Suffering Rejection with Love

In any sphere of human life, rejection is painful. Whether it’s being betrayed by a friend, or turned down for a job interview, or having a potential romantic partner not reciprocate interest, no one likes that feeling of being rebuffed for who we are or what we are about.

Despite being God’s Son, Jesus wasn’t spared this human reality of rejection, as we hear in today’s Gospel. This episode continues the story of last week’s Gospel, when Jesus was celebrated by the people of his hometown of Nazareth, who listened with rapt attention to what he had to say. Even in this story, we are told they were amazed by him and spoke highly of him. But by the end, when at last they find out that he’s not going to do what they want, and that his mission doesn’t conform with their expectations, their rejection of him is so great they literally throw him out of town.

This turn of events perhaps feels surprising, but upon reflection, it probably shouldn’t be. Jesus encountered rejection throughout his life, from his birth in Bethlehem, when King Herod seeks to kill him, to the final rejection of the crowds that cry “Crucify him!” I mentioned last week that Jesus has come to fulfill God’s promise of helping those in need, of bringing his joy, healing, and peace to those who were lowly. The reality though is that we human beings often reject those gifts; there is something deep within us that often recoils at what is good for us and rejects what we most need. We call that reality sin, when we choose other things and follow other desires instead of choosing God as our greatest good. God knew that, and sent his Son also for that reason – to confront our sinfulness, to lay it bare, and finally uproot and defeat it by his Cross, Death, and Resurrection. Even now, the reality of sin is present among us, even in us; though it’s been conquered, it continues to wage little skirmishes in our wills and egos.

The Brow of the Hill Near Nazareth (c. 1890) by James Tissot

Jesus was rejected because of sin in the human heart, and it’s for that reason that we wrestle with rejection, too. I mentioned last week that we share in the mission of Jesus; because we have been baptized in him, and are members of his One Body, we are also sent to those in need. But as we do that, we should recognize that at times, we will be rejected for our faith, and for our identity in Christ. It’s not a possibility; it’s a certainty – it happened to the Lord, and it will happen to us as well. Maybe it will be the scorn of those who mock our belief and our prayers; maybe it will be the rejection of those who say the Church needs to get with the times, or the silent rejection of those who walk way from it altogether; maybe it will be the scorn of those who don’t want to forgive, or work for justice, or seek peace and reconciliation. Often, it won’t be anything overt, but just hardened hearts, fractured relationships, and a temptation to make compromises in what we hold to be true.

In all these ways and more, rejection can be painful, as it surely must have been for Jesus, to have his own friends and neighbors, people who he’d known since childhood, drive him to the edge of town and want to throw him off a cliff. But notice how he responds. He doesn’t let the crowd’s anger and jealousy disturb him, but rather he passes peacefully through the midst of them. Jesus was focused on being faithful to his Father’s will, because he knew that his Father loved him. And that’s how he would have us respond too: with love. St. Paul, in fact, reminds us what that means in the second reading: responding with patience, kindness, not jealousy or rudeness, not being quick-tempered, not brooding over injury, but bearing and enduring all things. If you think about it, that’s a perfect description of Jesus himself, in this Gospel or any other. When we encounter rejection, we too can be Christ-like, confident in the love of the Father and the share we have in that.

There is one last piece to this puzzle, which is this: at times, we are the ones rejecting the Lord. Despite our faith in Jesus, despite our identity as part of his Body, at times we don’t want to accept what God wants to give us. We know that sin still has some hold over us. That’s why it can be okay, even good, for us to experience rejection from others. It can help to humble us, make us more patient and kind, and remind us perhaps of our own faults and sins, those areas of our lives where we need to stop keeping God at arm’s length. In the degree to which we need to still be purified of sinfulness, a little bit of suffering can help us to love the One who was crucified for us a little more and love ourselves a little less.

Friends, as Saint Paul reminds us, we’re all awaiting the day when we see God face to face, and can understand all of the experiences of this life, good and bad, in the way that he does. Until that time, let’s suffer rejection with love, and make sure our love for the Lord never leads us to reject him. For that, and for all of our prayers, may the grace of this Eucharist come to aid us.

No Benchwarmers

Recently someone told me they were excited about a new tattoo they had gotten. I said, “Oh, really? What’s the image?” But it turns out it wasn’t an image of any thing, but just a few short words: a particular saying that this person felt was essential to who they are. This person never wanted to forget that saying’s relevance to how they want to live, and so they had it placed on the inside of their arm so they could be reminded of it any time they needed to be.

I think it’s safe to say that Jesus did not have a tattoo. The Levitical law prohibited them, so they were ruled out for faithful Jews. But, if Jesus had ever thought about getting one, he might have chosen some words from the passage we hear him proclaim in the Gospel today: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord.” These words, written by the prophet Isaiah some 500 hundred years or so earlier, are now fulfilled, realized, in the person of Jesus. He didn’t need to inscribe them on his body because they were already written on his heart and his soul. Anointed with the Holy Spirit, Jesus announces to the people of Nazareth that he has come deliver and fulfill what God had promised to his people.

James Tissot, Jesus Unrolls the Book in the Synagogue (c. 1890)

And what is that? As we heard, joy, healing, and deliverance, especially to the lowly. Throughout the Old Testament, God had told his people that he had a special love and attentiveness for the poor, the oppressed, the captive, the widow and the orphan. Now, in Jesus, those who were most downtrodden received what they most needed: the sick will be healed, the blind and the lame cured, the sinner forgiven, even the dead raised. In Jesus, in his words and gestures and actions, those who were most broken and lowly experienced the love and the mercy and the favor of God.

And still today, God extends to us those same gifts of mercy and healing in and through Christ. Wherever we feel ourselves to be tired, downtrodden, sick, sinful, broken, God wants us to receive what we need most – an encounter with the healing and deliverance of Jesus. It’s true that we don’t experience that encounter in the same way as the people of Nazareth. The body of Jesus that they saw and heard and interacted with is now, we proclaim, glorified and at the right hand of the Father in heaven. But we still have access to that same healing and deliverance, that same Jesus, just in a different way: through the graces of his Mystical Body, the Church. In the preaching of God’s Word, in its missions of mercy and justice, in its pastoral care and accompaniment, the prayers and offerings of the liturgy, above all in the vehicles of grace that are the sacraments, Jesus continues to reach out to fulfill what God has promised to those in need. The Church is the living presence of Jesus, and guided by the Holy Spirit, she continues to minister to those in need in the world today.

But who is the Church? The Pope and the bishops? Yes, partly, but not the only part. In today’s second reading, St. Paul emphasizes to the Corinthians that the Church is made up of many parts, because as the Body of Christ, it has many members. “As a body is one though it has many parts, and all the parts of the body, though many, are one body, so also Christ. For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body… You are Christ’s body, and individually parts of it.” So what does that mean? It means that along with the Pope and the bishops, all of us also are doing the work of the Church, because we are the Church too. We have been baptized into Christ. We have received the Holy Spirit. And so, we necessarily share in the Church’s identity and mission; we are part of that encounter between Christ and those in need.

And that, in the end, is why today’s Gospel is so important. It tells not just who Jesus is and what he is about, but also who we are and what we should be about too:“The Spirit of the Lord is upon us, because he has anointed us to bring glad tidings to the poor. He has sent us to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord.” Jesus has healed and freed us in order to become sharers in his ministry to others. We might call this passage the Church’s mission statement – the purpose we are called to be faithful to, to never to forget its relevance for us, but to inscribe it in our hearts and our souls. In Jesus, God reaches out to heal and lift up those who are in need, and he calls us by our baptism to become part of that work, the work of the Body of Christ, the whole Church. Baptized in Jesus, sharing in his Spirit, we participate in preaching God’s word, in offering prayers and sacrifices, in working for justice and offering mercy, in accompanying those who are in need and leading them to the fullness of grace in the sacraments. None of us do that by ourselves; none of us can individually represent the whole Christ. It's only by all of us,  according to our own vocations, in the circumstances proper to each of us, that the ministry of the Lord is fulfilled. The Christian faith has no benchwarmers; we are all active, in the game, working together in our different ways, but united to each other, and above all united to Jesus in and through the Holy Spirit.

Friends, let’s approach this Eucharist today with hearts full of thanksgiving for what God has done for us and what he’s doing through us for others. He is allowing us, together – in many parts, but one Body – to fulfill his promise of healing and deliverance to those most in need. Let’s ask him to again renew us with his healing and mercy so that, renewed, we can be vehicles of those same gifts to those to whom he sends us.

Miracle in the Mundane

I was chatting with some folks this past week about how short the Christmas season was this year. Part of that is because whenever we have a long Advent, as we did this year, the Church’s Christmas celebrations will necessarily be shorter. But part of the reason too why Christmas might feel like ages ago – even though Christmas Day was just three weeks ago yesterday – is that we’ve gotten back to the normal routine of daily life, with its various worries and difficulties. And now the new year has brought new challenges, too, like the recent surge in covid cases, that’s affected our lives and the lives of family and friends. It’s enough to leave us feeling stressed, maybe even a little depressed, wondering where all the joy of the holiday season went.

Fortunately, for those of us feeling a little down in the dumps, our readings today bring us some Good News. These first few weeks of Ordinary Time still contain vestiges of Epiphany-tide, a season we used to celebrate after Christmas where we continued to reflect upon what means to have God’s presence among us in the person of Jesus. One of the episodes for reflection in Epiphany-tide is precisely the story that we hear in the Gospel, the wedding feast at Cana.

Adam van Noort, Wedding at Cana (c. 1620)

At first glance, this first miracle of Jesus may seem a little unimpressive, perhaps even embarrassing for pious Christians. Is Jesus using his divine power to simply keep the party going? This superficial way of looking at things underestimates the value of what it means to have the God-Man fully with us and among us. His power is able to touch our reality – and yes, transform our lives – not only in big and showy ways but even in the more ordinary realities of daily life. It’s true that transforming water into wine is not as critically important as some of Jesus’s later miracles: healing the sick, curing the blind and the lame, raising the dead. But this first miracle of Jesus shows us the degree to which God desires to make even the ordinary parts of our lives extraordinary, and to bring his power to even the mundane challenges of our experience.

Of course, whether God will do that is partly dependent upon our response. “Do whatever he tells you,” Mary says to the servers. Maybe these servants had other thoughts about how to fix the problem, but they put their trust in the power of Jesus, even if it seemed pointless to believe wine could somehow come from plain water. Sometimes, we want God’s help in the really big matters – to fix that relationship, to get that big promotion, to help that family member with their illness or addiction, whatever it may be – but the rest of the time, we think we can handle things on our own. That’s not really an attitude rooted in faith, however. The likelihood is that unless we put ourselves in God’s hands in the smaller moments, with the more mundane matters, then we probably won’t really have sufficient faith that he can act in those larger ways. As Jesus tells the disciples in another part of John’s Gospel, “Without me, you can do nothing.” 

And friends, perhaps, that is the most important takeaway for us today. More than any thing God might fix in our lives, what we most truly need from him is he himself. It’s fine to ask for God’s help in big matters and small, in things that are very important and in the day-to-day things that we need routinely. But we should realize that what really keeps us going is not any blessing we may ask for, but rather our communion with him, and learning to rely totally upon that, and not anything else.

As we prepare to receive his Presence in the Sacrament of the Altar, let’s deepen our faith in his ability to do that: to help us to rely completely on him and on him alone. “Without me, you can do nothing,” Jesus says, and may we respond, “Yes, Lord, and with you, we can do anything, and with you, we need nothing more.”

Your Attention, Please

If you want to get someone’s attention, you can do lots of things: you can shout, wave your arms about, call out the person by name with a bullhorn. But if you want to keep someone’s attention, you need to do something more. You have to convince them that what you have to say is for their good – that it will benefit them in some way to keep listening to you.

In today’s Gospel, John the Baptist tells the crowds that, in effect, he is only God’s bullhorn. John was not the Messiah, as the people expected, but had come only to get their attention in advance of Someone coming who was mightier than he. It was this One who would truly bring the message of Good News, a blessing of peace for God’s People. And as we heard, in this very Gospel, that Someone arrived on the scene: Jesus came to be baptized, and we heard not John but a voice from heaven declaring who he is: “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.”

There is a clear continuity between what John had preached and the ministry of Jesus, but there are also some notable differences as well. John ministered in the desert, preaching repentance, and gathering large crowds. Jesus, on the other hand, was milder, perhaps gentler, traveling to towns and villages and often letting his actions speak louder than his words. As we recall him healing the sick and forgiving sinners, we see how he perfectly embodies what Isaiah had written about him: “Here is … my chosen one with whom I am pleased, upon whom I have put my spirit; he shall bring forth justice to the nations, not crying out, not shouting… a bruised reed he shall not break, and a smoldering wick he shall not quench.” John had gotten the people’s attention in boisterous ways, but Jesus holds it, not with ostentation but with acts of compassion and a patient demonstration of the love of God brought forth visibly into time.

The Baptism of the Lord (1940) by Pedro Subercaseaux

Today we mark the conclusion of the Christmas season and, in a certain sense, its pinnacle as well. In the Baptism of Jesus, we see how everything that we have been celebrating the last several weeks – the Lord’s birth in Bethlehem, his manifestation as God’s Son to the Magi, his presence in the Holy Family – all of that has been aimed ultimately at making clear the care and concern that God has *for us*. The life of the Son of God made man gains our attention, and holds it, because in his life, we see God reaching out and touching the lives of real people. And this is how God comes to save us – not shouting, not crying out in condemnation – but by healing, forgiving, giving freedom, and having compassion. In Jesus of Nazareth, we see the love of God revealing itself for each of us. And that, to quote that immortal line from Linus to Charlie Brown, is what Christmas is all about.

Friends, the challenge for us – in this time, and every time, in this year, and every year – is whether we know the love of God in that way, and whether we know it well enough to make it known then to others. Do you believe God comes to you with tenderness and mercy and compassion? And can you make that kind of love known to others? Think about the situation in your life, or the person in your life, where the Lord might be calling you to express that kind of love. If you tried by yourself – with your own power, with your own way of loving – there’s no way you could do it. But in the Lord Jesus, you can – not with your power but with his, not with your love but with his. Once the Lord Jesus walked the earth doing good: comforting the distressed, lifting up the downtrodden, visiting the sick, forgiving sinners. Now, he does those very same things in and through his Church, in and through us. He gains the attention of those in need, not by our shouting or waving our arms about, but by our love.

As we prepare for this Eucharist, may the grace of our baptism be renewed in each of us, so that as we reveal the love of Christ to others, the Lord may always be with us “well pleased.”

Kingly Gifts

I hope everyone has been having a blessed Christmas, and especially I hope you received some great gifts. Maybe you got some of the gifts that we all heard about in endless ads and commercials. Or maybe you found yourself receiving, and grateful for, other gifts that don’t have a dollar value: your life, good health, blessings through the year, the presence and love of family and friends. Those gifts don’t have a price tag attached, because there’s no number that could quantify how much they mean to us.

In today’s Gospel, gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh are brought to the newborn Jesus – items that would have been very high dollar in the ancient world. We’re not told whether the Magi brought these gifts intentionally or gave them spur of the moment. But whether planned or impromptu, ultimately those gifts probably felt a little inadequate. Gold, frankincense, and myrrh were fitting gifts for a king, which is whom the Magi had come to venerate. But who they actually found was not just the newborn King of the Jews, but the true and living God in the person of a small Child. In the face of the One who has created everything and sustains everything in being, a bit of precious metals and aromatic balms must have seemed insufficient. That’s why, in the end, it’s the Magi themselves who receive the greatest gift in this Gospel story. More precious than the gold, frankincense, and myrrh they bring, they receive a glimpse of the Lord of all, present right here among us.

Adoration of the Magi (c. 1515) by Gerard David

Today, we come to celebrate anew that reality: that in the Child born in Bethlehem the Lord God has made himself manifest, visible in our midst. In his Epiphany, he has appeared among us, as One of us: living a human life while remaining Almighty God. That’s a difficult idea to try to wrap our minds around, but imagine if we beheld the Child, as the Magi did: if we understood the Epiphany not as a theory but by sight. To behold God himself, in human flesh – what awe, what joy, what fear might that have occasioned in us? And yet when the Magi beheld that sight, they understood that God has come into our midst not to terrify us, not to intimidate us, not to overwhelm us, but to assure us of his love, his tenderness, his abiding presence. He was born as a little Child, not because he is weak and helpless, but to make manifest to us the depth of his love – a love so powerful he came down from heaven to make it visible.

Perhaps we might feel envious of the Magi to not be able to see with our physical eyes the sight of that Child who is God. But our faith teaches us that we can behold just as truly as they did: by the light of faith, through the power of grace, in the eye of our mind and the center of our soul, we can encounter and adore Emmanuel, God-with-us, as truly as if we beheld him face to face. What’s more, we can remain there. The Magi eventually had to leave Bethlehem, returning to their own land, but we never need depart from the Lord’s Presence. We can make our home there with him, He who has made his home with us. Because God’s Son has come to share our human life, we can share – even now, even here on earth – in his divine life. How? Precisely by offering him the gift of ourselves and all of our experiences. Because Jesus shares our humanity, then every aspect of our lives – our joys, our sorrows, our hopes, our trials – they all become avenues of growing in his grace, and ways that we can deepen both our love for him and our awareness of his love for us.

Friends, as we begin a New Year, let's rededicate ourselves to encountering the Lord who loves us so deeply. Let’s offer him the kingly gifts that he truly desires: not gold, frankincense, or myrrh, but the gift of our adoration, our presence, all of our experiences. Let’s make our own these words of St. Gemma Galgani, found in our bulletin today: “During this new year, I resolve to begin a new life. I do not know what will happen to me during this year. But I abandon myself entirely to you, my God. And my aspirations and all my affections will be for You. I feel so weak, dear Jesus, but with Your help I hope and resolve to live a different life, that is, a life closer to You.”

Finding Jesus in the Fray

They say that children grow up fast. In fact, when referring to some particular age or event in the life of a child, I often hear parents and grandparents say, “Don’t blink – you’ll miss it!” I’m sure it can be hard to treasure those precious moments because, in the moment, they are so fleeting.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus is twelve years old. Yesterday, we heard about his birth in Bethlehem and today he’s already practically a teenager. Talk about growing up fast! Of course, this jump in time has a purpose – to show us a particular moment in the Lord’s life that was important not only for him but for his family too, because today is the Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Looking at their family, centered around Jesus, we learn also something relevant for us – about how our families also should be centered on this Child who is God.

We might think the Gospels would relate to us some idyllic account of the Holy Family at home in Nazareth: perhaps Jesus helping Joseph in his carpenter shop, or assisting Mary in preparing the family meal. But today’s story is nothing of the sort. Indeed for anyone who has lost a child, or even just couldn’t find one a few moments, we can imagine the anxiety and heartache that must have filled Mary and Joseph as they searched for Jesus in a large, bustling city unfamiliar to them. Finally, after three whole days – imagine! – they find him in the Temple, conversing with the wisest and most learned of all Jewish scholars. And then he tells them something astonishing: that they should have known to look for him there, “in my Father’s house.”

Jan Steen, The Child Jesus in the Temple (c. 1660)

Why this story? What does it teach us about the Holy Family? You know, we remember this story when we pray the Rosary; it’s the Fifth Joyful Mystery, and we call it the Finding of Jesus in the Temple. Is that really an accurate way to describe it? It’s only a finding if Jesus is really lost. But the point he seems to be making to his Mother and his foster father is that he’s exactly where he is supposed to be. Even more than Jesus himself, what is really being discovered in the Gospel is a new and heightened awareness for who he truly is, and for what his Presence among us truly means. And that is why it is joyful too – despite the real anxiety and heartache that Mary and Joseph would have experienced, by the end of the story they would have rejoiced at being reminded, again, that their Son was truly the Son of the Father in heaven.

And that truth is what we recall and celebrate today ourselves. If Mary and Joseph may have needed a gentle reminder about the identity of the Son born to them, and what that identity *means*, then certainly we do all the more so. Christmas was literally only yesterday, but I bet if we’re honest with ourselves, it’s possible that we have already begun to mentally move on to the next thing – to get ready for the work week, or for the return to school and after-school activities, or for our New Year’s resolutions, or for whatever else is currently our priority. Perhaps our lives feel very disorganized right now, and we feel as if we've missed Jesus somehow, as if we want to find him but we don't know where to start. 

Here's the crucial question for where to begin: has our celebration of Jesus’s birth changed us in some way? Has the mystery of the Lord’s Incarnation moved us to new and deepened praise and thanksgiving? And, perhaps most importantly for today, are we inviting that mystery into our lives, into the lives of our family in a new way? Are we seeking to make our families focused on Jesus, just as the Holy Family was, living out our relationship with him not just individually but communally, in our homes, in the relationships of family life, practicing our faith and forming our families so that no matter what anxiety or heartache we may face, the joy of his Presence among us will never be dampened? 

Friends, if we can begin to ask those questions, and answer them, we will know where to find the Lord anew in the fray of our busy lives. I pray that the Lord will truly bless you and your families in this Christmas season. Its moments and memories may be fleeting, but we can hold on to its mystery and its grace, and with the Lord’s Presence in our hearts and in our homes, ask him to form us and our families to be like him – holy.

The Child Born in Our Hearts

I want to share with you a story.

Imagine that we are outside – not in the balmy 75 degrees or whatever we had today, but in the cold night air, not here on the Grand Prairie, in the 21st century, but in the hills of the Italian countryside in the 13th century. We are walking, following a religious man, a preacher who wants us to see something special, and we are hiking behind him on a mountain trail, heading up into the hills. Our way is lit with torches and candles, and we are bundled up to stay warm as we walk. Finally, we arrive at our destination: a niche in the side of the cliff that forms a cave of sorts. There we see that our preacher has prepared straw, where a few farm animals lie and graze. A crib made out of rough wood sits in the middle. As we approach the spot, this preacher begins to sing a song, reciting a story, one that is set in a manger like the one we see before us. It is the story of a child’s birth, and as he speaks, we can see that he is overcome with emotion, full of joy and peace, almost to the point of tears. So tenderly does he describe the child that we notice how he does not even dare to say his name, but calls him only “il Bambino di Betlemme” – “the Babe of Bethlehem.” As he preaches about the birth of this child, some of us even think perhaps that we can see him, a heavenly figure, weak and small and yet radiating a heavenly light.

That, more or less, is the account of how St. Francis of Assisi created the first Nativity scene in the mountain town of Greccio in Italy in December of 1223. He had journeyed to the Holy Land a few years before, and when he returned, he decided to recreate the spot in Bethlehem where Christ had been born. He prepared a manger, filled it with hay, and borrowed local animals from nearby farms. He had his spiritual brothers – the Friars Minor, whom we know better as Franciscans – to gather the people and lead them by song and candlelight to the scene. And for their part, the townspeople of Greccio went along and trekked up into the hills, not because they didn’t know what awaited them there, but because they wanted to experience what they already knew in a different way. In the outdoor Mass they had there, as they heard Francis the deacon chant with great reverence and love the Gospel account of the birth in Bethlehem, that story came alive for them, so much so that some even believed they saw the Child there in their midst.

Of course, the story that they heard is what we heard in our Gospel: the story of the birth of Jesus Christ, the One whom the angel called “Emmanuel, God-with-us.” We know that story well – and yet every year, we gather together to hear it anew, to let it come alive again, to reflect upon it and seek to understand its significance more deeply. What Francis wanted to show in the hills above Greccio, what our readings seek to describe, what we have come to celebrate in church this evening/morning is that that humble birth – poor really, by any measure – was nothing less than the coming of the living God into our world. In Jesus, God has taken to himself our reality and, in doing so, forever changed it. God has, in effect, wedded himself to us – with all of our warts, in all of our sinfulness, he has made his love visible in the Person of his Son in order to redeem our humanity and let it share in his divinity. He has done this, glory be to Him, through this little Child. This Babe of Bethlehem is Emmanuel, God-with-us, and he has come to reveal the depth of God’s love for us by going to the Cross for us, to put to death our sin and dysfunction once and for all, and forever reclaim us – as Isaiah says, changing us from “Forsaken” to “My Delight,” from “Desolate” to “Espoused”.

That is what the birth in Bethlehem meant. And what it still means – because at its heart, the birth of the Christ Child is more than a spectacle or a theological reality, it’s an invitation to ponder the love of God and to ask ourselves whether we have encountered it, and been changed by it, and shaped our lives around it. St. Francis told some of his friars that he worried the people of Greccio had forgotten the meaning of their Christian faith: some had become materialistic and focused on worldly pleasures; others had become cold and bitter because of the hardships they faced; others didn’t practice their faith and had stopped coming to weekly Mass to encounter the living God in the Eucharist; and others were good people who had just become stale in their prayer and loose in their morals and who needed a reminder of God’s love for them. And that’s what God wants for us too – to adore his Son’s birth not just with a brief prayer or remembrance, not just by sitting in a pew for an hour on Christmas Eve, but being opened anew to his love. He wants us to look inside ourselves, to look at our lives, and realize where we need to be *changed* by the love of God in Christ. His birth changed the world, but will we ourselves be changed by it?

Archbishop Fulton Sheen once said, “There are two births of Christ, one unto the world in Bethlehem; the other is in the soul when it is spiritually reborn.” God has done the first, all by himself, in the birth at Bethlehem. But for the second, he won’t act without you. The God who created the heavens and the earth, who entered our human reality to shatter the darkness of sin and death – he won’t enter your heart, unless you invite him there – unless you let Christ be born *within* you as truly as he was born in the manger. The humble child born in the stable is an invitation to love, and to be loved, by the God made Man. It is this inward coming that Jesus most fully desires – indeed, it is the reason for his coming altogether. If all Christmas is for us is another event on the calendar, a holiday to be marked and then to move past, then we will entirely miss its point, which is this: the Lord Jesus awaits us, even now, at the door of our hearts, asking if there is room enough for him to be born anew.

Gerard Seghers, Saint Clare and Saint Francis of Assisi in adoration before the Child Jesus (c. 1640)

My friends, some time tonight or tomorrow, take a moment away from your family and friends, and make a little interior journey of your own. Close your eyes, and imagine yourself not in Greccio, but at the real manger scene in Bethlehem two thousand years ago. See there, in a humble stable, the Holy Family, and in the crib, the Christ Child himself. You have come to see him, but he was born for you – to die for you, willingly and joyfully, in order to raise your humanity so that you can share in his divinity. He has done for this you; what will you do for him?

Draw close now and kneel down. He looks at you, the Lord of heaven and earth, made a humble Child. Feel his peace. Encounter his joy – a joy that only he can give, and that he desires to give you all year round. It is a joy like a flame, one which cannot be snuffed out, but which shines brightly in the dark, with warm and light. The Babe of Bethlehem is born for you. All he desires from you is Everything, and he will give you Everything in return.

Note: A prior version of this homily was preached a few years ago. The original can be found here.

Joy to Be Shared

One of the best parts of my week is on Thursday mornings, when I stand in the vestibule and greet our schoolchildren as they leave the sanctuary after our school Mass. I love it because often one or more of them are practically bursting to share something about what’s going on in their world — in their classroom, in their family, et cetera. There’s something joyful about seeing others filled with joy.

In the Gospel we just heard, Mary journeys to visit her cousin Elizabeth. She does so following the announcement of the angel Gabriel that she would become the Mother of God. It was news that had surprised and amazed her, but also must have filled her with great joy, a joy that she would have wanted to share as soon as possible. Mary goes to visit her cousin Elizabeth out of charity, wanting to help her older cousin with her pregnancy. But we can also imagine how much she would have desired to share with her the joy of her secret, what what the angel Gabriel had told her would soon happen for her.

Of course, the amazing thing in today’s story is that Mary doesn’t have to share it. Her joy, and the reason for her joy, was so evident that Elizabeth immediately knew the full story; as she says, the child in her womb, whom we know as John the Baptist, leapt for joy at the presence of Mary and her greeting. What Elizabeth understands is that Mary is not just full of joy, full of grace, but also filled with the very presence of God – the Lord Jesus whom she carried inside her. Mary is the first evangelist, the first bearer of the Good News, literally bringing the presence of God to those who were in need.

The Visitation, Anonymous (16th cent.)

In these final days of Advent, the Church gives us these two women as a model for how we are to be as well. We too must be like Elizabeth, who rejoiced at the Good News that a Savior was to be born for us, and who shared in the joy of that news even before his appearing. Often our world can feel very dark and gloomy, and the news that fills our headlines, and even the situations and realities of our own lives can leave us troubled and searching for reasons to hope. But the Good News is that there is a Savior present among us, and although we may not see him visibly, we can like Elizabeth discern his nearness with eyes of faith and through the power of grace. The darkness is not so dark when we perceive the Light.

Even more, we are also called to be like Mary. She had the unique privilege of bearing the Son of God in her very body. But we too can be – and indeed, are called to be – God-bearers, bringing the presence of Christ to all whom we encounter. By means of the sacraments, most especially the Eucharist, we receive sanctifying grace, which means not only Jesus, but the Father and the Holy Spirit as well – the Triune God – dwells in our souls. And this gift is not just for ourselves, not just to console us, and give us reason to hope, but also that we too can be evangelists, sharing the Good News of Him who was born for us, to save us. It is with that knowledge, with his Presence, that we go into the darkness and gloominess of the world, not to be overcome by it but to bear the light of Christ into it.

Friends, let’s each of us think this week about who we can share the Lord’s joy with. Who needs to hear from us the Good News? Into what situation or reality is the Lord calling us to be his missionary, his evangelist? May our joy always be so evident that others may discern in us the Presence of the very God who became Man, the Savior born of Mary.

Mary, Joseph, and God's Bigger Picture

We have gathered here today to praise God for the life of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and to ask for her intercession on this Solemnity of her Immaculate Conception. But I know our Blessed Mother won’t mind if I also talk today about her Spouse, St. Joseph. You may know that all this year we have been in the Year of St. Joseph – a time that Pope Francis has invited the whole Church to reflect upon and ask for the assistance of the Head of the Holy Family. That year concludes today, and since I don’t believe I have preached yet specifically about St. Joseph during this year, I thought “Better late than never”.

In today’s Gospel, Mary says yes to the message of the angel about what God wills for her life: to give birth to our Savior, Jesus Christ. In doing so, her life changed in a major way; so too, did that of St. Joseph. Mary didn’t ask Joseph’s permission to become the Mother of God; she accepted her life’s vocation on the spot, but her choice also affected that of St. Joseph. We know from the Gospel that Joseph was hesitant about Mary and Child into his home. Understandably so! Who was he to have the Mother of God, and her Son, the Incarnate Word, in his home? But God knew what he did not: that he was the right man for the job. And so, Joseph’s life too was radically changed from what he might have expected. Whatever Mary and Joseph might have intended for their own married life, they set those plans aside in order to accept the will of God.

Saint Joseph with the Child Jesus (c. 1840) by Vincent López Portaña

Of course, neither of them did these things by themselves, by their own powers. They did them only by God’s grace. Mary received that grace in a unique way, a belief we celebrate today: that at the moment of her conception God applied to her the redemptive merits of her Son’s passion, death, and resurrection. Joseph received that grace sometime after his own conception – when exactly, we don’t know – but he too came to understand and to accept what God was asking him to do, even if he didn’t fully understand how or why. God was at work in a far deeper way than Joseph realized.

Pope Francis puts it well, in his apostolic letter Patris Corde (“With a Father’s Heart”), for this Year of Joseph: “Even through Joseph’s fears, God’s will, his history and his plan were at work. Joseph, then, teaches us that faith in God includes believing that he can work even through our fears, our frailties and our weaknesses. He also teaches us that amid the tempests of life, we must never be afraid to let the Lord steer our course. At times, we want to be in complete control, yet God always sees the bigger picture.”

Friends, there’s a great truth at the center of our liturgy today: aligning our will with God’s will is always the best way. Think today about where God might be asking you to align your will to his. What seems scary or difficult, but nonetheless the right thing to do? What feels overwhelming, but something you know you need to accept? Ask for the grace of Christ – the same grace that sanctified Mary, the same grace that redeemed Joseph. And ask for their help, too: they can be wonderful intercessors in helping us to generously accept the Lord’s will – to say “Yes,” to his plan, as they did. For Mary, for Joseph, and for us, too – God always sees the bigger picture.

Abound in Love

Springtime (1902) by Wincenty Wodzinowski

Here at the end of November, spring feels like a long time ago. Perhaps it’s hard to even recall it, what with the leaves falling from the trees and the days turning colder and darker. But if you can think back to what it felt like in, say, early April – with the first hint of green appearing, and the trees beginning to flower – you might get a sense of the spirit of today’s liturgy.

As we start a new liturgical year, and beginning the season of Advent, the Church wants us to feel just like we might the early days of spring: a certain freshness and vigor, a certain anticipation for what is coming to life around us. In today’s first reading, we heard the prophecy of Jeremiah that a righteous shoot would spring forth for God’s People – a reference not to flowers blossoming or trees budding but to the coming of the Messiah, the Son of David, who will bring newness to God’s People and justice for all of creation. We read this passage (and similar ones like it from Isaiah, Zechariah, and other prophets) as a prophecy of the coming of Christ. Jesus comes into the world bringing righteousness, making things news, and so in anticipation of his coming, we eagerly make ready for what he comes to bring. We prayed to do just that in the opening Collect of today’s Mass: “Grant your faithful, we pray, almighty God, the resolve to *run forth* to meet your Christ”.

We tend to think of Advent as the time to get ready for Christmas, the celebration of Christ’s birth. But in these early days of Advent, the Church encourages us to think more of the Lord’s second coming at the end of time. That’s what the Lord himself speaks to his disciples about in today’s Gospel. Jesus tells them that despite the fact that his return will be preceded by terrifying sights, even people literally dying of fright, he wants his disciples to act differently than the rest: not cowering in fear, but standing erect, with raised heads, awaiting their redemption. Again, we see: Jesus himself brings newness and righteousness, and so to await his return is to prepare also for what will come with him.

The question then is how to prepare? How do we run forth to meet Christ, especially if we don’t know when he will return? There are many things we might consider, but perhaps we can focus on two things that St. Paul suggests in our second reading. Writing to the Thessalonian community, he first asks God to make them “increase and abound in love.” He phrases it as a prayer, but it is clear he wants them to grow in charity. And so too should we. To love – as a Christian, as a follower of Jesus – has to mean more than the ordinary, generic loves that we all know and enjoy: loving family, loving friends, loving people that love us. Christian love must be something much harder and more dogged: loving the people we don’t like; loving the people who don’t like us; loving the people who have hurt us, who annoy us, who talk bad about us; loving those whom we think are selfish, or prideful, or rude. To love as a Christian means treating people charitably on the outside – even when we are having a bad day, or running low on energy, or feeling as if we have been mistreated – but also seeking to be truly charitable toward them on the inside: in our thoughts, in our judgments, even in our emotions. To love as a Christian means to try to see Jesus in everyone, always, without exceptions.

Perhaps you are thinking, “Father, I already do all that.” If so, great! But listen to the second thing that St. Paul tells the Thessalonians: “do so even more.” Advent is a great time to double down on our efforts to show charity, and to really consider where the Lord is calling us to “increase and abound” in love. Maybe it is a specific individual whom we know, who pushes our buttons or with whom we have a difficult history. Maybe it is not someone we know personally, but rather some government or civil leader that we disagree with politically, or members of some group or organization that we think is doing bad things to our society, or maybe it is some whole class of folks based upon language, or skin color, or religion, or even sports affiliation. A good way of asking ourselves whom we can love more is asking ourselves, “Is there someone I am tempted to hate – some person or group that I am tempted to scorn, or talk bad about, or dismiss out of hand?” If the answer is yes, then we’ve found our answer as to who the Lord is calling us to love. For the Christian, our efforts to show charity are expressions of our love for God; if we are struggling to be charitable to others, it may be because we need to first grow in love for him.

Friends, to increase and abound in love sounds great, but it’s no easy thing; it requires us often to swallow our pride, to humble ourselves, to realize that we all have a lot of room still to grow in charity. But the good news is that if we seek to let our love increase and abound, we often experience something like a spiritual springtime, a certain freshness and vigor of the Lord’s grace empowering us to love others and, in so doing, preparing us well for his return. There’s no better gift we can offer him in this Advent season than to live out more faithfully his commandment to love, the commandment that he tells us should be our defining characteristic: “By this everyone will know you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

May the grace of this Eucharist inflame our hearts with the charity of Jesus that our love for others may abound in this season, in every season, until the day the Lord returns in glory.