2021

While there is no mention of the event in scripture, Catholics view the Assumption as a milestone in the life of Mary, celebrating our belief that as the mother of God, she was taken up, body and soul, into heaven when she completed her earthly life. Unlike the rest of humanity, we believe her body was never allowed to decay.

We have no history that tells us what really happened. There is no liturgical record of this feast until several centuries later. Yet from scripture, we can tell that no person is more closely linked with Jesus than his mother. Not only does Mary have the intimate bonding that only a mother can have with her child, she appears as the model Christian.

Because of her intimacy with Jesus, Mary reflects the person of Jesus Christ more perfectly than any one else. For this reason, Pope Pius XII wrote on November 1, 1050, “The immaculate Mother of God, the ever virgin Mary, having completed the course of her earthly life, was assumed body and soul into heavenly glory.”

So how does this feast touch us? Our Catechism notes, “The assumption of the Blessed Virgin is a singular participation in her Son’s resurrection and an anticipation of the resurrection of other Christians.” In other words, what happened to Mary will someday happen to us.

As followers of Christ, we believe and hope that just as Christ rose from the dead and lives forever, the virtuous will live forever with the risen Christ who will raise them on the last day. Jesus promises that all faithful Christians will have the same destiny of experiencing the resurrection.  In John’s gospel (11:25), he tells Martha, “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.” Jesus initially fulfilled that promise when Mary was assumed body and soul into heaven.

For many, this outcome is incomprehensible. Certainly our souls will last forever, but our bodies? Yes, our bodies, so clearly mortal, will also rise to everlasting life.  This feast invites us to celebrate death as our crossroads to eternal glory.  In his letter to the Corinthians Paul notes that death has no sting for those who believe in the resurrection. Just as our gifts of bread and wine are transformed into the body and blood of Christ, upon death, we will be transformed when we present the gifts of our body and soul to God.

Granted, death is a subject few of us have an easy time dealing with when it touches us personally. When my mother was terminally ill, neither of us would openly talk about what we knew was about to happen for fear that we would leave the other person more despondent yet why be afraid?  How different might we have felt had I known of this story then.

A long time ago, there lived a young boy whose parents had died. An aunt took him in and raised him as her own child. Years later, after he had grown up and left home, she sent a letter in which she disclosed that she was now terminally ill. From the tone of her letter, he could tell that she was afraid to die. He replied with a letter in which he wrote, “It is now thirty five years since I, a little boy of six, was left quite alone in the world. You sent me word that you would give me a home and be a mother to me. I’ve never forgotten that day when I made the long journey of ten miles to your house. I can still recall my disappointment when, instead of coming to me yourself, you sent your servant, Cesar, to fetch me. I well remember my tears and anxiety as, perched high on your horse and clinging tight to Cesar, I rode off to my new home.

“Night fell before we finished our journey and as it grew dark, I became even more afraid. ‘Do you think she’ll go to bed before I get there?’ I asked Cesar anxiously. ‘Oh, no,’ said Cesar. ‘she’s sure to stay up for you. When we get out of the woods, you’ll see her light shining in the window.’

“Presently, we did ride out into the clearing and there was your light. I remember that you were waiting at the door; that you put your arms tight around me; that you lifted me—a tired, frightened little boy—down from the horse. You had a fire burning on the hearth, a hot supper waiting on the stove. After supper you took me to my new room. You heard me say my prayers. Then you sat with me until I fell asleep.

“You probably realize why I am trying to recall this to your memory now. Very soon, God is going to send for you, and take you to your new home. I’m trying to tell you that you need not be afraid of the summons or the strange journey or of the dark messenger of death. God can be trusted. God can be trusted to do as much for you as you did for me so many years ago.

“At the end of the road, you’ll find love and a welcome waiting. And you’ll be safe in God’s care. I’m going to watch and pray for you until you are out of sight. And I shall wait for the day when I make the same journey myself and find you waiting at the end of the road to greet me.”

This feast sends us word that heaven can be our new home and the directions for getting there are rather simple. In the gospel, Jesus tells us, “blessed are those who hear the word of God and observe it.” As Mary demonstrated by her example often, that is done every time we willingly say “Yes,” to whatever God asks of us.

The opening reading from the First Book of Kings sets the mood for our readings this Sunday. A grumpy looking man showed up at a paint store, wearing a baggy T-shirt. Clearly he was not having a good day. From the top of his disheveled hair to the soles of his sneakers, he was splattered with paint. Standing in line to buy more paint, he looked pretty dejected. His T-shirt proclaimed his mood quite well. It read, “Life’s a bitch and then you die.”

My apologies if the punch line offended you yet I suspect a fair number of us can relate to the aspiring painter’s feelings. Like Elijah, who was quite discouraged, some of us may have cried out in much the same way, “This is enough, O Lord! Take my life for I am no better than my fathers.”

Elijah had good reason to be downcast. Things weren’t working out quite the way the prophet expected, nor did he feel life had been fair to him. Queen Jezebel threw him out of town for preaching against then killing her pagan prophets. He was now hiding in caves, wondering where to go next. Hungry and dejected, death seemed like a good option. He was exhausted, and shall we say, at the end of his rope.

Some of us have been there. We have had days when things didn’t go as planned. Hurt feelings led to broken relationships. Accidents or illnesses happen. Sometimes Murphy’s Law hits home and nothing seems to go right. When these misfortunes aren’t so minor or if too many happen at once, we also may feel that life isn’t fair and, like Elijah, we want to crawl off somewhere and die.

Notice that God didn’t accommodate Elijah’s plea. Instead of allowing him to die, God sent an angel to feed him, thus assuring him that he would be sustained on his journey.

His story is really our story. Elijah is a portrait of those who have reached rock bottom, of those who are hurting, feeling burnt out, let down, or discouraged. The story of this beaten down and frightened prophet is a reminder that however defeated we may feel, God is there to sustain us in our most trying and difficult times, giving us faith for our journey.

As I said, the discouraged painter wore a baggy T-shirt. If he could, I imagine God would add another line to this man’s litany, “Life is a blessing.”

When we focus on the spilled paint, lost opportunities, hurt feelings or broken relationships, we could easily overlook the fact that life is also God’s gift to us. If we would do as Elijah did and cry out to God in prayer when the chips are down, we give God the opportunity to sustain us on our life journey just as Elijah was.

God sent Jesus to sustain us on our faith journey. In today’s gospel, Jesus tells us, “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.”

We confess that the bread Jesus speaks of is present to us in the Eucharist, a gift we find hard to fully comprehend. Jesus offers himself as sustenance for a deeper and fuller spiritual life. A fitting question we ought to ponder is, “What does the Eucharist really mean to me?”

Numerous polls reveal that many Catholics see the Eucharist only as a symbol, not the real presence of Christ. Is the consecrated host, when offered to you as the “body of Christ,” only a piece of bread to you or really Jesus himself?

Our Church is clear in its conviction. The Eucharist is not a symbol. At communion, what is being offered isn’t bread, despite its taste and appearance. Based on what he said at the Last Supper, Jesus is as truly present to us as he was when he walked the streets of Jerusalem. The real presence of Jesus cannot be explained in a rational way yet in faith, we believe that in the Eucharist we receive both Jesus’ humanity and divinity. Our belief in the Real Presence is contingent on believing in his divinity.

There is no substitute for faith. Faith is what sustained Elijah on his journey. Faith is what kept Paul going. Faith is what brings us together today. Faith gives us food for our journey. As our faith deepens through prayer, our yearning for and appreciation of the Eucharist also deepens.

From its beginnings the Church has celebrated the Eucharist as a reminder that the resurrection did not happen only on Easter morning. The resurrection happens when we allow God to enter our lives to destroy the evil and depression that saps us of the will to live. Jesus continues to feed us with himself to give us new life. Since there is room for one more line on that baggy T-shirt, Jesus could add, “then you rise!”

The next time things aren’t going right, listen to Paul. He provides wise advice on how to treat those with whom we share our lives. Instead of being bitter or angry, be kind, compassionate, and forgiving. Then whisper a short prayer for those who could also be having a rough day so that they may also come to believe that even when the chips are down, life is a blessing and you will rise!  

We just heard John’s version of the loaves and fish that is repeated in all four gospels. The miracle of Jesus feeding so many with so little is a sign that in the days to come God would fill God’s people with much needed sustenance. As today’s psalm notes, “The hand of the Lord feeds us; he answers all our needs.”

Jesus certainly answered the needs of the hungry crowd that day. In John’s gospel, unlike the others, this event took place near the Jewish feast of Passover. The Last Supper, the basis of our liturgy, is linked to the Passover, but John doesn’t mention this incident in his gospel. This timing is significant since the Passover is the sacred meal of the Jews celebrating their freedom from slavery in Egypt and the Lord’s continual protection as they journeyed to the promised land of milk and honey.

Jesus was providing the crowd and us with a prelude to another Passover meal, namely himself. The Last Supper would be the first opportunity for the people of God to eat the body and blood of the Lord. John was speaking here of more than barley loaves and fish being multiplied. By the time he wrote his gospel, the young church had a deeper grasp of the miracle that took place on that hillside. With this sign, Jesus performs a prophetic action. Those who eat this bread will live in the house of the Lord forever.

Recall that when the Israelites crossed the desert, they complained of being hungry. God heard their grumbling and provided them with much needed sustenance known as “manna.” What this manna was is uncertain. What is known is that God took care of them and made certain they were fed. Moses told the people not to gather more than they needed and that the left over manna need not be saved.

In contrast, Jesus told the apostles to gather up the left over fragments so that nothing would be wasted. Notice that whatever hosts are not consumed during the Mass are saved in the tabernacle for what has been consecrated remains the body and blood of Christ to be later shared with those who could not be there to eat it, namely the sick.

When we receive communion, we are present at the Last Supper. We enter into an intimate union with God, who sent his son to provide us with food for our spiritual journey that nourishes our spiritual lives. His body and blood keeps us strong to better resist the devil and give us the strength to proclaim his kingdom.  We are blessed when receiving communion, knowing that the hand of the Lord is feeding us.

Just as Jesus had compassion for the multitude, it was compassion that brought him to earth in the first place. Compassion prompts him to be present to us here and now as we gather to celebrate the Eucharist, the meal in which he nourishes our spiritual hunger.

The Eucharist isn’t meant to be a personal individualistic encounter, a solitary supper, or your private party with Jesus. Its function is to form a community, which is one reason why we call this Holy Communion. We are a body of believers in Christ, willing to act in response to what he asks of us. The Eucharist is meant to move us from this gathering to the world out there to build the kingdom of God.

As Catholics, we don’t need science to tell us something is miraculous in order to believe it. In a miracle, the laws of physics are suspended or upended. If out of nothing God can create all that is, who are we to limit what God can do? Hence, with faith we believe that this sustenance we receive is not bread and wine. It is the Son of God, his body, blood, soul and divinity.

The devil is well aware of the power embedded in the Eucharist and is intent on discouraging us from believing in the potential of this sacrament to transform us into carrying on the mission of Jesus Christ in bringing about his kingdom. His strategy is simple and subtle, tempting us to give into self-centered, comfort seeking attitudes. When we do, we can be easily persuaded to forego attending Mass and dismissing the value of the Eucharist in our lives.

The devil can also persuade us to be uncaring about others. Hunger continues to be a very real problem even for some on this island who often hide in the woods rather than stand on street corners panhandling. They rely on caring people to feed them. How often do you care to bring something from your pantry to drop into one of our 3 P’s bins to help Good Cheer in its mission to feed the less fortunate?

In his letter, Paul urges us to live in a manner worthy of the call we have received. The food of the Eucharist isn’t changed into you. You are changed into Christ. You don’t become a clone of Jesus; rather Jesus reshapes you to love as Jesus loved.

We are challenged by the Eucharist to be caring toward others. Generosity should have a central place in the life of every Christian, and we get many opportunities in our everyday dealings with one another to practice it; not just giving things but also and more importantly giving of ourselves, our time, our energy, our talent and our love.

Joy is one fruit of generosity. You rarely meet a generous person who is sad and you will never meet a happy miser.

The readings bring to mind an advertising lingo, “Hallmark, when you care enough to send the very best.” God did care enough to send the very best. The Lord promised Jeremiah that he would send his son. This happened centuries later when Jesus came and cared enough to do his very best so that by dying on the cross, he redeemed us.

Twice Mark mentions Jesus’ compassion in this pithy gospel passage. Caring about his disciples, he suggests that they retreat to an out of the way place but before they could, the crowds mobbed them. “People were coming and going in great numbers, and they had no opportunity even to eat.” Jesus cared for the crowd as well. “Moved with pity for them, he began to teach them many things.”

The hallmark of being a Christian is obeying the greatest commandment, which is to love the Lord your God and your neighbor as yourself. We fail to do that at times when our prejudices blind us from caring about others.  Jesus’ concern brings to mind the tale of care-collector.

In the plaza of a certain village, collectors gathered, making a living collecting things other people discarded. The collectors discovered that once you had enough of certain discarded items, they become valuable again. The people in the village believed that if something was for sale, it must be worth buying. There were collectors of every kind, selling pots and pans, stamps and books, golf clubs and hats, along with comics and trading cards. The village had a sizeable collection of collectors.

One day an old man wandered into town and asked where the collector’s plaza was located. He carried a large sack that didn’t seem to burden him. When he found the plaza, he settled himself in a corner. The other collectors eagerly inquired about what was in his sack. He told them there was nothing in it but his lunch and jacket.

“You don’t have a collection of any kind?” they asked. “Aren’t you a collector?” “Oh, yes,” he said, “I’m a collector, but what I collect doesn’t fit in a sack. I collect people’s cares.”

The idea seemed rather odd to those listening so they asked for an explanation. “Well, you see, I learned that what everybody has too much of and always try to get rid of are cares, trials, burdens, sorrows, difficult times…all kinds of things that weigh them down and make life burdensome. So I offer to collect these cares from them and they feel better. Isn’t that simple?”

Some of the collectors who heard this thought this was silly but they left him alone since he didn’t seem to harm anyone. Soon, someone asked him how he collected cares and he replied, “Well, there is probably something in your life that is bothering you right now…some care that you have. Just tell me about it and I will add it to my collection.” “But how will that help me? Can you make the problem go away just because I tell you about it?” the inquirer asked. “No,” the care collector replied, “but you will feel better about it.”

So that person told the old man what was bothering him. When he finished, the care-collector nodded a few times and then put his hands together as if to scoop up something heavy and pretended to put it in his sack. “There, I have put it away. How do you feel?” he asked. The person who had shared his story said, “Why, I do feel better. It really worked. I think I can handle my problems better now!”

Word spread and soon others were lined up to give their cares to the care-collector. His spot became the most popular one in the plaza. Then one day he left town. Many cried when they heard that he was gone. In talking to one another, they observed that the old man really cared. “Who could possibly take his place?” they asked one another. Then someone piped up, “We can! Collecting cares still works! You can do it for me and I can do it for you! He showed us how!”

Everyone of us has felt pity at times: seeing the debris of a car wreck on the shoulder of the freeway, hearing about a friend’s illness, or seeing the devastation caused by forest fires or flooding. Whenever tragedy strikes, we reach out to others because we care. We have a hint as to how God cares about us when we care about others. All of us are capable of caring. The need to care is there but at times it’s overlooked. Think, for example, of how some people are the victims of racial prejudice or homelessness. When we care, we are living the gospel.

Jesus, our care-collector, wants to collect our cares, whatever they may be. We create this opportunity when we seek an out of the way place to pray or take time to celebrate the sacrament of reconciliation. Our desert place could be anywhere we can get in touch with our God…a bedroom, our car while waiting for the ferry, a supermarket checkout line, a doctor’s waiting room… any place where we can tune out the world’s noise and turn to the Lord within us.

Any place we can sit still and listen to the Lord and find within ourselves the strength to carry on knowing that the Lord fully cares for us. In those moments, we can quietly see for ourselves the many ways we can see that the hallmark of a good Christian is being a caring disciple.