Caritas Christi Urget Nos

Category: Preaching, Homiletics & Scripture

  • Thursday of the Second Week of Ordinary Time

    Thursday of the Second Week of Ordinary Time

    Today’s readings

    There is something about this Gospel reading that I think makes us feel a little breathless, a little claustrophobic even. Jesus really had to love human contact in order to keep on going when he was pressed in on every side. He really loved people, and had great compassion for them. Knowing the great need of people for healing, he continued to find ways to reach out to them – this time by preaching from a boat – so that he could minister to them.

    Sometimes I think we often think of our own needs for healing as unworthy of our Lord’s attention. Maybe our own problems or health needs are unpleasant, but surely God has more important things to do than take care of our petty needs, right? But that’s not the message here. Here we see that Jesus didn’t use the boat to withdraw from the people, but instead called for the boat so that he could continue to reach out to the people.

    If Jesus would go to such great lengths then, he certainly has not abandoned us in our needs now. It may take some persistence in prayer to align our will with God’s and to accept the healing the way he desires us to have it, but we will certainly receive answer to our prayer. We must never withdraw from Jesus thinking that he has more important things to do. His love for us and his compassion knows no limits. We should not impose limits for him.

  • Tuesday of the Second Week of Ordinary Time

    Tuesday of the Second Week of Ordinary Time

    Today’s readings

    It must have been frustrating, I think, for Jesus to see how the people who should be getting religion right to so often get it wrong. The Pharisees – those men who were so intent on the careful observance of every obligation of the law – were always questioning things the wrong way. Instead of asking how they could be hospitable to the followers of Jesus, they questioned why they were allowed to pick grain and eat it on the Sabbath.

    Jesus’ point is that the Sabbath is not the goal in and of itself. What is important is that God should be glorified in everything that we do, not that we spend time criticizing what others are doing. Perhaps had the Pharisees provided something for the worshippers to eat, those who were hungry would not have had to risk violating the law.

    You will hear me speak a lot about vocations this week, since it’s Vocations Awareness week. Today’s readings speak to all of us about our true vocation as worshippers. We were made – all of us – to give glory and honor to God. In order to fulfill that vocation, our worship then must be authentic and joyful and a serious priority. We must get all the details right – not the miniscule details crossing every “t” and dotting every “i” – but the details of taking care of one another, and making our worship mean something in our lives.

    We were made to worship God in Spirit and truth. We can do that by making every moment, every action of our lives, an occasion of worship. The Son of Man is Lord even of the Sabbath. May his lordship in our lives lead us to fulfill our vocation as a worshipping people.

  • Monday of the Second Week of Ordinary Time: The transforming power of vocations

    Monday of the Second Week of Ordinary Time: The transforming power of vocations

    Today's readings

    The vocational call is a call that is not about me, not about you, but only about the God who makes the call. Just as the ancient high priests that the author of our first reading speaks about did not take that honor upon themselves, and just as even Jesus did not take that honor upon himself, so none of us takes up our own vocation. That is, none of us takes up our own vocation if our vocation is really authentic.

    The thing about a vocation, whether it's a vocation to the priesthood, or to religious life, or to parenthood, or whatever our vocation may be, is that that vocation comes from the God who created us. Our vocation comes to us at our baptism, when we are called from our old sinful life to a new life of promise, re-created to be the people we were supposed to be in the first place. Our vocation is a gift, the gift by which we are able to work out our salvation and see God at work in us, enabling us to do things we could never do on our own.

    Our vocation is not primarily about us, as I said at the beginning. Our vocation is given to us, along with our gifts and talents, so that we can go out into the world and transform it to a better place, so that we can make a difference, so that we can glorify God in everything that we do. We don't have to have a vocations crisis: all we have to do is for each of us to take up our vocation and live it faithfully, so that our world is all covered with the glory of God.

    If we all would make this the goal of our lives, we would be like that new wine poured into the new wineskin of our world, making all the earth new with God's love and mercy.

  • Thursday of the First Week of Ordinary Time

    Thursday of the First Week of Ordinary Time

    Today’s readings

    My niece is now eight years old, going on thirty. But back when she was little, she knew how to wrap Uncle Patrick around her little finger. I remember one time when we were out at the mall, she said something like, “If you want, you can buy me a cookie.” It reminded me of the way the leper approached Jesus in today’s Gospel. And Julia found out that I did indeed want to buy her a cookie!

    You know, the most amazing thing about this miracle isn’t really the miracle itself. Sure, cleansing someone of leprosy is a big deal. But for me, the real miracle here surrounds those first three words the leper says to Jesus, “If you wish…” “If you wish, you can make me clean.” Isn’t it true that we so often wonder about God’s will for our lives? Especially when we’re going through something tragic, or chronically frustrating, we can wonder how this all fits into God’s plan for us. If God wishes, he can cleanse us, forgive us, heal us, turn our lives around.

    And here the poor leper finds out that healing is indeed God’s will for him. But not just the kind of healing that wipes out leprosy. Sure, that’s what everyone saw. But the real healing happened in that leper’s heart. He surely wondered if God cared about him at all, and in Jesus’ healing words – “I do will it” – he found out that God cared for him greatly.

    Not all of us are going to have this kind of miraculous encounter with God. But we certainly all ask the question “what does God will for me?” As we come to the Eucharist today, let us all ask that same question. Reaching out to receive our Lord, may we pray “If you wish, you can feed me.” “If you wish, you can pour out your blood to wipe away my sins.” “If you wish, you can strengthen my faith.”

  • Tuesday of the First Week of Ordinary Time

    Tuesday of the First Week of Ordinary Time

    Today’s readings

    All of our world experiences the phenomenon of being in the “already” but also in the “not yet.”

    For instance, think of the trees in wintertime. So many of them are fully grown and reach longingly toward heaven. But because it’s winter, they are barren of leaves. There is the promise of great beauty, but we aren’t seeing it yet. Their fruitfulness is in some ways all ready to go, but we have to wait for spring and summer to see that fruitfulness come to pass. In winter, much of the creation that we see is already, but not yet.

    In Liturgy, we experience this same phenomenon. Our prayer in Liturgy is probably the most beautiful of anything we do. Our common worship is a work that we owe to God for all that God has given us. All of the efforts we put into doing Liturgy well, from the planning to the training of ministers to the efforts of the congregation to pray well and participate are aspects of the “already.” We are already giving glorious worship to God. But we can all talk about times where things could be better. The sound system often needs tweaking, or the priest may forget part to dismiss the Catechumens, or perhaps the congregation doesn’t know a song well enough to sing it loud. But none of that is earth-shattering because our perfect worship will only happen in the Kingdom of heaven. Our worship is beautiful and glorious already, but not yet.

    Each of us has a purpose in life. We fulfill it to the best of our abilities. Some days we accomplish God’s will for us with amazing grace. Other days, we can barely say grace before a meal. We are all works in progress. We will never reach perfection until God perfects us in heaven. We too are already, but not yet.

    The writer of Hebrews in our first reading talks about this too. All things are subject to Christ. That’s already true. All of creation was made through him and for him, but not everyone gets that in its entirety just yet. So much of the world still needs to come under the headship and rule of Christ. Christ’s sovereignty is already, but not yet.

    The goal of all our spiritual lives is to reach this perfection and direct as much of the world toward it as we can. In this new year, it is well for us to reorder our spiritual lives that in us, Christ would be “crowned with glory and honor.”

  • The Epiphany of the Lord

    The Epiphany of the Lord

    Today’s readings

    ephiphanystarSee, darkness covers the earth,
    and thick clouds cover the peoples.

    Barbara hated Christmas this year. Every time she went into a department store, she had to get out as quickly as she could; taking with her a depression that fatigued her and permeated throughout the day. The bright lights and the festive decorations were all reminders to her of the joy she should feel this time of year, but could not bring herself to actually experience. Whenever she had a quiet moment to think, she would recall her father, who passed away last August. Dad had been Christmas for the family. His joy at this time of the year built up to frenzy on Christmas Eve, and rubbed off on everyone around him. This would be the first Christmas without him, and Barbara could not imagine how they would get through it without Dad. Last night, she talked to her son Bill from Iraq, and was reassured that he was safe and that things were going well. He had received her care package, and that made her feel a little better, but nothing could truly fill the emptiness. She dreaded the family celebration with the kids and the gifts and all the rest. Even in a festive gathering like that, she always found herself feeling so alone.

    See, darkness covers the earth,
    and thick clouds cover the peoples.

    Herod was a jealous and insecure man. His authority rested on the good will of the Roman government, and he was always on the lookout for those who would usurp his throne. The truth was, his throne wasn’t all that big a deal to begin with. Jerusalem wasn’t that important in the grand Roman scheme of things, but well, it was his. Three visitors from afar were bad enough to get him feeling uneasy, but when they came asking for the newborn king of the Jews, Herod was furious with jealousy. He was indeed “greatly troubled” and all Jerusalem – at least all the nobility, the ones who mattered – was troubled with him. He put into motion several schemes to defend his position. He interrogated the visitors, he put the scribes and chief priests on the case, he even eventually had all the boys less than two years old murdered. He turned out to be a rather pathetic and miserable creature.

    Both of these stories are indicative of anything but the Christmas spirit. But, brothers and sisters in Christ, this is what’s out there. I know several of you here today resonated with Barbara’s story. And if you didn’t, you probably know someone who would. The joy of Christmas is lost on those who have suffered the death of loved ones, or are afflicted with depression, or put up with abuse, or don’t have enough money, or have just received a bad diagnosis of illness, or any one of a thousand forms of thick dark clouds that affect us. It’s easy for people to identify with Isaiah’s observation of darkness and despair. And if that’s where you find yourself these Christmas days, then the joy of everyone around you only adds to the misery and sadness that you feel.

    I remember a time years ago, shortly after my grandmother had died. She had always been a good friend to me, and I used to call her every week when I was in college. She supported me and prayed for me, and in truth is a big part of why I’m a priest today. Shortly before Christmas the year she died, I went into one of the little shops in Glen Ellyn where I lived. It was all decorated with warm holiday home decorations and just screamed Christmas from every part of the store. After being in there for only a minute or two, I was overcome by a sense of sadness and depression that surprised me. It just came out of nowhere. I had to leave right away, and when I got home I think I cried for ten minutes. I wasn’t ready for Christmas, and didn’t want it forced on me.

    To those of us who have had to deal with this kind of feeling, or perhaps are still dealing with it, Isaiah’s words today provide the best comfort we can hope for:

    but upon you the LORD shines,
    and over you appears his glory.

    Out of the darkness that sometimes permeates our lives and our world, God’s light appears. Maybe this doesn’t seem like much comfort to those who are suffering in darkness, but here is what we need to hear: God created light out of nothing at all. The universe was awash in darkness and chaos, but out of that, God brought order and light and everything that exists. Every light that we see: stars, moon, sun, love, grace, forgiveness, and all the rest; all of these have been created by God and are ways that the Lord shines upon us.

    Today we celebrate the Solemnity of the Epiphany. An epiphany is a divine revelation into the world of humanity. It’s God doing a God-thing. An epiphany is when God breaks through all the mundaneness of our human condition and destroys the limitations of our fallen world and makes his presence known among us. Traditionally, the Church has celebrated the Epiphany in three ways: first, today, with the visit of the magi to the Christ Child; second, tomorrow, at the Baptism of the Lord by St. John the Baptist; and third, next Sunday, at the wedding feast of Cana. Each of these epiphanies is an occasion of God breaking through our darkness, showing himself, and bestowing his grace on us. In the epiphany of the magi, God shows himself by taking human form in its most vulnerable and lowly state, redeeming fragile human flesh by becoming one of us. In the epiphany of his baptism, Christ identifies himself with sinners, redeeming broken human flesh with water and the outpouring of the Holy Spirit. In the epiphany of the wedding feast, Christ shows himself powerful over the ordinary by changing water into wine, redeeming the petty things we consume by providing the finest of all wine, and showing that he has power from God above.

    Wherever you may find yourself on the darkness spectrum right now, the Epiphany of the Lord can be your redemption. If you find yourself like Barbara in the story I told at the beginning of this homily, then the Epiphany can provide you with joy in your sadness, companionship in your loneliness, and every good gift in your emptiness. If God can break through the darkness and chaos of the uncreated world to provide light and order, if God can break through the darkness and sin of our fallen human nature and become one of us, then God can break through the darkness and despair of your own broken life to provide a peace that goes beyond any relief you may be able to imagine or hope for. Indeed, the Epiphany celebrates that the light that God brings in his Epiphany is a radical transformation. It’s not the paltry comfort of a pat on the back and a “there-there.” It’s not the relatively small comfort of the resolution of all your problems. It’s instead the great opulence of brightly-shining gold and the rich fragrance of the most precious incense. Isaiah says it will be like this:

    Then you shall be radiant at what you see,
    your heart shall throb and overflow,
    for the riches of the sea will be emptied out before you,
    the wealth of the nations shall be brought to you.

    In the darkness of the created world two millennia ago, magi from the east observed a star rising in the eastern sky. That bright star guided them to the place where they found the newborn king of the Jews. The brightness of that star was nothing compared to the brightness that came into the world with that tiny Child. In Him, God revealed himself as a loving, compassionate God who does not just observe his creation from afar, but rather breaks into our world, takes on our human condition, and redeems us from the inside out. The Epiphany takes hold of the world in the glory of the Incarnation, and that Incarnation reaches its fulfillment in the Paschal Mystery. Christ comes to take on our human form, wipe away our sins, and bring us back to the glory of God for which we were created. The Epiphany is a radical transformation of our world and our lives.

    May this new year find us watching for our rising star, and finding light for our darkness in Jesus Christ, the light of the world. May we all find God’s Epiphany in every place we look.

  • Mary, the Mother of God

    Mary, the Mother of God

    Today’s readings | Today’s Solemnity

    And Mary kept all these things,
    reflecting on them in her heart.

    Mary Mother of GodLuke notes all throughout Jesus’ young life that Mary kept the events of Jesus’ life and reflected on them in her heart. Just yesterday, on the feast of the Holy Family, after finding Jesus in the temple, Mary kept that incident for later reflection, since neither she nor Joseph understood it at the moment. It’s kind of like she was keeping a scrapbook of memories in her heart, and I found myself wishing these past few days, that I could take a look at that scrapbook. She had a first-hand view of how Jesus grew in wisdom and grace, as Luke told us yesterday, and her perspective of God’s work in the life of her family had to be incredible.

    Mary’s reflection on the life of Jesus is a model for us. Keeping those events close to her and reflecting on them later is her way of reflecting on the Word of God. She did not understand at first – who could blame her? – but she didn’t just live through the moment and move on. She went back to those events later in her life – after the death and resurrection of Jesus – and came to a new understanding guided by the Holy Spirit. And thank God she did that. It’s probably her later reflection on those events that made the early Church Evangelist able to record them and pass them on to us.

    We too, must reflect on the Word of God. We must put ourselves in the presence of the Story, whether we understand it or not. If we’re confused by Scripture, we have Mary as our patron to help us ponder that Word and come to understand it, guided as we are by the Holy Spirit. But we also have her encouragement to keep those Scriptures in the scrapbook of our hearts, to keep coming back to them. That’s the only way the Spirit can work on us and help us to come to new and more beautiful understandings of the Word of God.

    If we would make a resolution for this new year, maybe it could be to follow Mary’s example. Maybe we could set aside some time on a regular basis – even if just once a week – to put ourselves in the presence of the Word of God. And not just here at Mass, although that’s a good start. But maybe in private prayer or a more organized Bible Study like CREEDS. IF we regularly open ourselves up to the Word of God, maybe we too could come to new and more beautiful understandings of the Scriptures; and a closer and more beautiful relationship with Jesus Christ, the Eternal Word of God.

    Mary, mother of God the Word, help us to understand the Word as you did.

    Pray for us, O holy Mother of God:
    That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.

  • The Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph

    The Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph

    Today's readings

    From the first time I came here to St. Raphael's, my favorite piece of artwork was this, the statue of the Holy Family. The figures looked so real and compassionate. I loved that Joseph has the scroll of the Law, since he would have been the one to teach the Law to his son in a good Jewish family. There is a peace, and a great love that is conveyed by the figures' eyes and faces. I have spent many moments sitting here praying.

    But I am aware that the idyllic holiness, peace and love this statue depicts is often quite foreign to the experience of many families, including many families in this congregation. I know there are families where communication is anything but good. There are families who may never have known the kind of love that is shared between Jesus, Mary and Joseph. There are families who struggle with abuse: physical, sexual, or emotional.

    Even in the "best" of families, there is often hardship. I know there are families who struggle to keep up with all the activities that are required of them. There are families who can't find time to have a meal together, let alone take a trip together. Families often struggle to make ends meet. There are families who struggle with the changing needs of children as they grow older. Families may be separated by great distance, or may have suffered the sickness or death of one of the members. Other families may find themselves changing roles as a parent, the one who provided for his or her children, grows old and becomes ill and needs care.

    Families can be and are the source of our greatest joys and our deepest anguish. Sometimes all in the same day. The truth is, and perhaps you find yourself thinking this as you sit there and listen to these readings today, none of our families is perfect. Few of us would rush to describe our families as well-functioning, let alone holy. And so we can sit there and look at that statue and find its serenity meaningless in the hectic anxiety of our day-to-day family lives.

    But maybe we need to look a little deeper or listen a little harder today. "Holy" and "perfect" are not the same thing. We don't need to be perfect to be a family. That was true of Jesus, Mary and Joseph as well. Would a perfect family have lost their child on the way home from a trip? I don't think so, but that's exactly what happened, isn't it? Mary says to Jesus when they find him that she and Joseph had been looking for him with "great anxiety." Those of you who are parents can well imagine the anxiety and can totally identify with what Mary and Joseph had to have been feeling.

    Jesus' response shows the struggle that so often happens in families when the children are trying to grow up faster than the parents would like to see. He knows his mission and feels ready to take it on. They still see him as a child, a child for whom they feel great responsibility, not to mention great love and concern. This story is the last time we see Jesus until he begins his ministry at the age of about thirty. It has been theorized that the reason for this is that he was grounded until he was thirty.

    I don't know if that's true or not, but the point is that even in the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph, there were struggles. Nothing was perfect in that family, not even from the beginning. Right at the beginning, there was a hint of scandal about the pregnancy; they had to flee for their safety; they suffered from poverty and violent threats. Like many modern families they suffered under political and military oppression, had to settle far from their original home and had to start a new life in a foreign place. Two thousand years may separate the modern family from the "Holy Family," but there is much to link us, much that we share.

    So it is not perfection that we are supposed to be seeing in the Holy Family on this, their feast. I think what we are supposed to see in them is faithfulness. Faithfulness to God and faithfulness to one another: indeed, it is this faithfulness that leads them to the holiness we celebrate today. Look at the way the situation in the Gospel reading today was resolved among them. Even though they were panicked and anxious about the disappearance of their son; even though they did not understand what was going on with him, yet they appreciated his uniqueness, and Mary kept all of these memories in her heart, kept them to be sorted out and understood much later. And even though Jesus was ready to grow into adulthood and ready to begin his mission, yet he understood the concerns of his parents and continued to be obedient to them as he continued to grow in wisdom and grace. They were faithful to one another.

    Our first reading today from Sirach addresses these same concerns. The family members are instructed to care for one another, to honor one another, to love and respect one another all their days. Even as parents age and the roles become reversed, still we are to respect them for all they have been for us. We are called to be faithful to one another.

    I continue to be aware that even as I pull that theme of faithfulness out of today's Scriptures, that can still seem insurmountable to many of you. Why should you be faithful when the hurts inflicted by other members of your family still linger? That's a hard one to address, but the call to faithfulness is still there for all of us. And we're not told to be faithful just when everyone else is faithful. Sometimes we are called to make an almost unilateral decision to love and respect the others in our families, and let God worry about the equity of it all. I know that's easier to say than to do, but please know that this Church family supports you with prayer and love as you do that.

    Every single one of us is called to be holy, brothers and sisters. And every single one of our families is called to be holy. That doesn't mean that we will be perfect. But it does mean that we will be faithful in love and respect. It means that we will unite ourselves to God in prayer and worship. It means we will love when loving is hard to do. Mary loved Jesus all the way to the Cross and watched him die. What we see in the model of the Holy Family for us is not perfection, but faithfulness and holiness.

    That holiness will make demands of us. It did for Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Our church still has the Nativity scene on display; we are still celebrating Christmas. But today's story of Jesus in the temple reminds us that our faith in the Incarnation does not stop at the crib. The Gospel already has hints that Jesus' disciples will be asked to make a break with the past and accept a new life of sacrifice. Just as Jesus is beginning to show signs of entering a larger world and responding to its needs, so too must we move out of the confines of the safe and serene and enter and respond to the areas of need that the world presents to us. It will take holiness for us to be able to do that.

    Jesus, emerging from childhood to adulthood, reminds us that in his name, we must be ready to live faithful and holy lives, regardless of whether others are doing the same, and no matter what the personal cost. Because the cost of rejecting holiness in our lives is just too great, and the loss of an earthly family is nothing compared to losing our place in the family of God.

  • The Fifth Day in the Octave of Christmas

    The Fifth Day in the Octave of Christmas

    Today's readings | (St. Thomas Becket)

    The birth of Christ in our world ought to mean something to us. I mean, of course, it ought to mean something more than rich food and brightly wrapped gifts (although there's nothing wrong with those!). The birth of Christ ought to mean a change in our attitudes and our behaviors and even in the course of our lives.

    Today is a commemoration of St. Thomas Becket, the archbishop of Canterbury who ultimately lost his life to the man who gave him that prestigious post. When King Henry began to usurp Church rights, Thomas Becket found himself in a bind. Would he be beholden to the king, or would he protect the Church on behalf of the King of Kings? While it was a struggle for Thomas, he ultimately knew that the he must take a stand, no matter what the cost.

    In today's first reading, St. John makes the point very clear. We cannot say we love God and yet defy his commandments. And we certainly cannot love God who is love itself, while at the same time refusing to love our brothers and sisters. Being Christian looks like something, and the world looks at us to see what it is. If the birth of Christ means something to us, we have to share that meaning with the world by loving, no matter what the cost.

    Perhaps the one who knew this best was Mary herself. Simeon the prophet knew that he had seen the promise when he looked at the child Jesus. Then he clearly told his mother that this Savior would cost her some happiness in life. Because Jesus would be a contradictory sign in the world, her heart would be pierced with sorrow. But all of this was to make manifest God's glory, no matter what the cost.

    The birth of Christ in our world and into our lives this Christmas ought to mean something to us. A watching world should be able to look at us and see Christ. May this Christmas find us changing our hearts and minds so that we can be that Christ for all the world to see, no matter what the cost.

  • Feast of the Holy Innocents

    Feast of the Holy Innocents

    Today’s readings | Today’s feast (more)

    holy innocents

    On the face of it, this is just a horrible feast. The slaughter of many innocent children is a stark and frightening juxtaposition to the joy and glory of the Christmas Octave. The numbers of children actually murdered is variously estimated. Early estimates were in the thousands, but more modern estimates limit the victims to twenty or less, due to the relatively small size of the community of Bethlehem and the surrounding vicinity. But let’s think about that proportionally: Naperville’s population is about 30 times the population of Bethlehem at that time. So if 600 children were murdered here, the loss and horror would be devastating. That’s what was going on in Bethlehem at that time.

    As I said, in some ways, this is a horrible feast. But the Church, in recognizing the contribution of the Holy Innocents to the kingdom, asserts that this is just the beginning of the world’s seeing the glory of Jesus Christ. Even in the horror of this event, innocent children bear witness to the Child Jesus. St. Quodvoltdeus, an African bishop of the fifth century writes of them:

    The children die for Christ, though they do not know it. The parents mourn for the death of martyrs. The Christ child makes of those as yet unable to speak fit witnesses to himself. But you, Herod, do not know this and are disturbed and furious. While you vent your fury against the child, you are already paying him homage, and do not know it.

    To what merits of their own do the children owe this kind of victory? They cannot speak, yet they bear witness to Christ. They cannot use their limbs to engage in battle, yet already they bear off the palm of victory.

    Maybe the key is in the first reading. The line that really caught me is “God is light, and in him there is no darkness at all.” We can see all kinds of darkness in an event like the murder of even twenty innocent children. Yet only God could turn something that horrible around to his glory. They may have lived extremely short lives on earth, yet their lives in eternity were secured forever. They become some of the first to participate in the kingdom that Christ would bring about through his Paschal Mystery.