Now that school is back in session and I’m getting back to my regular rotation at the colleges, it seems I have no excuse not to get back to posting homilies.  So here we are.  You can find the readings here.  As an aside, it remains my goal to start recording these; if not the live version, then at least something recorded at home.  I’m almost there…

Today’s Gospel features a miracle that everyone is super familiar with, and that’s the problem.  We perhaps don’t read it, or don’t listen to it, as closely as we should, because why should we – we know it already.  But I contend that we don’t know this story as well as we think we do.  It is incredibly rich and full of hidden theological gems.  Consider, for example:

*This is the last time in the Gospels that the Blessed Mother says anything.  That’s important.

*There are precisely 6 stone jars of water.  Not 5, not 7, but 6.  That’s an important number.  So too is what the jars are intended for.

*It’s significant that this miracle happens at a wedding, and not any other kind of festive gathering.

But what’s most important is WHEN this miracle happens.  And that’s a real hidden gem, because of how the lectionary was edited for today.  When you go home, take out your Bible and open to the second chapter of John’s Gospel.  You’ll note that it starts, “On the third day, there was a wedding in Cana…”  But for reasons passing understanding, the lectionary starts at, “There was a wedding in Cana…”  In my humble – but correct – opinion, that’s some bad editing.  Those four words – on the third day – are important.

They are a reference to something that happened way back in the book of Exodus – and calling it “something” is a bit of an understatement.  In chapter 19 of Exodus, the people of Israel arrive at Mount Sinai as part of their escape from Egypt and flight into the Promised Land.  We pick it up at verse three:

Moses went up to the mountain of God.  The Lord called to him from the mountain, saying: This is what you will say to the house of Jacob; tell the Israelites:  You have seen how I treated the Egyptians and how I bore you up on eagle’s wings and brought you to myself.  Now, if you obey me completely and keep my covenant, you will be my treasured possession among all peoples, though all the earth is mine.  You will be a kingdom of priests, a holy nation.  This is what you must tell the Israelites.  So Moses went and summoned the elders of the people.  When he set before them all that the Lord had ordered him to tell then, all the people answered together, “Everything the Lord has said, we will do.”  Then Moses brought back to the Lord the response of the people.  The Lord said to Moses, I am coming to you now in a dense cloud, so that when the people hear me speaking with you, they will also remain faithful to you.  When Moses, then, had reported the response of the people to the Lord, the Lord said to Moses: Go to the people and have them sanctify themselves today and tomorrow.  Have them wash their garments and be ready for the third day; for on the third day the Lord will come down on Mount Sinai in the sight of all the people.  (Ex 19: 3-11)

And then, in verse 16, it finally happens:

On the morning of the third day there were peals of thunder and lightning, and a heavy cloud over the mountain, and a very loud blast of the shofar, so that all the people in the camp trembled.

So this idea of the third day is of particular importance: God is appearing before His people.  And this appearance isn’t just a one-and-done sort of thing; He’s not just coming down to impress them with His glory – He comes to ratify the covenant he is entering into with His people.  He offers Himself to them, and they in turn offer themselves to Him.  Moses and God spend not an insignificant amount of time on the top of the mountain.  It starts with God handing over the Ten Commandments – at the beginning of chapter 20 – and then, for the next 11 chapters, He begins to codify the law so that the people can keep the covenant.

On the third day, there is a wedding at Cana – and Jesus appears at that wedding.  He starts to do something at that wedding; it’s not just a one-and-done sort of appearance.  He begins to manifest Himself as something other than just a carpenter from Nazareth.  As God spent a long time on the mountain with Moses, so Jesus will spend a long time with His followers, teaching and showing them what it looks like to live the law: to serve; to love; to forgive.

There’s a lot of similarities between the great theophany of Exodus and what begins at the wedding feast at Cana.  The big difference is how these covenants are ratified.  On Sinai, God writes the law on tablets of stone.  On the mountain of Calvary, Jesus will ratify the new covenant with His blood.

It’s in light of that that everything else makes sense.  Of course water gets turned into wine at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry – because at the end of it, when He gives us the Eucharist, wine will be turned into His Precious Blood.  Of course there are six stone jars – six is a Biblical number symbolizing imperfection, and Jesus hasn’t yet offered the perfect sacrifice.  And, naturally, these are jars for washing – because the Blood of Christ washes us from our sins.  Mary might speak her last words at the wedding at Cana, but it’s not her final appearance; the next time we see her is at the foot of the Cross; one of the first – perhaps the first – to literally be washed by His Blood.  And finally, it makes sense that this scene begins at a wedding feast.  At a wedding a man gives himself entirely to his wife and she gives herself entirely to him – and when this wedding feast is consummated, Jesus will offer every last bit of Himself to the Church – and he asks the same of His Bride.

The people broke the first covenant almost as soon as they entered into it, by building and worshiping the golden calf.  Will we break the covenant by not giving everything we are to Christ?  He has given us something better than good wine to strengthen us to do precisely that; let us not waste it, but rather go forth and live as His disciples.

I’ve been taking some heat for not posting any homilies lately, so here you go.  This isn’t a good one, by any means, but it certainly had potential.  Essentially all I’m doing here is giving you a synopsis of Pope Pius XI’s encyclical Quas Primas, which you should read in it’s entirety (it’s short.). I’m going to try to get back to writing on a more consistent basis (famous last words, I know.)  Also, I’m working on this on my iPad in an empty conference room in the student union of one of my colleges, so I’ll fix up some of the formatting issues and add some links when I get home.

I’ve always struggled with this particular feast because it seems so…well, un-American, for lack of a better term.  This is the feast of Christ the King – Jesus Christ, King of the Universe, if you want to be technical – and the US was pretty much founded on the premise that kings are a bad idea.  (Particularly English kings named George, but I digress.)  My undergraduate degree is in history, which has done nothing to dissuade me of that view.  I had plenty of chances to travel in Europe while I was studying in Rome.  Charlemagne’s palace in Aachen?  Museum.  The palace complex in Krakow?  Museum.  King Ludwig of Bavaria’s beautiful castle, Neuschwanstein?  Yep…museum.  Kings are on the way out.  It’s a new age.  Even the monarchies we have are basically ceremonial at this point.  Is it possible that this feast is a bit…dated?
Nothing could be farther from the truth.  This feast isn’t even one hundred years old yet, which makes it incredibly young in the life of the church.  Pope Pius XI called for this feast in 1925, not necessarily because of the decline of monarchies, but because of the tremendous social disturbances that were happening at the time.  Europe had just tried very hard to destroy itself in the Great War, and revolutions were happening across the Continent.  America was trying her best to blissfully ignorant of anything outside of her borders, and closer to his home, a man named Mussolini was coming to power in Italy.  Pius XI rightly wanted the church to once again give due consideration to the fact that Christ is King, because the ruling powers of the world simply weren’t very inspiring anymore.

Makes sense, I suppose, but surely he doesn’t really want us to think of Christ as a King, right?  I mean, this has to be some kind of metaphor, right?  Partially true.  The Pope acknowledged that it was common usage to give Christ the title of King in a metaphorical sense because of His perfection.  He was perfect in intellect, in that He had full knowledge, but also in that He is Truth Itself, and from Him all truth must be obeyed.  He was perfect in His will, in that at all times, His will was perfectly and entirely obedient to that of the Father, whereas our wills are often led astray by sin.  He was perfect in love, in that His perfect charity exceeds all things, and His mercy and kindness draw people to Himself.  We will never be better at these things than He is; we will never get anywhere even approaching His level.  Therefore, it is only fitting that we call him King – it acknowledges that, frankly, He’s better than us.

While that is all very true, it would be a terrible lacuna to think that Christ’s Kingship is only metaphorical.  The Pope goes on to demonstrate how the Scriptures make clear that His Kingship is, in fact, very real.  The psalms speak in clear terms of the Kingship of the Messiah:

“…in his days shall justice spring up, and abundance of peace…And he shall rule from sea to sea, and from the river to the ends of the earth.”

The prophets are even more explicit in their testimony, particularly Isaiah, but also Jeremiah, Zechariah, and Daniel, whom we heard from today.  The New Testament doubles down on that.  Remember what the Archangel Gabriel tells Mary as he informs her she is to bear a son:

“The Lord God shall give unto him the throne of David his father, and he shall reign in the house of Jacob forever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end.”

And, of course, there are those times when Jesus refers to himself as a king.  One can’t get more direct than that.

If we’re going to insist that Christ’s kingship is as literal as it is metaphorical, then it seems that at least two questions come to mind.  The first concerns the origin of his authority; the second is related to his kingdom.  Answering the first question could lead us down a deep theological rabbit hole; luckily, the theology has already been done for us.  Pope Pius XI quotes Saint Cyril of Alexandria, one of the great church fathers, in saying,

“Christ has dominion over all creatures, a dominion not seized by violence nor usurped, but his by essence and by nature.”

In other words, Christ has the authority of a King because of the hypostatic union – or more simply put, because He is both God and man.

The nature of His Kingdom is, perhaps, the larger issue here.  That He is a king is no longer in question.  But what do we know about His kingdom?  In fact, in today’s Gospel, he tells Pilate in no uncertain terms, “My kingdom is not of this world.”  and in many other places in the gospels, when the crowds wanted to carry Jesus off and make them their king, n0t only did he refuse, but he would escape from them so as to prevent it from happening.  His kingdom is obviously spiritual.  The gospels seem to make clear that one can only enter this kingdom except by faith and through baptism.  His kingdom, then, seems to be some kind of interior thing to each person, so to go back to the beginning: why bother with this feast?  If Pope Pius was so concerned about the swiftly changing tides of civic life, was a feast dedicated to Christ as King really going to be the most appropriate solution?

In a word, yes.

If we truly let Christ the King reign in our hearts – if we truly let the source of our salvation and the author of all happiness reign in our hearts – then wouldn’t we start to recognize the dignity inherent in our brothers and sisters?  Wouldn’t we be convinced of our own inherent dignity?  And wouldn’t that make us more aware of our responsibility to promote and protect the common good?  The answer is, I should think, quite obvious.  The challenge is – and has been – to move this out of the realm of an intellectual exercise and to start making it more real, more practical.  To start dying to ourselves more, so that Christ might live more fully in us.  To pray for the grace of a spirit of detachment, so that we can worry less about the things of the world, and only about the things that matter for eternity.  To let Christ truly reign in our hearts.

Today we celebrate Christ the King, and it is right and fitting that we do so.  May God give us the grace to be able to celebrate the fact that we truly are His subjects.

I had a homily pretty much ready to go for this weekend.  It wasn’t the greatest thing in the world, but it was pretty good; I was going to do a little exegesis on the Gospel and maybe get into how the readings at the end of the liturgical year start to take on an eschatological tone, but I just can’t do that right now.  Not after what happened yesterday morning.

I presume you all know what happened, nevertheless, and at the risk of insulting your intelligence, let me refresh your memory.  Yesterday morning, while services were going on at the Tree of Life congregation, a Jewish synagogue, a man walked in armed with 3 pistols and an AR-15 rifle.  He opened fire, allegedly shouting anti-Semitic remarks while doing so.  By the time it was over, 11 people were dead, with 6 more injured, including 4 police officers who responded to the scene.

The Tree of Life congregation is located in the Squirrel Hill neighborhood of Pittsburgh.

Not in some small town in some fly-over state; not in anything-goes California; not in some uber-fancy suburb in New England.  This happened in Pittsburgh.  This Pittsburgh.  Our Pittsburgh.  My Pittsburgh.  I know not all of you are locals, but I am.  This is my home.  And I love this city.  So, quite frankly, I’m kind of a mess right now.

I’m still trying to make sense of all the feelings that are running through me right now; I imagine that most people are trying to do the same.  I’m angry.  You picked up on that.  Anger is easy to do.  I’m angry it happened at all, let alone in my hometown.  I’m sad, too, at the loss of life; I’m sad that 4 of our brave cops are seriously wounded; and I’m sad that this kind of hate still has this kind of power.  I’m also confused.  Quite frankly, I fail to understand how, in the 21^st century, in the greatest country on the planet, the last of the superpowers, I fail to understand how this kind of hate even exists.  And you can call me naïve for thinking so, but I disagree with that.  I think it’s a more grievous error to expect that there will always be some kind of hate in the world.  As soon as we accept sin on any level – on any level – then we’ve already failed in our mission as disciples.

Finally, and honestly, I’m scared.  I’m scared, not necessarily because this is local, but because this happened to people who were doing exactly the same thing that we are doing now – worshipping the Lord their God as a community.  I’m scared because this is not the first, or the second, or the third time that this has happened.  It’s going to happen to us – by us, I mean it’s going to happen at a Catholic church – eventually.  And that scares me.

So now what?  What do we do with all of this emotional baggage we suddenly and unwillingly find ourselves carrying?  First, understand something.  It is ok to be angry; it is ok to be sad; it is ok to be confused; it is ok to be hurt by this.  These types of wounds take time to heal.  But fear is a trap, and we can’t allow ourselves to fall into it.

I’m reminded of a story a priest friend of mine once told me.  He said this experience changed his entire priesthood…or rather, that it changed his entire life.  He had a parishioner who was this absolutely great, stand-up guy.  The type that would do anything for anybody.  He had one vice: he smoked like a fiend.  He got sick – cancer – and it got bad, and it got bad quick.  Father went to visit him in the hospital as the end was drawing near.  The guy could no longer talk anymore, but he was awake, and lucid; he communicated my writing.  Father asked him if he was afraid.  His reply was profound.

“For someone who has faith in Jesus Christ, there is never anything to fear.”

How strong is your fear?  How strong is your faith?

In the Gospel today, we encounter Bartimaeus, who shows us what it looks like when faith is stronger than fear. When we first him, he’s on the side of the road, blind and begging – totally helpless.  Yet when he hears that Jesus is approaching, he doesn’t continue to wallow in his helplessness; instead, he cries out, “Jesus, have pity on me!”  The crowd around him rebukes him.  They tell him to be quiet, to shut up, to stop crying out.  It’s hard to understand their motivation, and it doesn’t seem to make much sense, but Bartimaeus doesn’t care.  He doesn’t fear them.  Instead, he continues to cry out.  He gets louder.  “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me!”

Son of David.  That title is huge.  It recognizes that Jesus is part of the royal line of Israel; that Jesus is, in fact, a King.  Bartimaeus can recognize this, even though he has never seen Jesus; the rest of the crowd, which can and has seen all the things that Jesus has been doing…they don’t call him a King.  They can’t see it.  Do we see it?  Do we recognize that Jesus truly is a king – truly is our king?  Do we listen to and obey Him?  And do we, as Bartimaeus did, ask for His mercy?

Jesus, have pity on me!  Son of David, have pity on me!  Kyrie eleison!

Jesus stopped and calls Bartimaeus over.  Bartimaeus leaps to his feet and runs to Jesus; his helplessness is forgotten.  There is no fear in him.  When Jesus calls him, he answers – recklessly.  He doesn’t hold back, he’s not timid.  He doesn’t care what the crowd thinks.  Do you?

Jesus heals Bartimaeus immediately, and tells him to go on his way.  Bartimaeus does indeed go, but not on his own way.  He follows Jesus on His way.  This is the last healing in Mark’s Gospel; Jesus has been journeying towards Jerusalem since the Transfiguration, but He will soon be arriving there, which means that the Crucifixion is not far away.  Bartimaeus follows Him to that.  But remembers what happens three days after the Crucifixion, too; Bartimaeus follows Him to that, as well.  Are we willing to follow Him?

The only place to go from here is to Jesus.  The only thing we can do is beg for His mercy, acknowledge that He is our King, and to follow Him unreservedly.  Social media is already awash with the saying, “Love is stronger than hate.”  Yes, it is.

Remember that God is love.

Shabbat Shalom.

Don’t forget that October is the month dedicated to the Holy Rosary.  We should all be in the habit of praying the Rosary daily…but many of us aren’t.  No worries.  Start today.  Use this month as the challenge that builds the habit.  And if you’re not sure how to pray the Rosary, I’ve got you covered, thanks to the awesome website newadvent.org.  They’ve put together this simple how-to-pray-the-rosary guide available here in pdf.

Enjoy, and get praying!

I got a little lazy with my posting and no one called me out on it.  I suppose the greater fault is mine.  I’m going to try to do better.  Anyway, here’s a pretty close approximation of my homily from this past Sunday.  You can find the readings right here.

It’s not often we hear from the Book of Numbers during a Sunday Mass.  For that matter, we don’t often hear from it at a weekday Mass.  And I’m willing to bet that those of you in the habit of reading Scripture daily (a good habit to have, I might add) didn’t start with Numbers…and you’re probably in no hurry to get there.  (Unless, perhaps, you’re an accounting major.  But man, are you gonna be disappointed.)

So since we hear from it so rarely, it seems like a good place to start our reflection today.  Let me try to give some context to what is going on in the reading.  Moses and the Israelites have escaped from the hands of Pharoah and the Egyptians.  They’re on the march to the Promised Land, BUT…they screwed up along the way.  They sinned against God.  And so, as a matter of Justice, they need to be punished.  And the punishment is that it’s going to take 40 years of wandering in the desert before they get to enter into what they’ve been promised.  

As you can imagine, they are not particularly enthusiastic about this turn of events.  And so there is no little whining, and grumbling, and complaining, and just about open rebellion against Moses.  Moses is DONE.  He’s had enough.  He can’t deal with it anymore, so he cries out to God with a prayer we’ve all made before:  “Why are you doing this to me?  I didn’t do anything to you!  I’m doing exactly what you’ve asked!  I can’t handle this.  I need help!  This is too much!”  Part of me wants to be sympathetic towards Moses, since we’ve all been there, too.  The other part of me (that is to say, the hypocritical part of me) has no sympathy whatsoever for him.  If God called you to do His work, then you do His work, snowflake.  He’ll get you through this.

Luckily for all of us, God is merciful; so He says to Moses, “Pray about this, then set aside 70 men from the camp that you know to be good people.  Get 70 guys that you know follow the law, that respect you and Me, and that have the respect of the people.  Then bring them to the Tabernacle, the place where I dwell, and I will come and speak to you there.  Not only will they be witnesses to that, but I will take some of the spirit that dwells on you, and I will pour it out upon them as well, so that they might assist you in your ministry.”  And that’s where we find ourselves in today’s reading, and that’s where things start to get interesting.

The group goes to the Tabernacle, and the spirit is given them, and the reading reports that the men began to prophesy.  That’s the first point that needs clarification.  When it says that they began to prophesy, it does not mean that in the sense that we generally think of when we think of prophets.  At least, not for me.  They didn’t start to make predictions about future events.  Rather, this was more a charismatic or ecstatic sort of moment, where they start speaking with enraptured enthusiasm.  The spirit moved them way outside of their comfort zone and they boldly spoke about and proclaimed God’s love for them and their love for Him, and of their confidence in the promises He made them, and so on and so forth.  But then a funny thing happens, one that’s recorded in Scripture, but not included in the lectionary for today.

They stopped prophesying.  It seems that this was a one-time gift, and after prophesying for as while, they stopped and went back to their normal lives.  I imagine that was a little bit frustrating for them, too.  They receive this great spiritual gift, but it only lasts a short time.  I wonder if it made them doubt the veracity of their calling.  I think this, too, is something we’ve often experienced.  If you’ve ever been on a retreat, or a service experience, you’ve probably noticed that as the weekend or week or whatever it is goes on, you find yourself moving into a deeper place spiritually.  You’re praying more, you’re seeing God more clearly in the people you’re working with and for, and the best part: you’re not distracted by all the normal day-to-day stuff of your life.  When you come back from that time away, you feel awesome and you want to keep feeling that way, and you want to capture it and live it, but it starts to slip away.  And then life starts to creep in and take it’s place.  and you go right back to feeling how you felt before and you wonder if God only loves you when you’re on retreat.  That is, of course, a patently ridiculous thought and you know it, but it happens.  The retreat was to serve as a reminder of how much God loves you and was to serve as an opportunity to hear a little more clearly what he is calling you to, so that when you get back to life, you can do it.  This prophetic moment for the 70 elders had a similar purpose in their lives.  It was also a manifestation of their call to the people of the camp.  In a very visible and tangible way, it was evident that God had indeed called them to work with Moses and that He really had poured on His spirit upon them; thus, the people should trust them, respect them, and listen to them.

While all that is going on, there’s still another half of this drama to play out.  It’s not happening at the Tabernacle, but back in the camp itself.  We hear of two men, Eldad and Medad, who have the distinction of having two of the cooler names in the Old Testament.  They were also on the list to be at the Tabernacle, but for some unknown reason, weren’t there.  Theories as to why that was abound.  Some say it was a simple mistake; that the camp was too big and they didn’t get the message in time.  I doubt that.  Another idea is that they were men of great humility and ddin’t feel worthy to be included in the group, so they felt it wiser to stay away.  But as they say, leadership finds you, not the other way around.  Perhaps they didn’t go out of spite: Moses is the one that got us lost in this desert in the first place; I’m not going to do what he tells me.  I think they didn’t go because they didn’t feel like part of the community.  They didn’t feel like they were truly wanted, so why should they respond to the chance to be leaders?  While it’s true we know very little about Eldad and Medad beyond this story, we know this much:  those aren’t Jewish names.  These two are foreigners.  However they came to be part of the community, however much they might have learned about the Law and the Covenant…they’re still outsiders.  And perhaps they were made to know it.  And that made it too uncomfortable for them to go to the Tabernacle.

God would not be outdone, however.  And so he pour out His spirit on Eldad and Medad anyway, and they also prophesy…and the difference is that their prophesy doesn’t stop.  They stay in that state, which has a pretty dramatic impact on the people.  It also upsets some of the people, too, and the report quickly reaches Moses that this is going on.  Joshua says what a lot of them are thinking:  “Moses, you have to stop them!  They’re not doing things the way I expected them to be done, and it should all be done my way.  Make them stop!”  But Moses has a much more practical view of things.  He essentially asks Joshua if he knows more than God does.  If God wants to pour His spirit upon these two, if God wants to give them a different style of prophesy, then isn’t He will within His rights to do so?  In fact, Moses says, wouldn’t it be great if ALL the people were prophets?  If the spirit dwelt on all of us in such a way?  If we were all so bold in proclaiming God’s love and promises?  What could we accomplish then?

That’s something for all of us to consider, I think.  Especially in light of our baptism, wherein we were baptized the same way Christ Himself was, as priest, prophet, and king.  As priests, we are to do the work of making ourselves and those around us holy.  As prophets, we are to proclaim the good news to everyone that we meet, through either words or deeds or both.  And as kings, we are to lead people to Christ, the fullness of Truth.  But it’s our prophetic vocation the Church wants us to consider today, and it seems to me that the most important question to consider is how often do we try to pretend that it doesn’t exist?  How resistant are we to the notion that God wants us to be bold in proclaiming the faith?  A corollary:  how often do we try to squelch that vocation in others, because it makes us feel uncomfortable?

I’m willing to bet that, if we’re being honest, the answer to both of those questions is that we do it far too often.  Jesus takes a decidedly dim view of folks that do that in today’s Gospel: anyone that would cause scandal, well, it would be better for that person to have a great millstone tied around their neck and be thrown into the sea.  That’s not just a random image, either; that was a method of execution that the Romans would occasionally use in those times.  Jesus is very serious when He says that it is abhorrent to lead someone into sin…and failing to live out our call as prophets qualifies.

The world needs prophets these days.  It needs to know that God is love, and that God loves them, and that God desires to have a relationship with all of mankind.  Luckily, the world has prophets.  It has all of us.  Let us not resist the call to serve as prophets, and let’s not waste time worrying about how someone else might do it a little differently than we might.  Now is the time to be prophets, and we are about to receive the one thing that gives us the strength to do that – the Eucharist.  Let us pray for the grace and the courage to be prophets, and then let us be about the work of building up the Kingdom of God on earth, so that one day we can be happy with Him in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Apologies for such a late post…I had every intention of doing it on Monday, but the day got away from me, and yesterday I was way too busy to work on it.  I’m finishing this on my iPad while my car gets serviced, so I’ll come back later and fix any typos and insert some links.

So let me tell you a story about my sister.  She won’t be happy with me telling this – probably – but then again, as her big brother, it’s basically my obligation to look for ways to embarrass her.  And I am exceedingly good at being her big brother.

So she woke up one morning last December and didn’t feel particularly well.  No big deal; we all have those days.  She worked from home most days anyway, so it wasn’t going to present a major hassle.  Bit of a headache, a low-grade fever: just one of those things.  As the day went on, however, she felt worse and worse.  The headache was getting to be miserable.  She was getting sick to her stomach.  Couldn’t work anymore; had to call her boss and go off-line.  Tried to eat. That wasn’t happening.  In fact, that’s when things got scary – because when she went upstairs to throw up, she collapsed.  And couldn’t get back up.

Thank God her boyfriend Dave had stopped by to check on her on his way home.  Because when he went to help her up, he realized that she was slurring her words, and one side of her face was slack.  Since when do 34 year olds in good health have strokes?  But that’s what this looked like.  So he gave her two options:  Do I call your Mom first or 911 first?  Knowing her, she gave him a third option, but I probably can’t repeat it in church.

Dave is unfazed by her shenanigans and so he called both Mom and 911, and soon enough, Erin was on her way to AGH.  It was, in fact, a stroke, and it was a big one.  (And soon enough, I was on the way to AGH, but that’s another story.  Suffice it say that the experience of giving my little sister the Last Rites was the most powerful moment of my priesthood thus far.)

The next couple weeks were a blur, between her being in ICU, the step down unit, and eventually a rehab facility…all the while I’m trying to pastor a fairly large parish and it’s Christmas.  I think she handled it better than the rest of the family did.  Praise God, there was no major damage done to her cognitive abilities, and no major changes to her personality (I guess that’s a good thing), but there were some pretty serious physical issues to overcome.  Her entire left side, while not totally paralyzed, was pretty deficient.  She had to learn to walk again.  And she couldn’t move her left hand at all.

Our family has two defining characteristics:  we are highly sarcastic, and we are exceedingly stubborn.  So while we laughed at the paralysis, we were also convinced that she would regain all of her motor skills.

The head doctor of the rehab unit, on the other hand, has no redeeming characterisitics.  (Well, aside from being a highly comptent medical professional who has devoted his life to helping other people.). His take on the whole situation was that she needed to be realistic and accept the fact that she was never going to get that left hand back.  His was one of those voices you hear in today’s Gospel that says, “This saying is hard – who can accept it?”

We all have those kinds of voices in our lives.  And sometimes, we are those voices.  Your rehab is going to be really hard – why bother doing it?  That instrument is going to be really hard to learn to play – why bother practicing?  That professor is too hard, why bother taking him?  It’s going to hard to forgive so-and-so for what they did – why bother making peace?  It’s too hard to be holy; why bother avoiding temptation?

This saying is hard – why bother having faith?

The thing is, those are all stupid questions, and we know it.  Sure, rehab is going to be hard, but why wouldn’t I do it?  Yes, that prof is really hard, but she’s an expert in her field, why wouldn’t I study under her?  Yes, it’s all kinds of terrible to get up in the morning and work out, but why wouldn’t I do something to make myself healthier?  (NB:  I’m living this struggle currently.). Yes, it’s hard to have faith – especially in these days, when it seems that the Church has let us down – but why wouldn’t I?  Why wouldn’t I, when the reward is so great?

For the last several weeks, we’ve been hearing from the Bread of Life discourse in John’s Gospel.    Jesus has made quite clear what the reward is for those who faith: eternal life.  If they believe in Him, if they believe in the food He is going to give them in the Eucharist, then they have access to the Father.  They have the path to eternal life.  Yes, faith is hard, but why wouldn’t I do it?

I figure there are primarily three reasons why people don’t have faith.  I’m sure if we asked, we’d get all kinds of responses, but they essentially can be distilled to these three.  The first is weakness.  Having faith requires us to be strong, because it often means we have to move and behave in a decidedly counter-cultural way.  It can also mean undergoing persectutions of various sorts.  And I think we often underestimate ourselves, or perhaps overestimate our adversaries…but either way, we don’t need to rely on our strength alone.  In fact, we were never intended to.  When Christ stretched out His arms on the wood for he cross, he did so to take on your weaknesses, your burdens, and your struggles.  And He did it so you might share in His victory.  Too weak?  Nah.

A second reason for people not having faith is fear.  This is the one that they are least likely to admit to, for obvious reasons; but that’s what it is.  Having faith means ceding control, and we like being in control.  We might cede control here or there to those in authority over us, but there’s some consolation in the fact that we can at least see them, hear them, or question them.  That’s not always the case with God.  Giving control to Him is frightening.  As the author of the Letter to the Hebrews writes, “It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the Living God.”  But it’s also the most liberating, because with Him, there is no cause for fear.  He knows how this ends, and He only desires your good.

The last objection is the easiest overcome, and perhaps the silliest, but nonetheless, still very real.  It’s laziness.  Faith requires work.  Having faith – especially nowadays – is pretty counter-cultural, and moving in that direction can be exhausting.  We get pulled in so many directions these days; when given an option, it seems reasonable to want to take a break.  That’s exactly what the devil wants you to think.  Just put it off…you can always get back to it later.  This is why Joshua was so insistent in the first reading that the people, right now, today, make the decision: will they follow the God of Israel or not?  He could pose the same question to all of us.  Right now, today, are you willing to make the choice to follow the way of God?  If not, tell me what exactly is that you are choosing…but choose something today.  Don’t put it off.

Weakness, fear, and laziness.  Three great motivators to say something like, “This saying is hard; who can accept it?”  Weakness, fear, and laziness: three lies that will just hold you back.  Faith is hard, but you are well-equipped to do it.  ANd the reward is too great not to.

Just to close the story from the beginning: even though her rehab was going to be “too hard” and she needed to “be realistic,” she persisted.  And shortly before I left my previous parish to come down here and do this work, she made the ride up to my parish to join me for Mass.  And when the time came for Communion, she walked down the aisle with no walker, no cane, no help of any kind.  She was one of the last people in my line that day, because like any good Catholic, she sat in the back…but also because she had to stop to tie her shoe.

She used both hands.

So this is not the actual homily I gave this weekend.  I never actually finished it on Saturday night; I just had to walk away because I couldn’t do it anymore.  Sunday morning was easier, but I left my guard up too much, I think.  I can’t really explain it.  I also amended it for Mass at the Newman Center, just because it was a much smaller crowd and a very different dynamic.  Anyway, this is a close approximation of what I said, or at least of what was – is – on my heart…

This is, without a doubt, the hardest homily I’ve had to give in my short time as a priest.

But then again, this has been the hardest week of my priesthood, too.

By now, I’m sure you’ve all read – or are at least very aware of – the Grand Jury report that was issued earlier this week.  They warned us it would be bad; but it was worse than that; it was devastating.

There were a lot of names in that report that are familiar to people in this area.  There were a lot of names in that report that were familiar to me.  One of them was pastor of my home parish when I was a kid.  He’s not the reason I became a priest, but I still thought of him as a role model.  When I had heard, years ago, that he was accused of something, I didn’t – I couldn’t – believe it.  A week ago, I would have defended him with every ounce of my being.

And then I read the report.  And it’s clear these aren’t just allegations; these are things he actually did, and they are of the vilest sort.  I feel betrayed, as I imagine many of you do as well.  And we should feel that way.  Because we were.

I live in rectory where at least three, possibly 4, of the other monsters named in that report once lived.  I don’t care how many years ago it might have been, it still creeps me out.  It just doesn’t feel right.  Nothing this week has felt right.  I haven’t slept well.  I haven’t eaten well.  For the first time ever, I was embarrassed to go out dressed like a priest.  I did anyway, because we have to face this, but a lot of me just wanted to give up.  I know despair is a sin, but…

I was praying the other morning, and this line from Psalm 69 was a punch in the face:

Let those who hope in you not be put to shame through me, Lord of hosts: let not those who seek you be dismayed through me, God of Israel.

That wasn’t just part of my personal prayer; that particular psalm is part of the Liturgy of the Hours, and every priest is supposed to pray that daily, which means they’ve all heard that line before…and nevertheless, we’ve still managed to shame you and to dismay you.

We failed you.  The very people we are supposed to serve.  It’s soul-crushing.

So thank you for simply being here tonight, but it helps restore my hope.  It shows your faith in a way that you might not even understand, and it helps.  It’s a courageous act, and it’s an act of love for God.  It tells me and tells the world that you still believe in Him, trust Him, and love Him, even if His Church has harmed and scandalized you.  I needed that.

Any number of people have asked me where God is in all of this, and I’ve struggled for an answer.  I mean, of course He’s in here somewhere, because God does not abandon His people, but where?  And how?  I’ve been struggling to answer that, even for myself.  But a priest friend of mine, from the Archdiocese of Boston, wrote something the other day that made a lot of sense.

When grotesque sins emerge in the life of the Church, people inevitably ask, “Where is God in all this?” Answer: God is in the purge. The fact that purges keep happening is ample evidence of the fact that God wants the Church to return to holiness. If God didn’t care a whit about the Church he founded at Pentecost, he’d let it destroy itself, or simply grind it into the dust. But instead, as we speak, many forces in the world—even those that despise the Church and what she stands for—are conspiring to expose its wrongdoing. For free. And, clearly, without any inside help. If that isn’t Divine Providence, then nothing is. Even hardened secular types want the Church to return to a truer self. We should be deeply grateful that these people are mysteriously doing our work for us, vicariously fulfilling our Christian duty to expose evil.

 When you really think about, that’s everything right there.  God wants nothing more than for each of us to be happy with Him in heaven – which means he wants us to be holy.  If the Church is supposed to be the spotless bride of Christ – then she needs to actually be the holy and spotless bride of Christ.  The vocation of a husband or a wife is to get their spouse to heaven; the vocation of a parent is to get their child to heaven; the vocation of the Church is to get all of us to heaven.  And since we are the Church, that means that this is our work.

And so we must demand holiness.  But of who?  First and foremost, of ourselves.  We must be holy.  We must take seriously our lives of prayer, our reception of the sacraments, and our works of charity.  But we must also demand holiness of one another.  The time for complacency, if there ever was one, is long past.  We must speak up and against sin and injustices.  We must support one another with prayer, and we must offer support when someone is struggling, but we cannot ever make excuses for them.  You have a right to expect them to be holy.  And they have an obligation to do so.

Needless to say, that extends to priests and, yes, to bishops, as well.  They most certainly have an obligation to be holy, and you should absolutely demand it of them and call them to account when they fail you in that sacred task.  We’re seeing the fruits of what happens when they fail.  Imagine the fruit that will be produced when we succeed.

But we have to do the work.  We can talk about holiness, but that accomplishes nothing.  We have to do the work of actually being holy.  In the first reading, we hear that Wisdom has prepared her table before us.  She has set out a sumptuous banquet – but we have to decide if we want to sit down and eat.  Saint Paul tells us we need to make the right choice: to start living in accordance with the Gospel, or to give in to the depravity of the age; but he can’t make the choice for us.  Jesus offers us His Body and Blood as true food and true drink, but He leaves the choice to us: do we want to holiness and life they offer, or are we content with sin and death?

Let us choose holiness.

God forbid there are any victims sitting out there right now, but if there are, and you haven’t come forward yet, please do.  We need you.  We need to heal this, and we can’t do that until we know how hurt we are.  I know it might be embarrassing for you, and I won’t even pretend to understand the pain of it all, but we need you.  You, whom we hurt the most, will be the ones that call us back to holiness the most.  Please do it.

Where do we go from here?  Our situation seems precarious.  This could go a lot of different ways, I suppose.  But the choice seems clear.  We must choose to be holy, and choose it now.  As for where that will lead us…well, the path it might take us down will no doubt be dark and threatening.  But if we remain on it, it will eventually lead us to heaven.

Be holy.

Oremus pro invicem!  I’ve been concluding this column with this simple Latin phrase for the overwhelming majority of my tenure at Saint Richard.  It was a fairly common phrase around the seminary, but out here in the real world, it’s not used as often as it should be.  So, as a refresher: it’s translated as, “Let us pray for one another!”  As I finish my time here at the parish, it seems to be a phrase worth reflecting on.

In his encyclical letter Novo Millennio Ineunte, Saint John Paul II wrote, “Is it not one of the ‘signs of the times’ that in today’s world, despite widespread secularization, there is a widespread demand for spirituality, a demand which expresses itself in large part as a renewed need for prayer?  Other religions, which are now widely present in ancient Christian lands, offer their own responses to this need, and sometimes they do so in appealing ways.  But we who have received the grace of believing in Christ, the revealer of the Father and the Savior of the world, have a duty to show to what depths the relationship with Christ can lead.”  What can be deeper than praying for one another?  It is at once an act of humility, of selflessness, and of love.  And, of course, it is certainly Christ-like.

So let us pray for another.  Let us pray that we all grow in holiness.  Let us pray that we always have the courage to say yes to God’s call.  Let us pray that we always have hearts open and ready to forgive those who have wronged us.  Let us pray that we have eyes open to see the needs of our brothers and sisters, and hands that are ready to serve them.  Let us pray that we all have the wisdom and understanding to navigate the transitions that the On Mission initiative will bring to our parish and our diocese.  Let us pray that we all do the work of building up God’s Kingdom here on earth.  And let us pray that we all get to heaven.

And in your charity, please pray for me.

Oremus pro invicem!

For those wanting to keep in touch, my new mailing address will be:

119 W. Chestnut St., Washington, PA 15301

My email remains mconway@diopitt.org

And my blog, which I sometimes manage to post my homilies to, is at http://fathermikeconway.com

“There is nothing so great as the Eucharist.  If God had something more precious, He would have given it to us.” – St. John Vianney

True, St. John Vianney’s feast day isn’t until tomorrow, but I wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to quote him.  He is, after all, the patron saint of parish priests.  He’s also incredibly quotable.  I spent more time than I should trying to find the “perfect” quote.  In the end, I went with this, because it’s a nice primer for this Sunday’s Gospel…and also because it’s true.

There is nothing so great as the Eucharist.  It is the source and summit of our lives.  It invigorates, sustains, revives, refreshes, and renews us.  In short, it defines who we are as Catholics.  We should never take it for granted, and we should always seek to receive it as often – and as worthily – as we can.

Above all else, we need to trust in the One who gives Himself to us in the Eucharist.  These are, undoubtedly, trying times in the life of the Church; and all the changes soon coming to the parish and the diocese at large will, for a time, make it even more complicated.  But the Eucharist will never change.  It will continue to be for us what it has always been for us, and it will get us through.

Saint John Vianney and Saint Richard, pray for us!

Some news and notes:

PRAYERS:  Please keep in your prayers Isla Mae Skrbin, Nicholas Brian Tavelli, Grady William Davidson, and Isaac Edmund Yeh, all of whom will be baptized this weekend.

TRAFFIC:  A friendly reminder that Meridian Road will be closed tomorrow morning, so if you’re planning on coming to Benediction or morning Mass, you may need to seek an alternate route.  Also, the project at the intersection of Routes 8 & 910 will be going on for some time, so be sure to leave yourself additional time in coming to Mass.

PIG ROAST:  The annual pig roast to support our Guatemala Mission Group is this Sunday from 4-7 PM in the social hall.  All are welcome!

CATECHISTS:  We are still in great need of catechists for the coming year.  Please contact the faith formation office if you are interested.

RENEW THE I DO:  Our 3rd Forever “I Do” Monthly Date Night will be Saturday, August 11th. We are having a “Drive-In” Movie Date Night @ 7:30pm featuring the movie Marriage Retreat. If it rains, we will meet in the Social Hall.  See the bulletin for more details.

 

And so concludes my last Conway Communiqué.  It’s been a wild, interesting, fun, and far too short ride.  Let us keep each other in prayer.  Have a great weekend, and know that you are loved!  See you at Mass!

 

Peace,

Fr. Mike

 

First, I want to share three important pieces of news, in an attempt to over-communicate things.  I’ll tackle these chronologically.  First, Bishop Zubik will be presiding and preaching at the 5:00 PM Mass on Saturday, August 11.  Friends of the Bishop are celebrating their 60^th wedding anniversary that day, and the Bishop wants to be here to celebrate with them.  Please give him a warm welcome (and more importantly, pray for John and Noreen).  Second, as of the time of this writing, the plan is to release the new Mass schedules the weekend of August 18/19.  I’m not exactly sure how that’s going to work, but the Diocese has told us that they’re going to try to over-communicate the message.  Remember that the new Mass schedule does not go into effect until Monday, October 15, with the rest of the On Mission changes – so you’ll have two months to figure out a strategy should “your” Mass be changed.  Finally, we have a date for Confirmation – Saturday, October 6, at 10:00 AM.  This is relatively soon, so I encourage the parents of our Confirmation candidates to be particularly mindful of any communications coming from the Faith Formation Office.  I have no room to talk on this one, but: don’t procrastinate!  If they need something in terms or paperwork, get it done.  Bishop Zubik will be our celebrant this year.

I’ve inadvertently used more of my column space than I intended.  So to conclude, I just want to repeat what we heard Saint Paul say in today’s second reading.  Keeping this exhortation in mind will be so important in the coming weeks as we deal with a lot of transition not just in our parish, but in our diocese as a whole.  Perhaps the last line is the most critical:  God is indeed over all, through all, and in all.  It may not always go the way we want it to, but it will go the way it is supposed to; and that will give glory to God.

“Brothers and sisters: I, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to live in a manner worthy of the call you have received, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another through love, striving to preserve the unity of the spirit through the bond of peace: one body and one Spirit, as you were also called to the one hope of your call; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.”

Oremus…