22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (August 30, 2020)

Salesian Sunday Reflection

22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time

August 30, 2020

In today’s Gospel, Jesus challenges us to lose our life in order to find it. St. Francis de Sales speaks of losing our life so as to find it in Christ through a change of heart.

To lose our life in this sense is to let go of our unhealthy, self-centered loves. That may cause us to suffer. Yet, we must not be disturbed at our imperfections, for holiness consists in letting go of them.  How can we abandon them unless we see and overcome them? Our victory consists in being conscious of them and not consenting to them.

As long as we live, we will feel the stirrings of anger and attachments. They ought not to surprise us, for these emotions of the heart are spontaneous natural inclinations. It is not these that we wish to uproot. Holiness does not consist in feeling nothing! What we need to uproot are those actions that are consequences of these emotions, like those murmurings that dissipate our energy, and that we willingly nurture in our heart for days.

To the extent that our beloved Jesus lives in your heart your whole being will be turned away from a culture that has so often deceived you. Dead to your old life, you will find a new life in Christ. The stars do not stop shining in the sun’s presence. Rather the sunlight is so bright that they are hidden within the sunlight. So, too, we no longer live by ourselves when we live Jesus, for our life is hidden in Christ with God.

Whoever wins your heart has won you wholly. While our heart is the source of our actions, it must be instructed on how it ought to act. If you live Jesus in your heart, you will soon live Him in all your outward ways. As if holding your heart, soul, and will in your own hands, dedicate and consecrate them to God. Little by little as we change the orientation of our heart, we find our true life in living Jesus. We come to love what God loves. Then, like Mary, we can say, “My being proclaims the greatness of the Lord!”

(Adapted from the writings of St. Francis de Sales)

21st Sunday in Ordinary Time (August 28, 2020)

In today’s Gospel we experience Peter firmly identifying Jesus as the “Christ, the Son of the living God.” St. Francis de Sales has much to say about St. Peter:

God does not always choose the holiest to govern and to serve in His Church. Our Lord chose Peter as Chief of the Apostles even though he was subject to many imperfections. Peter, filled with much zeal, was apt to be impetuous. While he followed our Savior with his whole heart, he stumbled many times after his initial calling.

He boasted that he would never abandon Our Lord. Yet, he found himself cursing Him and saying that he never knew Him. That pierced our Lord’s heart!

Yet, Our Lord did not reject Peter, since He was sure that St. Peter had a strong and constant determination to correct himself.  Peter ought to have relied on Our Lord’s power than to trust in the fervor that he felt. Peter’s natural disposition to cater to his feelings and desires was in part the cause of his lapses. When we experience certain lapses in our on-going conversion, we must not abandon our quest for holiness. Like Peter, let us have a strong and constant determination to take the measures needed to correct ourselves. Then we too will receive special favors and blessings on earth and in heaven.

What a great reason to anchor our hope and confidence completely in Our Lord! For even after spending one’s life in horrible crimes and iniquities, one can find forgiveness when one returns to the Source of our Redemption, Christ. We must not listen to the voice that tells us that our faults are unpardonable. We must say boldly that our God died for all. No matter how ungodly one is, he or she will find redemption in our Savior.  Let us consider with what patience our divine Savior awaits those who reject Him. Then like Peter, we may say, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God,” our Redeemer.

(Adapted from the writings of St. Francis de Sales)

20th Sunday in Ordinary Time (August 16, 2020)

Salesian Sunday Reflection

20th Sunday in Ordinary Time

August 16, 2020

In today’s Gospel we experience the Canaanite woman’s deep faith in Jesus. St. Francis de Sales expands on her confident and persevering response of faith in Jesus.

If God gives us no indication of hearing our prayers or of promptly answering them, we lose courage. We cannot persevere in prayer. We quit it completely, then and there. This is not the case with the Canaanite woman. Our Lord at first was paying no attention to her prayer. Since He did not respond to her, He seemed to do her an injustice. Nonetheless, the woman persevered in crying out after Him, even after the apostles told Him to send her away.

She had great confidence when she made her request amidst squalls and tempests that ordinarily shake one’s certainty. Like the Canaanite woman we ought to have firm confidence in Our Savior’s power and will, particularly in tribulations. Will God, who makes houses for the snails and turtles, not have care and mercy for you, a child of God?  Such confidence always accompanies attentive faith.

Attentive faith is what the Canaanite woman had. She stood among Jesus’ listeners, carefully observing Him. Her faith was great, not only because she was so attentive to what she had heard spoken about Him. But she also decided to believe what others said of Him. We make our faith in God livelier by reflecting attentively on the mysteries of our Savior. These reflections make our heart desire the innumerable virtues of Jesus.

Perseverance is a virtue that flows from a faith attentive to the mysteries that Scripture and Tradition teach us. Our happiness is grounded on perseverance. If Our Lord seems not to hear us, it is to compel us to cry out louder and to draw us closer to God who gives us our power to persevere. Courage then! Like the Canaanite woman, let us walk faithfully with confidence in the way of our Savior and we will eternally be happy.

(Adapted from the writings of St. Francis de Sales,

especially Sermons, ed. L. Fiorelli).

19th Sunday in Ordinary Time (August 9, 2020)

In today’s Gospel, Jesus challenges us to take the risk of following Him with ever deeper faith as we are tossed about in the storm of life. St. Francis de Sales speaks similarly:

When fearfully faced with tempests and earthquakes, we make acts of faith and hope. Yet, there is another kind of fear where we find everything difficult and trying. We think more of future difficulties than what we have to do at present. Rise and do not be frightened by the day’s work. It is natural that the night is for rest and the day for work.

Let us do three simple things, and we shall have peace. Let us have a very pure intention of seeking, in all things, the honor and glory of God. Then let us do the little we can toward this end. Finally, let us leave to God the care of all the rest. I have seen few people make progress without experiencing trials, so you must be patient. After the squall, God will send the calm. Children are afraid when they are out of their mother’s arms. They feel nothing can harm them if they are holding her hand. Hold God’s hand and God will protect you from all, for you are armored with truth and faith.

If you lack courage, be like Peter and cry out, “Lord save me!” Then resume your journey quietly. Often we think we have lost peace because we are afflicted. Yet we have not lost it if we remain totally dependent on God’s will, and in no way abandon our responsibilities. Let us carry out our tasks courageously, and you will see that with God’s help we will go beyond the reaches of the world, beyond its limits. Trust then in God, and all things will be rendered easy, although at first they may frighten you a little.

Our Lord is called Prince of Peace in the Scriptures. Where He is absolute master, He holds everything in peace. To be at peace in the midst of warfare, to live serenely amid trials: this, indeed, is to imitate the “Prince of Peace.”

(Adapted from the writings of St. Francis de Sales,

especially Sermons, ed. L. Fiorelli).

18th Sunday in Ordinary Time (August 2, 2020)

18th Sunday in Ordinary Time

August 2, 2020

In today’s Gospel we experience Jesus using his power to heal and nourish others. We are called to use our gifts to love and care for others. St. Francis de Sales expands on this:

We must love much to help others progress in holiness. Faith, hope and love form the basis of a generous heart. Generosity makes us trust in God’s goodness in us. Generosity has us proclaim that we can do anything in God who strengthens us. If commanded by God, a heart that is humble and generous can work miracles. While it is vigilant lest it fall, a heart that has confidence in God gives birth to a generous spirit. In simplicity of heart, a generous spirit sets to work with confidence that God will not fail to give it the power to realize its undertakings.

A generous heart does not rely on its own strength to undertake its tasks. It relies on the gifts God gives it. Thus, we must give great value to the gifts God has given us. They ought to be acknowledged, respected and honored, and used for God’s glory. There are some people who have a false humility that prevents them from seeing the good in themselves. True humility is generous and reduces what is false in us. Falseness demeans us and prevents us from esteeming our inherent excellence. Falseness does not wish us to consider the excellence of God in us. We must see that it is pride

 to refuse the graces God desires to give us. God’s gifts obligate us to accept them.

Through esteeming God, the author of our excellence, we come to esteem the hidden spiritual gifts in ourselves and in our neighbor. Our love of self and others has its source in God’s love as exemplified in Jesus. Our Savior always preferred us to Himself and does so each time He nourishes us in the Eucharist. Similarly, He wants us to nurture our gifts by using them to love and serve Him with all our heart and all our power.

(Adapted from the writings of St. Francis de Sales, especially, Spiritual Conferences, I. Caneiro, Ed.)

17th Sunday in Ordinary Time (July 26, 2020)

So often the connection between the first reading and the Gospel is one of similarity. Today, we hear contrast.

We remember David, Solomon’s father, who began his “ministry” in his youth by killing Goliath with his slingshot. The great hero, as an adult, became an embarrassment by taking the wife of Uriah, one of his soldiers, and having Uriah killed in a cover-up of his adultery.

Today we hear Solomon, the boy-king, pleasing God by asking for what God possesses: wisdom - and an understanding heart.

As a grown-up king, Solomon took seven years to build God’s lavish temple; but he spent thirteen building his own palace, amid harsh labor and heavy taxes on his subjects. Solomon was warned. What did the wisest man do? He married 700 foreign women and took 300 concubines who provided alternate gods whose shrines arrived not long after the women. The endeavor divided the kingdom. Solomon’s “understanding heart” ended sadly. Maybe wisdom is not all its cracked up to is. Simply put, wisdom alone is not enough!

Our Gospel brings to conclusion parable-packed chapter 13 with its emphasis on the mysterious presence and growth of the kingdom of God in parables from every day experience.

Jesus parabled a farmer discovering and hiding a treasure. What was his point? Jesus was telling his hearers and us that the kingdom is like found money! It is not earned. The Lord freely gives it.

Jesus parabled the merchant, who was smart enough to see that he should sell anything to get the great pearl. The pearl, in the pre-diamond era, was the most precious ‘thing’ on earth. Jesus was telling his hearers and us that we - like the merchant - should “trade up,” sell whatever it takes to possess the kingdom. If the merchant sold other pearls to get this one, we learn that our other pearls need to be sold off: prime attachment to knowledge, music, golf, sports, TV, even family needs to be prioritized. There is one pearl of great price.

Jesus parabled the fisherman and his net to teach again that the ultimate judgment of who is in the kingdom and who is not, is his. [It is surely not we other fish]. This is what we heard last week in allowing the wheat and weeds to grow together. Jesus tells us that while there will be a judgment; we are not the ones to make that judgment.

Teachers [modern scribes] need to be like the householder who takes the best of the old, the Torah, and joins it to the new, the teaching of Jesus. Many think that Matthew becomes autobiographical here; they think that Matthew himself is the scribe who knows how to go into the rich storehouse of tradition and brings forth both what is new and what is old. Both are essential for correctly proclaiming the kingdom of heaven. Of course, we do not live in the past, but we do build upon it. We must claim our authentic past in order to move into our authentic future.

The decision of choosing the kingdom of god is basically the choice: will I be in charge of my own life or will I give priority in all things to the will of god. We often do not realize how self-willed and self-sufficient we try to be. Many prize their self-determination above all else. It comes as no surprise that our self-will is recognized as the basic cause of our difficulties. “Conversion” consists in sacrificing self-will to God’s will.

A final point. Some of us remember the pre-Vatican II understanding that rather presumptuously identified the Roman Catholic Church as the kingdom of god on earth. Today we are more modest, we say that the church is an instrument of the kingdom of god. The kingdom of God is bigger than the church.

Perhaps during the quiet time during communion this morning we would do well to identify our competing pearls, examine them, and be sure that no one, nothing jeopardizes our treasure of the presence of God within us, t he pearl of great price.

16th Sunday in Ordinary Time (July 19, 2020)

Did you ever wonder how parables became famous? I heard a fascinating story about the origins.

Once upon a time, there was truth. Truth remained as naked as the day he was born. He was also called “unvarnished truth” by some hardwood finishers, “bald truth” by some barbers. “unadulterated truth” by. . . Well, let’s move along.

Truth was different. Truth wandered thru the city, completely naked, stripped of every embellishment - and when people got one look at him, he was shunned. Many could not face him.

One day, parable met truth and stayed long enough to ask a question: why do you look so woebegone? Truth answered that people avoided him because he was old and -- because he could not communicate, he had no sense of purpose in life.

Parable disagreed and said that it was not age, that he, parable, was as old as truth, that older was more attractive. Parable felt that he got better with age.

Parable offered to tell truth a secret. The secret was this: people do not like things bare and plain; they like them dressed up. Parable then offered some of his clothes to truth and truth accepted the offer.

When truth was clothed in the clothing of parable, truth then became welcome where he was previously avoided. From that time on, truth clothed in parable has been esteemed and loved by all.

Jesus knew this, so much of what he told us is truth, clothed with the clothing of parable.

We have been hearing several of Jesus’ parables in Matthew’s gospel. Last week we heard the parable about the different kinds of soil that the word of God falls upon. This week, we hear the parable about wheat and weeds. We hear mini-parables in the similes about mustard seed and yeast. These are not like Aesop’s fables that simply entertain; these are Jesus’ parables that convey profound truth.

Last week’s and today’s parables tell us the way that the kingdom of God grows. They have come to be called the “growth parables.” The simple, unclothed truth is: the kingdom of God continues to grow in the presence of those who work against it. Also, small, almost unnoticed beginnings - like the tiny mustard seed and the bit of yeast -- have wonderful, unforeseeable, and vitally important results . . . But only later.

We can listen to these parables at two levels: the individual, personal level and the community level. As individuals, we realize that you and I are composed of both wheat and weeds. The old adage is true: “There is a little bit of bad in the best of us and there is a little bit of good in the worst of us, so, it never behooves any of us to talk about the rest of us.” As Jesus said, “Who of you can throw the first stone?”

At the other level, the community level, the parable also speaks to us, it reminds us there is an inclination among some to go against the lesson of Jesus. Some - even “pillars of the church” - are ordained as shepherds to feed lambs and sheep and protect against wolves. Wolves are readily recognized. Shepherds are not weeders; Jesus called some followers to be shepherds, not weeders.

As Jesus points out in today’s gospel, identifying and rooting out weeds is a dangerous enterprise. Dangerous, first, because the chance of injuring the wheat is great; innocent people may get hurt. Second, it is dangerous because the one who is rooted out is all too often not a weed, but another strain of wheat unfamiliar to the one who is doing the weeding.

There is a saying: “Everyone is someone else’s weirdo.” Isn’t it true that in the larger Christian community, everyone is someone else’s weed?”

Weeders tend to be legalistic rule keepers, and tend to exclude with ruthless judgment and harsh condemnation. Weeding is the work of the self-righteous. Self-righteousness is an evil that gives false security - like the Pharisees who did not see the wheat from the weeds, the Christ from the crowd.

Jesus reminds us today in parable to be patient and non-judgmental, not self-righteous and arrogant with those around us who are different. We have been told on divine authority that we do not have the skill necessary to be weeders.

Jesus reminds us that our father is in charge and that we must not rush to judgment. His kingdom will continue to grow slowly, relentlessly, and . . .surprisingly.

15th Sunday in Ordinary Time (July 12, 2020)

This weekend (as well as the next two) provides a series a series of parables from Matthew’s Gospel dealing with how Jesus’ message was received.

In the today’s reading, we heard God speaking through Isaiah, the prophet: “The word that goes forth from my mouth shall not return to me void, but shall do my will, achieving the end for which I sent it.” In the Gospel, we hear from Jesus: “Let anyone with ears to hear, listen.”

Is there anyone in church today who does not have someone close who has been exposed to the message of Jesus, but will not accept Jesus and what he has to say? Secondly, is there anyone of us in church that does not have to look in the mirror to see what kind of soil we are becoming?

Each of us listens to Jesus’ parable at two levels.

First, the level of the farmer - as preacher, parent, spouse, friend, we identify with Jesus in the parable of the sower. We, as well as Jesus, are sowers of seed.

Primitive Palestinian farmers did the opposite of modern farmers. They sowed on top of unturned soil, and waited to see what kind the soil it was after plowing.

For Jesus, three of the four portions of seed his farmer spreads either never takes root or never reach maturity. Only one of four seeds produces a yield, but it is so great that it makes up for all the lost seed. Like Palestinian farmers, no matter how hard we hope and pray and try to sow faith-ideas, we do not know what kind of soil our “seed” will fall upon until later, perhaps much later. We cannot control the soil of another. Everyone has a free will to choose the soil he/she will become -- accepting or rejecting.

You might get discouraged, unless you remember the math of the seeds. Have patience. No farmer plants and harvests in the same day. Those insights that you fear are bouncing off the hard soil of your child, spouse, friend or colleague will one day take root and bring a harvest of wisdom and knowledge. You may not see it soon. You may not see it in your lifetime. As someone once said, “Children always obey the teaching of their parents, but it is seldom while the parent is still alive to enjoy it.” We need to remember that we are only the sowers; God alone provides the harvest.

Second, we need to listen to the parable at the level of the kinds of soil. [This part of the scripture was probably added by Matthew as a response to the difficulties within his community, and was not part of Jesus’ original words.] We listen to the parable of the soil and identify with one of the types of soil.

Unlike the soil outside our houses that is not self-determining, we have the power to decide what kind of soil we shall become. We may need to soften the rigid [the skepticism, the unforgiveness] we may need to crumble the rocky [the hard headedness]; we may need to clear away the thorny [the thorny persons, places or things that ensnare us and prevent our growth].

The word of God as seed will produce fruit far beyond our expectations and in spite of our disappointments.

This is good news!

14th Sunday in Ordinary Time (July 5, 2020)

The first and third readings today easily shock us. At the very least we are greatly surprised. The Jews “knew” from their experience that kings came dressed in regal splendor with squadrons of chariots, countless warriors and retinue. Imagine how the Jews felt when they heard that their king would come riding on a jackass?

A common and almost universal error many good, religious people make is that we/they identify the holy with the extraordinary, the divine with the spectacular. Stories of weeping Madonna’s, bleeding crucifixes, and divine fireworks attract thousands -- and a media blitz. We think that being there will bring an experience of “the holy” - something may somehow rub off. Folks travel far for the mere possibility of that experience.

We heard Jesus correcting this false impression a moment ago. God’s truth, the divine message, does not have to enter our lives through the amazing and the startling, but most of the time, through the ordinary and the commonplace. As with the prophet, the Lord is not to be found in the whirlwind, but in the still, small breeze of a whisper. This is probably not the way we might think to promote the good news ourselves, but the record shows that it is clearly God’s way.

Therese Martin became a Carmelite nun in the last century. One day, she told her prioress that she wanted to be a saint. When the prioress scolded her for pride, she replied that she would be a quiet, secret saint. Her simplicity, her candor and her lack of pretense were the most notable things about her. Interestingly, Jesus’ words in today’s gospel about God revealing himself to mere children were very special to St. Therese. Her spirituality has become known as “the little way” of the little flower.

Where did she get that idea? The Carmelite charism is prayer. They do not have a model of spirituality like Franciscans, Jesuits, and Oblates. Where did she get her spirituality? Her spirituality, we are told, came from her aunt, a Visitandine nun, who taught her the way of St. Francis de Sales. Francis advised doing ordinary things extraordinarily well.

Some years ago, in the midst of global tension Samantha Smith, a fifth grader, wrote to the Soviet leader, Yuri Andropov, asking if he intended to wage war on the U.S. Samantha cut through to the heart of the matter. She asked simply and directly: “Are you going to make war?” Andropov invited Samantha to Russia. Her visit and death two years later in a plane crash received wide publicity. Samantha’s ordinariness accomplished what the “wise and learned” negotiators failed to do.

All of the above heard the words of Jesus’ prayer in today’s Gospel: “I thank you, father, lord of heaven and earth because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to mere children.”

Implied in Jesus’ prayer are two very important ideas. First - those he called “mere children” are more likely to be open to God’s word. Being ordinary or poor may not be anything particular in them to recommend them, but as it works out, these people are often the ones who are open to the word of God.

Don’t we learn from our experience that the learned and the clever sometimes have a hard time getting beyond their own learning and their own cleverness? Talk is cheap; slick talkers are ineffective in the long run; children see right through them.

Also implied in Jesus’ words is a second important idea. Isn’t it true that parents find lost children more often than the other way around? When anyone receives God’s word, it is not so much that they discover the truth for themselves, as that God has revealed the truth to him or her. In other words, we do not find him; he finds us.

When Jesus refers to his disciples and followers as “mere children” his words bring us to a fundamental truth. Our knowledge and love of God are gifts we receive rather than something we do or achieve for ourselves out of our own learning or cleverness. Why we think that we make ourselves good/ holy by ourselves and what we do or choose not to do is a mysterious aberration.

The Gospel phrase “learned and clever” seems reminiscent of that more modern phrase, “the rich and famous.” The lifestyles of the rich and famous are constantly being held up to us for envy, awe -- and perhaps imitation, at some level. Jesus tells us that “the rich” and the tabloids tell us that many of the “famous” do not have a jump on being on the right track. Even Hollywood darlings have their share of troubles.

The Little Flower, Francis de Sales, Francis of Assisi and so many other masters of the spiritual life led lives easily overlooked by the more sophisticated: true happiness can be found in what we are rather than what we have, what we do or what we long for.

In the simple, ordinary events of life, we find our Lord -- like children, with upturned faces, expectant eyes, open arms hands and hearts.

13th Sunday in Ordinary Time (June 28, 2020)

Jesus’ words are initially very strong. He speaks of taking up one’s cross, of loving him more than our parents and family. These are stunning challenges. Did Jesus see the shock of his disciples? Probably. Perhaps that explains his next words:

If anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is one of my disciples, I tell you the truth, he will certainly not lose his reward.

It is as if Jesus is reducing his call for sacrifice to a more palatable, bite- sized piece. We may hesitate somewhat at reaching to shoulder the cross of Jesus’ experience or balk at loving him more than our family. But, all of us can offer a thirsty person a cup of water. Sharing water may seem like a very little thing - unless you are the one who is parched.

This is self-sacrifice. Self-sacrifice is the common denominator of loving actions. It calls us to move our attention off ourselves, to recognize our neighbor, be sensitive to his thirst for our water, for our time, for our talent.

Francis de sales recognized this and made this one of his basic teachings. He writes:

“Important tasks lie seldom in our path; but all day long there are little things we can do well, if we do them with all our love.”

Literature and theatre provide great examples of men who have delusions of grandeur:

Don Quixote, the character in Cervantes’ play, who sallies forth to set the world aright, but tilts only with windmills. He ends without realizing his impossible dream, but -- but along the way -- gives the prostitute-barmaid her dignity and self-worth, as she becomes Dulcinea.

Walter Mitty, in the delightful story by James Thurber, “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty”, is a very average man who sees a humdrum situation, then daydreams his way to make himself a delusional hero of an imaginary event.

Then, there is the tragic play by Arthur miller, “Death of a Salesman.” Willy Lohman is the depressing and haunting lead in a play that shows the futility of a pitiful man, sadly imagining himself to be the man he is not.

It has been well said that great doors swing on small hinges. Relatively small rudders turn great ships, but the lack of that relatively small thing can be lethal.

What gives value to all human actions, big or small, is the heart from which acts flow and the love that expresses itself in them. Opportunities for showing compassion are very frequent. Cold cups of water, random acts of kindness, kind words change the world -- one person, one moment at a time. Our lives, like the lives of those we meet in life, turn on small acts. Don’t the Christophers remind us that it better to light one small candle than to curse the darkness?

And who knows? A pattern of small acts may dispose us to something big if the opportunity presents itself.

St. Francis de Sales recognized that most of us are unlikely to find the cure for cancer or be able to bring about world-peace. But, every one of us encounters countless small occasions for becoming Christ to others every day, living Jesus. Francis said so wisely: “Do ordinary things extraordinarily well.”

Isn’t it true that our most important memories of childhood are often not the great sacrifices of our parents? Often our favorite memories of our parents are the small, ordinary moments: moments like my parents being in pretended awe at my “magic show’” when, in retrospect, I did the absolutely dumbest tricks. Or -- being sick, falling asleep and waking to see my mother sitting quietly in a chair close to my bed. A small thing. A fond memory forever.

I’m sure you have your memories. Little things do mean a lot.

St. Francis de Sales seems to have a preferential option for small acts of thoughtfulness. This is his practical judgment. We can waste our lives dreaming big dreams of doing marvelous things that will, in all probability, never happen.

Ours is a wonderful parish, a wonderful gathering of the people of God. We are recognized by visitors as being a friendly people. Let’s try to be even more aware to welcome the stranger, to become hypersensitive to both our fellow parishioners and visitors, to be pro-active in kindness towards one another and to those whose paths we cross.

Little things mean a lot. They make up just about all we’ve got.

Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time (June 21, 2020)

Market researchers studied three thousand persons, asking: “What are you most afraid of? You can guess most of the responses: heights, financial insecurity, snakes, dying. The big surprise is that the #1 fear was speaking in front of a group. Today’s first and third readings deal with that fear of speaking before groups.

Jeremiah was a reluctant prophet who feared shame and death. Jeremiah tells us what his fear felt like: “Terror from every side.” His faith in God pushed him through that fear. He “did the right thing”; he spoke out for God in spite of his fear.

In our Gospel, Jesus counsels his disciples as they set out on their missionary journey to speak to their fellow Jews. They are not to fear; they are to proclaim the good news -- even from the housetops.

We acknowledge and step up for our friends when they are unjustly accused or scoffed at . . . Or we are not much of a friend. But, before we do that, we are fearful of being rejected and shunned. Pushing through those fears, we acknowledge and step up for our friends. That is a part of the price of friendship.

There are times when our god is not spoken well of. Jesus said at the Last Supper, “I no longer call you servants; I call you friends.” He calls us friends. Do we reciprocate? Do we step up for our Lord, as a friend when god is scoffed at? Are we fearful that we will be thought of as “different” -- labeled a “religious fanatic,” a “Jesus freak,” a “wacko”? Do we play it cool, do we become cowardly and give in to the temptation with an eyes-lowered- “yeah.” That would be unfaithful to our friend, Jesus. We need to choose fidelity as our “default.”

The Gospel concluded with strong words from Jesus: “Everyone who acknowledges me before others I will acknowledge before my heavenly father. But whoever denies me before others, I will deny before my heavenly father.”

Unlike Jeremiah whom history indicates was later murdered in Egypt, unlike Jesus himself who “did the right thing” then suffered rejection, torture, and the cross, unlike ten of the apostles, who suffered death, as martyrs for their faith, we will most surely never come near to being physically tortured or killed for standing up for our Lord. Jesus never said that our worldly reputation would not suffer. Being labeled may be “the” cost of discipleship for us.

In the Gospel Jesus invites us to entertain two fears: the fear of the one who can destroy body and soul together and the fear of developing a “hardened heart.” In my experience, a hardened heart is often observable. A hardened heart is visible in one who does not have “soft eyes.” In one-on-one conversations, where the appropriate direction for someone is very clear, he hardens his eyes, inhales, raises his head slightly and looks away, avoiding eye contact. If we choose god and “harden not our hearts,” embrace his words and then enflesh his love, we will then have no one and nothing to fear in the big picture.

Let’s recall the prayer of Thomas Merton, the Trappist priest, famous spiritual author, peace activist who died under suspicious circumstances while in the Far East:

“I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end...
I know that you will lead me by the right road,
though I may know nothing about it.
therefore I trust you always;
I will not fear for you are with me;
and you never leave me to face my perils alone.”

If we do not look at our weak selves, but toward our god we will have the courage to face our fears. We will be able to show the world what it means to live as fearless disciples of Jesus the Christ when the occasion calls for it.

Body and Blood of Christ (June 14, 2020)

The readings for this year’s cycle, used to be the only set of readings for about four hundred of the last four hundred and forty years on this Sunday. Ancient church liturgists tried to pick the very best readings from the bible. These are what we just heard today as we celebrate the solemnity of the most holy body and blood of Christ.

One curiosity of John’s Gospel is that five of the twenty original chapters of his Gospel are devoted to the Last Supper. And, yet, there is zero mention of bread or wine at the meal. Why? Because John had written extensively about Eucharist back in his magnificent chapter six.

In today’s gospel from chapter 6, we heard: “if you do not eat of the flesh of the son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. He who feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day.” John does not use the ordinary word for “eat” in this last verse; he uses the Greek verb trogein - to tear with the teeth, to gnaw. The strongest, most vivid language! And, he uses it four times in this section for emphasis.

The earliest church communities understood these words to be literally true. The bread and wine really become the body and blood of Jesus.

In ancient Judaism this would not have been so strange as it sounds to us. Back then, there were two sacrificial practices: first, there was the holocaust, the total incineration of the animal -- asking for divine acceptance. The second practice was called a “sin offering” to achieve at-one-ment with God through the shedding of blood. While the whole animal was offered to God, a portion of the flesh could be given to the priests and the rest could be given back to the worshiper who could then feast on it. Since the animal had been offered to God, something of god was thought to dwell in the offering. Therefore, the worshiper left the feast with a sense of God within. So, there was a Jewish precedent for divine presence and food.

I’d like to make two points: one, theological and the other, personal.

First: this miracle of bread and wine changed into body and blood was later given by catholic theologians the fancy name “transubstantiation.” There are some who find this unacceptable. Real presence is just too “unscientific” for them. But, when we stop to think, is it any more difficult to accept that bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ than to accept the fact that broccoli, French fries, and chocolate ice cream become the body and blood of you and me -- using the fancy name of biologists: “assimilation”?

Assimilation is accepted as a scientific fact. Transubstantiation is rejected by some despite the biblical evidence in John’s Gospel.

Second: if we really believe that this particle, this sip, is really the body and blood of Jesus, why are we not more awed than we are when we receive our Lord?

Do we need to take time to remind ourselves of the magnificent miracle, the awesome reality of Jesus coming into you and me at mass with a fervent amen when we receive our lord and then take time to “be” with Jesus, to speak with him . . . And to listen?

The Eucharist is not about some “thing” to be “received.” It is so much deeper. It is mutual presence, at-one-ment, the relationship. This is the personal aspect of Eucharist. It is a giant step beyond the second kind of Jewish sacrifice, the sin offering. We have personal encounter with him, and we gradually change in the encounter. The encounter changes us. We eventually live Jesus.

Jesus draws us to a deeper level of spiritual truth and life. He also tries to wean us from spiritual baby food, the “things” of religion. Childish practices that, at an earlier stage, were all that we could manage, today, they would keep us undernourished. He cultivates our spiritual taste for the awesome,

And, he bluntly tells us those who eat live; those who don’t, die.

Trinity Sunday (June 7, 2020)

When we read all that Jesus is quoted as saying, we conclude that god is surely one -- as the Jews believe. But God is also, somehow, three. All Christian faiths accept this truth. It is absolutely the deepest mystery, for it concerns the very nature of God. For us to discuss it is like a colony of ants trying to put a human person under a microscope and then determine what human nature really is. As ants are to us, we are to God . . . With an even greater, an infinite gap between God and us.

Our god is 3 persons so in love with one another that they are one and so in love with us that they do everything possible to share the joy of our life and love and make us one with themselves -- closing the gap to some degree.

That said, let us turn our attention to today’s Gospel. No verse of the Bible is better known than the first verse of today’s Gospel, designated as Jn 3:16. We see “Jn 3:16” on TV. --- Hanging on banners on stadium walls at sports events. It has become a sort of Magna Carta of the Christian faith. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.”

Everything that the church at its best believes and teaches and does --grows out of that. It is a summary statement of Christian theology, the inspiration of Christian service, the basis of Christian ethics.

To understand Jn 3:16, the context of the verse needs to be understood. The context is the relationship between Jesus and a Pharisee by the name of Nicodemus. Nicodemus appears only in John’s Gospel; he appears three times.

Nicodemus first came to see Jesus at night. In John’s Gospel, the author uses darkness to indicate unbelief. Night indicates that he was “still in the dark” about who Jesus really was. Perhaps it also indicates that he did not want to be seen by his fellow Pharisees. Perhaps, both.

We see him a second time after he saw the worth of Jesus’ words. He steps up to defend Jesus among his fellow Pharisees. He comes closer to the light.

Finally, when Nicodemus witnessed the death Jesus bravely died without recanting his words of love, Nicodemus steps boldly into the light as a Jesus-man. He brings the myrrh and aloes for Jesus’ burial. Nicodemus comes to belief slowly, but he comes. He comes out of the darkness into the light, just as you and I come in stages into deepening our belief in Jesus.

Jesus spoke today’s words to Nicodemus about God’s love the first time they met. I’d like to briefly talk about 3 words in this Magna Carta of Christianity. The material universe, in terms of magnitude, is measured in a phrase that had to be invented: light years. The spiritual magnitude of God’s love for you and me is even greater, but it is expressed here in one, puny word: “so.”

God so loved the world, not God the father was so . . . angry . . .with the world that Jesus obediently had to come to come and suffer and die to appease the father - as an older theology tries to teach us. We need to remind ourselves of the depth of god’s love from time to time because we see so much of the lack of love in our world.

The second and third words are eternal life. Eternal life in the New Testament does not simply mean perpetual existence. Eternal life is not about quantity of existence, but a new and better quality of life.

To try, albeit poorly, to illustrate, imagine that you invited three extremely talented athletic worshipers to perform a demonstration of the trinity with arms tightly linked around each other’s waists. They begin to whirl around so fast that they become an indistinguishable blur. They appear as one though they remain three distinct persons. That is the dance into which we are swept at our death. Something like that is “eternal life.”

This is not about a statement of creedal faith, which we recite. This is about biblical faith, by which we are saved. Eternal life does not come from believing that “things” are true, but from being “born from above,” believing in Jesus, throwing in our lot with Jesus, entering a sphere of existence where Jesus is number one in our lives.

We recall the holy picture of the gentle Jesus, standing outside a door with no doorknob on his side and recall those words described in the Book of Revelation [3:20]: “Here I stand, knocking at the door. If anyone hears me calling and opens the door, I will enter his house and have supper with him, and he with me.” A dinner dance!

When we open the door to our hearts to the lord, things are never the same. It is as though we are given new eyes. We have a new perception of reality, a new awareness of how things really are. We hear an echo of Jn 3:16.

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.”

Pentecost Sunday (May 31, 2020)

Since we were tiny tots, we have been learning that some things are hot, and some are cold. We learned that it is good to know about this before we touch something. When something is hot, we say it’s hot as fire . . . Or, in August, we might say: Today was hot as hell. When something is cold, we say, “It’s ice-cold.”

Fire and ice are effective metaphors for personal, relational, and spiritual realities. In fact, we categorize our relationships by their temperatures. Our emotions are the thermometers. I hear, “She is hot stuff . . . a real hotty.” [But, what would a simple priest know about that?] “He really burns me up.” At the other end of the thermometer, ice is associated with the absence of passion. We talk about an “icy stare,” a “cold shoulder,” we speak of relationships “warming up” or “cooling off”.

With long-term relationships, couples, good friends, find a comfortable temperature between fire and ice. Warm is used for daily life. Of course, there will be occasional spikes of higher and lower temperatures - and that is normal in relationships; that is life. But. On balance, warm is good; we want warmth in our valued relationships - the warmth of security and trust, the warmth of understanding and acceptance, the warmth of devotion and care.

Two thousand years ago, Jesus and the early church -- building on human experience -- spoke and wrote most eloquently. Today, on this feast of Pentecost, we hear Luke’s spectacular account of Pentecost: hearing a noise like a strong driving wind, with miraculous communication and fire! “Tongues” - - because they would preach the word - - “as of fire,” rested on each.” Think of it! Fire from heaven, dramatic manifestations of the coming of the Holy Spirit. Almost terrifying in its drama. The drama did not occur again in this book or anyplace else in scripture - no later sounds of rushing winds and no more tongues of fire. But. There was enthusiasm; there was excitement in relationship of persons with God and God in Jesus -- and among the members of the community.

The Holy Spirit is the fire of god that inspires, incites warmth in our sometimes-chilly hearts toward each other and toward all of God’s children. Within us the Holy Spirit is the fire that stands over against the ice of our cold- heartedness, our selfishness, our deadness. The fire burns with us, not to produce some sort of visible, celestial pyrotechnics, but to incite us to be loving. We recall Paul writing to the Corinthians regarding the various gifts of the Holy Spirit; he concluded: “The greatest of these is love.”

The fire ignited at our baptism burns within our depths; it needs to be nurtured on this feast. The essence of sin is the attempt to put the flame out or say that less-than-warm is good. Is “being cool” good? ... A question for pondering.

When we speak of hot and cold in relationships, we recall the glorified Jesus spoke some scary words to the Laodiceans in the Book of Revelation: “I know your deeds; I know you are neither hot nor cold! But, because you are lukewarm, neither hot nor cold,” --- and now the scary part --- “I will spew you out of my mouth.” Our Lord gives hope a few verses later: “Here I stand, knocking at the door. If anyone hears me calling and opens the door, I will enter his house and have supper with him, and he with me.” Warm. This is the picture on the holy card with a gentle Jesus standing by a door with no handle on the outside. We must open the door from the inside of our hearts.

Today is the feast of Pentecost. The first Christian community moved from fear and inertia to pants-on-fire enthusiasm. We have fire within us. We also have some chill within us. This feast reminds us to open our hearts to the Holy Spirit, the spirit of love who reminds us of our baptism and calls us to moments of fire and the realization of warmth -- for the long haul.

The Holy Spirit has called each of us by our own name. St. Francis de sales stated so clearly the manner of our call: “Be who you are and be it well.” Today is a day to become very aware of our gifts, not our shortfalls. A day to pray: “Come Holy Spirit.” Today is a day to examine how we are developing the individual, unique gifts that the Lord has given us. Today is a day of warmth - even of fire.

Today is Pentecost, the day of the great gathering and the day of the great sending out. We have been waiting for the spirit; let’s show our faith to the world.

Seventh Sunday Of Easter (May 24, 2020)

Has this been a glorious spring? We seemed to go from winter to summer the last few years. The bright yellow of the forsythia this year was glorious. The vivid colors of the azaleas and wisterias as they bloom in their full glory are . . . glorious.

Glory is a curious word.

Five times in the Gospel and three times in the second reading we hear a form of the word “glory”:

·   glory given to God,
·   glory received by Jesus,
·   glory passed on,
·   glory of suffering for faithfulness to God.

That word “glory” always puzzled me until I found a biblical scholar who made sense of it. “Glory” as used in John’s Gospel is “the manifestation of God’s majesty.”

Jesus is the perfect revealer of God’s glory:
·   his healing, a manifestation of god’s majestic power
·   his preaching, a manifestation of god’s majestic wisdom
·   his forgiveness, a manifestation of god’s majestic
·   his teaching, a manifestation of god’s majestic truth
·   his compassion, a manifestation of god’s majestic love and graciousness

Jesus’ obedience -listening - to the father was the critical mass. Listening has consequences, the consequences of his telling the truth about the father and the state of religious practice led inexorably to his passion and death.

Those who were here on Good Friday may remember the homily about the last supper being the turning point in Jesus’ life. The time of action in his life when he got up from the table and went to the garden of gethsemane. In the garden the passive voice began to be operative. Jesus was arrested, was bound, was tried, was found guilty, was stripped, was flogged, was made to carry his cross, and was crucified. All passive voice.

Action ceased and passiveness began. Passion in this context of “passion and death” is the flip side of action. Jesus had completed his actions of preaching, teaching and healing.

Now we recall the words of today’s Gospel when he prayed to his father:

“Father, the hour has come. Give glory to your son that your son may give glory to you. I have given you glory on earth by finishing the work you gave me to do. Father, give me glory at your side.”

At Jesus’ “hour of glory” passerbys scoffed at him and jeered. There was nothing outwardly glorious in him as he hung on the cross. Yet it was precisely in this “hour” that God’s glory was most present, even if unrecognized. Jesus manifested the Father’s majesty as much in his passivity as in his activity.

We glorify our father both by doing the work God sends us - action- and working through those things that “happen” to us - passion. We hear Jesus continue in his last supper discourse: “I have given them the glory you gave me that they may be one, as we are one - I living in them, you living in me - that their unity may be complete.”

We glorify God and are glorified by God in being united to him.

Spring flowers manifest God’s majesty in their visible, glorious beauty. We manifest God’s majesty in the not always visible-to-us beauty of our lives. Our glory will follow as day follows night.

Sixth Sunday Of Easter (May 17, 2020)

Easter is now five weeks behind us. Many of the flowers that celebrated Easter with us need a resurrection of their own.

We have reveled in the new life of the risen Jesus and followed his path of appearances from tomb side to Emmaus to upper room to Galilee to five hundred seeing him at one time. Today, Jesus speaks of orphans: “I will not leave you orphans.” Are we aware that “orphan,” a word used over forty times in the bible, is used only once in all four Gospels? I got to thinking about orphans and how Jesus assures us about its opposite. Would it be that he is going to leave his followers in one way [physical presence] and Jesus with us in a new way?

You have surely picked up on my worldview - seeing relationship as the basic category for talking about god and the people and things of God. The theologian and author, John Shea, is very helpful in developing the relational flow. I will use some of his thoughts in this homily. This gets a bit lofty, so fasten your seatbelts.

At the physical level we come into existence when sperm joins egg and we are nourished for nine months in a relationship with our mother’s blood. Then we pass into a new and larger womb where we are in relationship with air, and with food and drink for nourishment.

At the psychological/social level, we are cared for by others and internalize their influences to become who we are. Relationship is key in all theories of human development. We often name others in relational terms: mother, father, son, daughter, wife, husband, friend, enemy, boss, brothers and sisters, neighbors.

At the spiritual level, we may develop our belief system with a philosophy from Nazism to humanism or many another. We may choose to believe in god and follow a theology of Judaism, Islam, Buddhism or other. Or, we may choose to put our faith in Jesus Christ. At times, we may think that “we pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps,” but this self-reliant posturing sooner or later gets dropped. “No man is an island.” Relationship is key.

Jesus’ greatest teaching and greatest example concerns itself with the greatest relationship: love of both of God and of others.

Now, late in Easter time we followers of Jesus hear him speaking of life after life. He tells us that the spirit is eternally present in created spirits, sustaining us in existence and filling us with life in a dance that survives death.

Perichoresis is the technical term Christian theologians have for the inner life of the trinity. It literally means a dance, a life-giving movement that goes around and round without beginning or end. It is the love and the life of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. We hear in the Gospels at this time that this Trinitarian dance is not for the divine persons only. God invites human persons to this dance. It is this invitation that Jesus reveals and imparts to his followers. Jesus speaks of his father and the spirit and himself dwelling within us. Our relationship is the beginning of life after life - we are already with our God in a real way.

When we accept him in faith and respond to him directly by bringing our presence into his presence and communing with him in Eucharist. When we accept him indirectly in our neighbor by bringing our presence to our neighbor’s presence in loving response, we are never alone, never orphans.

Remember the phrase, “the state of grace”? How static and lifeless that now sounds. The dynamic reality is the presence of the father - who made us, the son - who saved us, the spirit - who makes us holy - all dwelling within us. That is grace. That is the eternal dance. We become united to them more closely than we are united to ourselves.

I hope that today’s homily may bring some peek into what “heaven” – eternal life with God - will be like.

I hope that the understanding of our eastern brothers and sisters will make more sense in their saying: “God became man so that man might become God.” It seems that the church of the east is more conscious of this reality of presence. When they greet each other, they join their hands like this, bow, and say/pray. Namaste, that is, “The spirit within me greets the spirit within you.”

With the Lord, we will never be orphans. We begin the indwelling, now we will dance forever, later.

Fifth Sunday Of Easter (May 10, 2020)

Doesn’t it seem strange to hear part of Jesus’ last supper discourse repeated during late Eastertime? It makes sense only in its liturgical context: Jesus’ words at the time of his saying goodbye.

The disciples sound much like young children when parents tell them that they are going out. Where are you going? When are you coming back? Who is going to stay with us? Did you notice that the disciples – like young children - did not ask what is going to happen with Jesus; they ask only what is going to happen to them. Our generation is not the inventor of self-centeredness.

Thomas and Philip are the disciples who are the “straight-men” in this scene of “Johannine misunderstanding.” Johannine misunderstanding is the name for a device the author, john, uses to introduce and set up a “Jesus explanation.’

Jesus is not talking about where he is going as a place with an address; nor does he call it heaven. Jesus is talking about relationship, his and our relationship with the father. Through faith, the disciples will be able to recognize the relationship that already exists between Jesus and his father. Ultimately, faith, trust in God, will allow his followers to enter fully into that divine relationship: mutual indwelling. That is “the way, the life” in his truthfully proclaiming himself: “The way, the truth and the life.”

This same reality is what he calls elsewhere “the Kingdom of the Father.” The interpenetrating of the divine and our human consciousness is “the belonging” that we all desire in the depths of our hearts. This is the heart of John’s message. A bit lofty? Absolutely! John is depicted as an eagle in Christian art because of his lofty, theological soaring, not because he had feathers.

This surely transcends a description of heaven as “pie in the sky when you die.” This is not the notion of heaven for Muslim men - being with “72 dark-eyed virgins.” Yet, Jesus’ words give us only an inkling, because it is impossible to adequately describe what being with Jesus and the father is. As Paul in 1 Corinthians said: “Eye has not seen, ear has not heard, nor has it so much as dawned on man what god has prepared for those who love him.” [1 Cor 2: 9,10]

Jesus assures his listeners that they who believe in him will do the works he does—and even greater works. The list is long: caring for the sick, forgiving, comforting those in pain, protecting the weak and vulnerable, embracing the poor, eating with sinners, defending the rights of the victimized, denouncing injustice . . . and more.

Our first reading from the acts of the apostles speaks to this and tells us of perhaps the first political moments in the new-born church where the spiritual needs of the church were not being matched by the material needs of some of the people of God. The work of the Twelve: preaching did not leave enough time for tending to the material needs; the office of deacons was created to care for needs of the Greek-speaking Christians. It was clearly a division of labor in the church. It had nothing to do with the establishing of a hierarchy. Deacons were co-workers.

The early church, open to the work of the spirit, was not slow to move to see that the material and spiritual needs were met. We pray that we the church of the 21st century will do no less. We now share in Jesus’ ministry, there is a saying in Africa: “The path is made by walking.” Each time we demonstrate our faith by living Jesus both spiritually and materially. We take another step in making our next venturesome step easier and more light-footed.

Fourth Sunday Of Easter (May 3, 2020)

Today is often called “Good Shepherd Sunday,” referring, of course, to Jesus. But, did you notice that Jesus does not call himself the “good shepherd” – at least, not directly?

He calls himself the sheep gate for good reason. In those days, flocks of sheep were kept overnight in a common enclosure; the walls were stone - and high enough that the top was beyond the claws and the jaws of the wolves and other predators that prowled the countryside. Such is the case, even today. At nightfall each shepherd leads his sheep into the sheepfold. In the morning, the shepherd leads his flock out again. The sheep know the sound of the shepherd’s voice.

A visitor to the Holy Land asked why there were not gates to the sheepfolds. The guide replied, “That is an easy one; that is where the shepherds sleep.” The sheep gate and the shepherd are one and the same.

The shepherd is the only defense for the sheep. He remains at the most vulnerable point. He lies down between the sheep and any predators - to protect them and even possibly to give his life for them.

As we know, sheep are not particularly intelligent. Jesus’ point is the fidelity and the vigilance of the shepherd; it is always a mistake to try to carry a metaphor beyond the point being made; here, shepherding is the point. Jesus is not referring to us as dumb animals.

When we stop to think about it, the metaphor, shepherding, denotes a relationship, a relationship of faithfulness, of protection, of nourishment, and care. If we think of shepherds, only as an office in the church, we can become disillusioned in these our days. And who of us has not experienced that in recent times.

The chief priest in a parish is called “the pastor.” The chief pastor in a diocese is called “the bishop.” [He even carries the shepherd’s crook during liturgy]. The highest pastor worldwide is called “the Pope.”

Most of us in church this day are shepherds, leaders in one way or another: within our family, within our parish, within our community. The Gospel challenges us to look to ourselves to examine our relationship of shepherding towards those in our care. Are we faithful to our task? Are we courageous? Are we watchful of what nourishment of food and drink as well as TV viewing and computer using? Of places we allow those under our care to go? Or have we, perhaps, somewhat abdicated our responsibility and thereby abused and allowed harm to come to our lambs by our negligence?

Jesus is the supreme shepherd. He is the example to each of us in our roles as shepherds. He gave even his life for his sheep. Jesus as good and faithful shepherd inspires us to lead “ours” through the dark valleys of life.

All of us need to keep our eyes on Jesus, the good shepherd and see the institutional church as a means, not an end, to foster our relationship with Jesus. In turn, we strive to improve our Vatican II understanding of church, the people of God, so that united to Christ, we may become all that we are called to become.

As we just heard at the end of the Gospel, recognition of Jesus as supreme shepherd leads us to enjoy the promise of life in abundance. The good shepherd tells us that to give us life in abundance is why he came.

Third Sunday of Easter (April 26, 2020)

“Two disciples were making their way to a village named Emmaus. In the midst of their lively exchange, Jesus approached and began to walk along with them.”

We know that during most of this seven-mile walk with Jesus, the two disciples failed to recognize the true identity of their travel companion. It was not until they were seated at table with him - and Jesus broke and shared bread with them - that their eyes were finally opened.

What was it about such a simple act that enabled them to recognize Jesus? Undoubtedly, it reminded them of that powerful moment that directly preceded Christ's betrayal, passion and death: the Last Supper. In addition, it may have reminded them of countless experiences of table fellowship with Jesus and the other disciples: simple, personal and intimate opportunities to understand more about Jesus' - and their own - identity. The ordinary - but profound - act of breaking and sharing bread had become for them a gateway to experiencing the divine precisely in the midst of everyday, human events. On an even broader scale, it may have reminded them of the experience of communion and community that they experienced with Jesus and their fellow travelers throughout all the ups, downs and in-betweens of living, learning and loving together.

The connection with this story to the Church's eventual understanding of communion was not lost on St. Francis de Sales. In his book entitled On the Preacher and Preaching, he wrote: "It is certain that since our Lord is really within us, he gives us brightness, for he is the light. After the disciples at Emmaus had communicated, 'their eyes were opened.'" (Page 26) In our celebration - and reception - of community, gathered around the table of the Lord, we are challenged to see both how Christ is present in the Eucharist and also how Christ is present in us.

Still, we need to expand our notion of communion in order to more deeply understand the meaning of this scene in the Gospel. Jesus is especially present whenever there is table fellowship; Jesus is embodied whenever people allow themselves to be broken and shared with - and for - others. Jesus is seen whenever people focus more on what brings them together and less upon those things that would drive them apart.

When we break bread with others - literally, or figuratively - the ongoing power and promise of the risen Christ is made manifest to us. When we choose to break ourselves open to nourish and feed others, we embody in our own day and age something of the same Jesus who companioned these two disciples so long ago.

The question is: do we recognize Jesus in our attempts to feed others? Do we recognize Jesus when others to do the same for us?

Second Sunday of Easter (April 19, 2020)

In the wake of Jesus' crucifixion and death, the apostles were locked away together in fear. They were afraid that they might suffer the same fate as their teacher.

Despite their anxious seclusion, Jesus breaks into their lives: not merely into the physical space in which they were taking refuge; Jesus also breaks into the core of their minds and hearts. Jesus attempts to calm their fears; he challenges them to be at peace; he does this in a rather confrontational and mysterious manner: by showing them the wounds in his hands and side.

The experience of resurrection did not remove the scars of Jesus' woundedness, the lasting marks of pain, disappointment, misunderstanding, rejection, humiliation, abandonment, suffering and death. Notwithstanding these wounds, however, Christ's resurrection powerfully demonstrated that pain, sadness, suffering and injustice did not, ultimately, enjoy the last word. While suffering is clearly a part of life, there is much more to life than suffering.

St. Francis de Sales wrote: "We must often recall that our Lord has saved us by his suffering and endurance, and that we must work out our salvation by sufferings and afflictions, enduring with all possible forbearance the injuries, denials and discomforts we meet." (Introduction to the Devout Life, Part III, Chapter 3)

All of us bear the wounds of failure, deception, betrayal, disappointment and loss. Our hearts, our minds, our memories - our souls - bear the scars to prove it. Like the apostles, we, too, are tempted to withdraw from others, to lock ourselves away in some secluded emotional or spiritual corner, living in fear of what other pain or disappointments may come our way. Of course, in withdrawing from life, we figuratively - in some cases, even literally - die.

Jesus clearly demonstrates in his own life that our wounds do not necessarily need to overwhelm or disable us. While these wounds may be permanent, they need not rob us of the power and promise of recovery, of renewal - of resurrection - unless we despair, unless we allow ourselves to be defeated by the nails of negativity.

The wounds of our past continue to leave their mark in our present: they don't necessarily determine the course of our future. Turn to the love of Jesus who knows what it means to be wounded and who shows us how to move through and beyond them. St. Francis de Sales wrote: “Look often on Christ, crucified, naked, blasphemed, slandered, forsaken, and overwhelmed by every kind of weariness, sadness, sorrow and labor.” Jesus triumphed over the wounds of his humanity: so, too, with God's help, can we.

To be sure, life can be tough. As was in the case as Jesus, however, we, too, can be tougher.