2009

We can relate to this gospel story, can’t we? How often have we found ourselves in the midst of a storm, feeling very much alone? Literally or figuratively, life is full of storms. Like the apostles, some of us have found ourselves literally caught up unexpectedly on small crafts in stormy conditions, wondering if we would survive. We were fortunate, unlike the passengers and crew who perished when their plane broke apart recently over the Atlantic Ocean en route from Brazil to France or the many fishermen in Alaska’s Bering Sea whose boats have capsized.

More likely than physical storms, however, we find ourselves in life’s other storms. Some are major, such as being diagnosed with a grave illness or learning that someone close to us is ill, or when a relationship goes amiss or the loss of a job to name a few examples.  Others are minor such as a spat over what channel to watch or who does what chore around the house.

Whatever the storm may be, some times our reaction is fear, just as it was for the apostles. They had set out for the other side of the lake not expecting to encounter such foul weather, but violent storms can arise suddenly and without warning on the Sea of Galilee when strong winds come through from the Mediterranean Sea. Without warning the storm hit and their boat was being tossed about by high waves and strong winds. The boat they were in could be likened in size to a cabin cruiser, perhaps with a capacity to hold 13 people.  Can you just hear the panic in their voice as they awaken Jesus, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?”

Clearly they were afraid and why not? They had no reason yet to think that Jesus had such supernatural power to still the wind and calm the sea.  At a time when life jackets did not exist, they expected to drown if they didn’t reach shore.  Fear gripped them.

How often has fear gripped and paralyzed us? In his first inaugural address, Franklin Delano Roosevelt had this to say, “Let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.”

After quieting the stormy sea, Jesus asked the disciples, “Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?”  In the original Greek, Mark records Jesus as actually saying, “Why are you cowards?” That isn’t exactly the response I bet the disciples expected to hear, nor us. If anything, we expected him to say, “There, there now. Everything will be all right.” After all, isn’t a Messiah is someone who will save us in times of crisis, no?

Many people literally expect Jesus to be there to rescue them whenever a storm of any sorts arises. They truly believe that he is there to get them whatever they need or to solve their problems. They see Jesus as their “cosmic bellhop.”

If you need this or that, be it a new job, a parking place, a spot in the next ferry line, a baby sitter, a cure for your illness, you ask God for it. You need help out of a jam? You need someone to step in and straighten things out? Call on God! After all, God is there to solve our problems!

Is that what you have built your faith on? Are you in this relationship with God so long as things go your way and everything goes smoothly? Then expect Jesus to chastise you just as he rebuked the disciples and for good reason.  Is that really faith that is keeping you linked with God?

If everything is to go our way, we are setting ourselves up for a self-centered outlook on life. We see God as arranging things just to satisfy us, but that really cannot happen for ultimately God is not in control of our world. God can’t be if at the same time, we are given free will, which is a must if we are to love and be loved.

Jesus is telling us to quit being cowards and instead have faith. But faith in what? If God isn’t going to solve our problems, what then is faith all about?

Faith is this: knowing that God is present in our lives at all times and in all places. Faith means trusting in God no matter what happens in this life. No matter what difficulties we may face, no matter what dangers we confront, in the end, God will win. If we keep faith in God, then we will be saved for all eternity.

When God doesn’t deliver what we want here and now, the temptation is to abandon our faith in God, but where does that leave us? Are the challenges of life going to be any easier to handle if we leave God out of the picture? Most likely not. When we retreat from God, we will be left more and more to our own resources. On the other hand, when we endeavor to advance in our faith relationship with God, we increase the likelihood of dealing with our crises in ways we would not otherwise have considered. That is the role the Holy Spirit plays in our lives.

This weekend, I celebrate my 23rd anniversary of ordination to the priesthood.  Like any other father, I have experienced my fair share of storms during all that time, but I haven’t been alone on this journey either. In my bedroom, I have a plaque that reads, “Lord help me to remember that nothing is going to happen to me today that you and I together can’t handle.” Yes, God can get us through our storms, perhaps not in the way we want, but ultimately in ways that can render us courage and inner peace.

God may not always give us ready answers to satisfy our human longings, but by deepening our faith so that it is more than a self-serving relationship, we come to see that this Jesus will calm our fears and make us strong.
 

We Can’t Foul Up the Eucharist, But We Can Improve Our Response

We celebrate today the solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ. In some ways, this is probably the easiest liturgical celebration on which to preach, and it is the easiest for you to hear preached.

Why is that the case? Because the body and blood of Christ, usually referred to as the Eucharist is really so incredibly awesome that reflection on that awesomeness and responding to it is really so much more important than talking about it.

Of course, this reality has not kept bishops, priests, and deacons from saying a lot about the Eucharist over many centuries. We of course, love and respect our Church’s beliefs about the body and blood of Christ. We talk about the Eucharist as the most concrete example of the all-loving eternal covenant between God and His people. This covenant, which began with Abraham, then Moses, then the rest of the Jewish Old Testament prophets, is symbolized by the blood covenant of animal sacrifice in our first reading from Exodus. That covenant was then perfected for all mankind, by the blood sacrifice of Jesus Christ that is described in the letter to the Hebrews, our second reading. And the institution of the sacrament of the Eucharist, the visible continuation of that covenant by the sacrifice of Jesus Himself, and the banquet of His Body and Blood to whom we are called, is detailed for us in the Gospel according to Mark (tonight, this morning).

We also believe something else about the Eucharist that is rather remarkable. Through the gospels there is unmistakable proof that when the priest at Mass says the prayer that Jesus says in our Gospel (tonight, this morning) the bread and wine that he prays over becomes the body and blood of Jesus. This ultimate act of love nourishes us with God Himself, every time we receive the Eucharist. Jesus is literally in us. His sacrifice, his banquet, Jesus Himself, is present to us at every Mass. This sacrifice, this banquet, together with the gifts, fruits, and charisms of the Holy Spirit, give us the strength to follow the trail, the journal of love that Jesus blazed nearly 2,000 years ago. The Eucharist enables us to live a joyful life so that no matter what our troubles, we receive what we need to work our way back to Him through a life of service-based love. And what is the ultimate example of service-based love? The Eucharist. That is the reason for our feast (tonight) today.

This ultimate act of love, the ultimate giving of oneself, is the reason why the Church regards the Eucharist as the source and summit of our faith. And it is a good thing. For no matter how any member of the clergy preaches about the Eucharist, no matter how good preachers we think we are, brothers and sisters, not I, not Father Rick, not Archbishop Brunett, not Pope Benedict himself, not anybody, cannot improve on the Eucharist. Conversely, no matter how lousy preachers we may be, we can’t foul up the Eucharist either.

So let us put aside the theology of the Eucharist. Let’s focus instead on an even more important issue. And that issue is: what will be the RESPONSE of all of us to the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ, to the Eucharist? Here after all, is the real challenge. The prayer at Mass that we say before receiving the Eucharist: “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you; but only say the word, and I shall be healed,” takes liberty with the Gospel passage from which it is derived. The words of the Roman centurion said when he asked Jesus to heal his son or servant (depending on the Gospel account) are a little different. The Catholic New American Bible tells us that the words are actually more like “Lord, I am not worthy that you should come under my roof,” or “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter my house.”

Now this is not just an obscure translation factoid of no importance to us. For looking at these words this way helps us to frame an appropriately spiritual and physical response to the Eucharist. For if Jesus is under our roof, in our house, through the Eucharist, we can ask better some effective questions about our response.  What if Jesus had an appointment to come over to our house this afternoon? How would we respond? Would we be indifferent? Would we talk loudly when he was trying to speak to us? Or would we offer our best hospitality? Would we thank him for saving us by taking on the excruciating suffering that He did? Would we respond with an attitude of gratitude and a desire to love Him and to others as He asked us? Would we sacrifice for Jesus, for others if He asked us, the way that He did for us?

Brothers and sisters, every time we receive the Body and Blood of Christ, Christ enters under our roof. He enters into our home. The words of the call to Eucharist in the Mass are anything but symbolic. They are the call to the real presence of Christ entering into us in a way every bit as meaningful as if Jesus were entering our home, coming under our roof. Our response then should be Christ-like, both accepting and spreading His love to the many we encounter. For the Eucharist reminds us in the most powerful of ways that Jesus walks and speaks to our world through each one of us. We welcome the Lord into our lives, into the house that is our bodies, by the way we receive and respond to the Eucharist.

I can go on and on about the Eucharist. But I said I would not. For no Catholic can improve on the Eucharist. Its incredible awesomeness speaks for itself. All of us however, can surely improve the way we respond.
 

Who is this God whom we worship? From the very beginning, human beings have had a relationship with spiritual deities, defining who their god is. Some cultures, like the ancient Romans and Greeks, had many gods, each with an assigned mission, such as Mars, the god of war and Eros, the god of love. The Israelites believed in one God, whom they called Yahweh.

In his parting words to the disciples, Jesus redefined God in a new light, telling them to go forth and baptize all nations “in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” Like our Jewish forbearers, the followers of Jesus believed in one God, but now this God has three persons. For some, the concept makes little sense. If this God has three persons, then why don’t we admit to believing in three gods, instead of one?

The concept of a triune God has baffled countless generations of Christians, even Thomas Aquinas. St. Patrick is remembered for explaining the Trinity with the use of a three leaf clover. I recall a priest using the image of water in its three forms, liquid, steam, and ice, as an analogy to explain the Trinity. Each form is unique, yet still the same. Given certain conditions, namely, temperature, we experience water molecules differently.

Likewise, given certain conditions, we experience God differently. God, the Father, is viewed as our creator; God, the Son, as our redeemer, and God, the Holy Spirit, as our sanctifier. One of my seminary professors used those titles when making the sign of the cross at the start of Mass. Perhaps he thought he was being politically correct by omitting any references of masculinity, but the titles he used could be viewed as limiting God’s roles in our lives.  The notion of a triune God is not done to provide us with God’s job description but to define who God is.

Another physical image that comes to mind that helps me to grasp the notion of one but three is fire. Recall how God appeared to Moses in the form of a burning bush during the exodus.  Fire has three elements: flame, light, and heat. None can be separated from the other two and without all three, one doesn’t have fire. Anytime you have fire, even if it comes from a solitary candle, you have all three elements.

In the same way, the three persons of our triune God are intertwined. One person cannot be separated from the other two. They are not personalities in the modern sense, but the expression of an intimate loving relationship. They complement each other.  Although the concept of a triune God was not expressed until Jesus arrived on the scene, God hinted at this reality repeated throughout the Hebrew Testament. In the book of Genesis, God speaks in the plural, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness.”  God had company all along as creation was unfolding. In the opening lines of his gospel, John speaks of Jesus existing from the very beginning. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

St. Augustine explains the Trinity in this way. “He is not called Father with reference to himself but only in relation to the Son; seen by himself he is simply God.”  In effect, the mystery of the Trinity highlights for us the reality that God is continually relating, not only to one another, but also to us and so must we.

Nearly 90 years ago, T.S. Eliot wrote a poem entitled, “The Wasteland,” which details the journey of the human soul searching for redemption. His best known poem portrays a spiritually desolate society, one that is governed by self-gratification, belief in the false gods of defiant nationalism, commercialism and faith that cannot save. Eliot considered this poem to be his view of western civilization.  He envisioned the day coming when people would be killing one another in the streets. History proved him right in so many places even here in America since the poem was published in 1922.

That may not be literally happening in our neighborhood, but given that so many people are caught up in a culture of hedonism and materialism, we are in the midst of a spiritual crisis. Our society is a wasteland because not every professed Christian is carrying out the mission which Jesus entrusted to his disciples. By their example, the three persons of the Trinity are calling on us to put aside our self-centeredness and strive instead to be people of love. With love, we can best demonstrate the message of the Trinity to those who have yet to witness the reality that above all else, God is love.

There is nothing Christian about the absolutely rugged individualist who needs nobody else, or who is concerned about nobody else, just as there can be no family when its members choose not to relate to one another.

Do you get the point? We were created in the image of God and if God cannot survive alone, neither can we. Our hearts are made for one another.  Every act of love gives witness to the Trinity. The Trinity says God is community and so we seek. The Trinity says God is relationship, and so we search. The Trinity says God is love, and so we love. We are most God-like when we are in love, give love, and receive love. We need one another if we are to experience the fullest expression of God in our lives.

The Trinity is an expression of who we are called to be: people of love, followers of Jesus Christ, interacting with one another, ever mindful that all creation is linked together, revealing that our triune God is the ever-present, magnificently powerful, affectionately intimate, and irresistibly reconciling God in whose image we are made.
 

Have you ever been engaged? If so, I invite you to think back to the experience. Most likely the person whom you were engaged to commanded your undivided attention. You could not imagine life without that person whom you were planning to marry.

Now that you are married, do you find yourself relating to your spouse with the same enthusiasm you had when you were engaged? Are you as passionately in love as you were during your engagement? If so, your spouse is indeed a true friend.

Or might you be what I would label, “not engaged?” The zest has faded out of your marriage.  You still love your spouse, but gone is the passion.  Instead, other interests and people command more of your attention than your spouse does.

Worst yet, are you “actively disengaged?” In lieu of affirmations, negativity is eating away at your relationship. Bickering, insults, infidelity, abuse of any kind have drained the marriage of whatever real love there was during the engagement.

We usually associate the word, engaged, with the time before a wedding, but the word has many more meanings, such as to attract and hold the attention of, to win over, to involve, to become occupied.  Hence, to be engaged can be applied to other situations besides betrothal, such as one’s faith.

On the eve of Pentecost, the apostles had yet to be engaged to their faith. They hungered for the living water that Jesus had promised while still with them. But now, he was gone, having ascended into heaven, so what were they to do? On Pentecost, they were in the upper room, hiding in fear, when the Holy Spirit filled their hearts. No longer afraid, they were empowered to venture out and proclaim the good news at any cost, including their own lives to anyone who would listen.  In the early church, those who were baptized devoted themselves to the apostles’ instruction and the communal life.  With its members fully engaged, the church grew in great numbers.

Today, we gather because people in our past were also engaged in proclaiming the good news; they invited us into this faith community. By belonging, we came to believe, but not everyone has.  You and I know Catholics who have not remained in the faith. According to a recent survey conducted by the Archdiocese, only 88 out of every 100 infants baptized over the past 20 years received first communion, 35 out of every 100 eligible teenagers were confirmed, and 49 of every 100 Catholics baptized as infants were married in the Catholic Church.

In that same survey, over 3000 parishioners were asked to describe the faith of their adult children. One third are practicing Catholics, 45 percent attend Mass occasionally, 11 percent have joined other denominations, and in the case of the remaining 9 percent, their parents were not sure of their faith practice.  If you have siblings or children who no longer practice their faith, you aren’t alone.  For any number of reasons, being Catholic made little or no difference in their lives. They weren’t engaged.

Does being Catholic make a difference in your life? If one has endeavored to be engaged, that is, to live as Christ lived, the answer would be, “Yes!” Ideally, every Catholic strives to be holy. That is done by centering one’s life on a faith community and celebrating its many sacramental encounters with Jesus. By belonging, they come to believe and deepen their faith in Christ.

Many think that believing leads to belonging, but not necessarily. Statistics reveal that many Catholics believe but few belong. They are not engaged.  Coming to Mass is not a top priority for them, nor is seeking to grow in holiness. They heard the gospel, but did not listen to its message. In effect, their lives have not been impacted by the message of Jesus Christ.

Those who are engaged in their faith are more satisfied with their lives.  By living their faith, they invite others, encouraging them “to come and see.” They are more inclined to give, not only of their time but also of their treasure and talent for they see the value of stewardship in their lives. They seek to grow in holiness, not just an hour a week, but throughout the week.  Quietly and assuredly, they bring the gospel to others each in their own way.

At a workshop I attended last week, Fr. Dan Mahan noted that in the average parish, 16 percent of us are engaged, 49 percent are not engaged, and the rest are actively disengaged. He called them “cave” people: an acronym for those who “complain about virtually everything.” They are too preoccupied with their own issues to become engaged in the mission of growing in the faith.

How might we all become engaged in our faith? Pentecost provides a clue. God sent the Holy Spirit into our world to continue the presence of his Son, Jesus. In his letter to the Galatians, Paul points out that the fruits of the Spirit can be seen in acts of love, joy, kindness and generosity.  If that became our goal to treat everyone in our congregation with love, kindness, joy and generosity, instead of indifference, malice, or any other unchristian conduct, wouldn’t you agree that everyone here would feel as though they truly belong? And if they felt that way, they too would also become engaged in living the faith, seeking to be holy and involved in the parish.

A good starting point would be to banish strangers in our midst. That can be done by introducing yourself after every Mass to someone you do not know.  Let us make every person feel welcomed here. In the cursillo movement, we have a saying, “Make a friend, be a friend, then bring a friend to Christ.” Do that and you will enable one more person to become engaged, rather than disengaged in the faith we celebrate together. 
 

Transitions are nothing new. We are always letting go of something or someone, moving from one relatively comfortable setting to something new and unfamiliar. Even if we never moved away the town of our birth, we experience transition, such as graduation, getting married, starting a new job, having a baby, moving into a new home, coping with an illness, recovering from a stroke, dealing with the death of a loved one or the end of a once cherished relationship. Yes, life is always changing.

Admittedly, transitions are not always easy. We cling to what we know and remain afraid of the unknown. That is why death, for example, frightens so many of us. The loss of someone or something dear to us results in grief, but sometimes that grief can be transformed into joy.

Years ago, I read a charming story entitled Dragon Kite of the Autumn Moon, featuring a young boy named Tad-Tin. He learned that lesson when his grandfather, who made kites for them to fly together, became too ill to make a kite for them to fly in the annual kite day celebration.  Consequently, if he was to participate in the annual event, Tad-Tin had to fly his cherished dragon kite, which his grandfather had made years ago when Tad-Tin was born. Now, traditionally every kite had to be set free at the end of the day so that they would carry all the troubles away with them, but Tad-Tin ached at the thought of letting go of this magnificent dragon kite. He finally garners the courage to let go of the kite, then returns home to discover that his grandfather has fully recovered from his illness.

The ascension of Jesus conveys a similar message of transition. In letting go of the physical Jesus, the disciples felt the same intense loss as Tad-Tin had felt when he first let go of his kite, but later they experienced Jesus’ return in ways they had never anticipated. They soon noticed that Jesus was acting through them empowering them to carry on the mission of proclaiming the Good News. The apostles found themselves becoming, as Jesus had promised they would, his witnesses “in Jerusalem, throughout Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

This feast does not celebrate the end of Jesus’ presence in the world. Rather, we witness a transition that marks a change in the way Jesus is present in our world. Instead of using his own voice to address people, his own heart to love people, and his own hands to reach out to people, Jesus was now acting through his disciples. He used their voices to proclaim the good news to people, their hearts to love people, and their hands to reach out to people. Two thousand years later, he is using you and me to do the same thing. In other words, Jesus did not go away. He is very real and very much present in our midst, using our voices to address people, our hearts to love people, and our hands to reach out to people.

Another way to understand the lesson of this feast is to imagine that we are participants in a relay race. Just as a baton is passed from one runner to another, Jesus has passed his message of salvation onto the disciples, who in turned passed it onto those who heard them. That baton, our Catholic faith, has been passed on for countless generations. At some point in our lives, the baton of our faith was passed onto us and now Jesus is counting on us to pass this baton on for the sake of future generations.

I would not be one bit surprised if many of you feel powerless when it comes to sharing the good news. Many Catholics do not see themselves as evangelizers. At a loss for words or lacking the confidence to share their convictions, they say little or nothing about their faith. “I don’t discuss my religion with others,” they claim. Keep in mind, however, that actions speak louder than words and if your lives resonate with the values of our Catholic faith, you are indeed passing on the baton. We best pass the baton of faith on by giving witness to what we believe.

At the end of Mass, you are told in so many words, “The Mass is ended, go in peace.” Sometimes, you hear the rest of the line, “to love and serve the Lord.” In effect, you are being sent forth on the same mission given to the apostles, that is, pass on the baton of the gospel. Hopefully, the Mass has nourished and strengthened you spiritually for this mission. The odds are that you will rub shoulders with many others throughout the day who are hungering to hear what you heard. Might sharing your faith leave a positive impression on them? Jesus certainly hopes so!

If you find yourself amongst Catholics who for whatever reason choose not to attend Mass, don’t nag or scold them. Don’t stop loving them or praying for them either! Instead, ask them how they are nurturing their spiritual lives, then invite them to come with you to Mass next weekend when we celebrate Pentecost, the traditional birthday of our church.

In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul is urging us to get on with our mission of being Christian witnesses in this world. He never said being one would be easy. In fact, he suffered in ways we cannot begin to imagine, but he never let up, and neither must we. Like Paul, “I urge you to live in a manner worthy of the call you have received, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another through love, striving to preserve the unity of the spirit through the bond of peace.” Live your faith so that others who may be spiritually hungry can see the value of living the faith as well.  Perhaps, you will make a difference in someone’s life just as someone else made a difference in yours.

As we transition back to our daily routine, ponder what it means to be a Catholic beyond the four walls of this church. Remember, you are the church, so let go of whatever hinders you from fully living and sharing your faith for Jesus is counting on you to do your part in proclaiming the gospel to every creature.