Today’s homily will be posted a little later; it still has to go through a final edit before I’m comfortable sharing it.  (Meaning I ad-libbed the ending all three times I preached it, so I need to sit down and actually write an ending for publication…)  But before I do that, I just wanted to drop a little social teaching of the Church on you.  I was struck by a line in Psalm 146, which was our responsorial psalm today:

The Lord protects the resident alien, comes to the aid of the orphan and widow, but thwarts the way of the wicked.

In light of what I consider to be a very misguided Executive Order, I, a faithful Catholic and a loyal American, now present to you, in no particular order, some thoughts for your consideration:

Pope Saint John XXIII:

The deep feelings of paternal love for all mankind which God has implanted in Our heart makes it impossible for Us to view without bitter anguish of spirit the plight of those who for political reasons have been exiled from their own homelands. There are great numbers of such refugees at the present time, and many are the sufferings—the incredible sufferings—to which they are constantly exposed. Here surely is our proof that, in defining the scope of a just freedom within which individual citizens may live lives worthy of their human dignity, the rulers of some nations have been far too restrictive. Sometimes in States of this kind the very right to freedom is called in question, and even flatly denied. We have here a complete reversal of the right order of society, for the whole raison d’etre of public authority is to safeguard the interests of the community. Its sovereign duty is to recognize the noble realm of freedom and protect its rights.For this reason, it is not irrelevant to draw the attention of the world to the fact that these refugees are persons and all their rights as persons must be recognized. Refugees cannot lose these rights simply because they are deprived of citizenship of their own States. And among man’s personal rights we must include his right to enter a country in which he hopes to be able to provide more fittingly for himself and his dependents. It is therefore the duty of State officials to accept such immigrants and—so far as the good of their own community, rightly understood, permits—to further the aims of those who may wish to become members of a new society. We therefore take this opportunity of giving Our public approval and commendation to every undertaking, founded on the principles of human solidarity or of Christian charity, which aims at relieving the distress of those who are compelled to emigrate from their own country to another. And We must indeed single out for the praise of all right-minded men those international agencies which devote all their energies to this most important work.

Pope Pius XII:

But the condition of these exiles is so critical and unstable that it cannot longer be permitted to continue. While, therefore, We encourage all generous and noble souls to put forth their best effort to aid these homeless people in their sorrow and destitution, We make an earnest appeal to those responsible that justice may be rendered to all who have been driven far from their homes by the turmoil of war and whose most ardent desire now is to lead peaceful lives once more.

Pope Pius XII again (unofficial English translation; the official Italian text is here):

Consider yourselves responsible for him.  For his miserable lot today may well be yours tomorrow!

3 John 4-6

Beloved, you are faithful in all you do for the brothers, especially for strangers.  Please help them in a way worthy of God.

Deuteronomy 23:8

Do not abhor the Edomite: he is your brother.  Do not abhor the Egyptian: you were a resident alien in his country.

Leviticus 24:22

You shall have but one rule, for aien and native-born alike.

Leviticus 19:34

You shall love the alien as yourself.

Exodus 22:20

You shall not oppress or afflict a resident alien, for you were once aliens residing in the land of Egypt.

I could keep going – for instance, I never even got Popes John Paul II, Benedict XVI, or Francis yet….but do I have to?

 

Readings are found in their usual spot.

For reasons that are largely irrelevant, I went way off the script in the second half of this.  Way off.  And it was a lot better than what I had written.  I tried to edit some of that back in, but I couldn’t remember everything, so this is sort of a mashup of what I originally wrote with what I said.

A few days ago, a guy I went to seminary with – calling him a friend might be too much – shared a link to some article he found on Facebook.  Now, ordinarily, I have a very strict “Don’t click on Joe’s links” policy – because generally, I disagree with all of his opinions – but in this case, something made me do it.  And I’m rather glad it did.  It wasn’t really an article; certainly not an op-ed piece or something of that sort.  Instead, it was a reflection written by a pastor of a parish in the New York City area about 6 years ago.  I have absolutely no idea how Father managed to dig this thing up – shouldn’t he have been working? – but he did, and there it was.

It was a reflection on our current liturgical season – that of Ordinary Time.  In times past it was called the Time Throughout the Year, but with the liturgical reforms, we got a new name.  The author opined that, for many people, Ordinary Time can be something of a struggle – that it can lead folks into a spiritual lethargy, if not paralysis.  Because nothing happens during Ordinary Time!  No fancy Advent wreath.  No beautiful Christmas trees and manger scenes.  It’ll be almost another month and a half before we mark our foreheads with ashes and the fish fry starts back up.  Even longer until we get to celebrate my favorites, the complicated and beautiful liturgies of Holy Week.  And it’s certainly not Eastertide, with the singing of Alleluias and the sprinkling of Holy Water and Masses that take – how dare they – sometimes an hour and five minutes to complete.  But we don’t get any of that during Ordinary Time…it just is what it is.  And for some, that can be a downer.

But – and this was the author’s point – what, exactly, is wrong with ordinary?  When did ordinary become bad?  You don’t come home from the doctor in a panic, saying, “Honey, I’ve got terrible news.  The doctor says all my tests are…ordinary!”  Which flight would you rather be on: the one that had an engine fall off and had to make an emergency landing in Sioux Falls, or the one that was…ordinary?  When things are ordinary, it means that everything is working according to plan – and when it comes to Ordinary Time, one can say that it means everything is working according to God’s plan.

Which is, I have to say, a pretty good one.

I bring all this up because today’s Gospel is rather…ordinary.  It doesn’t recount one of Jesus’ great homilies or parables.  There are no great miracles, aside from an off-handed remark about curing disease and illness.  Even the account of the apostles being called to follow Him is remarkably understated.  The whole thing is just ordinary.  He just starts to preach, and his message is simply, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”

It’s so ordinary, it’s perfect.  Because it’s precisely what the Father has willed for Jesus to do.

And while it might look like Jesus is “just” preaching, or it might appear that His message is too “simple” – consider where He does this preaching.  In Galilee, by the sea, in the region of Zebulun and Naphtali.  These places that had only known darkness, and despair, and gloom – for them, a light has shone.  Now they have abundant joy and great rejoicing.  All because of an ordinary message delivered in an ordinary way.

Ordinary is good enough!  Too often we think of all the gifts and talents God didn’t give us, and insist that they are the reason that we don’t proclaim the Gospel more, that we don’t pray more, that we don’t study Scripture more, that we aren’t holy.  “If God wanted me to do that, He would have made me a saint, but…” But nothing.  Sure, some of the saints had extraordinary gifts in one or another way, but most did not.  Most were just ordinary people that learned to start saying yes to God instead of no.

Put another way: you are good enough.  You were made in the image and likeness of God, you were redeemed by the blood of Jesus on the cross, you are God’s beloved son or daughter: you have exactly what you need to be holy.  Be who you are, and become what you were made to be.

You’re not just ordinary…you’re ordinary enough.

There’s an interesting column from America magazine making the circuit on Facebook these days regarding the homily at Mass.  Here’s a link if you’re interested.

In short, the author’s point is that homilies ought to be shorter, sometimes MUCH shorter, and that priests all generally follow the same formula when crafting their homilies, and that it doesn’t work.  He makes a few other theological claims, too, some of which I find inaccurate.

Nevertheless, I am interested in the discussion.  I would imagine you come to this blog, such as it is, to read my homilies; the overwhelming majority of my readers have heard my homilies.  So what are your thoughts on the matter?  Generally speaking (let’s not get personal here), are homilies too long?  Or are they not long enough?  And what are you looking for when you hear a sermon?

Fire away in the comments section…

Where can you find the readings?  Here, of course.

There’s really nothing I like about this homily. Early in the week, it was intended to be a homily based more on the Gospel text, reflecting on the evangelist’s use of the verb “to see” – one of the most important verbs in the Johannine corpus – but the writing went nowhere.  So I revisited the readings, and was struck by Paul reminding the Corinthians of their call to holiness, so I decided to go with that…but I think I would do it differently if I could.  I forced the connection to Thomas Aquinas too much, and I didn’t really delve into Vatican 2 and the universal call to holiness the way I should have.  Finally, my delivery was really bad at the 4:00 PM Mass, and I only did ok in Claysville.  Just not a good weekend all around.  I might have to bench myself next weekend and ask the deacons to preach…

For the most part, Saint Paul’s letters follow a pattern.  He starts with a greeting that sounds rather formal to our way of speaking – at least, it does to me, and then he moves into the text of the letter itself.  He generally follows what is called a chiastic structure in his writing, which is to say he makes a very broad point, then starts to drill down on that, gradually tightening up what he wants to say until he punches you in the face with some profound theological truth, then he works back up the ladder, showing how the implications of that truth get carried out.  And then he concludes in a pretty standard fashion, maybe with some personal greetings or requests.

Again, that’s all speaking generally – there are some notable exceptions to this.  The letter to the Galatians, for example, doesn’t have a greeting; Paul is really angry at those folks so he jumps all over them from the beginning; second Corinthians has all kinds of trouble with it’s internal structure, and many scholars think that it’s actually a composite of multiple letters.  For the record, I do not.

Today’s reading is from First Corinthians, a letter that is pretty much devoid of any problems.  And that can make it easy to sort of gloss over it, especially this little snippet of the introduction that we get today.  Yeah, Paul’s writing to the Corinthians, and he’s hanging out with Sosthenes (why are Biblical names so cool?), big deal…  but it is a big deal, because Paul almost casually drops a line in there:  to the church of God that is in Corinth, to you who have been sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be holy…

You could very easily substitute a lot of other places for Corinth in that sentence: To the church of God that is in Washington; in Claysville; in wherever. Regardless of where you are, you have: A.) been sanctified in Christ Jesus, and B.) you are being called to be holy.  Let’s examine what those two things mean, but first, let’s complicate the issue a little bit.  Sanctity and holiness are basically synonymous.  A person or thing that has sanctity is holy; a holy person or thing possesses sanctity.  To get a better definition of those terms, we turn to our old friend, St. Thomas Aquinas.  In the Summa Theologica, IIa-IIae, q.81, he provides two definitions for sanctity.  We’ll need to use both.

The first is the most easily understood. For a thing to possess sanctity, it must be pure, clean, and free of defects.  The second characteristic is more complex.  Thomas says that a thing that is sanctified has “firmness.”  What this means is that it is upheld by law – ratified by law is the term he uses – and it is not to be violated.  Thomas concludes that a thing that is pure and not to be violated is a thing that is dedicated to the service of God.

So back to Saint Paul.  He reminds the church of Corinth, of Washington, of Claysville, of wherever, that they have indeed already been sanctified.  Through the blood that Christ shed on the Cross in expiation for our sins; by the invocation of His name at our baptism; in being fed by His Body and Blood at the Eucharist – we have already been sanctified.

“Now wait just a minute, Father,” some might object.  “I’m no monk.  I’m not off in some monastery somewhere.  I have a real life and real problems and I don’t have time to be about all this holiness stuff.”  Well, here’s the thing: it’s not optional.  As Paul says, we have been sanctified by Christ Jesus.  We are, in fact, already holy…which means we are to be dedicated to the service of God.

Paul’s not done.  With his next breath, after telling us we have already been sanctified, he tells us that we are being called to be holy.  It’s a continuing process.  We weren’t just set aside for God’s service and that’s that; we are continually being called to be of service to Him.  This isn’t a new idea.  Recall what was said by Isaiah the prophet:

It is too little, the LORD says, for you to be my servant,
to raise up the tribes of Jacob,
and restore the survivors of Israel;
I will make you a light to the nations,
that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth.

If you have been dedicated to the service of God, then you must be willing to actually be of service to God. When John the Baptist cried out, “Behold the Lamb of God!”, he wasn’t just saying, “Hey! Look at that guy!”; He was saying, “Hey!  Follow that guy!  Learn from Him!  Be His disciple!”

To the church of God that is in Corinth, in Washington, in Claysville, wherever: you have been sanctified by Christ Jesus and are called to be holy.  Let’s get to work.

Today’s readings can be found here.

NB:  I really went off the page with today’s homily, to my detriment at 7:30 and to my benefit at the 9:00.  Or so I think, anyway.  Regardless, these are the prepared remarks I had in my binder…

Bond.  James Bond.

That’s who I want to be when I grow up, if I ever get around to doing that.  Bond is cool.  He dresses sharp.  He drinks martinis.  (Weak ones, but it’s the look that counts.)  He has a seemingly unlimited budget.  All the cool technology.  And the Aston Martin Vanquish, with the big V12 that can go zero to sixty in three point five and has a top speed of just over 200 mph and may or may not have the optional rocket launchers…yeah, I want to be James Bond or some other type of International Man of Mystery.

I’ve been thinking about that because in today’s celebration we encounter the original International Men of Mystery – the Magi.  Everybody knows about them, but at the same time, we know so little about them.  So, let’s explore the mystery of the Magi this morning.

First, let’s figure out where they came from.  The Gospel says they came “from the east,” which doesn’t exactly narrow it down.  But the Gospel also calls them Magi, which is a term used to describe priests in Persia – modern day Iran.  However, they followed a star to get to Bethlehem.  So, they knew something about astronomy and the movements of the heavenly bodies.  That kind of science wasn’t done so much in Persia, but it was done in Babylon.  So now we’re looking more at modern-day Iraq.  We’re also told that they brought gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.  Well, that brings into play the high desert of Syria as a possibility.  Also, the Arabian Peninsula.  And here’s where it gets tricky – today we sang psalm 72 as our responsorial psalm.  That also talks about kings bringing gifts to the Lord.  It references Arabia as well, but it also mentions Seba.  No one really knows where Seba was located –  it could have been at the south end of the Arabian Peninsula, in present day Yemen or Oman, but it might have been on the other side of the Red Sea, in Egypt, or the Sudan, or even Ethiopia.  And finally, the king of Tarshish was mentioned, and that gets confusing, because Tarshish would have been in what is now modern-day Spain, and that’s not east at all, that’s west.  So where in the world did these kings come from?  Claysville?  But seriously, where are they from?

The answer, of course, is that it doesn’t matter where they came from.  What matters is that they went on the journey.  The same is true for us.  It’s not the starting point that matters, it’s where we end up.

On that note, how many magi where there, anyway?  I know, I know, the song says three…but what do the Scriptures say?  It never actually does, does it?  So where did the number three come from?  Because at the time of Jesus, the known world only consisted of three continents – Asia, Africa, and Europe.  And to symbolize that it doesn’t matter where you’re from, only what you’re going to, we have three magi.  This is why, especially in older artwork depicting the magi, you see three very diverse appearances amongst the magi.  There where isn’t important.

Here’s something else you’ll see in art.  One of the magi is old; another, middle-aged, and the third, fairly young.  Why?  Because age, in this case, is irrelevant.  The necessity to go to Jesus is always there; there’s no minimum age requirement or any such nonsense.

 

So, that’s a little about who the Magi were; we should talk, at least very briefly, about what they were, because Magi is a very vague term. Some translations call them astrologers or astronomers; the latter is bad, the former is worse, because they were neither of those things in the modern sense.  Some call them kings, but that’s seemingly not accurate, either.  Some call them wise men, which is just way too generic of a term to use; Magi seems to be the best word we have.  But even that word gives us trouble.  Magi has a wide range of meanings; some very good, some very bad.  To greatly oversimplify the situation, a magus was one sought wisdom, one who wanted knowledge.  But what would they do with this knowledge?  There’s a story in Acts 13 about a magus named Bar-Jesus who used – tried to use – his knowledge to lead people away from following Christ.  It ends poorly for him; Saint Paul makes sure of that.  The magi we meet today, though…they get it.  When they reach the place where the child was, they realize they are encountering true knowledge, Wisdom Incarnate, the Truth Itself.  And, in the face of that, they do the only thing they really can do – they fall down in worship.

If you’re looking for wisdom, for truth, for meaning – if your life has more questions than answers – then start, today, on your journey for Jesus.  Seek Him out.  Do not be deterred by those who would discourage you or mislead you.  And when you find Him – and you will, because He has never stopped looking for you all this time – fall down and worship Him.  Offer Him your gifts – not just of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, but of your very self, warts and all (especially the warts), and then do whatever He tells you.

There are a lot of folks out there that are calling 2016 the worst year ever.  They just can’t wait for this year to be done.  Even the O-R, in today’s headline, declared it to have been a tough year.  And, in some respects, that’s very true.  This was a tough year.  We lost some notables from stage and screen this year: from Carrie Fisher to Alan Rickman, from Prince to David Bowie.  I read a statistic on the internet, so this might not be true, that we as a nation lost almost 100 firefighters in the line of duty this year, and close to 140 police officers.  The election was all kinds of difficult – regardless of whom you voted for, it was the meanest, angriest, nastiest election I’ve ever witnessed.  Racial tensions in this country are probably the highest they’ve been since the civil rights movement.  We still have a terrible heroin problem in Washington County, despite a lot of hard work on that front.  There’s a genocide happening in Syria that world leaders have been criminally slow to deal with.  70% of people who identify as Catholics didn’t go to Mass on Christmas.  And the Cubs won the World Series.

Yeah, you can say this was a tough year.

But it was not a bad one.  And certainly not the worst year ever.

I can say that with confidence, because 2016 began the same way that 2017 will, with us celebrating this beautiful feast dedicated to Mary, Mother of God.  What a profound theological statement we make in calling her that!  It is, of course, primarily a statement about Jesus – that Jesus has 2 natures, human and divine, and is both fully human and fully divine, and therefore logic dictates that Mary, as his biological mother must also be the Mother of God.  That’s a really bare-bones account of the theology, but it’ll do.  Because I’m not super interested in doing heavy theology right now.  But I do want to think a little bit about the person of Mary.  Specifically, about her motherhood.

I mean, what kind of qualifications do you have to have to be the Mother of God?  Sure, she was conceived without original sin, and she was full of grace, and all that – but at the end of the day, she’s Jesus’ mother.  She has to do for Jesus all of those things that a Mom has to do for her child, except her child happens to be the Word made flesh and the splendor of the Father; the Messiah and the Christ.  Well, I imagine she probably didn’t have to discipline Jesus too much, but you get the idea.  And we know really nothing about what that was like; we refer to the “hidden years” of Jesus when we talk about him growing up.  We simply don’t know.

But we do know that she was successful, wasn’t she?  She was faithful.  God clearly knew what He was doing – no surprises there, right?  And he wasn’t done.  As Jesus was dying on the cross, he turns to the beloved disciple and says, “Behold your Mother.”  Well, we’re also his beloved disciples, so she has become our Mother, too.  From that moment on, we have had this immaculate, sinless, faith-filled, faithful woman praying and interceding for us…and you’re going to tell me it was the worst year ever?  With her on your side, do you ever think it would be that bad?  With a God who loves you so much that not only does he send his son to suffer and die for you as expiation for your sins, but he also gives you his son’s mother as an intercessor, protector, and guide…how are you ever going to have a bad year?

When she appeared in England, where she is honored as Our Lady of Walsingham, she said, “Whoever seeks my help will not go away empty-handed.” At Guadalupe, she reminded St. Juan Diego, “No estoy yo aqui que soy tu madre?  Am I not here, I who am your mother?”  Mary wants to protect us.  Mary wants to mother us.  She asks for very little in return.  At Lourdes, she asked St. Bernadette to pray the Rosary with her.  At Fatima, she asked the children to pray (especially the Rosary), and to make sacrifices for sinners.  I mean, how hard is to pray a Rosary every day?  All things considered, she really does ask for very little.

Perhaps the problem is that we give her very little.  We don’t turn to our Blessed Mother enough to ask for her guidance, her protection, her prayers.  We think we’re too busy to pray the Rosary (because, y’know, it might take a whole fifteen minutes).  Or maybe we just think we’ve got all this figured out ourselves – but then, we are we crying about what a tough year it’s been?  Not giving Mary her due is, I think, symptomatic of a much larger issue:  not giving God His due.  Do we pray?  Do we avail ourselves of the Sacraments?  Is God truly a priority – the top priority – in our lives, or do we relegate Him to second, or third, or a lower place?  Again, we wonder why it’s felt like a tough year.  It’s not really so surprising, is it?

Make 2017 a good year.  Listen to your Mother.  Pray.  Pray often.  And ask her for her help.

You can access the readings for the Christmas Vigil Mass here.

NB:  As usual, these are my prepared remarks for my homily, but I often tend to go off on a tangent, so these may differ from what I actually said (or didn’t say).

When it comes to Christmas, you’re in one of two camps. Perhaps you’re like me:  you like Christmas, you have Christmas spirit, but you find it ridiculous that the radio stations start playing Christmas music the day after thanksgiving, only to stop playing it the day after Christmas.  I mean, it’s just totally backwards.  Play some Advent music, at least.  The Christmas season only starts with Christmas Day; play the Christmas music for at least the week between Christmas and New Year’s!

Or you belong to camp 2. You’re one of the people that live for non-stop Christmas music on the radio.  If you had it your way, you’d have Christmas music playing all year.  My mother is one of you people.  You probably all love those really cheesy Christmas movies they play on the Hallmark Channel, too.  We won’t get into that.

Look, I’m not saying I hate Christmas music, I just don’t want to get fatigued from it. I think my biggest complaint is that I rarely get to hear my favorite Christmas song.  It’s a traditional Irish piece from the 12^th century called the Wexford Carol.  Look up the Celtic Woman version on YouTube; you’ll thank me later.  The religiously-themed song I have the most trouble with is very popular these days: Mary, Did you Know?  (And if you haven’t heard the version of that that Pentatonix did, you’ve been living under a rock; YouTube that one as well.)  My biggest complaint is this:  Yes, she did know!  The angel told her!  It’s a silly question!  And since I’m ranting and raving, why doesn’t St. Joseph get any songs about him?

Because aside from Jesus, he’s the main character in the Gospel we just heard.

And while it’s true, we can learn an awful lot about Christmas from Mary, we can learn just as much from Joseph. There are three major pieces that stand out.

The first is this. The Gospel describes Joseph as being a righteous man.  Some translations call him a just man.  That’s a poor translation of the Hebrew word zaddik; poor, because we don’t have a word-for-word equivalent.  Essentially, it boils down to this:  a zaddik, a righteous man, a just man, is someone who places their trust entirely in the Lord.  It’s someone who knows what the law of the Lord is, and seeks to live it out.  Someone who sees the Law not as something burdensome, but as something there for his benefit; something that will help him maintain holiness.  And above all, this is a person who has a deep relationship with the Lord.  Think about it:  If Joseph had not been a man of prayer and a man of communion with God, how would he ever have been able to make sense of the angel’s apparition to him in a dream?  How many of us would break at the sight of that?  Yet the angel tells Joseph to not be afraid – and he has no fear, because he knows the Lord his God is with Him.

If you want to learn how to celebrate Christmas well, forge a deep relationship with God. Spend time reading and meditating on the Scriptures.  Spend more time talking to Him in prayer.  Be just.  Be righteous.  Be a zaddik.

The second thing we learn from Joseph is how to be royal. The angel greets Joseph by calling him, Joseph, son of David…but Joseph’s father was named Eli.  The angel is going way back in Joseph’s family to get to David, one of the greatest kings of Israel.  Now, to Joseph, this must have really seemed like something.  Whatever this messenger is going to ask him to do, it must be this great thing, because it seems he will need to be like David to do it.  Maybe he will be called to defeat the Romans and restore the kingship to Israel.  Maybe he himself will be the king.  Maybe he will soon enjoy power and prestige.  Instead, the angel tells him not to be afraid and to take Mary into his home; and to name the son that she is carrying Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.

Certainly, not what Joseph was expecting to hear. Where’s the power and the prestige and the glory?  Where’s the kingship?  But there’s real power to be had here.  This child will forgive sins; something ordinarily reserved to God alone.  And it’s important.  Humans, by their nature, are relational beings; but none of our relationships will work out, or even make sense, if our fundamental relationship with God is broken.  The kingly task of David’s line, of which Joseph is a part, is to lead people back to God, so that they can work to build up His kingdom here on Earth.

If you want to learn how to celebrate Christmas well, be a royal. Lead people, by your words and actions, to know God.

The final thing that we can learn from Joseph is what he says. Now, if you were paying close attention – and of course you were – you noticed that Joseph didn’t say a single word in the Gospel.  And, in fact, if you go through all 4 Gospels, you’ll never find an instance of him speaking.  That always struck me as being a little odd – nothing he said was worthy of being recorded for posterity?  But the more I think about it, the more I think it makes a certain amount of sense.  From the moment Joseph learns that Mary is pregnant, his life begins to change – and, for the most part, in ways he never imagined.  The angel appears to him; the child, he learns, is conceived by the Holy Spirit; choirs of angels appear; shepherds adore; wise men from the east bring tribute.  He must take the babe and his wife and flee to Egypt; later to return, and watch over and raise this child like his own son.  Every time he looks at the boy, he’s looking at a Mystery – the Mystery of God’s ineffable love for His people made Incarnate.  What do you say about that?  What do you say to that?  How about nothing?  What could you say to that?  How could you add to it?  How could you explain it?  Maybe you don’t; maybe you just live it.

If you want to learn how to celebrate Christmas well, be quiet.  Remind yourself that you are in the presence of God, and consider well and bear in mind all the love He has shown you in every moment of your life.  Realize His glory and His greatness and His mercy, and just simply be in His presence and let in transform you.

This Christmas, be righteous.  Be royal.  Be quiet.

Click here for today’s readings.

Everyone knows, I think, today’s Gospel story.  We hear it fairly often, and it’s fairly straightforward.  There are no hidden nuances in the text – well, there’s one big one, which we’ll get to – but all told, it’s all pretty clear.  And that can make the text challenging.  We’re so convinced we understand what it says that we don’t think too much about it.  So bear with me a little bit here, as we try to break open what the Scriptures say.

Really try to immerse yourself in the scene today.  Where are we?  Does Saint Luke bother to tell us?  No, he doesn’t – it’s just a nameless village that Jesus passes through.  He’s on the way to Jerusalem, passing through Galilee and Samaria – he’s out in the back forty, folks.  It’s not an important town.  There’s no significance to it.  Except for the fact that Jesus came there.  Like he comes to each one of us.

If it’s not the town, then, it’s the people, right?  Particularly, the ten lepers.  And notice how he encounters these lepers.  It says that the lepers met him.  They took the initiative.  He didn’t trip over them at the gate of the town; didn’t take a wrong turn down a street and find them, didn’t even show up and say, “Bring me your sick so that I might heal them!”  Instead, the lepers came to him.  They had heard of Jesus, and they came to him.  Much as how we have come to be here today – we have heard of Jesus, and we want Him to do something for us.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church, in the very beginning – Part One, Chapter One, Section One, defines faith as a person’s response to God.  These ten nameless lepers clearly had some kind of faith.  They went to Jesus, and in loud voices cried out asking Him to have pity on them.   We come into His presence today as well.  Is our faith strong enough to move us to cry out to Him?

We’ll come back to the lepers in a minute; but now, think about the people who don’t appear in the Gospel at all.  Where are Jesus’ disciples in all this?  These were people of faith, too; they had an encounter with Jesus, and they made a response to it – in some cases, a very radical response.  Peter, James, John – all of the apostles, and others whom we don’t know – left everything to follow Jesus.  They had plenty of faith.  Surely they were with Him when he entered this little village – so why are they not in the text?  Where they repulsed by these lepers?  Leprosy has devastating effects on the human body; it’s just not pretty.  Maybe they didn’t want to look on it.  Maybe they were afraid.  No one wants to catch it, and it could be very contagious.

The disciples were faithful, but maybe their faith was a little shallow.  Responding to God sometimes means being taken out of our comfort zone, and we don’t like that.  And so we don’t respond.  And so we shut ourselves off from others.  Is our faith shallow?  Do we only respond to God when it’s convenient for us?

Let’s revisit the lepers, because they have something else to teach us.  Jesus doesn’t immediately cleanse them.  Instead, he sends them on to Jerusalem, to the temple, to show themselves to the priests.  And they go!  Look how strong that faith is – that they, knowing they were still unclean, knowing they were outcasts, and probably feeling more than a little disappointed they were not immediately healed – they immediately go, and set off for the place where God dwells.  In all of their pain and filth and brokenness, their response is not to question, but to go.  They don’t allow the past to crush them, but their faith moves them forward.  Does our faith do the same?

But a funny thing happens on the way to the temple.  They get healed!  I wonder how far they were in the journey when it happened.  Who was the first to notice?  How did they notice?  What was their reaction?  We know what the Samaritan did – but what was the reaction of the other nine?  Did they go on to Jerusalem for their ritual purification?  Or did they just part ways, each going to his hometown so they could try to put together something of a normal life?  Were they happy?  Surprised?  Maybe they were angry.  Angry that they got sick in the first place.  Angry that it took so long to be healed.  Were they grateful?  Why didn’t they return to give thanks?  Or did they expect this?  Did they feel entitled to this?  Was their faith a free gift to God, or did they only respond to His call on their hearts because they wanted something?  Maybe their faith wasn’t strong; it was shallow, too.  Do we only respond to God, do we only go to God when we want something?

Finally, back to the Samaritan.  He returns, glorifying God in a loud voice – before, he begged of God in a loud voice, now he glorifies Him – and falls at the feet of Jesus to thank him.  Man, is that a weak translation.  The Greek word there is eucharisteon.  He Eucharists Jesus, if you will.  Because while the word Eucharist is translated as thanksgiving, that’s not a strong enough sense of the word.  Within the word Eucharist is the word charis, meaning grace.  And that, in turn, is closely related to the Greek word chara, which means joy.  Eucharist isn’t just giving thanks, but it’s giving thanks – in this profoundly joyful way, even and especially when we are at our lowest – giving thanks not just for what we have in that moment, but for everything we’ve ever had, or will.  Or won’t, in some cases.  The Samaritan didn’t just thank him, he Eucharist-ed Him.

In a few minutes we will offer our Eucharist.  Is our faith strong enough that we can offer a prayer of thanksgiving as strong and as humble as that Samaritan did?  If not, let us ask God to strengthen us and our faith today.

I close with this prayer of Saint Ignatius of Loyola, which seems appropriate today:

Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty,

My memory, my understanding,

And my entire will.

All I have and call my own.

You have given all to me.

To you, Lord, I return it.

Everything is yours; do with it what you will.

Give me only your love and your grace,

That is enough for me.

Amen.

I suppose I ought to finish detailing this trip, especially before I forget it.  At my age, the memory just isn’t what it used to be.

After the closing Mass with the Holy Father, how could WYD possibly top itself?  Simple: it couldn’t.  It was over.  The location of the next gathering – Panama – had been announced, and now it was time to go home and change the world.  The problem facing us was actually getting home.

As I’ve mentioned, Kraków is a city of only about 900,000 people, and WYD dropped an estimated 2.7 million into the city.  The airport is not at all large.  It has 5, maybe 6 baggage claims; a small-ish terminal, and only one runway, which is not super long.  Long story short, it can’t handle a lot of flights, nor could it handle substituting larger planes for the normal ones that fly into there.  So flying out of Kraków would probably not be our best option.  And in fact, our travel agent had planned accordingly: we were booked out of another city.  I was just surprised as to which one.

Budapest.

Budapest, of course, is the capital of Hungary, and is allegedly one of the more beautiful cities in Central Europe…but it’s not exactly close to Kraków.  In fact, there’s another entire country between Poland and Hungary – Slovakia.  But what was done, was done – we were flying out of Budapest, so we had to get there.  Once again, we were up early – would we ever get a break – and on to the busses.  This time, though, was a little more stressful, because we had to be sure we had everything with us.  We were leaving Poland for good.  We had one final breakfast at the hotel, and then it was time to hit the road.  We were tired and kind of sad to be going, and the day matched our moods perfectly:  It was gray and rainy as we left.  Needless to say, the bus was pretty quiet as we started down the road: most if us chose to go back to sleep.  (Full disclosure: I had my noise-cancelling headphones on; that bus was going to be quiet anyway.)

There was some concern we would have to stop at the border for outbound passport control, but that wasn’t an issue.  The Polish-Slovakian border was open for those of us exiting Poland; it was only closed for people coming into Poland.  We stopped anyway at a gas station shortly before the border to get snacks and drinks and to convert our remaining Polish zloty into euros or dollars.  The break woke everyone back up, and the busses got a little rowdier.  We had acquired a new tour guide that morning, but it was pretty evident that once we crossed the border into Slovakia, she didn’t have much to tell us.  Thankfully, someone had a DVD copy of the movie Karol, on the life of Saint Pope John Paul II, so we got that going and the bus quieted a bit.

We never got to finish the movie, so I’ll need to get a copy of it later.  Besides, I was pretty distracted the entire time by what was outside my window.  Even when it was gray and rainy, it was pretty awesome.  We were initially traveling through the foothills of the Tautra mountains, and it was beautiful.  As we entered Slovakia, the sun began to emerge, and the terrain started to level out, and we started to go through a more agrarian area.  I think what made the drive more scenic was the simple fact that we weren’t on some kind of a super-highway.  And maybe that was for the best.  I mean, I-70 will get to you to Columbus pretty quickly, but it’s boring.  US-40 will take longer, but you at least see some stuff.  This drive was like the latter and not the former.  I enjoyed it.

Eventually – and it took most of the day – we arrived in Budapest and acquired a local tour guide.  He was really good, in that he knew a lot of stuff and was able to communicate it well, but I think he was pretty exasperated with our group simply for arriving so late and not staying very long.  I shared his frustration, because Budapest really IS a beautiful city and has a complex and fascinating history.  I think, to do the city any kind of Justice, you need a good three days to take it in.  We had only a few hours.

We ended our tour at a local church, which was gracious enough to let us have Mass there.  The parish priest showed up to are sure we could find everything we needed, which led to some comedy in the sacristy: he didn’t speak any English, and we didn’t speak any Hungarian.  A combination of pointing, hand gestures, and Latin made it work.  After Mass, we went to our new hotel, dropped our bags, and had one last dinner together as a group.  the food was good, but there were no traditional Hungarian dishes being offered.  Probably not easily done when trying to feed a group of just over 100 people, especially a group that was running late, but still.  I couldn’t get to bed early enough, because the next morning would, once again, come early.

It’s a lovely Friday morning in Washington.  This weekend is shaping up to be pretty normal – Mass and confessions tomorrow morning, a wedding tomorrow afternoon, helping with confessions at a Confirmation retreat at another parish that night, and my usual 2 Masses on Sunday.  Nothing that I haven’t done before.  But LAST weekend…well, that was something else.

Once again, our day started far too early.  (For the record, it could have started at 10, and I would have considered it far too early.)  The plan for the day was to go to Mass that morning and then head directly to the Campus Misericordiae for the Vigil.  But in order to do that, we would not be able to return to the hotel, so we had to take everything with us.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

First things first: we had breakfast and then hopped on the bus.  We went back to the arena that we were at a few nights previously.  Mass this morning was specifically for the pilgrims from the US, and was concelebrated by most of the US bishops who were in attendance.  Archbishop Joseph Kurtz of Louisville was the main celebrant; Bishop Frank Caggiano of Bridgeport, CT, was the homilist.  Despite the fact that this Mass was marketed to Americans, there were plenty of non-Americans in the house, too.  Not that it matters much; we’re all one Church.

After Mass, we got back on the bus, and started to drive towards the field.  The central event of WYD is the Vigil that the young people keep from Saturday night until Sunday morning, and then the Pope celebrates Sunday Mass with us and announces the location of the next WYD.  However, the location of the Vigil and Mass is never right in town – for 2 reasons.  The first is an issue of practicality: where are you going to put just over 2 million people?  The second is that this is a pilgrimage – which implies that you need to GO to the place.  So it’s generally a bit of a hike – literally – outside of the city.  You also have to bring with you what you need for keeping an overnight vigil – sleeping gear, etc.  So you’ll be carrying a bit of a load.

The buses were not able to get close to the area at all before they were shut down by security.  So we jumped off and started walking. 7 miles, give or take.  In the sun.  In 85 degree weather.  And I wear all black.

Luckily I had packed a lot of water.  Heatstroke and dehydration are no joke.  As we arrived, we were issued a bag of food that had to last us for dinner that night and breakfast the morning.  It was substantial, though, and for the most part it was pretty tasty.  Once we arrived at our designated zone and claimed a space for our group, I immediately decided it was nap time.  SO I spread my official, WYD-issued, canary yellow poncho on the ground (looks like those years in the Boy Scouts paid off), used my backpack as a pillow, and pulled my hat over my face and went to sleep.

I dozed for a while, then got up, ate something, drank some water, and prayed for a bit, then just waited for the Holy Father to arrive.  He did, to much fanfare, and preached yet another amazing homily, which you can (and should) read here.  Towards the end of the Vigil, candles were passed out to the entire crowd as we prayed for peace.  I wish I had taken a photo of what that looked like.  I’ll have to see if one of the kids did.  But it was awesome – a field of light in the darkness; 2 million people from over 180 countries, speaking hundreds of different languages, all praying for peace…

You might think it would be tough to sleep after that…I assure you, it was not.

The next morning, I woke up around 5 or so.  Dawn was just breaking.  I’m not often up at sunrise, so I enjoyed it for a few minutes, then realized that dawn is just too early for me.  So I hit the metaphorical snooze button and went back to sleep.  I was back up by about 6, though, because when you’re in the middle of an open field, there’s nowhere to hide from the sun – and the sun, as is it’s custom, was both bright and hot.  So I got up, stretched a bit, and watched everyone else slowly come to.

We looked like people who had slept the night in a field following a long, hot, and arduous hike – which is to say, we looked awful.  And we smelled worse.  But everyone was in a good mood because we were all in it together.  As I was standing there, a religious sister came over and was wondering if I wouldn’t mind hearing her confession and the confessions of a couple other sisters, as well.  By the time I finished with them, I had a line of regular folks that wanted to go to confession as well.  So I kept going.  And going.  By the time I finished, Mass had started.  I hadn’t planned on concelebrating anyway, since I wasn’t about to walk another mile to get to the sanctuary, so I just got back to the group and joined them.

It’s kind of weird to be at Mass as a priest and not be concelebrating.  On the other hand, it’s how I went to Mass for the first 34 years of my life, so it’s not completely foreign to me, either.  Yet again, the Pope crushed the homily.  Read that one, too.

We did a very Catholic thing at this Mass – as soon as we received Communion, we started walking for the exit.  I was never allowed to do that growing up – most of the time because I was serving, but also because we had a strict family rule about that.  But I watch people do it every Sunday, so I thought I might try it.  Turns out it’s a bad idea, so knock it off.  Seriously, though, given how long we were going to have to walk, we wanted to get a jump on the crowd.  We weren’t even out of the field before Mass ended, anyway.

As we were making our long walk back into the city, we heard a bit of a commotion behind us.  We turned to look, and there was a massive motorcade headed our way.  “I bet it’s the Pope,” one of the kids said.  “I would have thought they would have flown him out by chopper,” I answered.  What do I know?  It was the Pope.  He waved from the car as he zipped by; the crowd went nuts.  And then kept walking.

We reconvened with our tour director, but we had bad news – the bus couldn’t meet us where we were dropped off.  So the walk would be longer.  So we kept walking – rather aimlessly, it seemed – until we finally got to a spot where we could be picked up.  Of course, we were only picked up after we got soaked in a random summer storm, but that might have actually been a good thing, as no one had showered in 36 hours.

Back to the hotel for one of the most welcome showers of my life and a hour long nap, and then a delicious celebration dinner at the hotel.  Back upstairs to pack and finally sleep…because Monday would be the beginning of the journey home.