That God has a sense of humor is not in doubt, I think.  But I do think we often overlook how sarcastic the Almighty is.  Today’s responsorial psalm is evidence of it.  Psalm 95 is heard occasionally at Mass, but is part of the Church’s liturgy every day, in that it is prayed as part of the Liturgy of the Hours.  Many of you are already familiar with the Liturgy of the Hours, either because you pray it yourselves, or because you’ve prayed it with us at a function here at the parish.  For the uninitiated, then, some explanation: the Liturgy of the Hours is the official set of prayers marking the hours of each day and sanctifying the day with prayer.  The day is broken into five “hours”: Morning, Daytime, Evening, and Night Prayer, and the Office of Readings.  Generally, the hours consist of a hymn, some psalms and canticles, and sometimes some intercessions.  The office of readings has psalms, and then longer readings from Scripture and other theological sources.

The day can start with either morning prayer or, traditionally, the office of readings.  In either case, before starting the first hour of the day, one prays what is called an invitatory psalm, something to get the day started.  And in most cases, it’s Psalm 95.  By no stretch of the imagination can I be called a morning person, so I imagine God gets a good laugh of hearing me groan, yawn, and mumble my way through lines like, “Come, let us sing joyfully to the Lord; let us acclaim the rock of our salvation.  Let us come into His presence with thanksgiving; let us joyfully sing psalms to Him.”  I’m hardly joyful, I’m certainly not acclaiming anything, and we all know I can’t sing.

The psalm isn’t about the person praying it, though.  It’s about the One being praised.  Psalm 95 is one of the “Royal Psalms,” praising the Lord for being the King of His people.  A just, merciful, and loving King.  And if giving thanks and praise to Him isn’t one of the first things that pops into our heads every morning, well…shouldn’t it be?

I recently saw an ad on Facebook that appealed to me…it was for a pair of glasses that would make finding lost golf balls easier.  They work – allegedly – by turning your entire field of vision blue.  White objects, such as golf balls, are amplified against the blue field and are therefore easier to see, even if they’re buried in the thick stuff.  The product, however, wasn’t really what grabbed my attention.  What I really noticed were some of the statistics they were quoting.  Assuming you play three rounds of golf a month (like I have time for that), and lose only 2 balls per round (I can do that on one hole), you’ll lose approximately $288 worth of golf balls a year.  (Callaway’s not cheap.)  Collectively, as a nation, we lose – and this is stunning, if you ask me – $1.2 billion worth of golf balls per year.

How accurate that is, I have no idea; as a general rule, golfers lie about their game all the time.  But if you’ve played, you know how easy it often is to say, “Eh, forget, I’ll just drop one over there.”  (In the middle of the fairway, 50 yards closer to the pin, but whatever.)  We don’t mind losing our possessions.  We play it off like it’s no big deal – hey, you can’t slow down the pace of play on the course, right?

But why is it that when God asks us to lose something, we balk?  An extra 15 minutes of prayer a day suddenly becomes too much; an hour of Eucharistic adoration is too difficult a burden to bear; confessing our sins is too humiliating…whatever it is that God wants, we seem to think the cost is too high.  And we try not to pay it.  In today’s Gospel, Peter tries to weasel out of paying a cost that seems to high, too.  He doesn’t want to hear about how his friend and teacher has to suffer.  But the cost must be paid, Jesus tells him.  Obedience to the will of God is what gains one eternal life.  What he asks of us needs to be paid, for our own sanctification and that of our brothers and sisters.

1.2 billion dollars buys an awful lot of golf balls.  But you are worth so much more than that.  Give to God what He is asking of you, and watch what He does in return.   Holding on to everything profits us nothing.

In a past life, the Conway Communiqué was the name of my weekly bulletin column.  A new assignment brought a new name: The Shepherd’s Voice.  But I liked the Communiqué, so I decided to rename my weekly email to the parish to that.  And then I decided to start publishing the weekly emails here, if for no other reason than it allows me to correct the typos I included in the original email…

“This is the will of God, your holiness…whoever disregards this, disregards not a human being but God, who also gives his Holy Spirit to you.”  (1 Thess. 4:3,8)
Today’s reading comes from Saint Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians, which scholars believe to be the oldest book in the New Testament.  Opinions vary, but the letter may have been written as early as 50 A.D.  The letter itself is a follow-up to Paul’s visit to Thessalonica as part of his second missionary journey.  We find a brief account of this visit in Chapter 17 of the Acts of the Apostles.  Paul and Silas weren’t even in Thessalonica for a month, but they had great initial success, converting both Jew and Greek alike.  But some, motivated by either fear or jealousy, incited the rabble of the city against them, to the point that Paul and Silas were forced to flee under the cover of darkness, lest they be killed.
Long story short: the proclamation of the Gospel is not merely an academic exercise.  For Paul, it was quite literally a matter of life and death.  For those to whom Paul was preaching and corresponding, there was nothing else at stake except the very salvation of their souls.  What does being a disciple mean to you?  Is it an invitation to grow in holiness and deepen your relationship with God?  Is it something that you are willing to devote your entire life to?  Or is it just an empty word that bears no fruit?
—-
Some news and notes:

• As promised, the weekly email has a new name.  “The Conway Communiqué” was the title of my weekly column in Immaculate Conception’s bulletin, and I wanted it to live on in some way.  So now I have “The Shepherd’s Voice” and the “Conway Communiqué”.  And I have my blog, which you’re already reading.  As a wise man once said, with great power comes great responsibility.  (That wise man was either Spider-Man or Voltaire.  It’s unclear.)
• Apologies to anyone who was trying to contact the parish office yesterday afternoon.  What should have been a routine upgrade to some of our telephone hardware instead turned into, shall we say, an adventure.  Everything seems to be back in order today.
• I can’t believe it’s Labor Day weekend already.  Please note that there will be Mass at 9 AM on Monday, but the parish offices will be closed.
• Please pray for Joseph Lanz, Jr., whose funeral will be celebrated on Monday.  Please also pray for Cole Jackson McLane, Danica Jo Tolomeo, and Andrew Francis Rossi IV, all of whom will be baptized on Sunday.
• This weekend we welcome Fr. Moses Mary Apreku for our annual Mission Appeal.  Father comes from the Diocese of Ho, in Ghana.  Please be as generous as possible.
• Speaking of second collections, next week (September 9-10), the second collection will be in support of the Bishop’s Education Fund, which provides tuition assistance for Diocesan Catholic schools.  Also, the weekend of September 16-17, the second collection will be in support of Catholic Charities USA and their response to Hurricane Harvey.  We’ve received a few calls already asking about food or clothing drives in support of the hurricane victims; at this point, we’re being told the best means if support is financial.  It allows the relief agencies the most flexibility to respond.
• Did you know our parish turns 25 years old on November 1?  If you don’t think we’re going to celebrate that, you’re crazy.and remember, I subscribe to the idea that if it’s worth doing, it’s worth over-doing.  Look for more information on this soon.  Meanwhile, we’re looking for pictures of our history – especially from the early days when we worshiped at St. Barnabas, and from the construction and first days in this property, but really, from any time will do.  Please drop them off at the office and make sure your name is on them so we can return them to you.

Enjoy your holiday and have a great weekend!  Know that you’re loved!

See you at Mass!

Peace,

Fr. Mike

After what can only be described as a too-long absence, I’m back!  Too many people asked about this homily not to post it, but as usual, the problem is that I was working without notes, so all three Masses heard a slightly different version, and none of them are going to match what I reproduce here.  I suppose there’s a lesson here about working ahead… friends, I’m so far behind, in my head, it’s still last week.

The readings can be found be clicking here.

As many of you know, I did the majority of my seminary studies in Rome.  And for those of you who didn’t know that – surprise!  One of the things they always cautioned us in Rome was this:  “Fellas, don’t tell a whole lot of Rome stories when you get back home.  It won’t impress as many people as you think it will, and it will just make you look bad.”  I think what they really meant to say was, “Guys, when you get home, don’t start acting all snooty.  Don’t be the guy that sneers and condescends and says stuff like, ‘Oh, I can’t possibly eat at Olive Garden. That’s not real Italian food!'”

Even though it’s not.

But who am I kidding, those bread sticks are worth it.

Anyway, since none of the faculty from Rome is here this morning, I’m gonna tell you all a Rome story.  Every seminarian, regardless of where he studies, has to do some kind of what we call an apostolic work.  It’s designed to get him used to various forms of ministry, and to encounter people in different situations.  Some guys work in hospitals and hospices, others in soup kitchens or other ministries to the homeless; some help the chaplains at prisons; some of our guys work go to Naples and help the chaplains at the naval base there.  At the end of my time in Rome, I was doing chaplaincy work with the study abroad programs from Duquesne and Notre Dame.  But at the beginning of my time over there, I was assigned to work at St. Peter’s Basilica, in the Excavations Office.

No, I was not issued a shovel.  Our job was to take people on tours of the rather extensive excavations that are beneath the Basilica.  Many people don’t even know that they are there; they’re a relatively recent addition.  Back in the 1930’s, when Pope Pius XI died, a large renovation of the Vatican Grottoes was undertaken.  The plan was to not only create more burial places for future popes, but also to allow the faithful better access to the grottoes as a place of prayer.  But the excavations had barely started when they hit something – a building.

Turns out there was an entire necropolis – a city of the dead – beneath the Basilica.  (Actually, the necropolis is much larger than the Basilica.)  And so our story starts with that…

2,000 years ago, Rome was a pretty happening place.  It was the capital city of an Empire, after all.  And because the Emperor was a god-like figure, Rome itself was sacred…which meant there were certain things that one could not do in the city itself.  However, they were permissible just across the Tiber river, which was one of the boundaries of the city.  Vatican Hill was just across the river.  It was not permissible to bury people in a sacred city, so a necropolis was developed on the Vatican.  It was unseemly to build an arena in the city, so one was built on the Vatican.  It hosted, among other things, chariot races, gladiatorial games, and public executions.

In the 65 AD, (give or take a few years), this arena was host to the execution of a Palestinian man named Peter.  This Peter had been a Jew, but was now the leader of a band of Jewish misfits, a group that called one another brother and sister, a group that claimed to eat the body of their God, and a group that refused to worship the Emperor.  Peter was tried for these crimes, found guilty, and executed by crucifixion.  As an enemy of the state, Peter was not allowed the dignity of a burial; his body was to be thrown into the river.  (Or perhaps burned.  Or perhaps burned, and then thrown in the river.  There’s a good reason the Tiber is not clean.)  His followers, however, would not allow that, so they stole his body under cover of darkness and buried it in an unmarked grave in the nearby necropolis.

The tomb was not a well-kept secret; it immediately became a spot of veneration and a pilgrimage destination.  As the years went on, and persecution of the Church ebbed, more permanent monuments were erected on the grave site.  Finally, when Constantine decided to legalize Christianity, he and Pope Sylvester got together and decided to properly honor Peter’s grave.  And so a giant basilica was to be built…but first, Vatican hill needed to be leveled, which meant the necropolis had to be buried.  Truckloads of dirt had to be moved, and this was a long time before trucks were invented.  Eventually, the site was prepared, Peter’s tomb and associated monuments were encased in a giant marble box, and the first basilica went up.  It lasted for about a thousand years, and then the current basilica replaced it.  In both instances, the marble box around the tomb formed the base of the main altar in the basilica.

So, fast forward to the 30’s and 40’s when the excavations are happening, and the necropolis being unveiled for the first time in 1700 years.  There’s a lot of neat stuff being found, until the digging reaches the area underneath the main altar – and the sides of a large marble box are discovered.  Could this really be Peter’s tomb?  One side of the box is broken open, and inside is found a monument that looks exactly like what the histories say should be there.  More careful digging led to bones, which Pope Pius XII sent out for immediate study…only to find out that it was impossible that they were Peter’s.

Disappointment abounds, but the excavations continue, and a curious thing is discovered – a niche carved into Peter’s monument, with the inscription, Petros eni – or, Peter is within.  The niche, however, was empty, which struck the archeologists as being odd, until one of the laborers mentioned that there had been bones inside it; they just removed them for safekeeping.  These bones were located and sent out for testing – and these results were much more interesting.  They were the bones of a Palestinian man in his 60’s who had injuries consistent with death by crucifixion.  The remaining bones – after all that time, there’s not much left – were put in clear plastic boxes and reinterred where they were found.  One was left just slightly visibile so that people who go on this tour can see it, and it happens to be a fragment of Peter’s jaw…the same jaw that, in today’s Gospel, proclaims that Jesus is, indeed, “the Christ, the Son of the living God.”

I would often read today’s Gospel when we arrived at this point in the tour; it was a powerful moment.

The thing is, it’s also the jawbone that tries to tell Jesus not to talk about His impending crucifixion.  It’s the jaw that boasts that Jesus should wash not just Peter’s feet, but his hands and his head as well, because anything that Jesus has to endure, Peter can too.  It’s the jaw that denies Jesus three times as He undergoes His Passion.

And yet it is the jaw the professes Jesus to be the Christ.  It is the jaw that says three times, “Yes, Lord, You know that I love You,” on the shore of the Sea of Tiberius after the Resurrection.  And it is the jaw that rushes out of the upper room on Pentecost morning so that it can be the first to proclaim to all the inhabitants of Jerusalem – of the world – the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

I think we can learn two important things from this.  The first is this: there is something greater, something more powerful, than your sins.  And that something is God’s mercy.  Peter tried to silence Jesus.  Peter was boastful and thought he was as good as Jesus.  Peter flat-out denies Jesus and runs away…and yet, God has mercy on Peter.  Peter is able to ask for and receive forgiveness.  His sins were grave; his sins made him feel terrible; his sins are unpleasant…but God’s mercy was greater than them.  Is greater than them.  And if God’s mercy can conquer Peter’s sins, then it can conquer mine, as well.  And it can conquer yours.

The other thing we learn is that we are not defined by our failings.  We don’t call him Peter the Betrayer.  Peter the Boastful.  Peter the Obstacle.  Instead, he’s Saint Peter.  He’s Peter, the Prince of the Apostles.  His failings do not define him, what defines him is his identity in Christ.  What defines him is the fact that he is a beloved son of God.  What defines him is that he is someone who has been redeemed by the blood of the Lamb.  And those are the same things that define me.  And those are the same things that define you.

One last thing to consider.  If it is as true for us as it is for Peter that God’s mercy is greater than our sins and that our failings are not what defines us, then don’t we also have to consider the question Jesus poses to Peter today as if He were asking it to us, as well?  Who do you say that I am?  But there’s a small issue with the text; the Greek is a little more nuanced than the English.  The question isn’t simply, “who do you say that I am?”  Talk is cheap; anyone can say anything.  This wants more than words.  This carries the idea of being definitive.  This is a watershed moment.  All your cards on the table, all-in, 100 per cent sure that the answer I am about to give is real and true.  It’s the kind of answer that gets played out in every moment of your life, because that’s how strong the question is.  It’s the kind of answer that you’re willing to die for.  If Jesus really is the Christ, if He really is the Son of God, then your life, Peter’s life, my life – has to look different.  It has to.  Or you’re not answering the question.

Who do you say that I am?

Are you willing to live it?

On May 31, our parish school celebrated with 31 8th graders as they graduated and moved on to high school.  I had the honor of being the homilist that night.  A number of people asked me to post that homily.  Here it is, kind of.  I had only written out about half of it before Mass started; the second half I ad-libbed.  (I had a plan for where I was going to go with it, but not much else.)  Also, I did the whole thing without notes, so this isn’t really the text of the actual homily, it’s just an approximation.

We were celebrating the Feast of the Visitation of Mary; the readings can be found here.  We used the second option for the first reading.

A lot of people are going to want to give you all some advice over the next few months. They mean well.  They want you to succeed in high school.  But here’s the thing.  You can ignore most of it.

I can’t – they can’t – give this group advice collectively because it’s not like you’re all going to the same place. Some will go to Bishop Canevin, and some to Trinity; McGuffey; Canon-Mac; Wheeling Central; Bentworth; Lincoln Park; Wash High…and each of those places, while all high schools, are all different.  And you will all experience them differently.

And even if you did all go to the same place, it wouldn’t matter. Because you will all drift to the groups that you most identify with.  The athletes will associate with the athletes, and the band kids with the band kids, and the drama club people with the drama club people…  And then some of you will have the courage to form your own group of friends, with your own weird inside jokes and stories and whatever…those, by the way, will be the friends you keep forever.

But ultimately, each of you has your own journey to take, and I would stifle that journey if I tried to tell you how to take it.

What I can give you – what I will give you – is some advice on how to live as a graduate of John F. Kennedy Catholic School. Although to be honest, it’s not really mine; this comes from Saint Paul in tonight’s first reading.

Let your love be sincere.

Let it be genuine, let it be truthful, let it be honest. Let it animate you.  Let your love look like the love the Blessed Mother showed in tonight’s Gospel, when she dropped everything to go and take care of her cousin Elizabeth, even when she herself was scared and confused as to what was coming.  Let your love be sincere.  Let your love be humble, as humble as Elizabeth’s when she asks, “And how does this happen to me, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?” And then let it be as bold as Mary’s, when she proclaims that indeed the Almighty has done great things for her and holy is His name.  Let your love be sincere.  And let your love, ultimately, be giving.  Let your love be like Jesus.  Don’t hold back on your love, but give it freely.  Don’t count the cost.  Let your love be sincere.

Fine. Well and good.  Love needs to be authentic, genuine; giving; all those things…but love needs an object.  Who, or what (really, just who) are you going to love in this kind of way?  Let me give you three answers to that question.

First, love one another. I know, you’re used to me saying that.  And I almost always mean it in some kind of global sense; that we’re all each other’s brothers and sisters, and we need to love and serve everyone, regardless of where they are or who they are or what they do…but tonight, I mean a very specific group.  I mean the people gathered here tonight.  Love your classmates.  Some of you have been together since kindergarten, maybe before; some of you have only been together for the last couple of years, but either way it doesn’t matter.  You’ve cried together, laughed together, fought together – please God, forgiven together – achieved great successes together, and sometimes failed together…but what you really did was you learned together.  You grew together.  And you became the people that you are tonight, together.  Love your teachers.  You’ll never know the sacrifices they’ve made for you.  The extra hours they worked, either in the classroom or at home; the extra money they spent out of their own pockets for supplies…you’ll never know the hours of sleep they lost because they were worrying about you and how they could best help you.  And you’re not even their kid.  On that note, love your parents.  Love your grandparents.  You want to talk about sacrifices?  You think they’ve made a few?  For your entire life, all they’ve been trying to do is to pay back God for the blessing that you are to them; they’re looking for a way to show God that they are worthy of the trust He has placed in them by giving you to them…and maybe sometimes that hasn’t always worked out right, or worked out the way you wanted it to, but so what.

Love one another. And let your love be sincere.

The second person I want you to love is yourself. There will be people out there that will tell you that your views are irrelevant, that you are worthless, that you’re wrong, that you count for nothing.  There will be people who will try to use you for their own pleasure or to get ahead.  Don’t let them.  Don’t believe them.  You were created in the image and likeness of God.  Before time began, He has had a plan for you.  He created you and said, This one, this one, is my beloved son or daughter.  This is the one I would do anything for.  I’ll send my Son to die on the cross for this one.  And God still continues to love you and hold you into being today…so don’t ever let anyone cheapen you.  You’re too good for that.  You were not made for that.  Love yourself.  And let your love be sincere.

The final object of your love needs to be God. What God most desires of you is to have a relationship with you.  He wants to be with you at all moments of your life, because it is in Him that our lives find any kind of meaning.  So love God.  Turn to Him in prayer often.  Read His words in Scripture.  Go to church.  Seek Him in the people you encounter.  Don’t try to push Him off to one side or keep Him separate from the rest of your life.  Love God, and see how that love changes every other aspect of you for the good – and in turn, changes the world.  Love God, and let your love be sincere.

Class of 2017, we love you, we’re proud of you, and we congratulate you.  We just ask that the one lesson, above all others, that you carry from this place is the need to love.  Put it into practice every day.  And do it sincerely.

Congratulations.

There’s a reading in the Office of Readings for today that is especially awesome, and since most folks don’t do the entirety of the Liturgy of the Hours every day, I thought I might share it with you all. 

I’ll try to get my Easter homily up tomorrow, too.

From an ancient homily on Holy Saturday

Once upon a time, I wanted to be a teacher. So I became a banker, and then I became a priest…so I suppose, in a sort of roundabout way, I did become a teacher.  Which begs the question: can I start issuing demerits?  Do we even do those anymore?

But seriously, I want to do the teacher thing and sort of review the last couple weeks’ worth of Gospels. They’ve all been from Saint Matthew’s account of the Sermon on the Mount, and while it hasn’t been an entirely continuous reading of that particular sermon, it’s been awful close.  So, just to refresh you on a couple things…

On January 29^th, the 4^th Sunday of Ordinary Time, you heard the Beatitudes.  You heard what God has in store for those who live a life that is authentically rooted in keeping His law, including but not limited to, the Kingdom of God.

On February 5^th, the 5^th Sunday of Ordinary Time, Jesus told you that you were the light of the world and the salt of the earth.  He put you to work and entrusted you to go forth and glorify your heavenly Father in word and deed that many more people might be drawn to Him.

On February 12^th, the 6^th Sunday of Ordinary Time, Jesus told us that He did not come to abolish the law but to fulfill it.  He said that the law was not just a thing to be observed in a superficial way, but something that we need to interiorize in our hearts, and then live out in the fullest way possible.

Last week, February 19^th, the 7^th Sunday of Ordinary Time, Jesus challenged us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us.  He told us to be people of forgiveness and love, because in so doing, we become perfect, just as our Heavenly Father is perfect.

All of which, of course, leads us to today. Today, Jesus tells us to “seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all things will be given you besides.  Do not worry about tomorrow; will take care of itself.  Sufficient for a day is its own evil.”

I have to confess that this passage, taken alone, causes me no end of strife. Because I like to worry.  I’m very good at it.  There’s a reason I have so much gray hair, and it’s not Father Feeney.  (It’s Father George.)  This is not to say I’m a pessimist, because I don’t think I am; I just get caught up in all the details and I try to anticipate every possible outcome, no matter how farfetched it might be, and so I worry.  Thus, when Jesus tells us not to worry, I experience all kinds of cognitive dissonance, because while I want to follow Him, worrying is what I do.

And that’s why, I think, we have to look at today’s Gospel in the light of all the 4 weeks that have preceded it. Because there is a common theme that runs throughout all of them.  It seems like a really basic theme, but on the other hand, we have a hard time believing it.  Here it is:

God loves you. He really, really, does.

Really.

He loves you so much and so desires you to share the life of the blessed that He gave you, in no uncertain terms, the Beatitudes;

He loves you so much that He has filled you with the gifts you need to be salt and light for the world, and moreover, He trusts you to be those things;

He loves you so much that He just doesn’t tell you what His law is, but He desires to imprint it on your very heart, because he wants to be that close to you.

He loves you so much that he wants you to be complete – to be whole – to be perfect, just as He is perfect.

And He loves you so much that He wants you to stop worrying so darn much and to trust Him more.

Deus caritas est. God is love.  And all He does is love.  And everything we know about Him ultimately comes down to love…and yet, for some strange reason, I think a lot of folks – myself included – sometimes have a really hard time accepting the fact that God loves them.  Instead, we try to be conditional with how we understand God’s love.  We say, “God will only love me if I never sin, but since I do sin, God doesn’t love me.”  “God will only love me if I do X, Y, and Z.”  “God cannot possibly love me because I once did <whatever>.”  False, false, and false.

Look at what Saint Paul has to say in today’s second reading regarding judging. Do not pass judgments on one another, he says, and for that matter, do not judge even yourself…because it belongs to the Lord to pass judgment.  And He does not judge as we do, because He does not love as we do.  He loves better.

As God says through the prophet Isaiah in today’s first reading: Even if a mother could forget her child, He will not forget you.  God does not abandon His people, nor does He ever forget them, or leave them hanging or waiting for more.  He loves them consistently and gives them exactly what they need when they need it.

So stop worrying as to whether or not God loves you or even can love you. He does.  Trust Him and His love, and go forth and share that love with others.  We live in a world anymore that’s become so devoid of love.  Instead, we find ourselves ruled by fear, and prone to anger, jealousy, wrath, hatred, and indifference.  No wonder we worry.  But as the Apostle Saint John writes in his first letter, “There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear.”  God loves you perfectly.  Stop worrying.  Instead, live like someone whose life has been forever changed by that love…because it has.

Live like a disciple. Proclaim God’s love for you and for all through your words and deeds and work to build the Kingdom.

God loves you. He really, really does.

This was an interesting week. Of course, in this line of work, they’re all pretty interesting, but still.  Sunday after the 12:15 Mass I met a lady who had just the week before celebrated 70 years of wedded bliss with her husband.  Then on Monday, I drove up to New Castle to support a brother priest who was celebrating his mother’s funeral.  She was 92 years old and she was just a wonderful lady.  Thursday morning I met with a couple about getting their marriage validated; that afternoon I had my normal turn at the hospital, and then I got called to someone’s home to anoint him.  He’s 89, she’s 87; he uses a walker, she gets around with a cane, and yet the house was spotless, and was a shrine to their grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  Tomorrow will be their 69^th wedding anniversary.  When I asked them what their secret was – I have 15 weddings or so scheduled this year, I need to be able to help these kids – when I asked what their secret was, they just laughed and said there was no secret.  You just work really hard every day at giving everything you have to the other person.  And then yesterday, my cousin’s daughter – so my second cousin – gave birth to her daughter, which I guess is my third cousin?  Second cousin once removed?  I don’t know.  It makes my aunt, my oldest living relative, a great-grandmother, which is a role she relishes but a title she hates (it makes her sound too old, she says.  She is.)

My point in sharing all this is that these are the people I’ve found myself praying for the most over the last week.  And why not?  These are all people that I either know personally and care a great deal for, or are people that I’ve found to have these beautiful souls and to be very inspirational.  It’s easy to pray for them.  Something would be wrong with me if I didn’t.  It doesn’t cost me anything to pray for them.  Jesus is looking for more.

So what does that mean?  I need to pray for the people that annoy me?  Even the people that get their order from the drive-through window and then pull over to make sure it’s exactly correct?  If you care that much, just park and go into the store!  And what about the people that drive the wrong way down Spruce Street?  I need to pray for these people, too?  Well, it would certainly be more beneficial than just yelling at my window, but let’s be clear…Jesus is, in fact, asking for even more.

Love your enemies, He says, and pray for those who persecute you.  That’s asking a tremendous amount.  I don’t even want to think about those people.  And who does?  Remember the friend that you trusted, the one who betrayed you?  The person you told something to secretly that immediately broke that confidence?  The liars?  The bullies?  The ones that judged you?  Those that gossip about you, that slander you, that talk about you behind your back?

Anyone that’s left you hurt, bruised, broken, or scarred.  We all, sadly, have people like that in our lives…and we don’t really care much to think about them, do we?  And yet Jesus tells us to love our enemies and pray for our persecutors.  Because here’s the thing:  somewhere along the line, something had to have happened to them for them to act that way.  They’re as hurt and as broken as you – probably more so.  And while that’s not your fault, and that’s not an excuse, you can do something about it; you can do something to fix it.

Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.

Pray that God’s grace might come into their hearts.  Pray for their hearts to be healed.  Pray that we can break this cycle of sin that leads to nowhere but unhappiness and destruction.  Pray that they can start to see the good of this world rather than all the negativity.  Pray that they might remember that they are made in the image and likeness of God, a God who has known them and loved them since before time began, a God who looks at them and says yes, this is very good, a God that sent His only begotten Son to die for them, and a God who deeply desires that one day they will be with Him in heaven.  Pray that they know all of those things…and while you make that prayer, know this as well: all of those things are equally true about you.

Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you.

Nothing easy about this, that’s for sure.  Even the first step to doing this is hard.  And yet on paper it seems so simple.  Forgive.  St. John Chrysostom once said, “An insult is either sustained of destroyed – not by the disposition of those who insult, but by the disposition of those who bear it.”  What he means by that is that you can’t start to be healed yourself without first forgiving those who have wronged you.  If you’re not healed, you can’t then move onto love and to prayer.  Stop bearing grudges; they’re a load that’s too heavy for you to carry and not in God’s plan for your life anyway.  Forgive.  And move forward.

Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you.

In the final moments of His earthly life, as He hung on the cross, bloody, beaten, tortured, abandoned, and in excruciating pain, Jesus prayed, “Father, forgive them.  They know not what they do.”  He loves His enemies, and he prays for those who persecute Him.  Have you ever found yourself hanging on a cross?  Maybe you’re there now.  Helpless; hopeless; facing injustice, facing cruelty… Jesus shows us the way to respond to all of that with love.  Jesus shows us how to be perfect, as our heavenly Father is perfect.

Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you.

Many of you are wondering when I’m going to get around to posting the homilies for the 5th and 6th Sundays of Ordinary Time….well, bad news.  Probably not going to happen.  I got really busy, sort of unexpectedly, and never really got around to writing anything.  I had notes and bullet points, but I never sat down and wrote an actual text…and then after the fact, when I did sit down in front of the computer, I couldn’t really capture what I said at Mass.  Lame, I know.  I think I’m a little more in control of things at the moment, though, so I look forward to getting back on track…

Readings are in their usual spot.

I had gone into this one without a clear ending in mind; mainly because this homily is essentially an amalgamation of three separate homilies I tried to write throughout the week.  The Beatitudes are at once both simple and complex; I found them to be a lot more difficult to preach on than I first thought.  Anyway, I had no clear ending, and so each time I preached it, it ended a little differently.  What’s posted here is a desperate attempt to remember what exactly I said; it’s certainly not accurate.

You may have heard it said that if you go to Mass every Sunday for three years – that is, if you cover the entire cycle of readings we have in the lectionary – you’ll hear the entire Bible. That is false.  Ok, but what if I go to Mass every day?  Well, the daily Mass readings are on a 2-year cycle, but even if you add that into the mix, you still don’t get the entire Bible in.  Not to say you wouldn’t get a ton of graces for going to Mass every day and receiving the Eucharist so often, but at the end of the day, you’re not gonna get the whole Bible in.  Sometimes you need to finish your work at home.

I mention all that because today we hear from the prophet Zephaniah, and we don’t get to hear from him often.  In the 2 year, weekly cycle, he shows up exactly twice – the same reading on the same day each year – and on the 3-year cycle of Sunday readings, he shows up twice.  And today is one of those days.

Zephaniah’s not a long book, only three chapters, and we only get even a brief snippet of it today.  His overall mission is to call the people back.  Back to worship of the one true God, rather than the idolatry of worshipping the sun and moon.  Back to keeping God’s law, rather than making up their own rituals and decrees because it felt good.  Back to their identity as the chosen people of God, rather than selling out their culture to a foreign power.  And if they don’t do these things, Zephaniah warns, it will all collapse; but God, in His mercy, will still save at least a remnant.  Zephaniah goes on his mission of prophecy to save, to redeem his people.

Jesus wants to do more.

Obviously, He wants to save His people, and we know that He accomplishes that in a wonderful way on the cross, but more than just redeeming His people, He wants to restore them.  He wants to give us back the dignity that we had before the Fall.  He wants us to become what we are – that is, made in the image and likeness of God.  Saint Athanasius wrote, God became man so that men could become like God, and all that leads us into the Beatitudes that we hear today.

Pope Benedict XVI once said, “In truth, the blessed par excellence is only Jesus.  He is, in fact, the true poor in spirit, the one afflicted, the meek one, the one hungering and thirsting for justice, the merciful, the pure of heart, the peacemaker.  He is the one persecuted for the sake of justice.”

Jesus is all those things, and now he invites us to be them as well.

There’s some hesitancy on our part to say yes to those things, I think, because they just don’t seem very appealing, do they?

It’s hard to be poor in spirit.  This has nothing to do with economic status – you can be flat broke and not be poor in spirit; you can be the wealthiest guy in town and be very poor in spirit.  A person that is poor in spirit is one that is spiritually detached from things, and instead relies solely on God for a sense of value, of purpose, of meaning.

I don’t want to mourn.  Another translation of this verse reads, blessed are the afflicted ones – and no, I don’t want to be afflicted, either.  What are they mourning?  What are they afflicted by?  In many ways, what they suffer is not a personal suffering, but a corporate one, because these people recognize that the Kingdom of God is not yet fully realized in this world.  And they also recognize the resultant Godlessness of our society as a byproduct of that.  And so, they see the many injustices of the world, and rather than ignoring them or saying, not my problem, they mourn them and take them seriously.

Be meek?  I mean, I don’t want to be arrogant, but I don’t want to abase myself in front of others, either.  I don’t know that I can stomach that level of humility.  I’m too afraid that I might be taken advantage of.

Hunger and thirst for righteousness?  Or for justice?  I want those things: I want to be in a right relationship with God, and I don’t mean in just an interior way; I want my exterior actions to mimic that…. but to say that I hunger and thirst?  That’s a lot.  Couldn’t I just want it a little?

Merciful?  You mean the way God does mercy?  The way God cancels out our debts to Him over and over and over again because He knows we cannot repay Him?  I must do that?

And what’s this purity of heart business?  In the Hebrew culture, the heart was the seat of decision making; it was not where feelings come from.  Those with pure hearts are those who are able to make the good and right choices that lead them to conform to God’s law.  Recall what God says to Jeremiah the prophet – He will not give the people a new law to follow, but he will give them new hearts.

Could I really be a peacemaker?  Not just non-violent, but could I really be someone that works for reconciliation not just between people, but between people and God?

Persecution for the sake of righteousness?  And on account of Jesus Himself?  I mean, I want justice, and I certainly love Jesus, but do I really have to go through persecution?

The whole business of the Beatitudes is just unsettling.

And that’s exactly the point.  The Kingdom of God is not like the world you know, and thus, the program of life for that kingdom is not like anything we know.  But on the other hand, you were not made for this world; you were made for heaven.  And heaven is what the beatitudes are leading us toward.  Notice how Jesus constructs them: Blessed are they who mourn, for they WILL BE comforted.  The reward is not immediate; it comes to us later.  Yet while they are mourning, they are blessed, because their Father sees that, recognizes that, and comes to dwell with them.

In other words, living the Beatitudes helps restore us to the glory that was once ours, and to the glory that one day can be ours again.  Living the Beatitudes is not easy work, which is why we are gathered into a family called the Church, that we might assist one another in reaching that goal.  It is also why we are fed with the Eucharist, that we might have the strength to achieve our goal.  But above all else, living the Beatitudes is not optional.  It is mandatory.  Let’s get to work.