gospel passage. Are we safely within the sheepfold of the Lord? Or have we gone astray? At times, we can all get caught up in the trappings of this world and the temptation to look for safety and security here. But a pandemic reminds us that the things of this world really are fleeting and unreliable; possessions, reputation, even health and well-being do not ultimately bring us lasting peace. There is only One who can provide true safety and security, the One who has passed through death into eternal life. To claim our place in the Lord’s flock, however, we have to be willing to pass through his gate – and that means dying to the things of this world, to all that it holds out in offering to us. We have to rediscover our need for relationship with the Lord, and to embrace, in a spirit of conversion, our new identity of being part of the Lord’s flock, of listening for his voice alone.

Friends, it may be that it is only after this pandemic ends that we will see how well we have learned to depend upon the Lord in a new way. Let’s not be like the Pharisees, stuck in pride or hardheartedness, but find the humility and self-awareness like that student of mine who wanted to be a sheep so that Jesus could be her Shepherd. It may be that he will do so by asking us to embrace difficulty – even perhaps great sorrow and suffering – but we need not be afraid, for we will be walking more closely with the Good Shepherd. May this pandemic, as terrible as it is, help all of us to rediscover our true safety and security in being part of the flock of the Lord and in listening for his voice alone.

Recognizing the Risen One

Does this scenario sound familiar? A person walks up to you, says hello, and begins speaking to you like an old friend. They look familiar, but you can’t quite place them. After a while, maybe because of something they said or because you had to ask, you realize who they are: maybe a friend from your school days, or a colleague from an old job, or a relative from a different city or state. The reason you didn’t recognize them right away is that you weren’t expecting to encounter them in that particular place or time.

In today’s Gospel story, the two disciples on the road to Emmaus don’t recognize Jesus. Although they spend a considerable amount of time in his presence, although their hearts are “burning” within them as they realize later, they can’t place him until the very end of the story. This isn’t the only time this has happened. In fact, in the Gospel stories of Jesus’s appearances after his Resurrection, it happens three different times. The first time is when Mary Magdalene sees Jesus on Easter morning near the tomb on but doesn’t recognize him; she thinks maybe he’s the gardener. Then later, in the Gospel of John, Peter and John and some of the other disciples are back in Galilee fishing; Jesus asks them if they’ve caught anything, and they don’t recognize who is speaking to them.

In between those two stories is today’s Gospel. We should ask ourselves: why do all of these disciples not recognize Jesus? After all, this was their Master, the one for whom they had given up everything to be his disciples. Did Jesus look so different? Well, perhaps he did – after all, his body had died and was now risen, so that “death no longer has any power over him” (Rom 6:9). But while the glorified and risen body of Jesus might have looked different in some way, perhaps we could also say that part of the explanation is the disciples themselves. Like the scenario I described at the beginning, we don’t always recognize someone we’re not expecting to encounter.

Maybe the simple answer is that the disciples didn’t recognize Jesus after the Resurrection because they thought he was dead. Even after hearing that maybe somehow he was risen they still believed wholly or in part that he was dead. It took an encounter with a person truly alive to help them to see – a person truly alive who made them, in turn, come alive. The Emmaus story is about the reality of the Resurrection – and what that change means for us, not for Jesus. As we heard, these disciples are so radically changed – so filled with joy and faith – that after Jesus disappears from their midst, they go straight back to Jerusalem – despite the fact that they had just left there, afraid or dismayed, despite the fact that apparently it’s late in the day, and it’s a seven mile journey one way. No matter – they go right back to the apostles in the Upper Room to tell them what has happened to them. The disciples recognized the one who had been changed, who had been dead but now was alive, and having encountered him, *they* are changed as well.

Lelio Orsi, Road to Emmaus (c. 1565)

So, friends, perhaps we should ask ourselves, “Well, what about me? Do I feel changed in this Easter season? Is my faith strengthened? Have I been relieved in some way of my fears and troubles in light of Jesus’s Resurrection? Have I encountered the Risen Lord in a new way?” I hope the answer for all of us is, “Yes.” But if not, ask yourself, “Why?” The pandemic has made things tough, and we don’t have the opportunity to come to the Mass right now. That’s a big loss, but it’s too simple to blame everything on that. Instead, if we aren’t feeling enlivened right now – if we are lacking in faith, giving in to fear and dismay – then perhaps we first need to acknowledge that we aren’t really looking for the Risen Christ. Maybe we’re seeking distraction or fulfillment in something else, something earthly, with our faith becoming not much more than lip service. Maybe we are like those on the road to Emmaus, running away from events that we don’t understand.

And if that’s where we find ourselves – if we stop to recognize that it is we who are in need of being changed – then surely the Lord is also already there in our midst to help us to recognize him, in turn. Perhaps he is opening again the Scriptures, so that we can encounter him in a new way in the pages of God’s written Word. Perhaps he helps us to realize his Real Presence in the Eucharist, the breaking of the sacrificial bread, for which our hearts should grow fonder in this time of absence. Perhaps he accompanies us in the quiet journey of prayer, where he helps us to realize that – of all events in the world, past and present, of all the things of time and history – his Resurrection stands above all. Do we realize that? Or are we still looking for him among the dead?

Friends, this Emmaus story is our story. In the breaking of the bread of this Eucharist, let us look with new recognition on the Risen Lord present to us. The great challenges of this time need not fill us with fear or dismay if we see that Jesus has come to be in our midst. Instead, with hearts burning with faith, let us go and announce to others just Whom we have come to recognize along our way.