LET IT aLL sTART hERE
For Catholics who care...
I never see what is there. I notice what is not, then, imagine the rest.
Perhaps it is the poet or the dreamer in me, but it happens quite often. It happened most recently with a photograph I encountered on Facebook: A black and white portrait of Catholicism at its best. In the snapshot, a purposeful priest is clad in a black robe and adorned in a white frock. He is walking through a sleepy village...moving away from the camera. Slovakia. Circa 1940’s? Although, I can only see him from the back, I imagine the priest to be transporting the Eucharist--the "real and living presence" of Our Lord. In the center of the photo, two men grip their caps and are kneeling in a muddy street, the deep rut of a wagon wheel separating them from the approaching cleric. There is an omnipotent oxen standing in the foreground of the photo. His “all-seeing” eyes remind us that: God is watching. I thought then of what Sherry Weddell wrote in her guide to Forming Intentional Disciples: “Invite people to live with Him and for Him, anchor people in the Eucharist, and they won’t wander off.” Weddell's words might have been the caption to this photograph of two men firmly grounded in their reverence of and belief in the Risen Christ.
15 Comments
The facilitator begins:
You're home alone. There's a knock at the door. You don't feel safe when someone uninvited calls. You don't open the door to strangers. Your father warned you about that. Your father was a stranger. Through a winking blind you see the back of a man's hand, his sturdy wrist-- a wine stain. Now the facilitator's voice: You open the door. Jesus is standing there. What do you do? Someone's grandmother anchored by her crucifix calls out: Slam the door! But you don't hear her or the laughter. You don't look for your shoes, you don't hesitate. Instead, you take His arm, walk Him to the top of the porch steps and say: Sit here with me. Let's watch for evening. I have been looking for you for such a long time. That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit. John 3:63/17/2015
I am a problem solver; however, it has taken me most of my 50 years on earth to understand that there is not much I can do to change most things. It has been a hard lesson to learn, and an even more difficult truth for me to accept. To leave all things in the hands of Our Lord has been challenging for me.
I have invoked the Serenity Prayer so often that I secretly suspect it may be conspicuously flashing across my forehead - in neon! But, there is one thing I am convinced that I can do something about: Advocating to restore the Altar Boy back to his rightly place beside the priest during Mass. I am hoping that the subject of this blog, a dilemma many parishes are plagued with, will catch the attention of someone in the Albany (NY) Diocese who then will Tweet Pope Francis and encourage him to check out this week’s blog. Perhaps then the powers that be will focus efforts on what I perceive as symptomatic of a greater problem: The dreaded “Catholic Man-Crisis” which inevitably has its effect on vocations to the priesthood. Before LetItAllStartHere, started here, I was planning to produce a documentary chronicling lives of Altar Boys. I discovered a significant connection between an adult man’s commitment to a career in the service of others, and the time they spent, serving Mass. Their willingness to serve God as young boys was often reflected in their chosen vocations be that as a firefighter, police officer, environmentalist, foster parent, teacher, coach, etc. It was my intention to have the documentary celebrate the lives of these men and it would also become my way of answering Pope Francis’ call to participate in The New Evangelization. As of today, our parish has only one dedicated altar boy. There are two or three adult women altar servers. These generous women have stepped up to assist the priest during Mass, and I am grateful to them. However, that is certainly not the answer to the problem that has been ignored for far too many years. One that has inevitably resulted in the shortage of males who are actively involved in the Catholic Church at this time. The slow extinction of the altar boy must be reversed. The use of surrogate altar servers - be they young girls or grown women, seems to be preventing the Church from taking the necessary steps to recruit young men who are willing to volunteer their time and talents to serve our Lord. And it is an obvious, to me, that these females have become obstacles for boys who either feel uncomfortable being “up there with girls” or complacent, saying to themselves : If “mom” is going to handle it, like she makes my bed or cleans my room, I will just sit back and let her. I understand that we live in different times. In the past, parental influence played a large part in a boy’s decision to serve on the altar during Mass. I recognize that our culture does not encourage or support a boy’s choice to become an altar boy. I get that the popular pastime for a young boy these days is to participate in a sport, or lose oneself in the fantasy life of a gamer. But that doesn’t mean that I think this issue should not be talked about because…quite frankly...“what’s the use?” and the attempt to resurrect the altar boy, abandoned. I am not afraid to admit that I am in agreement with Rev. Joseph Illo, pastor of Star of the Sea Church in San Francisco, who came under fire for his courageous and controversial decision to phase out female altar servers. Fr. Joseph believes there is an “intrinsic connection” between the priesthood and serving at the altar; since women can’t be priests, it makes sense to have only altar boys. He added: “Maybe the most important thing is that it prepares boys to consider the priesthood.” How can anyone reject this logic? I don’t. And I am determined to do something about it. How about you? I live in New York State. There’s a mountain here in Stamford that rises up along Route 10 just beyond the old ski hill, Deer Run. It’s not the highest peak around, but I feel as though it is. There is a wind twisted hawthorn that stands sentinel at the acme of this mountain, and I imagine it had been left behind by a sentimental logger who fancied himself “The Giver” and bestowed on the town…The Tree of Life. It can be seen for miles in every direction. I watch it throughout the seasons: On sunny days and rainy days…on windy days and the hottest of days. It never disappoints: it is always there. It is reliable. I
can go there to pray. I mention the mountain with it's tree because today I felt compelled to go up there, and use it as a podium at the top of the world to announce: There is no preferred positioning where God is concerned! It doesn’t work that way. LetItAllStartHere has given me some unexpected notoriety in the prayer circuit. I have become the go-to-girl, acting as a representative for those who feel that they may be less favored by the Divine. Let me explain: In just the past few days, requests have come in for me to pray hard for a man living on borrowed time, whom I have never met. He needs a new heart. And, then, someone I did know-- someone who I heard openly curse God-- asked that I pray for a homeless man with “developmental disabilities” who had been featured on Facebook. I was to pray that his family would claim him as their own. By some strange twist of fate, they had managed to “misplace” him, and he had slept in cardboard boxes and had been eating gifts of Chinese take-out for the last three years! And, then there was a young man who was haunted by a past that he could not face. I was asked to pray that he receive courage and peace. Certainly, it is not unusual for a Catholic community to pray for one another. It is like a trust fund of which we are benefactors: I will pray for you… you will pray for me. We will collect the prayers we’ve banked. And yet, what I do find unusual is that non-practicing Catholics as well as non-believers are requesting these prayers. They are suddenly aware that prayer is needed…that God is needed, and they are not exactly shy to tell me they need assistance. But why won’t they do the asking themselves? I find it odd that they seem to have a problem with Catholicism, and yet they have no trouble asking a Catholic to intercede on their behalf. What is going on? I wonder what the Holy Spirit is up to. But, I want to make this perfectly clear: I am happy to do it! If I can pray a man well, if I can comfort the lost by ensuring that God cares what is happening to them…well, then, I am doing the work Christ asks that we do. However, I would be even more delighted if I could get these folks to take the reins themselves. I would just like to point out this one thing: God prefers your prayers to mine. Jesus, Himself, declared: "… that in the same way, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.” (Luke 15:7) That is your invitation to talk to God. Call Him, or text Him yourself! You don’t need a surrogate to do the work. A few years ago, I felt like a failure in my prayer life. I didn’t think I was doing it right. I wasn’t being heard. I felt that I was just not good at it. I wasn’t getting anywhere. I went to a priest and asked him to intercede for me. That priest told me: He said, “There are no gold stars when you pray. There is no right way to do it.” He advised me to practice and be patient. Gave me some tips, told me to sit in front of the Tabernacle. He emphasized that I needed to keep working at it…stick with it…and don’t give up. At the time, I felt as if my life depended on getting it right. So I prayed as often as I could, never imagining that I would one day become “messenger” for so many people who needed to send a dispatch to God. Our pastor's sermon this morning was so inspirational and instructional I felt compelled to postpone my own Ash Wednesday reflection in order to share it with all who are trying to turn toward God. Have a blessed Lenten Season! Homily Ash Wednesday 2015
Joel 2:12-18; Mt 6:1-6, 16-18 Prayer, fasting and alms giving ... important disciplines in the Christian life carried over from our Jewish heritage. I encourage you to do something from each category this Lenten season, with the idea that you’ll carry it over into your everyday lives, as seasons come and seasons go. If you weren’t able to make it to Mass last weekend, check out my homily on the website. I talk about barriers that get in the way of our cleanness of life in body or mind, heart or soul, and that Lent is a great time to begin fasting from those barriers. I also talk about how prayer is essential in first identifying the barriers between us and God, and also in ensuring success through the process of tearing them down, and keeping them out of the way. We also have these little black books at the doors to help you recreate, renew, or strengthen your daily life of prayer. Giving alms is most often thought of as making donations to help those in need, and we have the rice bowls at the doors as a way of doing that. But you can also give other things besides money. In the spirit of the New Evangelization, I suggest that once a week, you give your faith away to someone in need. A less intimidating way to do that might be to visit the blog I’ve mentioned a few times before: www.letitallstarthere.com. There've been some wonderful things written there lately that have inspired some wonderful faith sharing among strangers and friends. Commit to contributing part of your own faith story once a week for Lent. Whatever you do for these 40 days, do it in the spirit desired by the Lord, described by the Prophet Joel. Make sure your heart is really in it! If these practices are nothing more than added burdens in your life, that you complain about until Easter Sunday, they are meaningless, if not outright offensive to God. “Rend your hearts, not your garments.” Back in the day, the practice of rending garments meant to tear your clothing as a sign of intense emotion – anger, grief or despair. God wants the sign to be genuinely meaningful ... he wants our hearts to be torn open, with contrition for sins, and with burning desire for reconciliation. You probably know your heart is a muscle. When you exert other muscles in your body with high resistance training like lifting weights, you get sore the next day or two, because the exercise actually causes micro-tears in your muscle tissue ... your muscles bleed, and that hurts. But with rest and nutrition, the healing of that tissue makes the muscles grow and get stronger. Hence, the phrase: no pain, no gain. Now, think about Lent and the disciplines of prayer, fasting, and alms giving, as spiritual exercise for your heart. Embrace the challenge, the difficulty, the sacrifice of these penitential practices, and allow them to rend your heart ... feel the pain of tearing your heart away from your own wants, needs, and desires, so that it might focus on something other than itself. Make the struggle a deliberate offering of self-gift, and do so joyfully, that your heart might grow ... both in capacity and strength ... to love God fully, as he first loved you, and to love your neighbors as yourself. My grandmother's name was Mercedes. She was called Mercy, which in English, means compassion and love. Her sister, Providence, was my favorite person in the whole world. She was called Titi Provi. Titi is Spanish for auntie. Providence, literally means foresight, but is generally used to denote God's preserving and governing of all things. It is being in the protective care of God.
I spent weekends in the "protective care" of these two women. They were two colorful and exotic flowers who had arrived in America in the 1930's, after being plucked from "paradise" and released into the ocean…like an orchid and hibiscus that had floated across from the enchanted Isle of Puerto Rico. There was never a time that I was unaware of the significance of their names; and, because of them, there was never a time when I did not understand that God's mercy and providence were at work in my young life. These female relatives were obvious reminders to me of His presence. As I write this, even today, I can recall sifting flour for my Grandma Mercy as she made empanadas: I kept one eye on the flour snowing down into the aluminum bowl and one eye on this mystical figure whom I somehow knew was connected to God. Had He sent her on an earthly mission to provide endless compassion and love to all of us? Even then, I realized that mercy was a concept integral to an understanding of God's dealings with the likes of me. And so my childhood was much different than that of my young friends. It is no wonder I am God-centric. And it is no wonder I am fascinated with all things God-related. Mercy and Providence introduced me to the supernatural nature of Catholicism. They taught me how to befriend a Saint. Titi Provi's small Bronx apartment was cluttered with old lady stuff and religious relics. There were crosses twisted from palm fronds, yellowing Mass cards, icons with mournful faces, dusty crucifixes, half-empty bottles of Holy Water, broken and mended strands of Rosaries. But what made her home unique was a hidden room in the basement that housed representatives from The Communion of Saints! It was there that Providence brought me; later it was there that I found refuge. It was there that I was taught about reverence, trust and the prayers of petition. This is where my grandmother and aunt, my mother and her sisters knelt in silence and thanksgiving. From the bottom of the cellar stairs I could see the secret room glowing. That last step allowed me to float safely in the darkness; it was like a raft on which I sat to watch the vertical shadows dance and move about in the light cast by the dozens of votive candles placed in front of the statues. As a child, I was only rarely to enter the room. I was allowed to trail behind Titi Provi as a helper of sorts, carrying a box of candles or a pitcher full of water. The florescent ceiling lamp would be turned on briefly for “house- keeping” chores and, as quick as a breath, extinguished so that no one, neither Saint nor penitent mouse would be disturbed. I can remember holding my breath as I entered the room and moving quickly about on my tip-toes so as not to leave a wake or any sign of my unholy visit. My most powerful childhood memory is that of The Room of Saints; that hallowed place where I had, once in the middle of night, been taken for comfort and healing after a terrible family argument had disrupted my sense of well being. There was a myriad of flowers offered to Saints and the tables looked like floats in a parade. The room was filled with the sweet perfume of roses and gardenias, and I thought: How beautiful this room is, how like a chapel…neat and orderly, how peaceful. And how very different is this place where the Saints live compared to my own home. I had wondered, as only a child can wonder, if I could live there safe and quiet, and eternally loved and accepted by these plaster figures, familiar as friends. Even then I knew that God had sent them to do what they could for me. Several families at Sacred Heart Parish have donated vestments for our pastor's use at Mass in honor of a family member or friend. They are quite lovely, each in their unique way. I have written this poem as a prelude for a future blog that will explain what your priest is wearing and why it is significant to our Catholic faith.
Chasuble Who will care for the monk? The one gone blind and lame stitching eternity into the pattern of red brocade worn like armor on the chest. Who will release his claw-- gnarled flesh & horn nail from the needle plated in gold? Who will kiss & open his fingers? Who will recognize his poverty, his penitence, his posture? Who will remember the murmur of: O clemens, o pia, o dulcis… Virgo Maria rising in his throat? Rising up and out to flutter-- flutter against the garden wall. I will. I will and he will reward me: Sew me into the labyrinth of his design to wander safely there to live inside the white space, pure as parchment, plain as paraffin, pristine as my soul can only hope to be after it is tempered of desire, soothed of despair tamed and no longer terrified. And what of the monk when he is finished and his needle and silk thread forgotten? Perhaps he will join me there. By: Evelyn Augusto January 2015 The following happened to me last week at The 2015 March For Life in Washington, D.C.: * I was swept up in sea of Pro-Life marchers from at least 38 states that were easily identifiable; quite possibly all 50 states may have been represented. * I was impressed and moved by the large turnout of high school and college students, men and women who traveled long distances to march. Those who had attended previous Marches indicated that there was a significant increase in youth attendence over previous years. * I was humbled by the immensity and the magnitude of the event. * I was able to formulate an idea of what I see as the scope of the conflict between Pro-Choice vs. Pro-Life. The pilgrimage to Washington, D.C. afforded me the opportunity to sit for a long time and ponder what it all means. I am finally able to put words to what I believe is the cause of the problem: Many women forget the sacred responsibility of their biology. Midday tomorrow, a little more than 13 hours from now, I will be climbing three steps and getting on a bus that will be taking me to Washington, D.C. I am not traveling to visit friends or family. I am not going on vacation. I am told, by those that have been there, that I will not return from this journey the same person.
March For Life is a peaceful demonstration that since 1973 has marked the somber anniversary of Roe v. Wade, a Supreme Court decision that has had a great effect on mine and countless of other women's lives. Abortion is considered the greatest human right's violation of our time. In the next two days I hope to get my mind around what it really means to be "Pro-Life". "Pro-Choice" is no longer an option for me since I now pray these words: "O, Sacred Heart of Jesus, I place all my trust in you". This is what it means to be faithful. This is what it means to be Catholic: I must trust in God more than myself. I didn't live that way three decades ago. I live that way now. And while this is known to be a peaceful demonstration, I can't help but feel like Doc Holliday at The Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. It comes down to this: It's about life and death. This is about a decision that often takes less than thirty seconds to make. This is about an act, that each time it occurs, changes the course of history. This is about courage or the lack of courage. This is about faith or lack of faith. When The March is over, I expect to have left the old Evelyn behind. Why am I Marching for Life on January 22nd? Because an innocent life, a baby, should not have to depend on a woman, in desperation, making an uniformed decision that destroys lives. Follow www.letitallstarthere.com as I find my way through The 2015 MARCH FOR LIFE. “So, you could not keep watch with me one hour?” (Matthew 26:38) When I was a girl I found Jesus’ question to Peter and the two sons of Zebedee very disturbing. In those ten words I would simultaneously hear the disappointment in Jesus’ voice and I would feel his disciples’… no, his friends’ shame.
I felt I had let Him down. Impossible, perhaps. Unbelievable…no. Not unbelievable, if you consider Carl Jung’s theory of collective consciousness, or understand what Freud means by archaic remnants. We often know “stuff” that we have no business knowing about. We can’t explain it, so we shrug it off. I wasn’t there in the Garden, but I might as well have been. That scene has plagued me for years. But what of all that? www.letitallstarthere.com is not exactly the place to discuss the psychology of man. The purpose of my writing is to encourage all, myself included, to work toward an understanding of what Matthew Kelly calls: The Genius of Catholicism. It involves our recognizing how everything now, relates to everything that has ever happened throughout the History of Our Salvation. We are all pieces in His colossal jigsaw puzzle. I believe that what happened during the agony in the Garden of Gethsemane, the night before Christ’s crucifixion, when he spoke to his disciples saying: “My soul is sorrowful even to death. Remain here and keep watch me” is never ending. I believe Jesus continues to ask this of us even now: “Keep watch with Me…” He asks that we remain with Him always. And so that is the purpose of the Holy Hour devotion. I once heard an old Polish woman shout to her loving husband through the back door of her house: “Honey, I will be right back. I am going up to church. He’s there all alone. I’m going to keep Him company for awhile.” And out the door she went humming to herself. I stood in the driveway and watched her figure grow smaller as she made her way down the street. Cute, I thought. She’s going to keep Him company. Funny old woman. But there was a lesson in her actions about devotion. There was another lesson for me as I started thinking about the time we spend in Eucharistic Adoration, in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. What actually goes on in the church when we are joined in song, in silence and in prayer? We have been given, undeservedly, the grace of First Friday Holy Hour, the grace of His Real Presence, His God-with-us-ness, to liberate us…to comfort us, to allow us to realize that we no longer are helpless spectators. We can do something about His feelings of isolation and abandonment. We can “keep watch” with Him. We can do the right thing. That is the grace we Catholics have been afforded. To those who refuse to age...an urgent message: Please read Ronald Rolheiser's The Holy Longing!1/10/2015 I was constructing a post inviting my readers to "keep watch" with Christ during first Friday Holy Hour when this email came in from a friend who is in her early sixties and who is struggling with the passing of time and it's effects on her physical beauty:
"I was good. Now I am crashing and suicidal. Ugh. I miss you too. Really a lot. I hate being old." I have suspended the usual programming to bring you this message. I have written the following letter to a mutual friend about the plight of our other "aging "friend: I hope there is some value in it for all who read along. My Dear Friend: If you study the conversations we have had about living "uncoupled" and tease out the sentiment behind them...you don't sound much different then Tess when she proceeds to intonate these familiar words: I hate being old. Honestly, by your constantly revisiting the reputation of the younger version of yourself, the woman you once were...you are saying the same thing. In Ronald Rolheiser's book The Holy Longing, he speaks directly to this problem. I want you to read this book. There is chapter that addresses relationships: How they change and how they are sometimes lost in the process of evolving. Rolheiser reminds us of the antidote that Christ came to dispense. Remember, we possess an innumerable amount of relationships: Tangible and intangible, with living things and with objects. We are often consumed by these relationships. We think about them often, they effect our lives greatly. But rarely do we reflect on the one we have with self. The aging process is analogous to the vitally important lesson Jesus offers in and through the Paschal Mystery. Rolheiser reminds us "that there is a time for everything and a season for every activity under heaven". Ecclesiastes 3:1 I wont try explain what Rolheiser has to teach us. I would ask that you read The Holy Longing because I couldn't do Rolheiser's understanding and sense of spirituality justice. I love this book! I found the answers I was searching for in Rolheiser's writings. Get yourself a copy. It is rare these days that someone you only casually know cares enough about you to invite you to fall in love. Even rarer, that the same person possesses the wherewithal to successfully orchestrate a meeting through which the lover and beloved can find each other. Yet, that is what happened to us New Year’s Day during the solemnity of Mary, Holy Mother of God when our pastor punctuated his homily with this reminder: “She (Mary) longed for the birth of Jesus with love beyond all telling, so does she long for us, to fall in love with Him.” He concluded the celebration by encouraging over two hundred of his parishioners to attend First Friday Holy Hour. He assured us that by sitting with Jesus we can cultivate our love for Him. It is there, during that time of admiration… during that time of quietude and internal dialogue (prayer) that we would get a chance to know Him better. It is a time of discovery and a way to come to Love?
******************* It's the first Friday of the month and I just returned from the Hour of Adoration dedicated to our Lord. There were less than 25 in attendance; the majority of these "church goers" being the “die-hards” or what I like to call our parish’s “Giants of Prayer”. They are the same blessed faces that I see regularly at all the liturgies. But what of the others? I find myself wondering what keeps people away from Love? What blocks the desire? What stops a woman from being curious about this vehicle (Holy Hour) that is capable of heralding her to the person of our Lord Jesus Christ? What prevents a man from sacrificing an hour of his time to check it out? After all, doesn’t everyone long to be in love? The conclusion I have come to is simple, yet profound. I discovered the answer lies in these familiar words: “…forgive them, for they know not what they do.” (Luke 23:24) “They know not what they do…” echoes through time and space. It's the reason Jesus gave nearly 2000 years ago to excuse our killing Love. Even now Jesus’ observation is tragically timeless. With those few words He eternally encapsulates the predicament of mankind. We so often don’t know what we are doing. We say: If I had only known? We say: I didn't know or I wish I'd known. We sometimes say it too often. And then it is too late. We act or fail to act because we are simply unaware. For example, many don't really know who He is at all. I know I didn't for longest time. So, what can be done for the believers who are plagued with their unbelief? What can be done for the faithful who prefer to meet Jesus on their terms, rather than His? Then, they fail to meet Him at all because they don’t have the time to find Him. What can be done to avoid 20/20 hindsight? What can be done? Why not try this: Let us all speak knowledgeably and unceasingly about the History of Our Salivation. Educate the “cradle Catholics” who believe they know all there is to know about their faith, but who often possess a “childish” understanding of who God is. Give them detail after detail so they can connect the dots. Then… remind, promote, encourage... insist they bring themselves to Church as frequently as possible. I’m no fan of Woody Allen, but I will always remember his saying: “Eighty percent of success is showing up.” That is what I did. That is what I continue to do. I trust in the Triune God and I keep showing up. The more time people spend in the company of our “Giants of Prayer”, the more opportunities they get to feel how the Church exhales The Holy Spirit or vibrates as The Word is made Man, the greater the chance of a successful union with Christ. Follow this blog to learn about the details of First Friday Holy Hour. Understand what happens there and then attend an Hour of Adoration. It's a beautiful experience. Oh... and never under estimate, not for one minute, that Love makes the world go round. I have invited a guest blogger here today. I hope you enjoy Fr. Michael Cambi's Christmas homily as much as we did. To read Fr. Cambi 's Sunday homilies check out the sidebar for his dedicated page at Let It All Start Here.
************************************ Ah the Christmas Story ... it is at once beautiful, incredible, inspirational, magical, and in many respects, unbelievable. Of course, by unbelievable, I merely mean, hard to believe ... I do not mean impossible. We call it the Christmas Story, but it is no fantasy. It is, instead, a fantastically true story, about how our God came into time and space, to reveal himself to us through a face, and in the person of Jesus Christ, save the human race. I haven’t been a priest for very long, but already, it’s become a challenge each year to figure out, how to preach the Christmas story from a fresh perspective, from a different angle, since it is so familiar to us all. This year, I got a little help from my friend. Last week she told me a story, that surprised me a little bit I suppose, but saddened me infinitely more so. Turns out that in some schools, our children are being taught something, about that little baby boy over there, whose birth we celebrate today. What’s that you ask? Well, that he grew up to be a great preacher, only to die tragically on the cross, and we don’t really know anything more about him. Sisters and brothers, fellow believers in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ: I’m not about to preach politics on Christmas Day, but I must say, that if this version of history, is what our children are learning as the story of Jesus, it is our gravest duty and obligation to teach them otherwise! That’s not the story of who Jesus was ... not even close! THIS IS.... Our Triune God, who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, though perfectly complete and content in Godself, desired to share love, beyond their own three-in-one communion. Humanity is fruit of that desire. In order to communicate that desire, and reveal to us its meaning and purpose, the Second Person of the Trinity, the Word of God, the only Son of the Father, emptied himself of unbounded glory, and bound himself in a human body, taking flesh of the Virgin Mary, by the power of the Holy Spirit. The Incarnate Word of God, Jesus Christ, is true God and true Man, fully divine and fully human, from the moment of his conception, and remains so eternally. He was born into the world on Christmas Day, but did not begin his mission to reveal God’s love, until he was about thirty years old. He was put to death three years afterwards. That means that for over ninety percent of his life, he lived in virtual anonymity and obscurity. Does that mean most of his life was a waste? Of course not! It’s actually the first lesson he gives us, about life in this world. God desired to begin his life in the flesh, as the tiniest of children: a fertilized egg in the womb of his mother. He desired to spend nine months there, preparing to be born. He desired to be a helpless infant, wholly dependent on two human parents for everything. He desired to grow up learning from them, respecting them, obeying them, helping them, and loving them. He was trained in carpentry by St. Joseph, to be a productive member of society, not living in isolation, but in relationship, with extended family members and neighbors, in a small town community, where people lived together, worked together, worshipped together, and relied on each other. So the first lesson then, is that human life, at every stage of its existence, from the very first moment of conception, is of inestimable value. Because he lived every moment, from that first moment, Jesus Christ, God and Man, sanctified every aspect of human life, elevated its dignity, and empowered us to live it well. He showed us that living it well means living it humbly, simply, selflessly and sacrificially, not primarily for one’s own good, but for the larger whole ... be it family, neighborhood, faith community, world. Or as St. Paul says it, we are to reject godless ways and worldly desires, and to live temperately, justly, and devoutly in this age, eager to do what is good. This is how God wants us to be in the world, without being of the world. Jesus Christ is the fulfillment of God’s promise, whom the prophets foretold. He is Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-Forever, Prince of Peace, Son of the Most High, Son of God. And when John the Baptist had sufficiently prepared his way, Jesus left the shadows of Nazareth in Galilee, and went public. He was indeed an extraordinary teacher and preacher, but oh, so much more than that. His audiences felt his power, saying he spoke with authority, and not as their scribes. That power was the divine authority wielded by his words. His words delivered teachings and revealed truths, yes, but they also altered reality. They controlled natural elements and supernatural forces alike. His words changed water into wine. They cast out demons from the possessed, and hurled them into swine. They rebuked storms in such a way, that folks exclaimed, “Who then is this, whom even winds and sea obey.” Jesus is the Divine Physician – a healer of body, mind, and soul. He fed multitudes of people from only a meager amount of food. He cured every kind of ailment and affliction, even those borne from birth, which was theretofore, unheard of. He raised people from the dead, back to life. He forgave sins, restoring those spiritually lost and broken to wholeness, changing their lives forever. And when folks began murmuring about this forgiveness business, saying, “Who but God alone can forgive sins,” and accused Jesus of blasphemy, he responded like this. “That you may know, the Son of Man has authority to forgive sins on earth” – he said to the paralyzed man, “I say to you, rise, pick up your mat, and go home.” He rose, picked up his mat at once, and went away in the sight of everyone. All were astounded and glorified God, saying, “We have never seen anything like this.” What kind of man could do such things? Jesus asked his disciples what they thought, and Peter proclaimed the incredible truth, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” Jesus affirmed this identity in John’s Gospel, “I am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life. No comes to the Father except through me.” So he is not, just a memorable preacher and teacher, who inspired people 2000 years ago, and then died a tragic death. He is the only begotten Son of the Father; He is God. And there is no other name under heaven, by which we are to be saved, than the name of Jesus. Not Mohammed, Buddha, or Jehovah; not Ghandi, Deepak Chopra, or the Dali Llama; not Oprah, Dr. Oz, Joel Osteen, or Joyce Meyers; nor any other preacher, guru, or life-coach you can think of. PAUSE Most importantly, Jesus Christ is the sacrificial lamb, the Eternal High Priest, the author of our salvation. His desire and power, to forgive the sins of all people, for all time, realized its pinnacle of perfection, in his supreme act of selfless, sacrificial love, on the cross. And friends, that’s no tragedy ... that’s his victory ... because three days later the tomb was empty ... for He had risen from the dead in glory, having vanquished sin, suffering, and death, forever. How do we know, this is the ‘more to the story’ so many secularists in society set aside? Well, because we walk by faith, and not by sight. But it is not a blind faith based on ignorance or naïveté; rather it is an informed faith, in harmony with reason. The Bible is as reasonable and reliable a document, as any other source of its time. And with the Apostolic Tradition of the Church, handed down alongside Sacred Scripture, the body of evidence convinces, in my humble opinion, beyond a reasonable doubt. The scriptures report eye-witness accounts of the empty tomb, and of real encounters with the risen Jesus, one of which included a gathering of more than five hundred of his disciples. And John’s Gospel admits, only a fraction of such encounters were actually written down. The apostles were transformed, from cowards hiding in fear behind locked doors, to courageous preachers, healers, and miracle workers, and continued as such, to their own violent, but joyful deaths. St. Paul changed from the most determined persecutor of Christianity, hoping to destroy the faith, to its most zealous and ardent evangelist, founding new Christian Churches all over the Middle East and Asia Minor. Through the centuries, tens of thousands of men and women have given their lives to God and Church, in ways that have given us models, of what it means to be faithful, to be holy, to be witnesses, to be disciples, to be saints. For over 2000 years the Church has simultaneously suffered the cross of perse-cution, while expanding throughout the world. It continues to grow and flourish today, despite the drastic decline of regular churchgoers in the West. Jesus is our Eternal High Priest, because the offering of himself on the Cross, once in historical time, now transcends time and space, and is perpetually in our midst, being offered on every altar at every Mass throughout the world, which effectively means around the clock, to continue the work of our redemption. Jesus Christ is the Bridegroom and Head of his Church. This is where he desires to be God-with-us, more than anyplace else in the world. This is where he nourishes us, where we quite literally, feed on him, most profoundly in our reception of communion, but also, in his Word proclaimed from here, and in our shared song and prayer. Two details from the Christmas Story cannot be missed, for they are not accidental. Jesus Christ was born in Bethlehem, which in Hebrew means, ‘House of Bread’. Upon his birth, Jesus Christ was wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger. A manger is a feeding trough for animals. The powerful truth behind these symbols was affirmed by Jesus himself. “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst. I am the living bread that came down from heaven; whoever eats this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world.” PAUSE Sisters and brothers, the story of Jesus began on Christmas Day, but it did not conclude on the cross. In fact, the final chapter has yet to be written ... and it will be, when he comes again in glory. In the meantime, we are to add the chapters of our own lives to the story. How so, you might wonder? Well, the very first and still the very best Christmas gift ever given, is Emmanuel, which means God is with us. Jesus Christ is the presence of God, made manifest to the world. For our part, we continue the Christmas Story, by living the Christmas message. And so in addition to the presents you exchange at Christmastime, you must not forget to give the fullness of your love, which is the sharing of your presence with each other ... your gifts of time, attention, companionship, empathy ... ... a helpful hand, a listening ear, an encouraging voice, a shoulder to cry on, a forgiving heart ... given to those who need the hope and joy of Christmas all year through ... and who will know that God is with us, whenever they see, hear, and touch His presence ... in you. "For where two or three have gathered together in My name, I am there in their midst." Matthew 1812/22/2014 I have thought a lot about the so called "Catholic 'Man-Crises' " that our Church is presently faced with. I ponder the dilemma because I am, by nature, a problem solver. As I am out in the world, I am usually on a fact-finding mission related to one thing or another in an attempt to resolve something. For now, I am watching the goings-on at the Church. I am counting heads. I am listening to the men who represent our faith: past, present and future.
I have good news! We are going to be better than fine. I was reminded of this only after I re-read the words of our Lord to His disciples this morning: “For where two or three have gathered together in My name, I am there in their midst.” Despite the temporary peak in our pop culture's embrace of the secular spirit or tendency to reject all forms of religious faith and worship, many men (and women) continue to gather in Christ’s name. And our Lord continues to keep his promise to us. He is in our midst! I see this more and more now that I am paying attention. I have a delightful boy in my Faith Formation class. His name is Jonathan. He often shares with us the formation of his faith through the experiences he has at home with his family. There, too, is a man in our parish, late 50's, a "John Wayne type", who after receiving the Eucharist, genuflects pressing two fingers to his lips and blows a kiss up at the crucifix. He does this at every Mass he attends. These are but a few ways that I see our men engaged in their Catholic faith. I have written this poem to honor our Catholic men. Grandmother Blessed are you who brush dust from the eyes of the Madonna; wiping her porcelain face free of our detritus with your hair. Blessed is the man who strains to hear the echo of your voice as it was once raised in prayer; blessed, too is he who summons the memory of the aged one to his beside: Rosary in her lap, Hail Mary on her lips, she is determined to give you this one thing. Blessed are you who will never forget where you came from; will never forget that it was she who walked ten thousand miles on her knees to bring you here, to offer a kiss of gratitude upon the cross on which He hangs. |
Archives
October 2016
Topics of
|