'The Resurrection and the Eucharist' (Sunday homily)

 The title of my homily is, “The Resurrection and the Eucharist.”

It’s all bound up together.

Let’s start with the Resurrection. 

To be totally clear, that means Jesus really died,

and his body came back to life. That is what we believe.

There are a lot of interesting details about Jesus’ Risen Body,

But what’s really, really important to pay attention to is this:

What Jesus shows us, is what he promises to give us.

Let me say that again so it sinks in:

What Jesus shows us, is what he promises to give us.

To put it another way: everything Jesus has, we too will have!

You and I will rise from the dead.

We will have our bodies back, new and improved, forever!

No more eyeglasses, no more pills, never again to say, “I’m too old!”

This not only tells us what to look forward to,

it also teaches us that our bodies matter right now.

A lot of people today, even a lot of Christians, 

make the mistake of thinking, 

their bodies don’t matter, only their feelings matter.

This feeds so much of the confusion right now,

about male, female, identity, marriage.

But you and I aren’t only made up of feelings:

my body, your body is part-and-parcel of who each of us is.

Of course we wish we could escape our body:

if only I could eat whatever I want?

If only I could stay up late, and not be exhausted the next day.

This is a lesson that we tend to learn as we get along in years:

you and I really can’t escape our bodies and ourselves,

and all the challenges and limitations involved.

Notice how many people spend so much money and effort 

to hold onto their youth. That is impossible.

It is living an illusion, and it will inevitably fail.

The only way is forward, 

is into the redemption that God has in store for each of us.

As so many of us know from daily experience,

growing older is a path of ever-greater humility, leading to salvation.

We behold Jesus, having suffered, having died, and having risen.

He shows us: this is who you really are, and who you can be!

And very important: he still has his wounds!

You and I carry wounds, and Jesus is like us in that.

Redemption doesn’t mean the bad things in our lives never happened;

rather, redemption means that grace transforms our wounds

from being limitations, to being channels of grace for us and others.

He said to the Apostles, and to us: “you are witnesses of these things.”

One of the powerful ways you and I show others 

that Jesus is real and alive and powerful

is when we show our wounds and how Jesus heals them.

Did I forget to talk about the Holy Eucharist?

Not really. I’ve been talking about the body: Jesus’ body and our body.

What is the Eucharist? Jesus’ Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity;

and what happens when you and I receive Jesus’ Body and Blood?

He changes us – our body, our soul – into him! 

So what is happening right now?

This isn’t about this homily or even the readings.

Those are the warm-up for the main event, which is:

Jesus’ death and resurrection, made present here, for us.

We don’t just think about it, or call it to mind.

God makes it all fully real for us in the Mass, which is a true sacrifice; What happens here at this altar, in our presence,

is what happened in Jerusalem almost 2,000 years ago.

At the very same time, we are also united with the still-to-come:

That resurrection reality to which we are headed,

Where you and I will share the Heavenly Supper of the Lamb.

I cannot emphasize this enough:

As baptized Christians, we are not spectators.

And we must not approach this sharing in Jesus’ sacrifice casually.

Nothing is more solemn. Joyful yet serious. 

If anything is a true “life or death” situation, the Eucharist is:

Eternal life, either embraced or dismissed.

This is why you and I must never receive the Eucharist 

in a state of mortal sin without first going to confession.

This is why we do well to remind ourselves, every possible way, 

of the astounding reality: we are in the very presence of God;

God gives himself to us totally: 

Becoming human, in order to become the Lamb sacrificed, 

and we eat his Body and drink his Blood.

So in a way, I have to apologize. 

Maybe you just wanted a relaxing Sunday, and here I am, laying something very profound before you,

forcing you to deal with it.

But I think that’s what Jesus is already doing.

You and I must always re-ask ourselves:

Are we dealing merely with a happy story; 

or is this the Reality that defines all reality? 

Jesus presents himself not only to the Apostles, but to us:

“You are witnesses of these things.”

Heaven or hell (Divine Mercy Sunday homily)

All during Lent we were on a pilgrimage to the Cross. 

Now we are at the empty tomb. The next step on our journey? Heaven.

This is what our Faith is about: heaven.

Resurrection -- Easter -- the seven sacraments: 

Christ went through all that he went through, because he wants us with him in heaven.

So: What is heaven?

The Catechism of the Catholic Church says a number of things about heaven. 

If we die in God’s grace and friendship, and after any needed purification – that is, Purgatory – 

then we “live forever with Christ,” 

and we are “like God for ever, for [we] ‘see him as he is,’ face to face” (1023).

Heaven is “paradise with Christ”; 

it is the “perfect life with the Most Blessed Trinity,” with Mary, the angels and all the saints. 

Again, quoting the Catechism, “Heaven is the ultimate end and fulfillment 

of the deepest human longings, the state of supreme, definitive happiness” (1024).

But the key idea is that “To live in heaven is to be with Christ” (1025). 

So if you want to know what heaven is like, look at the Gospels. 

Look at the Apostles who spent their time with Jesus, 

And ask yourself: is that what you want?

Do you want to be with him?

Know this: Jesus Christ really wants you with him in heaven.

The Cross is the proof of that. Look what God went through.

If you ever wonder if God loves you, and more than that, 

if you wonder if he wants you to forgive you, look at the Cross.

Still: you and I have to choose this. 

And that choice we make today – and every day.

We don’t just wander our way to Heaven. Heaven is a choice.

More than that: heaven isn’t only after death; heaven starts here.

This is what the first reading describes:

God’s people living changed lives. Heavenly lives.

If it is true that you and I begin to experience heaven in this life, 

then surely the opposite is true: 

that we can begin to experience hell on earth, too.

We might think of Judas, who betrayed Jesus.

He knew he had done wrong; he even expressed sorrow.

But what he did not do, that we know of, was ask for mercy.

If Judas went to hell – as I fear he did – 

His hell started for him long before he got there. 

Sadly, a lot of people are in a similar place:

They have decided they cannot change, 

they cannot leave habits of drink or anger, hatred or lust behind them.

There’s a secret about sin that no one ever tells you.

It starts out so nice. The being drunk feels good. The lust feels good. 

The self-righteous wrath feels so good. And it will, for a while.

But over time, it doesn’t make you feel as good as it did.

And you get to the point where it doesn’t make you even a little happy;

but you don’t know how to live without it.

Some of the most damnable words are: “I can’t change.”

That is a lie. The true statement would be, “It's too hard. I’ve stopped trying.”

Thank God Thomas did not rule out changing his mind.

Christ came back, just for him, and said, “put your hands in my side.” 

Our Lord Jesus will go to amazing lengths to rescue us.

The most beautiful sign of this is so simple, we miss it.

That is the sacrament of confession. 

When you and I are in the confessional, we are that thief on the cross. 

Absolution from a priest is to be in paradise. 

To be forgiven is our ticket to heaven.

But, what if I lose that grace through mortal sin, what do I do? 

I go back to Jesus, in the confessional, and I ask again.

I wonder if we shouldn’t put a sign on the confessional door:

“Doorway to heaven.” It’s true!

Of course, a lot of people get frustrated because,

even after you come from confession, you struggle with the same sins.

Indeed. That’s purgatory. No one escapes the way of the Cross.

But if we are willing, you and I can have our purgatory here.

It is not easy. It can be excruciatingly hard.

If you want become holy, 

Whatever else you do, keep coming to confession.

Some people avoid it, 

precisely because they keep tripping over the same sins. 

Here’s what I’m going to tell you. 

No matter what you think, if you keep coming to confession, 

You will change. It will happen. 

It will happen on God’s timetable and in his way, not yours.

He will make you a saint!

But not on the strength of you wanting it, which is puny;

But on the strength of His wanting it: which is everything.

'You are there' (Holy Thursday homily)

 A few years ago, I made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land,

And I walked the real, original Way of the Cross 

through the streets of Jerusalem.

I was able to be at the place of the Last Supper, 

and the Garden of Gethsemane and Golgotha, and the empty tomb.

I was with other priests, and we had Mass – at Calvary! Right there!

We had Mass at the empty tomb: 

the very stone on which Jesus lay was our altar.

Now, because it is God’s work and not merely a human work,

the Mass is the Mass is the Mass, wherever and whenever.

Every Mass brings us to Calvary – every single one.

Nevertheless, when you and I come to this evening, 

if we realize what we’re doing, there is something electric about it.

All of Lent has been a journey to this moment. 

We have prayed, fasted and shared our blessings with others, 

so that we, like the Apostles, 

can prepare to celebrate the Passover with the Lord.

The Passover, remember, was first celebrated in Egypt.

God’s People were slaves; and on the night of the Passover, 

God executed judgment against Egypt, and Israel left in haste.

To understand fully the Sacrifice of the Mass, 

it helps to recall what happens when God brings his People to Mt. Sinai.

There, God not only gives Moses the Ten Commandments, 

He also explains the details of how they are to worship:  

how the place of worship is to be arranged, 

how the altar is to be constructed, and the sacrifices offered.

After all this, Moses leads the elders of Israel up Sinai, 

to ratify the covenant. And the Scripture says, 

“They saw God, and they ate and drank” the sacrifice.

Think about that in relation to the Last Supper – and the Mass:

“They saw God and they ate and drank.”

Did you ever wonder why the altar is traditionally elevated?

As at Sinai, we go up to meet God.

In a few minutes, I will go up to this altar, and on your behalf,

I will address the God of Sinai, our Father.

When we sing, “Holy, Holy, Holy,” 

we are joining the heavenly hosts adoring Almighty God!

The same angels who gazed on Calvary with amazement.

When some of us were kids, there was a TV show, 

“You are there,” and it took you back to some moment in the past.

But this is way beyond any TV show.

Brothers and sisters, we are there!

At Calvary, at the Tomb, and also, in heaven – all at once.

The priest then says, “Graciously accept this oblation” –

 what is an oblation? 

An oblation is an offering of food and wine, from the people to God.

It stands for you. You, and your prayers, works, joys and sufferings, 

go to the altar in that bread and wine.

The priest extends his hands like this. 

That is meant to suggest a dove – that is, the Holy Spirit.

In the Old Testament, God’s Fire would come down upon the sacrifice. 

On the Day of Pentecost, God’s Fire came down upon the Church.

In the Mass, it is the Holy Spirit that makes our offerings

“become for us the Body and Blood of [the] beloved Son, Jesus Christ.”

If you wonder why the priest sometimes faces the same way as the people; or, otherwise, seems to be focused upward, or toward the altar, it is because these words, at this point, are addressed to the Father.

On Thursday evening, that first Mass begins with the Apostles.

The next day, on the Cross, Jesus the true Priest

offers his Body and Blood to the Father. 

His Body is broken; his blood is poured out.

At the Last Supper, Jesus’ disciples would not have been surprised 

had the Lord pointed to the body of the lamb – on the table – 

to talk about covenant and sacrifice.

But what the Lord did was take in hand, not the flesh of the lamb,

But rather, the bread and the wine, and said:

This is my Body, given for you, this is my Blood, 

of the new and eternal covenant – eat and drink!

This was new. No one had ever done that before.

Then on Calvary, on the Cross, he completes the Passover.

He takes a last sip of wine, offered on a sponge and says, “

It is finished.”

And after the Resurrection, he showed himself alive,

that’s when the Apostles understood; and our Holy Mass is the result.

We do this sacrifice, as he commanded, in memory of Him.

Notice the priest lifts up the Body, and then the Blood.

While this allows you to adore the Lord, that is not the primary reason.

Rather, the Body and Blood are lifted up to the Father.

This is a Sacrifice: Christ offered himself to the Father.

The priest offers Christ – and us, with Him – to the Father.

The separation of body and blood recalls his death.

When the priest later puts a part of the Sacred Host into the chalice,

That signifies Christ’s Body and Blood being “together” – 

pointing to his Resurrection.

There’s one more detail worth reflecting on.

When this happens, the priest sings, “Mystery of Faith.”

The origin of this part of the prayer is unclear, but – 

It’s kind of like a big, flashing sign that says,

“This, this – right here, this! This is the moment!

This is the mystery; this is pulsing heart of the whole thing!”

After this the priest begs the Father 

to accept this “pure victim, this holy victim.”

Of course the Father will accept this Sacrifice; 

and yet this summarizes the whole drama of salvation.

Without Jesus, none of us can be saved. 

Everything in the Old Testament led to this.

This moment – I mean, tonight; and I mean, the Mass; 

and, the moment when Jesus once offered himself;

all of that is made present for us here at this Mass –

This moment is the pivot point of all history.

There are so many people who long to be here, but cannot.

How sad that many Christians, many Catholics, are oblivious to this.

Tonight, we are there: in Jerusalem; at the Cross.

The Blood of the Lamb protects us. 

The flesh of the Lamb is our salvation.

This is our week (Palm Sunday)

 Listening to the Gospel we heard--the heart of our Faith --

Makes me fall silent. Maybe you, too.

That’s why we do this every single year.

If you’ve come this far in Lent, 

it may be that you feel you missed the boat.

You can still make Holy Week your Lent.

If you ever said, I wish I knew my Faith better, 

may I suggest that taking time during Holy Week,

to come on Holy Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil?

These days will help you go deeper into our Faith,

because this week is the heart of our Faith.

If you wish you’d gone to confession—it’s not too late. 

There are confessions Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday.

If you are worried about crowds on Easter Sunday, 

the Vigil should have plenty of seats. 

At Our Lady of Good Hope, a group of men, women and children 

will be baptized and confirmed 

and receive Jesus in the Eucharist the first time.

This is his week; it’s our week.

It’s about what we did to the Lord; 

even more, what he did for us.

Not rules but relationship (Sunday homily)

 The first reading is about God’s Law: 

God’s Ten Commandments, God’s “Rules.” 

Rules are necessary, like it or not.

And while we all love to complain about rules, 

the truth is, we actually LOVE rules. 

Why do I say that? Because people will ask me a question,

and I’ll try to explain the Church’s teaching, 

and you know what people come back with?

“Just give me the rule, Father!”

As I said, rules are useful.

To quote the late Father Michael Seger, 

who taught moral theology at the seminary in my time:

“Rules exist to protect values”:

“Thou shalt not kill” protects the value and dignity of human life.

All that said, life is always more than rules!

God came to earth, becoming one of us, 

to invite each of us into a relationship with him.

To know him – not only as Creator, and as Savior, which he is –

But just as much as a brother and a friend.

So now, let me pose a question,

And I hope you’ll work it over in your mind:

Is your Catholic Faith mainly about following rules?

Getting to Mass on time; keeping the communion fast;

no meat on Fridays during Lent;

not going too far on a date, and so forth;

and if you break a rule, then get to confession before communion.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking down rules, I’m saying, go further!

If your faith is mainly about rules? You’re missing it!

Our Faith is mainly, crucially, about a relationship!

God is a Trinity: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

So God is – within Himself, in a way we can’t quite explain – 

a relationship.

Life is a relationship. 

A relationship enabled you to exist.

You never have been an island all to yourself, and you never will be.

Maybe the reason God created the world this way 

was so that his invitation to a relationship with him 

would be amplified and re-echoed in everything we experience; 

to give us every advantage, to have courage to believe, first, 

that a relationship with God is possible…

And then to find it easier to follow the path he gives us 

to that relationship – so we would be successful.

We like rules because they are simpler.

Relationships are much harder.

Lots of people are married – happily, it would seem –

yet they don’t talk very much; 

they don’t spend much time alone as a couple. 

Lots of our children need to talk to their parents: 

so many of our girls are lied to about their value;

so many of both boys and girls are looking at stuff on their phones 

they know is poison, but they don’t know how to stop.

Kids: no one in the world loves you as much as your mom and dad.

Talk to them!

Parents, you know they are scared: so you take the first step.

Relationships take work but they are worth it.

True for friends and family, most true with the God who made you,

and who died on the Cross to save you,

to have a relationship with you forever.

Those money-changers Jesus confronted that day?

They must have been so confused, because, after all:

They were following all the rules!

Don’t just follow the rules: know God!

Talk to him, discover him; make friends!

We Catholics should stop calling priests 'father.' Here's why.

 ...Because we don't really believe it. 

Do bishops believe priests are fathers? 

Then why do they move priests around, as if they are branch managers? Priests are encouraged not to get attached to any particular parish; to expect to move on after a set term. Their brother priests encourage this and take it as normal.

Do priests believe it? Some of us do, but as I explain in this post, I starting to think I'm in the minority, perhaps a small minority. 

Do the faithful believe their pastors are fathers? 

Sad to say, but I think far fewer really believe it than we realize. We expect a father to take care of the needs of the family, to lead, to protect and to provide. We love when dad tells us what we like to hear, but what happens if he says something we don't like? Everyone knows what happens.

When father says, to take care of our family, things need to change? He will be given a hard time. He will be treated as the enemy.

Let's talk about the elephant in the room: the current project of reorganization and renewed evangelization, Beacons of Light. 

For all the flaws in the planning and execution, it is founded on a completely sound theological understanding: that the pastor is a father, who has a spousal relationship to his community, which is commonly called a "parish." What few realize is that the terms in Latin for parish priest and parish are cognates (which I explain here), meaning that an essential part of the definition of a parish is it's relationship to a priest; a parish priest is a unifying feature of a parish.

Therefore, the arrangement of a single priest being pastor twice, three times, four times or more -- meaning, he is "father" to multiple families -- is not normal, and should not be tolerated except as a temporary expedient. For decades, this abnormal arrangement was the solution for not enough priests who were equipped to be pastors. And now, as the situation became increasingly unworkable, the Archdiocese stopped addressing the problems in a piecemeal way, and did a comprehensive re-working: Beacons of Light. 

Based on projections of what number of parishioners and pastor-capable priests would be available for the next couple of decades, our parishes were re-grouped into 57 "families," with the plan that, after several years' transition, each of the multi-parish families would be reformed legally into united entities under church law, while maintaining multiple churches and campuses, if this is feasible. Why 57, and not 52 or 63? As mentioned, it's based on projections of both lay participation and priestly resources, not just for the next 5 years, but much further out.

So now the fight is on in many places, and what people are keying in on is the change in the legal structures. But back to my earlier point: this change reflects the sound insight that a "parish" is the pastor -- the father's -- family. One father implies a oneness of the family.

What would happen with a natural family in this situation? Supposing a man, with his own family, became aware his nieces and nephews lost their parents; it fell to him and his wife to provide for them. How would the family arrangements change? 

Would anyone consider it acceptable to say that the arrangements of the initial family should continue undisturbed, while the cousins would continue living in their home, with dad shuttling back and forth? Would it not be the case that only rare circumstances would justify that?

It may seem strange to American readers to consider such a hypothetical, but in much of history, and much of the world today, it is all too real to have children lose their natural parents, and either relatives take them in, or...what? And what is formed is a new family; maybe people call it a "blended" family, but how many families are there? 

One.

Now, let's look at Beacons of Light. It takes for granted this principle: that a parish community is centered around a priestly father. 

In theory, this unity might carry over into the unity of the physical home; but given the practical issues involved, this point is not really being pressed. Yes, I know many people are certain that's the hidden agenda, and if you believe that, no denial of mine can be strong enough to convince you. 

All I can do is repeat what I've said: only an extremely stupid archbishop and parish priest would force the closure of beloved church buildings over the objection of the people who are ready to use them and pay for them. Even those who suspect me of being lazy and selfish like priests supposedly are, do not accuse me of being extraordinarily stupid (only run-of-the-mill stupid).

The oneness of the family may need to deal with certain practical realities, but the principle of oneness should prevail, yes? So with the natural family, and so with the spiritual. Hence, if sad to say, spiritual families that used to have their own father must now "share" a father with another family, then isn't it obvious and necessary that they operate as one, enlarged family, rather than try to function as two (three, four, seven) families, and the father must make a pretense of being two, three, four, or seven fathers?

In many cases, the objections to the Beacons project center on trying to keep what has been lost: people want their parishes to be stand-alone, with their own pastor. That would be wonderful, but given the demographics of our priests for the foreseeable future, and the particular demands of being a pastor, that isn't possible.

The back-up plan being advanced is to say, well let's keep each parish stand-alone, but the priest can shuttle from location to location, being the pastor in each of the sites. Some people think that's a new idea, but it isn't; it's what was tried in many places, in our archdiocese, for the past 30 years. It seems to work because we priests didn't tell you otherwise. We didn't tell you because we figured it wouldn't change anyway, so what was the point?

Where it seemed to work, what happened either was the priest simply didn't do a lot of things a pastor really ought to, like long-term planning, because he was shuttling, shuttling, shuttling. Or, the priest simply abdicated his responsibility as a leader to others. Truly being, not *a* father, but two fathers, three fathers, five fathers? That is simply impossible; what seems like success is a masquerade, only now the masks are coming off.

But I've been told my insistence on the fatherhood of the pastor -- including a spousal relationship -- is all wrong, even by the most faithful Catholics. And I can't help noticing that much of the resistance in the northern part of the diocese is centering not on maintaining the priestly relationship, but the legal structures. As I explained in a February 5 post, the conclusion of one of the very fine, very faithful Catholic laymen up north who is fighting Beacons was that canonical-legal structures are essential to what make up a parish, but the familial-fatherly relationship of the priest? This was not highlighted in his article.

Now, I hasten to explain, the author didn't deny the importance of a pastor; but I  would argue his article takes it for granted; and the main thing is, he doesn't address my point at all, namely: what happens to the family when the family must share dad with several other families, all attempting to be separate families. The key thing these good people are insisting on is the separateness.

They seem to want, if they can't have stand-alone parishes, each with their own pastors, then the "clustering" model in which a father must be father two, three or five times over. 

My conclusion: is that we just don't really believe it when we call priests "father." In which case, let's stop doing that, and call them them something else.