2020

This Lenten season has been one few of us will ever forget. We never imagine on Ash Wednesday that we would be giving up gathering as a faith community within the walls of our church to celebrate the Eucharist. Nor did we imagine that on this day, we would not wave palms, much less take any home. In the midst of this quarantine imposed on us by the covid-19 virus, we are venturing into a rather unusual Holy week.

Had we been able to gather together, we would have heard before Mass started the gospel passage proclaiming Jesus’ regal entrance into the city of Jerusalem, riding on a colt amid shouts of joy from the onlookers. How euphoric that was for everyone involved.

Jesus was welcomed as a hero who would lead his fellow Jews into battle and defeat their enemies. For the people of biblical Jerusalem, that meant the Romans. They anticipated that their Messiah would establish a kingdom of peace and justice. Because the Messiah was to be a descendant of King David, the great warrior king of the Old Testament, Jesus was called “Son of David.”

As Jesus entered the city, the crowds cried out, “Hosanna!” This exclamation means “Lord, save us!” Because the Jews believed the Messiah deserved the red carpet treatment, Jesus was greeted with palms and cloaks thrown on the ground as he rode through the city. By their words and actions, the people of Jerusalem proclaimed Jesus as their long awaited Messiah.

Jesus accepted the honor but as he had often revealed in his teachings, the Messiah would not be a military hero but a humble servant of God who would conquer sin and death by dying on the cross.

Thus, the cheers of the crowds soon turned to jeers. When Jesus failed to be the messiah whom they anticipated, the citizens of Jerusalem demanded, “Let him be crucified!” What a radical change, going from a hero’s welcome to a humiliating barbaric painful execution.

To an outsider, such betrayal may have made sense. Jesus was in the opinion of some a self-proclaimed eccentric who got the fate he deserved. To his followers, however, what happened epitomized all that he had taught them during their time together. To love God means to surrender oneself to the will of God. What better way could the teacher drive home this crucial message than by his own example?

Jesus emptied himself to demonstrate the total surrender of his personal interests to God. That didn’t come easy for even on the cross he cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Still, Jesus knew he had no choice. To place his interests first would mean being unfaithful to his mission, the one voiced by those who pleaded, “Hosanna! Save us!”

The last thing Jesus could ever do was betray his Father.

Matthew’s narrative of the passion opened with Judas opting to betray Jesus. He asked the chief priests, “What are you willing to give me if I hand him over to you?” But Judas was not alone. Many others betrayed Jesus; the crowds, the chief priests, even his disciples. They weren’t the first nor would they be the last. Adam and Eve were the first to betray God and by our own sinfulness, we have done the same.

Betrayal means surrendering to the enemy. In this case, think of God’s number enemy, namely Satan. Betrayal describes the motives behind Judas, Peter, Pilate, the chief priests and nearly everyone else in the Passion story. They were no longer faithful to God, opting instead for what they wanted, choosing to be selfish rather than loving, putting their self-interests ahead of what God was asking of them.

How often have we made choices based on what we wanted without considering the costs beforehand if our choices put us at odds with what God is asking of us?

Last week, I received this prayer from a friend in Salt Lake City that I want to pass on to you for this Holy Week when we are being asked to stay home so we can keep healthy.

May we who are merely inconvenienced, remember those whose lives are at stake. May we who have no risk factors, remember those who are most vulnerable.

May we who have the luxury of working from home, remember those who must choose between preserving their health or making their rent. May we who have the flexibility to care for our children when their schools are closed, remember those who have no such option.

May we who have to cancel trips, remember those who have no safe place to go. May we who are losing our margin money in the tumult of the economic market, remember those who have no margin at all.

May we who settle in for a quarantine at home, remember those who have no home. As fear grips our country, let us choose love.

During this time when we cannot physically wrap our arms around each other, let us find ways to be the loving embrace of God to our neighbors.

Amen.

The first funeral Mass I ever attended was for my father. I was seventeen when he died unexpectedly that Monday morning from a heart attack. I still recall the moment when the phone call came from the hospital that he had died.

That morning, in the fall of 1966, I dealt with death unlike ever before. Dad would not be home for dinner that night or ever again. Slowly the news sank in. I imagined that he had left that day on another trip with a one-way ticket, not into oblivion but to eternal life.

I was accustomed to saying good-bye to Dad. As an army officer, he had been away from home more than once for months at a time. His last overseas trip had been to Korea the year before. He hadn’t even been home ten months when he died.

During that time he was in Korea, the Mass began to change. The altar was turned around and slowly Latin was being replaced with English lines. I wasn’t too surprised to see Dad go to Mass with us on his first Sunday home. I thought he was curious to see how the Mass had changed.

At communion time, he stood alongside me in the aisle to let my mother and siblings pass by, then he followed them up to receive communion. I walked behind him, thinking to myself, “Hey, Dad, the Mass has changed but you still gotta be Catholic to go to communion!” Imagine the scene of joy after Mass when my mother learned what my father had done. Her prayer of 20 years had been answered at last for Dad became Catholic shortly before coming home from Korea.

These memories come to mind because this was the gospel we heard at his funeral. I don’t recall hearing much about Martha, Mary or Lazarus in the homily, but I do remember hearing the words, “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” I heard these words in a new light. The change I saw in my father’s faith during the last months of his life impressed me enough that I had no doubt he found eternal life. John uses the miracle of Lazarus to teach us that in Jesus Christ, our souls will find eternal life.

Sooner or later, death will be our common experience. If Jesus’ reaction to the death of Lazarus is any indication, God takes no delight in this milestone we will all encounter but rejoices at what could follow and hopefully we will too as the last bit of life ebbs from us. We won’t be in control of our bodies then but we are in control of our destiny.

At death’s door we may feel utterly helpless as we are about to venture into the unknown but we need not be afraid for death is not the end of our existence. Just as he raised up Lazarus from the dead, Jesus will raise our mortal bodies someday as well if we want to spent eternity with him.

This is what Jesus has done for every person who has gone before us marked with faith. In one funeral preface, we hear the lines, “Indeed for your faithful, Lord, life is changed not ended, and, when this earthly dwelling turns to dust, an eternal dwelling is made ready for them in heaven.” However much we may grieve the loss of a loved one here and now, we are hopeful that they have moved onto a better place that will surpass our wildest expectations.

On Friday, Pope Francis said, “Faith begins when we realize we are in need of salvation. We are not self-sufficient; by ourselves we flounder: we need the Lord, like ancient navigators needed the stars. Let us invite Jesus into the boats of our lives. Let us hand over our fears to him so that he can conquer them. Because this is God’s strength: turning to the good everything that happens to us, even the bad things. He brings serenity into our storms, because with God life never dies.”

Shortly before he died, Cardinal Bernadin of Chicago described his bout with terminal cancer in this way, “To paraphrase Charles Dickens in A Tale of Two Cities,‘It has been the best of times, it has been the worst of times.’ The worst because of the humiliation, physical pain, anxiety and fear. The best because of the reconciliation, love, pastoral sensitivity and peace that have resulted from God’s grace and the support and prayers of so many people.”

Hopefully, the cardinal speaks for anyone who is now ill. How unnerving it has been for us in recent weeks and will be for weeks to come with the coronavirus pandemic. As of now, more people have become ill with this bug in America than in any other country. How long must we deal with this situation is anyone’s guess but my daily prayer is that no one in our parish will become ill much less die from this disease.

While for the sake of your health, we cannot gather as a faith community, let’s remain upbeat knowing that God is with us through prayer and scripture. As Paul points out, “If the Spirit of the one who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, the One who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also, through his Spirit dwelling in you.”

We need not fear the moment when death arrives for that moment will bring us to the best of times whenever it comes. We will be reunited with loved ones who have gone before us marked with faith and unbounded by our earthly restraints, we will be free at last to love God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength.

This lengthy gospel opened with the question, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” So often whenever something is amiss, we wonder, as did the disciples, “Who is to blame for this?”

In the midst of the current coronavirus pandemic, some might also wonder, “Is the world going to hell in a hen-basket?” If so, how apt are we to blame someone for this? Like the Pharisees in today’s gospel, we thrive on blaming someone else for our misfortunes and tragedies.

In response to the disciples’ question, Jesus points out that no one is to blame for the man’s blindness. He went on to say that the man was born blind so that the works of God might be made visible through him. Blame doesn’t have any place in God’s design of things. Instead, Jesus challenges us to discern the light of God in the midst of our darkness.

Before Jesus walked into his life, the blind man was likely filled with despair over his misfortune, blaming God or his parents for his handicap. That was a common belief in biblical times. We witness him going from non-belief to belief in Jesus, while those who could see plunge into even greater darkness, missing the awesome message of this miracle that in the midst of this person’s misfortune God is there.

Claiming to know what is right and what is wrong, the Pharisees discredit Jesus, judging him a sinner for “working” on the Sabbath. At the end of this gospel, Jesus criticized them since their “holier than thou” attitude prevented them from seeing the truth. For Jesus, everything, even the greatest tragedy, can be an occasion in which God’s works can be seen if we seek resurrection rather than reproach. He hints that the Pharisees are sinful because their self-assurance blinded them from recognizing who Jesus is.

Like eyes often do with cataracts, our spiritual and moral vision can slowly and unknowingly become clouded. Ask the elderly and they will tell you that the dimming of their eyesight was so gradual that they didn’t realize what was happening to them. Likewise, the shift in our spiritual vision can be so gradual that we may fail to see the sin in our lives or appreciate the beauty of our Catholic faith in its fullness.

In the midst of this trying time when the good majority of you cannot attend Mass due to the quarantine imposed by the coronavirus pandemic, we must not forget St. Paul’s message that we are “now light in the Lord” so we should live as children of the light. We should see the world as God does with care and compassion for those who are suffering, for the light of Christ produces every kind of goodness.

To see well, good eyesight alone is not sufficient. Blindness doesn’t affect only our eyes. There are many forms of blindness beside physical blindness. In some ways these forms of figurative blindness may be even more crippling.

For example, selfishness blinds us to the needs of others. Insensitivity blinds us to the hurt we’re causing to others. Snobbery blinds us to the equal dignity of others. Pride blinds us to our own faults. Prejudice blinds us to the truth. Hurry blinds us to the beauty of God’s creation. Materialism blinds us to spiritual values. Superficiality blinds us to the person’s true worth causing us to judge by appearances.

The gospel isn’t just about a certain blind man who lived ages ago whom Jesus healed; it is really about how blind we can be. The good news is that we can be cured of our “blindness.” Rather than play the blame game when things go wrong, we should focus instead on how we can find Christ continually in every moment of our lives and likewise help others to do the same. We must never lose sight that God is at work through us, even in places and at times when we think he could not be.

It is not only with our eyes that we see. We also see with the mind, the heart and the imagination. A narrow mind, a small heart, and/or an impoverished imagination like that of the Pharisees can lead us to loss of spiritual vision, darken our lives, and shrink our world. As I said moments ago, we often judge others by appearances but God told Samuel, not as man sees does God see for the Lord looks into the heart.

It has been said that the greatest tragedy is not to be born blind, but to have eyes and yet fail to see. Or worst yet, to have eyes and refuse to see. That was the situation for the Pharisees, which frustrated Jesus no end, prompting him to point out that unlike them, once the blind man could see with his heart, he could then see Jesus as Lord and worship him while they could not.

In a sense we are all born blind. As we go through life our eyes gradually open to the light of Christ. He touches our eyes so that we can see the world as he sees.

In the midst of this health crisis when we are being urged to be more caring, considerate and compassionate, we need to be willing to see things differently. Lets not panic or become irrational. Lets not give up on our faith in Christ and his care for us either. The most important vision one can have is that of faith. The smallest child with eyes of faith sees more than the smartest scientist who has none. In the days ahead, A good prayer for the remaining days of Lent would be to ask God to help us see Christ more clearly, love Christ more dearly, and follow more Christ more nearly.

None of us have traveled the path of the Samaritan woman. With the luxury of indoor plumbing or bottled water we don’t need to trek far to quench our thirst.

There is another kind of thirst however. Namely, we thirst for what we desire, the good things of this earth: food, drink, a nice home, companionship, entertainment, a good income, peace of mind, friends and family. It is part of our nature to desire these things. This kind of thirst can be defined as horizontal thirst. It is part of our nature to desire these things.

We also have another kind of thirst that I call vertical thirst. This deeper thirst is an innate desire for meaning and purpose in life that is also built into our nature. There is nothing we can do to ignore that desire just as we cannot ignore our natural desires for food and water.

Unlike horizontal thirst, our vertical thirst cannot be satisfied by our own efforts. Only God can satisfy this thirst for he created us like that on purpose to draw us toward an intimate, personal contact with his eternal unconditional love.

Even when all our horizontal thirsts are satisfied, when we have money, success, and pleasure, we are still restless. The things of this world cannot satisfy our deeper vertical thirst for we were made to be in communion with God. As our catechism notes, God is where we find our ultimate happiness. The meaning and purpose of life, which alone will give us true happiness, comes from our friendship with Christ, not from the things that quench our horizontal thirsts.

When we forget that, when we try to satisfy our vertical thirst with only horizontal stuff, we put ourselves on the road to frustration, tragedy, and disappointment.

We are advised to drink plenty of water for the sake of good health, especially now during this coronavirus pandemic. Without water we can’t survive for long.

In the readings we find the Israelites grumbling in the desert, “Did you make us leave Egypt so that we would die here of thirst along with our livestock?” Then we encounter the woman at the well at high noon. In biblical times, women usually went to the well in the early hours of the morning so why do we find this woman alone at the well at high noon?

Many scripture scholars contend that her peers had ostracized her for living with a man who was not her husband. Perhaps she avoided them out of shame. If so, we may have more in common with her than we realize. After all, how do we feel in the sight of God and others when we have sinned?

She was living a life of alienation, loneliness and inner turmoil. She had been trying to slake her vertical thirst with horizontal stuff: human love, comfort and earthly pleasures. She learned the hard way that such a formula didn’t work. She needed to find the spring of water welling up to eternal life. She found that in Christ, whom she met at the well.

When Jesus reveals himself to her, her life turns around. She may have once considered herself beyond redemption but then it hits her, she has been saved! Transformed by the realization that she has found the Messiah, she runs off into town to share the good news with everyone else.

Clearly the Holy Spirit was at work in the midst of all this. Many in the town also believed in Jesus and begged him to stay. They regarded him as the Savior of the world, the only time in the gospels where Jesus as a man is called that.

The woman and the people of her town had been wandering through a spiritual desert, slowly dying a death of frustration and perhaps boredom. They may have been enjoying the material pleasures of life and prosperity but they were thirsting for something greater, which was quenched by Christ himself.

We need look no further for the secret to happiness than Christ. He is the rock and the water flowing in the desert of this fallen world. If we make satisfying our vertical thirst our first priority by loving God and our neighbor, then the happiness we seek through our horizontal thirsts will be quenched as well.

God’s will for us is to love one another, to care as much about the needs of those around us, both materially and spiritually, as we do about our own needs. God also wants us to think well of others, to speak well of others and to act well towards others. That is what almsgiving is all about.

Speaking of alms, since you aren’t able to be physically present here as I celebrate Mass, please consider mailing your contribution to the parish. Your support is still very critical in this trying time.

Just as the woman and the town encountered Jesus at the well, you and I can encounter Jesus in our time of prayer. The church is open during the day for you to stop by and pray. In the solitude of your home, take time to ponder the readings of the day, using the Word Among Us, or go on line to Give Us This Day.net or the Magnificat. Both of these missals are making their digital websites available to you during these challenging times.

Viruses have come and gone in our lifetime but none has impacted the lives of so many, disrupting the global economy, closing schools and work places, compelling people to cancel or alter travel plans, to hoarding basic supplies like toilet paper and water, as they prepare to isolate themselves from one another. But this is not a time for us to isolate ourselves from God. While we may not be literally thirsting for water, unlike the Israelites in the desert or the woman at the well, we are thirsting for things that give us relief, things which only God can satisfy.

As Jesus said to the woman, “Whoever drinks the water I shall give will never thirst.”

I have long enjoyed the comic strip Dennis the Menace for he depicts our human traits so well. One apt scenario that comes to mind shows Dennis with his dog, Ruff, walking along side Margaret. While he is pulling his red wagon, Margaret, clutching her doll, is busily jabbering away.

In the next panel, Dennis gives Ruff a sidelong glance while Margaret continues her chatter. This time, she is speaking directly to Dennis. The third panel shows Margaret wildly beating poor Dennis with her doll, saying, “Dennis, you’re not listening to me while I am speaking to you!” In the last panel, he turns to her and replies, “Margaret, I’m listening to you; it’s just that I’m not paying any attention!”

How readily do we listen to what someone else is saying? Listening isn’t always easy, especially if the conversation tends to be a monologue. Instead of listening attentively, I am busy with my own thoughts, waiting to either refute what is said or add my two cents worth. Meanwhile, I could be cheating myself out of learning something new from you.

By listening well, you hear more than just words. Admittedly, there is a risk to listening well, for when you do, you open yourself up to what the other person has to say. In the end, you may find yourself a changed person.

Such was the case for Abraham. He listened. Now, he could have ignored God. After all, he was seventy-five years old and in those days, travel was not an easy undertaking for anyone. When he ventured to the Promised Land, his life was changed forever. By truly listening to God, Abraham earned the distinction of becoming the father of our faith.

That was also the case for Peter, James and John when they witnessed the transfiguration. As they viewed Jesus in this new light alongside Moses and Elijah, they heard a voice that said, “This is my beloved son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.”

They no longer saw Jesus as an itinerant rabbi making the rounds through the hills of Judea and Galilee or as a political leader who would liberate their homeland from the Romans. They now viewed Jesus as the one who could transform their lives if they heeded God’s command and listened to him. They came down the mountain very much changed by what they had seen and heard.

Transformation comes from letting go of the known and being willing to embrace the unknown. As a society we experience change in countless ways. That which we take for granted today in science, technology, economics and politics was unheard of a century ago; transplants, personal computers, credit cards, and presidential primaries.

What matters more to God is the transformation that can happen in us personally. In his letter to Timothy, Paul points out that by Christ’s actions, God has saved us and that we are being called to a holy life, not because of any merits of ours but according to God’s own design.

Unlike Abraham, most of us will not receive such a direct command from God yet each day we can experience God in our lives through prayer. Imagine God speaking to you now, “This is my beloved son, listen to him.” God affirms Jesus, his teachings and his mission. Who could give us better advice? Jesus has much to say to us, but first we have to listen well. That means putting aside our own agenda.

Listening to Jesus means getting to know him. He is not just another wise teacher, like Confucius or Buddha. He is the fulfillment of the long history of salvation beginning with Abraham, throughout the Old Testament that is represented in the Transfiguration by the appearance of Moses and Elijah. He is God made man, whose glory is beyond anything we can imagine. Peter, James and John got a glimpse of it, and it transformed their understanding of him.

So listen to him. What Jesus says may not always be pleasant or attractive, but he knows what he is doing. He has ultimate authority beyond anything anyone else may utter.

Most of us can probably hear exactly what Jesus is saying to us right now. He is always inviting us to follow him more closely. Recall how often he urged his listeners to repent. Perhaps he is asking you to come to him in the sacrament of reconciliation, so that he can help you break a debilitating sinful habit that is holding you back from spiritual maturity.

Maybe he is asking you to reconcile with a friend or relative you haven’t spoken to in awhile, to forgive someone whom you don’t think deserves to be forgiven. Doing that could transform both you and the person who offended you.

Perhaps fear is holding you back from doing that but Jesus is also saying to you, “Rise, and do not be afraid.” Do not be afraid to listen and change. We must not let fear even of the coronavirus overpower us. Granted, transformation is hard. We often resist change so we resist heeding what Jesus is telling us to do. “Leave me alone!” we protest. Then we wonder why the world is in sad shape.

Jesus comes to us in the Eucharist and scriptures and when he does, lets pay attention to him and respond, “OK, Lord, I believe in you. I want to listen to you. Thy will be done, Lord, thy kingdom come.” If we heed his advice, we too can be transformed to make this a better world.