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Feast of the Holy Family

The Word was made Flesh, and came to dwell among us.  For this reason, we cry out, “Merry Christmas!”  And rightfully so.  We have celebrated Christ’s Mass, and now we revel in the season of Christmas, singing carols at Mass and rejoicing in this great visitation we call Emmanuel, God with us.

These days are a special opportunity to reflect on that mystery we call “human dignity”.  This dignity is one that is rooted in our creation in the image and likeness of God.  It is not something that is earned or acquired, though achievement or accomplishment.  Nor is it something that can be relinquished or repudiated through sin or wrongdoing.  It is a dignity that remains. Another aspect of this same dignity is revealed in the proper end of the human being.  We are created by God for life together with Him, forever in heaven.  This is our proper destiny.  This lofty purpose also sheds light on the dignity of each and every person born of woman.

Then there is the truth about human dignity which is laid bare in the fact of the Incarnation.  The second person of the Most Holy Trinity was carried in the womb of the Virgin Mary.  This person, truly God and truly Man, is known as Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ.  He is Emmanuel, God with us.

What does it say about this human dignity that God became one like us in all things but sin?  It tells us that this human flesh of ours can actually be the moment of encounter  with God.  In meeting Jesus, the carpenter’s son, people came face to face with God.  And from that moment of God’s entry into human history, on that starlit night in Bethlehem, everything changed.  For how could we ever look at any person the same way, once we had been told that whatever we did to her or him, we did to God.?

On December 28^th each year, we celebrate the Feast of the Holy Innocents.  King Herod decreed the slaughter of every male child under two years old, in Bethlehem and its environs.  Such are the all too common methods of those in political power, when they perceive a threat to their position and prestige.  So we are reminded that then, and now, too often human dignity is trampled upon.  Abortion is called health care, euthanasia is called compassion, execution is called justice, the laws of the marketplace are used to justify poverty and hunger, and war is called security. 

Every affront to human dignity attempts to dim the light of the star of Bethlehem.  May the light of that start shine brightly in our hearts this Christmas season.  Merry Christmas!

Fourth Sunday of Advent

You’re standing in line, waiting.  You don’t have all day.  The line seems to be growing longer, rather than shorter.  And the question pops into your head, “Do I really need this?”  “Is this really worth waiting for?”  The waiting grows more and more burdensome.  Finally, you decide, “I don’t need this.”  Giving up your hard-won spot in line, you step out and go on your way.

Maybe you needed it.  Maybe you didn’t.  Maybe you’ll regret that decision made out of impatience, or maybe you’ll never give it a second thought.  Waiting isn’t fun.  Is it worth it?

During Advent, there is a set of prayers provided for daily Mass, (Opening Prayer, Prayer over the Gifts, Prayer after Communion) assigned to the various weekdays.  Some of these prayers are repeated several times in the course of the season.  As we have celebrated Advent this year, there is one of those prayers, a Prayer over the Gifts, that has struck me every time we’ve prayed it because I think it goes to the very heart of the Advent Season.

It is the first line that keeps resonating for me:  “Lord, we are nothing without you.”  It doesn’t say, “Lord, we are less without you”, or “Lord, we’re not as much as we might be without you”.  It says that without the Lord, we are nothing.  Nada.  Rien.  Zero. Pfft.  Nothing.

That’s not much.  Now we’ve been waiting in line for some three weeks now, this Advent season.  So maybe that question is popping into our heads:  “Do I really need this?”  Is this God of ours really worth waiting for?  If we believe the prayer we’ve been praying, then the answer is clear.  Ultimately, this God of ours is the only one, the only thing, worth waiting for.  For without him, we are nothing.

Elizabeth cried out, “How does this happen that the mother of my Lord should come to me?”  She was struck with amazement at the visitation she was experiencing.  Mary, chosen to be the mother of the Savior, had come into her home, to see her, to be with her.

And who are we that the Lord himself should come to us?  Well, among other things, we are the people who are nothing without him.  We are the people who, with him, are all we need to be.  I think that’s worth waiting for.

Third Sunday of Advent

If John the Baptist would have played it right, he probably could have had a longer run than he did.  Certainly his criticism of Herod taking his brother’s wife played a major role in his being executed so early.  But he probably could have worked things to make Herod a bit more hesitant.

Time and again in the Gospels, we’re told that the authorities wanted to arrest Jesus.  But they didn’t for a long time, out of fear of the crowds.  Jesus had quite a following, particularly of those who wanted to carry him off and make him king.  They thought he was the Messiah, and they were waiting for him to take power, drive out the Romans, and rule like King David.  So while eventually the authorities did arrest Jesus and put him to death, it could have happened a lot sooner, it would seem, had it not been for the influence of the crowds.

Now John too had a following, crowds coming to the Jordan to listen to his preaching, to ask him questions, (What are we to do?), and of course to accept his baptism of repentance.  Among their questions was the inquiry as to whether he was the Messiah, or should they look and wait for another.  How much longer would Herod have hesitated to take action against John if he would have just left the crowds wondering?

But he didn’t do that.  Few things are clearer in John’s preaching that his affirmation that he was not the Messiah.  He said there was another, greater than he, who was coming.  This other person would be the one doing the great deeds.  John left no doubt that his mission was simply to prepare the way.  When Jesus did appear on the scene, John even gave up his disciples to the one he pointed out as “the Lamb of God”.

Now we probably don’t often think of John the Baptist as an example of great humility.  He came roaring out of the desert, accusing and challenging.  He held nothing back, even speaking truth to those who had the power to put him to death.  Yet the Baptist is a tremendous example of true humility.  This is a humility not characterized by a self-effacing meekness that lets the person disappear into the background.  It is a humility rooted in the truth.

John embraced his mission as the one who prepared the way.  He did not aspire to or pretend to be the Messiah.  He spoke the truth about who he was and what he had come to do.  This is humility, rooted in the truth about who we are, particularly who we are in the sight of God.

Advent reminds us of our truth – that we are a people waiting for the coming of our God.

Second Sunday of Advent

“I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work in you

will continue to complete it until the day of Christ Jesus.”

These are words which St. Paul wrote to the Church in Philippi.  Let us begin with his confidence.  From where does this confidence come?  I would say that for the most part, the zeal and fervor with which Paul preached the Gospel flowed from his relationship with Christ Jesus.  From the moment of his first encounter with the Christ, Paul had experienced this Jesus of Nazareth as someone who had transformed his life. Everything had changed on that day, and he continued to be transformed as he matured in his relationship with the Risen Lord.  So when Paul speaks of his having confidence, it is not because someone has told him that this or that is true.  He is basically sharing his own experience in the Lord. 

He goes on to speak of a work that will be completed.  Clearly this means that the work is not yet done.  The Gospel had been proclaimed in Philippi, and those who had heard and believed had also been transformed, as they entered into a new relationship with the Lord God.  But no matter how far they might have progressed in knowledge and faith and in good works, their journey of faith had not yet been completed.  There was still more to be done, more to be accomplished.  There was still transformation of hearts that needed to happen.

Paul is also clear about who it is that will bring about this transformation.  He speaks of the one “who began a good work in you”.  While the Philippians had said “Yes” to God’s saving action in their lives, it was God who had started it, and God who would finish it.  God is always the one who speaks first, who invites first, who calls first.  The work has any chance of being completed only because it is God who is at work.

So if they, or we for that matter, have any sort of faith or hope, it is because God started it.  He starts it with the very act of creation, but more powerfully for us, he begins this work more explicitly at the moment of our Baptism.  In becoming part of the Body of Christ, we become one with the one who can set us free.

And Paul speaks of “the day of the Lord”.  On that day, the work which God has begun will be completed.  This tells us something about the Second Coming of Christ.  That “day of the Lord” will be the day on which all the good work that God has been accomplishing through the ages will come to fruition.  In us, in the Church, in the world, in the universe, the victory of Christ over sin and death will be complete.  God’s glory will shine forth.  Speaking of Advent, that sounds like something worth waiting for.

First Sunday of Advent

The movie 2012 marks the date of destruction as Dec. 21, 2012, based on the end of the Mayan Calendar.  A brief web search finds another prediction for May 27th of the same year.  Others just say “Soon” (like next week?)  And of course there’s that prediction that the world will end with the millennium in the year 2000.  (Oh, we’re past that, aren’t we?)  Maybe we should remember the Scriptural saying that no one knows the day or the hour.

But the world will end.  More to the point, Christ will come again, as our Scripture readings remind us this weekend, the First Sunday of Advent.  We are to “stand erect and raise your heads, because your redemption is at hand.”  As we begin this season of Advent, we do so with joy and hope, longing for that coming of the Lord.

Unfortunately, sometimes people look to movies or crackpot web sites, or commercially successful novels for their theological understanding.  Consider this quote about the rapture and tribulation concept made popular in the “Left Behind” novels:

“The dispensationalist end-time scenario is a modern-day version of “millenarian” beliefs (the term refers to the “1,000 years” of Revelation 20:1-6) that have sprung up at various times in church history.  The 19th-century British preacher John Nelson Darby is credited with coming up with the scheme.  Darby’s particular new twist was his introduction of the concept of the Rapture, which breaks the Second Coming of Christ down into two stages:  the mid-air Rapture of born-again believers at the beginning of the seven-year Tribulation and what really amounts to a “third coming” after the Tribulation.

“The Rapture idea is based on creative but erroneous interpretations of three Bible passages (1 Thess. 4:13-18, Matt. 24:40-41, and John 14:1-2).  In a desperate attempt to cling to a supposedly “literal” approach to interpreting the Bible, the proponents of the Rapture engage in an absurd “biblical hopscotch” by isolating and then re-assembling snippets from very different biblical books.” (US Catholic, December 2009, p. 23)

In short, all this stuff about rapture and being “left behind” is just poppycock.  One book recommended in the article is Barbara Rossing’s “The Rapture Exposed:  The Message of Hope in the Book of Revelation”.

We look forward with hope to the Lord coming again, whenever it happens.  That is the true meaning of Advent.

Feast of Christ the King

This coming Thursday, we will gather at 7:30 a.m. in church to celebrate our Thanksgiving Day Mass.  I hope you can come.  I mean I really hope you can come.  For Catholics, there is simply no better way to celebrate Thanksgiving than by celebrating the Eucharist.  Why?  Here’s a hint:  What does the word Eucharist mean?

Yep, you got it.  It means “giving thanks”.  One of my favorite descriptions of the celebration of the Eucharist (there are many) is a “thanksgiving sacrifice”.  This name connects what we do here with the redemptive sacrifice of Christ, even as it tells us what to do in response to that sacrifice:  give thanks.  Because the Eucharist is at the heart of our life together as Catholics, we are a people notably suited to giving thanks.  We do it in a sacramental way Sunday after Sunday.

So when we gather on Thanksgiving Day, we do what we always do, but along with so many others in our nation.  I guess what I’m saying is that there is a gift there in a national holiday that allows us to gather and give thanks to God for his gifts.  That’s not to say that other festivities don’t matter.  Gathering the family, eating the Turkey, going to a movie, watching the game and studying ads for that shopping adventure on Friday are all part of the day.  I’m just convinced that celebrating Eucharist manages to focus our gratitude on the one who is the Giver of all good gifts.

There’s also something about Thanksgiving coming just before Advent.  The season of Advent is all about hope and expectation.  So we might ask, why should we hope?  What reason have we to expect anything?  The answer to that questions lies of course in remembering all the things that God has already done for us.  He has helped us so many times before, and gifted us in countless ways, beginning with the immeasurable gift of life itself.

So as we count our blessings on Thanksgiving day, we are led to shout out our gratitude to God.  And in doing that, we discover our reason to hope, and our eyes are opened to the foundation of our expectations.  During Advent, we wait on the one who does not delay, who does not disappoint.  In him we find the reason for our hope.

For that, we can be truly grateful.

Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time

Sometimes I feel like a broken record when I talk about this, but here goes.  Last night, I heard my first tv commercial that used Christmas music.  It’s started.  Now I know  that the Christmas shopping season is essential to the very survival of many of our retailers, making up a huge part of their annual sales.  And I really don’t have a problem with that.  Where I begin repeating myself is how this makes it so difficult to celebrate Advent.

Next weekend we celebrate the Feast of Christ the King, a feast that always marks the end of our liturgical year.  Because of that feast, this Sunday is in reality the last Sunday in Ordinary time for this year.  On the last weekend of November this year, we begin a new liturgical year with the 1^st Sunday of Advent.

Over the years I’ve become more and more attached to and appreciative of what the seasons of the church year do for our prayer.  Every Sunday is a little Easter, as we rejoice in the Resurrection of Christ.  Every Sunday is possible because of the Incarnation, celebrated at Christmas, and every Sunday is a day of longing for the coming of Christ.  Likewise every Sunday is a special opportunity to repent and return to the wellsprings of God’s grace.

But who could be attentive to all that, every Sunday?  Instead, the Church gives us liturgical seasons, offering the opportunity to focus on some aspect of the truths of our salvation in Christ.  At Christmas, we focus on the Incarnation, during Lent on our brokenness in the face of God’s mercy, at Easter on the hope that is ours through the resurrection.  During each season, everything else is still true.  We’re just changing our focus.

During Advent, we focus on the Lord who is to come.  The spirit of Advent is nicely captured in the two words, “Not yet”.  It is a time of preparation, of longing and of waiting.  As such, it reminds us of our radical dependence upon God.

That’s all fine and good, except for one thing.  (And this is where I feel like a broken record.)  As we strive to live in the “not yet” of Advent, our culture has already jumped into the “it’s here!” of Christmas.  I’ve come to see Advent as a rather fragile season, partly because we’re not always that good at waiting anyway.  (“I want it now!”)  And everything around us, like Christmas music in commercials, encourages us to just skip the waiting, and do Christmas now.  I want to really do the “not yet” of Advent.  And that takes an effort.

Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time

I was very glad to see the statement from the Louisiana Bishops that was issued this week, so much so that I’ve decided to include the statement as an insert in this week’s bulletin.  This is an issue that affects all of us, and has been wrapped up in the usual political rhetoric determined by narrow self-interest, misguided ideologies, and partisan bickering.  I welcome the clarity of the Bishops’ statement, rooted in fundamental principles of right and justice.

Whenever the Church speaks on these types of  issues, she refrains from commenting on the details of the project.  Rather she lays out certain basic principles and truths, rooted in the nature of the human person, that must guide decision-making and implementation of projects that impact persons in such fundamental ways.  In this case, this includes the rejection of the direct killing of the human person.  Abortion and euthanasia are not health care.  We also see respect for the rights of health care providers to act morally.  All of this is guided by the insight that systems of health care exist to serve the person first, rather than other entities such as insurance companies.

Some may be taken aback by the idea of a fundamental right to health care.  The Church’s view of fundamental human rights is rooted in the understanding of the human person, who is called by God to fulfill the duties of vocation.  Human rights are those things necessary for the individual to be the person God created her or him to be.  These are rights that are not granted by the government, but rather must be recognized and respected by laws and structures of society.  They are inherent in the human person.  You may have heard the phrase, “are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights”.  Our country’s founding documents recognized this truth.

I have no idea what will eventually be put into place as we reform heath care.  I do know we currently have a system that is broken and in desperate need of repair.  The principles outlined by our Bishops can help guide this essential work so that persons are respected and lives are enriched.

Jesus said, “For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.” (Matt 25:35-36)

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Conclusion of the US Bishops’ statement for Pro-Life Sunday:

“Many scientists justify the manipulation and killing of embryonic human beings in stem cell research, based on unsubstantiated hopes of finding new cures. Yet the facts increasingly show this approach to pose risks to patients, and to women who may be exploited to provide eggs for the research.

“Death is not a solution to life’s problems. Only those who are blind to the transcendent reality and meaning of human life could support killing human beings to mitigate economic, social or environmental problems.

“The antidote to such myopia is to recover an appreciation for the sanctity and dignity of each unique human being. One could begin by spending a day with a young child. The average child is a wellspring of joy and giggles, capable of daring leaps of imagination, probing curiosity, and even reasoned (though sometimes self-centered) appeals for justice. Children delight in God’s creation and love their family unconditionally. God gave every human being these marvelous aptitudes, and children can help us recover and appreciate them anew.

“Since the advent of widespread contraception and abortion, a cultural hostility to children has grown. They are often depicted as costly encumbrances who interfere with a carefree adult life. No fewer than six recent books are dedicated to defending the childless-by-choice lifestyle – for selfish reasons, or to counter “overpopulation,” a thoroughly discredited myth. In fact, if married couples were to have more children, Medicare and Social Security would not be hurtling toward bankruptcy. Since 1955, because of fewer children and longer life spans, the number of workers has declined relative to the number of beneficiaries, from 8.6 to only 3.1 workers paying benefits to support each beneficiary. Without substantially more young people to enter the work force as young adults, in 25 years, there will be only 2.1 workers supporting each beneficiary. Eliminating our young does not solve problems even on pragmatic grounds. It adds to them.

“Children, and those who are dependent on us due to disability or age, offer us the opportunity to grow in patience, kindness, and love. They teach us that life is a shared gift, not an encumbrance. At the end of life, we will be judged on love alone. Meanwhile, in the midst of so many challenges to life, we look to "Christ Jesus our hope" (1 Timothy 1:1), who offers to all the world a share in his victory over death.“

Twenty-ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time

A second installment of the US Bishops’ statement for Pro-Life Sunday.  See last week’s bulletin for the first part, and next week for the conclusion of the statement.

“Unborn children are not the only human beings disfavored under current proposals. Many people insist that undocumented persons living and working in the United States should not be allowed in any new system to purchase health-care coverage, and that poor legal immigrants be denied coverage for the first five years they are in the United States. Do immigrants forfeit their humanity at the border? How can a just society deny basic health care to those living and working among us who need medical attention? It cannot and must not.

“While most Americans agree that those who cannot afford health insurance should have access to health care, some commentators have gone so far as to suggest offsetting the cost of expanded coverage by curtailing the level of care now given to elderly Americans. Other pundits have suggested that treatment decisions should be based not on the needs of the elderly patient, but on the patient’s allegedly low “quality of life” or the cost-effectiveness of treatment calculated over the patient’s projected lifespan. Such calculations can ignore the inherent dignity of the person needing care, and undermine the therapeutic relationship between health professionals and their patients.

“It should not be surprising that the neglect, and even the death, of some people are offered as a solution to rising health care costs. Population control advocates have long espoused aborting children in the developing world as a misguided means for reducing poverty.

“Some environmentalists now claim that the most efficient way to curb global climate change is to make “family planning” more widely available in the developing world. They report that an average of 2.3 pounds per day of exhaled carbon dioxide can be eliminated from the atmosphere by eliminating one human being. As used by population control advocates, the innocuous term “family planning” includes abortifacient contraceptives, sterilization, and manual vacuum aspiration abortions.

“Oregon, where health care for low-income patients is rationed by the state, has denied several patients the costly prescription drugs needed to prolong their lives, while reminding them that the assisted suicide option is conveniently offered under Oregon’s health plan.“  (Conclusion continues next week.)

Twenty-eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Over the next three weeks, I will be offering the statement from the US Bishops for Respect Life month, October 2009.  Signed by Archbishop Justin Rigali, the first of three parts begins below:

“Respect Life Sunday, this year celebrated on October 4th is a day set aside for Catholics in the United States to reflect with gratitude on God’s priceless gift of human life. It is also an occasion to examine how well we, as a nation and individually, are living up to our obligation to protect the rights of those who, due to age, dependency, poverty or other circumstances, are at risk of their very lives.

“In the current debate over health care reform, it has become evident that a number of Americans believe that the lives and health of only some people are worth safeguarding, while other classes of people are viewed as not deserving the same protection. Such an attitude is deplorable, all the more so in the context of health care. Sanctioning discrimination in the quality of care given to different groups of people has no place in medicine, and directly contravenes the ethical norms under which Catholic hospitals and health care providers operate.

“Unborn children remain the persons whose lives are most at risk in America: Over one million children each year die in abortion facilities. The Roe v. Wade decision in 1973 rendered states powerless to halt this killing. Thankfully Congress and most states acted to prevent public funding of abortions (with narrowly defined exceptions). Yet despite the opposition of 67% of Americans to taxpayer-funded abortion, all current health care proposals being considered by Congress would allow or mandate abortion funding, either through premiums paid into government programs or out of federal revenues.

“It bears repeating: Abortion – the direct, intentional killing of an unborn girl or boy – is not health care. Abortion robs an innocent child of his or her life, and robs mothers of their peace and happiness. For 25 years, the Project Rachel post-abortion ministry of the Catholic Church has helped women move beyond their grief and remorse after abortion, helping them find peace by accepting God’s forgiveness and by forgiving themselves and others involved in the abortion decision. Abortion funding can only increase the number of dead and grieving.”  (Part II continues in this space next week.)

Twenty-seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

The opportunity once again presents itself.  Yes, it is that time of the fall when you have an opportunity to cooperate in a very meaningful way with the spiritual and material work in the name of Christ that takes place right here in the Diocese of Lafayette.  That opportunity of course is the Bishop’s Services Appeal.

Ok, I know, we might not immediately think of BSA as an opportunity.  With all the other demands on our time, and on our pocketbooks, it might at first seem more like bother or burden.  But take a look at the broad range of services that are provided, and the numerous individuals whose lives are touched and you’ll realize that this is something that no individual or even small group of individuals could accomplish.  The marvelous works funded by the BSA are possible only because of faithful Catholics working together to bring this about.

When we recognize that most people want to help (and they do), then this is where the Bishop’s Services Appeal shines as opportunity.  When someone recognizes that there are needs out there, and asks the question, “How can I help?”, the BSA answers that question, in effective and practical ways.

Year after year one cannot help but be astounded by the generosity of so many.  Last year, St. Patrick parishioners donated $32,554.00, an increase of 9.5% over the previous year.  This increase is especially striking given the tough economic times of late.  (Overall donations to BSA were actually down last year from the previous year.)  We are grateful to so many who donate so generously.

At the specific suggestion of our Bishop, I want to make a special appeal to those who do not contribute to the appeal.  The fact is that there are significant numbers of people who do not participate in this annual collection.  Imagine what we could accomplish if everyone did even a little.  So on behalf of the Bishop, I ask those who have not done so in the past to use the envelope you received at home, or pick up one at the back of Church, and join in.

In particular, I would encourage those who do not do so to consider using the pledge system.  Like anything else, we can do more with it being less of a burden if we spread out our giving over time. A little offered each month adds up by the end of the year.  And I assure you, unlike with your car note or house note, if things don’t work out with your pledge, no one will be coming around to repossess your soul!

Again, thanks for all you do.  I can’t say it enough.  And consider what you can do this year, especially if BSA hasn’t been part of your generosity in the past.

Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Over the last two weeks in this space, I’ve been talking about the two major expressions of prayer that make up a Catholic prayer life.  We spoke about the self-discipline that is necessary for private prayer, and we spoke of the power of ritual in communal prayer.  In both cases, alone or with the community, we are striving to create a space where God can come in, and transform us, individually and as a community of faith.  I want to stress today that not only are both forms of prayer essential for us, but also that one nurtures and feeds the other.

Prayer is first and foremost about relationship.  It is the method we use to build a relationship with the living God, a relationship rooted in the love that God has for all his creatures.  It is most certainly God’s love that both initiates and makes possible this relationship.  He always calls us first.  Even when we are at our most spontaneous in crying out to God, it is possible only because he has first spoken to our hearts.

Consider the silence that is at the heart of individual prayer and that has a proper place in our communal prayer.  When we strive to embrace quiet times in our prayer, we will find that it is never totally silent.  When we finally get quiet enough to listen, we will hear that still, small voice of God, speaking to our hearts, ever calling us back to him.  God is always the one who speaks first.

When we go to God, on a daily basis, at the same time and same place, we are practicing that self-discipline which is the backbone of private prayer.  No matter how we pray, hopefully there is time there to sit quietly in God’s presence.  If we have quieted enough to set aside at least for a moment our own wants and needs and desires, perhaps we will find the space to let God do what he wills with us.

Here we encounter the power of prayer.  It is not about convincing God to do what I want.  It is about allowing God to do what he wants with me. Then, having nurtured this loving relationship in prayer alone, we come with joy to worship with the community.  There we encounter others who are loved by the same God who loves us.  There we unite our hearts and voices with others seeking to do his will.  In the common prayer we call the Celebration of the Eucharist, we especially come to be transformed, to experience that power of prayer not alone, but with and in the midst of the Church.

This experience of common prayer at Mass will be that much deeper the more we have opened our hearts to God in private.  And our experience at Mass will deepen the time we spend alone with God.  For us as Catholics, private and public prayer can never be either/or.  It is always both/and.

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Last week, I wrote a bit in this space about the essential role of self-discipline in private prayer.  Today I’d like to address a related topic, that of the structure and order of our common prayer, particularly the Mass.  If private prayer without discipline is like “drinking water without a glass”, then common prayer without structure is rather like the human body without its skeleton.

In the world of communal prayer, we talk about ritual.  While ritual can be any repeated action, it takes on a particular function in prayer.  By its nature it is repetitive, familiar and routine.  This is precisely its strength, and at the same time the grounds for complaint by some.

When we arrive for Sunday Mass, we do not have to hold a committee meeting to decide what to do first.  We have the Gathering Song, and the Entrance Rites, and that’s how we begin.  Every time.  Likewise once the Entrance Rites have been completed, we move on to the Liturgy of the Word.  That part of the Mass has its own structure and routine, with reading, sung response, reading, gospel acclamation and gospel followed by homily, creed and intercessions.  We do that every Sunday.

Of course, within that structure there are things that are different.  While the Mass always has an Opening Prayer, it’s a different prayer each Sunday.  There is always a First Reading, but it is taken from a 3 year cycle which means you won’t hear the same First Reading, usually, for another 3 years.  It is precisely the repeated structure that allows for the unique focus of Advent or Lent, or for the different prayer expressions of Christmas and Easter.  Each Mass is different within the familiar routine that really does make possible the common prayer of the community.

Some say that’s boring.  Well let it be said, the Mass is not intended to be entertainment.  If one is looking to be entertained, one should check out the movie theatre.  That’s not what we do.  And for those they say they “don’t get anything out of it”, we then ask, well, “What did you bring to it?”

The primary actor at Mass is God the Father, through the Son, in the Holy Spirit.  And that is where the newness enters in.  If I am not moved, changed, transformed, enlightened or challenged at Mass, is that because God is falling down on the job?  Or is there an issue with me?

The ritual of the Mass is intended to create a space, a sacred space where God can enter in – in the Church, in our midst, in our hearts.  Our job is to let him in.  The repetition of ritual helps us to do that.

Twenty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Somehow summer has slipped away, school has long begun for most, Labor Day is behind us, and we’re into the fall, such as it is.  Days are a touch cooler, nights even more so, and the scorching days of this last June are long behind us.

For parents, the end of summer vacation means a return to the routine of school days.  No matter what else might be in store for a given day, there’s that need to get the kids ready for school.  There’s the homework that has to be done, and the uniforms that need to be clean.  If there are extra-curricular activities, then the evenings and weekends take on a whole different rhythm of their own.

This is a kind of routine that is imposed from without.  To a great extent, it’s decided by someone else.  There’s another kind routine that is imposed from within, called self-discipline.  And that may well be the most difficult kind of routine to embrace.

It’s also a kind of routine that is absolutely essential for fruitful prayer.  If we want to have a relationship with our God, then that’s going to mean being committed to nurturing a life of prayer.  All the great authorities on prayer will agree that self-discipline is essential to prayer.  That means a regular time, a regular place and a regular attentiveness to this pattern of simply spending time with God in prayer.  It’s about showing up.  Regularly.

What brought this to mind is a statement I ran across last week:  “Praying without discipline is like drinking water without a glass.”  I like that image.  Self-discipline is the glass, the container, that gives my prayer shape and form, and makes it accessible to me.  I can drink deeply of the water, precisely because it is in a glass.  Likewise, I can drink deeply of prayer if it is shaped and formed by self-discipline.

Sometimes I run across the idea that in order to be sincere, prayer must be spontaneous.  And certainly some of our spontaneous prayers are quite sincere, especially if the very spontaneity is born out of recognizing our radical need for God.  Yet prayer that is set, memorized, familiar and routine can be just as sincere.  Just because one tells a spouse or a child every morning, “I love you” doesn’t mean one is not sincere.

But self-discipline is work.  It means making choices about what is important.  For prayer, it means setting aside time, even when I have all those other very important things that absolutely have to be done.  This self-discipline is the glass that holds the life-giving waters of prayer to the God of Life.

Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time

This weekend, our nation celebrates Labor Day.  The majority of people, or at least those lucky enough to do so, celebrate the day by not working.  That may seem a little strange, but we are more than our work, and work is, among other things, about enabling us to do other things besides work.

A day marking the importance of labor is for us Catholics necessarily a day celebrating the person who labors.  All labor, of whatever sort, is always about people.  It is about the person who labors, and it is about the person for whose benefit that labor is done.  Like all issues touching on issues of social justice, we begin as Catholics with the dignity of the human person.

There are some very specific things about labor that have become part of that legacy of social justice teaching.  In his most recent encyclical, Caritas in Veritate, the Holy Father affirms this.  He says that decent work “means work that expresses the essential dignity of every man and woman in the context of their particular society; work that is freely chosen, effectively associating workers, both men and women, with the development of their community; work that enables the worker to be respected and free from any form of discrimination; work that makes it possible for families to meet their needs and provide schooling for children, without the children themselves being forced into labor; work that permits the workers to organize themselves freely, and to make their voices heard; work that leaves enough room for re-discovering one’s roots at a personal, familial and spiritual level; work that guarantees those who have retired a decent standard of living.”

Kind of woven through all that is support for meaningful work for all, for a rightful place for labor unions, and for a just, living wage.  These are not political positions, nor or they bargaining chips at the negotiating table.  They are truths that flow from the very nature of the human person, adequately considered.  These are truths about the proper nature of persons and their work which go beyond particular economic systems, across national boundaries and through the bias and prejudices of individuals and cultures.  The right to meaningful work done for a just wage without fear of discrimination is a fundamental human right.

When we respect the Creator, we show respect for his creation.  Work is an opportunity to be co-creators with God in this work of human endeavor, as we cooperate with one another in building up a just society for all.  This is a noble task.  So think about that around the BBQ pit.

Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time

As many of you know, I recently celebrated an ordination anniversary, which like birthdays keep coming around every year.  This year was number 28, and it dawned on me that as of last year (ok, it only took me a year) I’ve been a priest longer than I’ve not been a priest.  This of course brings me to the topic of gratitude, recognizing that after 28 years, the fact of feeling grateful is itself something to be grateful for.

My actual anniversary was spent mostly on the road, as I completed the drive back from my vacation in New Mexico.  But less than two hours after driving into town, I was sitting down to dinner with friends.  The next night, I celebrated the anniversary with other people who are important in my life, and there were several other moments during those days marked by congratulations and best wishes.  I am truly grateful to all those people, for their kindness and generosity.

Having been away on the actual day of the anniversary, I also found myself grateful for actually having a place to come back to.  Not only was I returning to a job and a home and a town where much is familiar, but I was also rejoining a very special community of faith of which I’ve become a part, a community of life and love called St. Patrick.  It is here that I am again blessed with the opportunity to do so much, including and especially celebrate the Eucharist, the source and summit of our life together as Catholics.

All this gratitude is certainly a good thing, especially since it is something that tends to slip away from us so easily.  With things that are usually present in our lives, we easily begin to “take things for granted”.  Interesting phrase, isn’t it?  These things for which we are grateful are “granted” – they are gifts and blessings, unearned and unmerited.  It’s when we forget they are “granted” that gratitude tends to diminish.

Yet the real opposite of gratitude is actually resentment.  Nothing sucks the life out of us and sweeps away gratitude in its wake like resentments.  A friend calls resentment “poison”, and rightfully so.  When we’re holding that grudge and blaming whoever and whatever and wallowing in self-pity, it’s like we’ve put on blinders.  All we see is what we aren’t or don’t have (which of course we ought to have or be), and it becomes impossible to see our gifts.  Long ago Henri Nouwen wrote that it is impossible to be resentful and grateful at the same time.  He was so right.

So I’m grateful today, for God, and life and you and so much more.  And I’m grateful that I’m grateful.

Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time

It’s happened a couple of times over the years.  A spouse (invariably the man) shows up with Bible in hand, a bookmark carefully placed at the 5^th chapter of Ephesians.  He had a wife who wasn’t “acting right” and wanted my support in making her do what he wanted.  Clearly the bible said, “Wives should be submissive to their husbands as to the Lord”.  So she was supposed to do whatever he said, right?

I usually found that this particular spouse (invariably the man) had somehow managed to avoid reading the rest of the passage.  There is a part, just a little further down, that says, “Husbands, love your wives even as Christ loved the church and handed himself over for her to sanctify her . . .”.  Somehow this passage wasn’t quite as appealing to this spouse, especially when one considers the cross and all.

In more recent years, I’ve become convinced that the key statement to properly understanding this passage is found more properly in the first line of this Sunday’s second reading:  “Brothers and sisters, be subordinate to one another out of reverence for Christ.”

 In Pope John Paul II’s writings about this passage in the context of the sacrament of marriage, he repeatedly speaks of a “reciprocal relationship”, one that goes both ways.  In reference this first and guiding sentence of the passage, he says that husband and wife are called to be subject to one another “out of reverence for Christ”.  When we take that call to “be subordinate to one another” as the key to interpreting what comes after, we immediately exclude any expression of domination or authoritarian rule of the other.  One could read the passage, “Husbands should be submissive to their wives”, and “Wives, love your husbands even as Christ loved the church”.  The call to be subject to one another describes a relationship of mutuality, of reciprocity, of support and true love, rather than domination and subjugation.

Too often, this passage in Ephesians has been warped to justify the evil of spousal abuse, whether physical, emotional or spiritual.  And that’s just plain wrong.  And this is the attitude that we must avoid when reading this passage.  Even as a couple become “one flesh” in marriage, they remain individuals, each bringing their own gifts and talents and abilities to the relationship, and eventually to the family.  That is the gift of married love.  In fidelity, and commitment, and in openness to children, they mirror the love that Christ has for the Church.

Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Alongside our weekly inserts on the Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, we offer thoughts on the primary day of celebration, Sunday, from Pope John Paul II’s letter on “The Lord’s Day”, “Dies Domini”.

“"I am with you always, to the end of the age" (Mt 28:20). This promise of Christ never ceases to resound in the Church as the fertile secret of her life and the wellspring of her hope. As the day of Resurrection, Sunday is not only the remembrance of a past event: it is a celebration of the living presence of the Risen Lord in the midst of his own people.

“For this presence to be properly proclaimed and lived, it is not enough that the disciples of Christ pray individually and commemorate the death and Resurrection of Christ inwardly, in the secrecy of their hearts. Those who have received the grace of baptism are not saved as individuals alone, but as members of the Mystical Body, having become part of the People of God.(38) It is important therefore that they come together to express fully the very identity of the Church, the ekklesia, the assembly called together by the Risen Lord who offered his life "to reunite the scattered children of God" (Jn 11:52). They have become "one" in Christ (cf. Gal 3:28) through the gift of the Spirit. This unity becomes visible when Christians gather together: it is then that they come to know vividly and to testify to the world that they are the people redeemed, drawn "from every tribe and language and people and nation" (Rev 5:9). The assembly of Christ's disciples embodies from age to age the image of the first Christian community which Luke gives as an example in the Acts of the Apostles, when he recounts that the first baptized believers "devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers" (2:42).  . . .

“But because of its special solemnity and the obligatory presence of the community, and because it is celebrated "on the day when Christ conquered death and gave us a share in his immortal life",(44) the Sunday Eucharist expresses with greater emphasis its inherent ecclesial dimension. It becomes the paradigm for other Eucharistic celebrations. Each community, gathering all its members for the "breaking of the bread", becomes the place where the mystery of the Church is concretely made present. In celebrating the Eucharist, the community opens itself to communion with the universal Church,(45) imploring the Father to "remember the Church throughout the world" and make her grow in the unity of all the faithful with the Pope and with the Pastors of the particular Churches, until love is brought to perfection.”

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Again this week, alongside our Gospel readings from John 6, we look back at Pope John Paul II’s encyclical on the Eucharist, “Ecclesia de Eucharistia”.  The following is from that document:

“The sacramental re-presentation of Christ's sacrifice, crowned by the resurrection, in the Mass involves a most special presence which – in the words of Paul VI – “is called 'real' not as a way of excluding all other types of presence as if they were 'not real', but because it is a presence in the fullest sense: a substantial presence whereby Christ, the God-Man, is wholly and entirely present”.  This sets forth once more the perennially valid teaching of the Council of Trent: “the consecration of the bread and wine effects the change of the whole substance of the bead into the substance of the body of Christ our Lord, and of the whole substance of the wine into the substance of his blood. And the holy Catholic Church has fittingly and properly called this change transubstantiation”.  Truly the Eucharist is a mysterium fidei, a mystery which surpasses our understanding and can only be received in faith, as is often brought out in the catechesis of the Church Fathers regarding this divine sacrament: “Do not see – Saint Cyril of Jerusalem exhorts – in the bread and wine merely natural elements, because the Lord has expressly said that they are his body and his blood: faith assures you of this, though your senses suggest otherwise”. . . .

16. The saving efficacy of the sacrifice is fully realized when the Lord's body and blood are received in communion. The Eucharistic Sacrifice is intrinsically directed to the inward union of the faithful with Christ through communion; we receive the very One who offered himself for us, we receive his body which he gave up for us on the Cross and his blood which he “poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins” (Mt 26:28). We are reminded of his words: “As the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so he who eats me will live because of me” (Jn 6:57). Jesus himself reassures us that this union, which he compares to that of the life of the Trinity, is truly realized. The Eucharist is a true banquet, in which Christ offers himself as our nourishment. When for the first time Jesus spoke of this food, his listeners were astonished and bewildered, which forced the Master to emphasize the objective truth of his words: “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life within you” (Jn 6:53). This is no metaphorical food: “My flesh is food indeed, and my blood is drink indeed” (Jn 6:55).

Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Alongside the series of bulletin inserts on Eucharistic presence which we are offering, it seems fitting to look back at Pope John Paul II’s encyclical on the Eucharist, “Ecclesia de Eucharistia”.  The following is from that document:

“The Second Vatican Council teaches that the celebration of the Eucharist is at the centre of the process of the Church's growth. After stating that “the Church, as the Kingdom of Christ already present in mystery, grows visibly in the world through the power of God”,  then, as if in answer to the question: “How does the Church grow?”, the Council adds: “as often as the sacrifice of the Cross by which 'Christ our pasch is sacrificed' (1 Cor 5:7) is celebrated on the altar, the work of our redemption is carried out. At the same time in the sacrament of the Eucharistic bread, the unity of the faithful, who form one body in Christ (cf. 1 Cor 10:17), is both expressed and brought about”. . . .

“The Apostles, by accepting in the Upper Room Jesus' invitation: “Take, eat”, “Drink of it, all of you” (Mt 26:26-27), entered for the first time into sacramental communion with him. From that time forward, until the end of the age, the Church is built up through sacramental communion with the Son of God who was sacrificed for our sake: “Do this is remembrance of me... Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me” (1 Cor 11:24-25; cf. Lk 22:19). . . .

“Eucharistic communion also confirms the Church in her unity as the body of Christ. Saint Paul refers to this unifying power of participation in the banquet of the Eucharist when he writes to the Corinthians: “The bread which we break, is it not a communion in the body of Christ? Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread” (1 Cor 10:16-17). Saint John Chrysostom's commentary on these words is profound and perceptive: “For what is the bread? It is the body of Christ. And what do those who receive it become? The Body of Christ – not many bodies but one body. For as bread is completely one, though made of up many grains of wheat, and these, albeit unseen, remain nonetheless present, in such a way that their difference is not apparent since they have been made a perfect whole, so too are we mutually joined to one another and together united with Christ”.  The argument is compelling: our union with Christ, which is a gift and grace for each of us, makes it possible for us, in him, to share in the unity of his body which is the Church. The Eucharist reinforces the incorporation into Christ which took place in Baptism though the gift of the Spirit (cf. 1 Cor 12:13, 27).”

Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

There are four gospels.   Yes, I know, we all know that.  And of the four, the Gospel of John is, well, different.  It is the last of the four to be written, and has fairly little in common with the other 3 gospels.  The similarities (miracles, parables and teaching stories in common) of the other three are so striking that Mark, Matthew and Luke are called the Synoptic Gospels, from the Greek meaning, “to see with one eye”, or from one perspective.

You may also know that we have three cycles of Sunday readings (Cycles A, B & C).  Each of those cycles draws most of the Gospels for Ordinary time from one of the three synoptic gospels.  Passages from John’s gospel are read at other times during the liturgical year.  This year during Ordinary time, we have been reading from Mark.

Mark, however, is the shortest of the synoptic gospels, and basically, we run out of Gospel.  So during the year of Mark, we switch over in the middle of the year to John for a while.  That begins this weekend.  So for the next 5 weeks we will be reading through the sixth chapter of John’s Gospel.

Why does this matter?  Well, one of the ways in which John’s Gospel is different is that he has no account of the institution of the Eucharist, when Jesus took up bread and wine at the Last Supper.  John has a lot on the Last Supper (chapters 13-17, called the Farewell Discourses), but not that.

Instead John’s writings on Eucharist are found in chapter 6, called the Bread of Life discourse, which begins with the feeding of the multitude.  This is what we will be hearing at mass for the next 5 Sundays.

This brings me to the extra inserts you will be finding in the bulletin for the next six weeks.  Several years ago, the U.S. Bishops wrote a letter on the Presence of Christ in the Eucharist.  These inserts lay out the teaching in that document, in a question and answer format, addressing many of the questions and uncertainties many people have about this sacrament which is central to our faith.

So I encourage you to make use of this opportunity.  Read the inserts, reflect on them,  pray about them, share them with others.  When we come to Mass Sunday after Sunday, and receive Communion over and over, we easily begin to take for granted this precious gift.  Let us ask the Lord draw us ever more deeply into this mystery we call Eucharist.

Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

For quite some time now (i.e. centuries) the Church has been saying that there is simple and correct order of things when it concerns marriage and children.  That is, 1) marriage; 2) sex; 3) children.  Simple, but today an order that is seldom observed.  A recent article in the “Journal of Family Psychology” bore this out, with more than half of couples in the United States cohabiting before marriage, if they marry at all.

This trend of cohabiting (also known as “shacking up”) before, or in place of marriage, has been growing for long enough now that studies are beginning to show some definite trends.  And the results are quite different from what many people would expect, especially the people who are moving in together without the benefit of marriage.  It is clear that couples who cohabit before marriage have a higher rate of divorce when they do marry.  I suspect most couples just moving in together would be surprised at that.  So much for cohabitation as a way of “testing the waters”.

Here’s a quote from “The Marriage Project”, out of Rutgers University:  “The primary way in which cohabitation differs in its social character from marriage is the lower level of interpersonal commitment that is involved, a phenomenon which surely is related to its more informal nature and to the absence of a formal promise or solemn pledge to stay together.  Cohabiting partners tend to have a weaker sense of couple identity, less willingness to sacrifice for the other, and a lower desire to see the relationship go long term. . . . One of the most telling measures of low commitment is the break-up rate of couples.  We know from many studies that cohabiting couples break up at a far higher rate than married couples, by one estimate in the U.S., the rate is five times higher.”  This is true even when children are involved.

The reality is that cohabitation is not the same as marriage.  One cannot try out marriage by living together because living together is different from being married.  What’s different?  It’s about commitment.  By definition, the cohabiting couple says to one another, I’ll stick around as long as you make me happy. 

There is much more to this rather complex social dynamic, including theories about the why’s and how’s.  But young couples need to know that living together before marriage lessens their chances for a successful marriage.  Might there be a bit of selfishness lurking in the background?

Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Reading some reflections on forgiveness lately, I ran across this story:  A man had just had some outpatient foot surgery.  The foot was wrapped in a great deal of gauze and bandages.  The man had to take public transportation because he couldn’t drive.  He tried to sit where no one would bump his foot accidentally, but the size of the bandage meant he had let his foot stick out just a little into the aisle.  As the bus became more crowded, it finally happened:  someone coming down the aisle accidentally bumped the injured foot.  The injured man responded to the intense pain with a yell:  “Why don’t you watch where you’re going!”  Looking up, he saw the sorrow on the face of the blind man who had not seen the bandages or the foot.

So often, we start our interpretation of an experience with what we think the other should have known, or should have done.  While it arises out of pain or hurt, our interpretation quickly slides into judgment.  Immediately, we’re certain the hurt was intentional.  Immediately we judge that the other could have and should have done better, even though we have no idea whether that was actually possible.  In the midst of our judgment, there is little room for the idea that perhaps the other was just doing the best they could.  Perhaps they actually couldn’t see our feet, sticking out into the aisle.

At the heart of any situation where forgiveness is called for, there is hurt and pain.  Sometimes our hearts are broken.  Sometimes our pride is wounded.  But whatever the case, that hurt so easily blinds us to the truth.  Pain does that.  It equips us with blinders that often keep us from seeing anything but our own pain or hurt or suffering.  These blinders also help to aim our blaming at the most likely target.

Forgiveness, on the other hand, demands that we be attentive to the other.  It demands that we look beyond our own pain, and perhaps see the truth about the other person, about the situation, about the hurt, and yes, perhaps even the part we might have played in getting hurt.  Forgiveness is actually an invitation to relationship, rather than hiding behind the walls of blame and resentment and self-pity.

Sometimes we are hurt.  Sometimes it might even be intentional on the part of the other.  Other times, the other person may not have even known we were there.  Whatever the case, forgiveness is often difficult.  But the path to forgiveness is where Christ would have us walk.

Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Last week I mentioned to you the Holy Father’s call for observance of a Year for Priests.  Since then, we’ve received a letter from our Bishop outlining activities for our diocese.  His decision came after consulting with the Council of Priests, an advisory group of priests who meet monthly with the Bishop.

The plans for the year will focus on this sentence from the Congregation for the Clergy’s letter which expresses the Pope’s desires in this way:  “One has in mind not a spectacular event but rather an opportunity to live, by means of an inner renewal of the joyful re-discovery of one's proper identity, of the fraternity of one's own presbyterate, and of the sacramental relationship with one's own Bishop."  Our Bishop has scheduled over the next year or so a series of overnight gatherings with groups of 15 or so priests.  These will be held at retreat houses in the area, and were somewhat inspired by something Archbishop Flynn did some 20 years ago, when he was here in Lafayette.

It is hoped that these small gatherings of our priests with their bishop will be an opportunity to talk to and to listen to one another, to spend time in prayer together, and to reflect on where each priest is today with regard to living out the priesthood that is God’s gift.  (I am scheduled to go in mid-March).

The laity also have a special role to play in this Year for Priests.  We are simply asking you to do what so many already do:  pray for our priests.  On the table at the main entrance you will find a prayer card that you are invited to use on a regular basis.  This prayer card is one of many ways of praying for the priests of our diocese and of the world.  Choose whatever works for you.

I do want to draw special attention to an initiative by our local Serra club, devoted to promoting vocations.  In addition to their monthly hour of prayer held at our church on the first Monday of each month, they have also been preparing a monthly prayer calendar for priests.  I know many of you have been using this.  It assigns each day of the month to a particular priest, and all are invited to pray for that priest on that day.  When they finish the list of all the priests of our diocese (including the Pope and our Bishops), they begin again at the top of the list.  Copies of this prayer calendar are available on the back table.

During this Year for Priests, the back side of the calendar will have a special prayer for priests that is provided for your use as well.  Again, use whatever works for you during this Year for Priests.

Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Earlier this spring, the Holy Father made a brief comment in one of his talks about focusing in some way this year on the priesthood.  Eventually, a letter was sent out from the Congregation of the Clergy actually announcing a “Year of the Priest” to begin on June 19 of this year.  Of significance also is that this year marks the 150^th anniversary of the death of St. John Mary Vianney, le Cure’ d’Ars, long-standing patron of diocesan priests.  (Pope Benedict has now extended that patronage to all priests, diocesan and religious.)

The rather late notice regarding this observance has delayed things somewhat, but our diocese is looking at observing this year with a particular focus on the life and ministry of our priests.  Conversations are still continuing about what exactly will be done.  More details will follow.

At least so far, a good bit of attention has been given to this sentence from the Congregation’s letter mentioned above:  “One has in mind not a spectacular event but rather an opportunity to live,  by means of an inner renewal of the joyful re-discovery of one's proper identity, of the fraternity of one's own presbyterate, and of the sacramental relationship with one's own Bishop."  At least so far, it seems that whatever we do as a diocese will be guided at least to some extent by this sentiment.  In other words, we will be focusing not so much on recognition or congratulating of priests, but rather an opportunity for priests to grow in their own appreciation and living out of the richness of priesthood.

Even as we enter into the “Year of the Priest”, it will of course be necessary to always remember that the call to holiness is first and foremost rooted in our baptism.  Therefore the challenge to grow in holiness and charity rooted in justice is a challenge issued to all believers.  Yet laity and priests live out this call in quite different ways.

It in no way diminishes the importance of the laity to remember that without priests there is no Celebration of the Eucharist.  Far too many parishes, in the United States and throughout the world, are not able to celebrate the Eucharist on Sunday, the Lord’s day, because there is no priest.  In recent years, when I’ve seen the numbers, the average age of most groups of priests falls much more in the 50’s and 60’s, rather than the 30’s and 40’s.

More details to follow.

Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time - June 21, 2009

The boat was filling with water, and they were certain they were about to drown. Yet when they wake him, Jesus asks, “Why are you terrified?” Fr. Ron Rolheiser writes the following about faith and trust:

“Most of the time we find it hard to trust because we find ourselves wounded, lacking confidence, anxious about many things, feeling the need to protect ourselves. It is hard to trust and especially it is hard to show weakness and to be vulnerable. In the air we breathe everywhere (sometimes even in our most intimate relationships) we inhale a distrust that makes us want to show a superior strength, attractiveness, talent, intelligence, self-reliance, and cool detachment. Distrust and self- protection are everywhere. It’s hard to let ourselves be vulnerable, to trust that it is safe to love.

“And yet, deep down, vulnerability and surrender are what we most deeply want. At every level, we need and want surrender. Morally and religiously, the entire gospels can be put into one word: Surrender. Emotionally, psychologically, and sexually the deepest imperative inside of us is simply: Surrender. And, deeper than all of our anxieties and our need to protect ourselves, lies a truth we know at the core of our being, namely, that in the end we cannot take care of ourselves, we cannot make ourselves whole, and we cannot hide our weaknesses from each other. We need to surrender, to trust, to let ourselves fall into stronger and safer hands than our own.

“But in order to do this we need to trust, trust that it is safe to love, to let go, to reveal whom we really are, to show weakness, to not have to pretend that we are whole and self-reliant. This, as we know, is not easy to do.”

He goes on to say that this movement toward trust in God is a life-long journey, with much jockeying back and forth as we surrender and then try to take it back. Even if on any given day, we are not as trusting as we would like, and even if we nowhere near real surrender, we must not give up the journey.

The very desire and willingness to trust is the first step on that journey. The disciples in the boat did not do so well either. But they didn’t abandon Jesus when they reached the shore.

The disciples had asked Jesus, “Don’t you care?” Especially in those times when we wonder if God really cares, we must be willing to surrender, “to let ourselves fall into stronger and safer hands than our own”.

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Corpus Christi - June 14, 2009

For the Feast of the Body and Blood of Christ, I offer these words from the Liturgy of the Eucharist: “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.” These words are part of the immediate preparation for receiving the Eucharist. They have much to say about the action we are preparing to perform.

The first part seems to be primarily about us, but it is first about God. The simple fact that we address the prayer to one whom we call “Lord” says that God is Master, he is God, he is the one with all power and glory, he is the one who is the source of our salvation. Only after affirming this truth about God, in that one simple title, do we go on to say something about ourselves.

Following the naming of God, we admit our unworthiness before this most holy sacrament. This unworthiness is not something that is passing, temporary or fleeting. The unworthiness of which we speak here is not due to some sin of ours or some shortcoming (no matter how plentiful those may be). It is rather an unworthiness that flows simply from being creature before the Creator. It is also recognition of the greatness and splendor of the gift we are preparing to receive. Worthy sometimes is taken to mean “entitled to”, and the Eucharist is never something we can claim as our right. It is always and everywhere precious gift, freely given by the Giver of all good gifts.

We also say that we receive this gift. We do not take it. Whether we receive on the tongue or in the hand, there is a fundamental humility at work here. The Eucharist is always ministered one to another. We do not pass the plate around, or leave it on the buffet to be picked up at one’s leisure. The fact of being given Eucharist by another marks us as one who receives.

The prayer goes on to speak of ourselves as in need of healing. We are wounded, wounded by our sin and wounded too often by the tumult of life. As we stand before the one who is the Lord of life and health and wholeness, we admit our need to be made whole and healed by the fact of asking for that gift.

In that request for healing we say something essential again about God. He is our healer. Why ask him for healing if he is not the one capable of healing? He is the one who speaks a word of healing in our midst.

Such is our immediate preparation to receive the very Body and Blood of Christ. I am grateful.

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Trinity Sunday - June 7, 2009

“The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.” These words, taken from St. Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, form one of the greetings to be used at the beginning of Mass. It is the greeting I consciously use most often, precisely because it is so Trinitarian. It reminds us right from the beginning not only that we are gathered for prayer, but also the shape and form which our prayer takes. For the prayer of the church in the Eucharist is explicitly Trinitarian.

Think about it. Almost all the prayers of the liturgy are addressed to the Father. Rarely do we address prayers to Jesus or the Spirit. Yet those prayers to the Father remain Trinitarian. For example, the Opening Prayer of the Mass is addressed to the Father. Consider the normal conclusion: “we ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit . . .”. Or consider the conclusion to the Eucharistic Prayer. Following an explicit reference to Christ, we pray, “Through him [Jesus], with him, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, all glory and honor is yours, almighty Father . . .” . To the Father, through the Son, in the Holy Spirit is the model of our prayer. (This is why for example, we do not have prayers to the saints or the Hail Mary as part of the Mass.)

This is because our faith is fundamentally Trinitarian. The doctrine of the Trinity is one of the most fundamental truths which God has revealed to us. Because of this, St. Athanasius could write, “Accordingly, in the Church, one God is preached, one God who is above all things and through all things and in all things. God is above all things as Father, for he is principle and source. He is through all things through the Word; and he is in all things in the Holy Spirit.”

As the Church celebrates one God in three persons on this Trinity Sunday, it is also important to remember that we deal here with the very mystery of God. This means that everything we are saying about Trinity is true. At the same time, everything we say also falls short of capturing the fullness of this truth about God. We deal here with a mystery of faith that we affirm as true even as we confess our lack of understanding. How anything can be both one and three at the same time is unique to God, different from our experience of the world, and believed by us through the power of God’s grace.

So as we ponder the mystery of the Trinity, let us remember: This Trinity, this God, is love.

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Pentecost - May 31, 2009

Pentecost. The conclusion of the Easter season. For nigh on to two months now we have been celebrating Easter. Such a great event cannot be limited to just one Sunday. It’s so momentous that it is fitting to focus on that event, and the faith flowing from that event, for weeks on end. While every Sunday is a “little Easter”, a celebration of the Lord’s resurrection, these Easter days focus our attention on that victory over death, and the consequences for the Church.

Pentecost. The birthday of the Church, some say. A group of believers, huddled in fear in an upper room, are overwhelmed by the awesome experience described as mighty wind and tongues of fire. Immediately they go out and begin to perform extraordinary deeds, like proclaiming Jesus Christ crucified, and risen from the dead. People actually believe them.

Pentecost. Are these extraordinary events the only results of the gift of the Holy Spirit? Or can we identify other ways in which the Spirit of God is made manifest in our lives? Our second reading this weekend, from St. Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians states that “No one can say, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ except by the Holy Spirit”. Simply put, the very fact that we have faith is a result of the Spirit having been given to us. Because faith is always gift (gratefully received and nurtured), we cannot even believe in Christ the Lord other than through the grace of God.

Pentecost. One commentator, Fr. John Foley, S. J., has this to say: “Whenever we find patches of charity or joy in ourselves, or patience and kindness, or the ability to endure hardship and injuries; when we are tempted toward mildness and modesty, then we can be sure that the Holy Spirit is at work within us.” I would add, when we are attentive to the needs of the other, putting aside the desires of the self, the Spirit is at work. When we move toward at least a desire to forgive, rather than to seek vengeance or nurse resentment, the Spirit is a work. When we find in our hearts a desire for God, when we are moved to pray, when we feel gratitude for God’s goodness and kindness and mercy, we can be sure that the Holy Spirit is at work within us.

How does this differ from the grace of God, or the love of Jesus? It doesn’t. The Holy Spirit is God. And as we well know, the problem is never that God is absent, but rather that we have closed our hearts to him.

Pentecost. An opportunity to turn back to God, perhaps in a new and more fervent way.

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Feast of the Ascension - May 24, 2009

Joe had some bills to pay, you see. There were hospital bills, and some school tuition, and there just wasn’t enough money coming in to meet all those obligations. So Joe robbed a bank. And he claimed it was ok. When questioned about his justification, he said, “It worked.” I got the money. It worked.

Fred needed to get to his job. And his old car had broken down. Transmission repairs are expensive, and there was no bus service, and all four of the friends he called said they couldn’t give him a ride. The only way he could get to work, and keep his job, and feed his kids was to steal the neighbor’s car. And he claimed it was ok. He said, “It worked”. And that made it ok.

There’s nothing wrong with paying one’s bills. Nor is there anything wrong with getting to work and feeding the kids. Yet somehow most of us would flinch at the idea of robbing a bank or stealing a car to achieve those lofty goals. There’s something, some ethical, moral streak that recognizes that the end doesn’t justify the means. Just because we’re trying to achieve a good end doesn’t mean we can choose illegal and immoral means to reach that goal.

Likewise keeping our country safe is a worthy goal. That’s the end. What if one thinks that that the only way to achieve that end is to resort to torture? Is that ok?

This is the claim being made by former vice-president Dick Cheney. As condemnations are finally being voiced about the moral bankruptcy of becoming a country that condones torture, Cheney’s justification is, “It worked”. It’s a claim that the end justifies the means.

Something similar is going on with research into using embryonic stem cells to attempt to cure disease. Curing diseases like Parkinson’s and juvenile diabetes are worthy ends. On the other hand, embryos are human beings, albeit quite early in their development. Researchers who are killing these embryos for their stem cells are trying to cure these diseases. They say, “It might work”, that the end (curing the disease, maybe) justifies the means (killing human embryos).

Both are grievous offenses against human dignity. Both torture and embryonic stem cell research are examples of a flawed moral reasoning, quite common in our society. Good ends do not justify evil means.

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Sixth Sunday of Easter - May 17, 2009

Browsing around the other day, looking for something, I ran across this little tidbit from the Introduction to our Lectionary, the book containing the Scripture readings we use for Mass:

“The Church is nourished spiritually at the twofold table of God's word and of the Eucharist: from the one it grows in wisdom and from the other in holiness. In the word of God the divine covenant is announced; in the Eucharist the new and everlasting covenant is renewed. On the one hand the history of salvation is brought to mind by means of human sounds; on the other it is made manifest in the sacramental signs of the Liturgy.

“It can never be forgotten, therefore, that the divine word read and proclaimed by the Church in the Liturgy has as its one purpose the sacrifice of the New Covenant and the banquet of grace, that is, the Eucharist. The celebration of Mass in which the word is heard and the Eucharist is offered and received forms but one single act of divine worship. That act offers the sacrifice of praise to God and makes available to God's creatures the fullness of redemption.”

During these days of the Easter season, we’ve been hearing regularly the speeches preserved for us in the Acts of the Apostles. These speeches remind us of the very core of the Gospel message: Jesus, the Christ, crucified and risen from the dead. The passage above reminds us of the essential role that the Word of God plays in our lives, particularly in and through our celebration of the Eucharist.

The Mass remains “one single act of divine worship”, with two essential parts, the Liturgy of the Word and the Liturgy of the Eucharist. The image we are offered is the “twofold table of God’s Word and of the Eucharist”. At these two tables, we are nourished and fed, for Christ is equally present both in the Word and in the Eucharistic elements, though in unique ways for each.

Sometimes I like to think of the Liturgy of the Eucharist as something of a response to the Liturgy of the Word. Having heard Christ speak to our hearts, enlivening faith, what else could we do but what he instructed us to do: having bread and wine before us, we take and bless and break and share. What more appropriate response could we make to God speaking in our midst?

The power of the Word is beyond our understanding. As we listen to that Word proclaimed in the earliest days of the Church, we marvel at what was brought about. The Church grew and developed, and from the seed of a few grew into a world-spanning fellowship of faith, disciples walking in the example of Christ.

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Fifth Sunday of Easter - May 10, 2009

I’m sure we’ve all been watching with great interest the responses to the outbreak of flu strain H1N1. Sometimes the precautions seemed right on to some, and over or under done to others. In our own community, those involved with the schools that were closed were probably the most inconvenienced, especially parents with children in those schools as they scrambled to make other arrangements so they could go to work. Hospitals and other medical providers also were diligent, making sure they were prepared for whatever came, as long meetings and policy perusals were the order of the day.

It’s affected the way we celebrate Mass, with the omission of Communion from the cup, avoiding unnecessary handshakes, and requesting that people receive Communion only in the hand. We have long been using the alcohol based sanitizers for our communion ministers, so that really took no effort from us. Is it an over-reaction? If so, it’s a prudent one.

I suspect that for many of us, this episode has served to remind us about basic good hygiene. Nothing is as good a disease precaution as simply washing hands. Avoiding touching of one’s eyes and mouth is good, the alcohol sanitizers are effective (though one can easily go overboard with those), and the need to cover coughs and sneezes and properly dispose of tissues is a given. We’ve also been reminded that staying away from Mass when one is ill is not a sin. Quite to the contrary, to put others at risk by attending Mass when one has an infectious disease is itself a failure in charity. It’s probably also good to remember that each of us encounters bunches of creepy crawly critters (aka bacteria and viruses) every day, and that it is basically our immune system that keeps us well.

The other observation that I would make is how this episode reminded us of how small our world is. Because travel is so quick, pervasive and constant, it was recognized almost immediately that it would be impossible to limit this outbreak to one particular country. We live and work and breathe in community. We benefit tremendously from the contacts among and between nations and continents. And as we’ve learned, there’s a downside to that as well.

More locally, we are constantly affected by the actions of those around us. As much as our society prizes individuality and uniqueness, we are all part of greater whole. And we need each other, sick or well.

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Fourth Sunday of Easter - May 3, 2009

The bloom has gone off the lily. Literally. The Easter lilies that so graciously adorned our church just a few weeks ago have run their course. Only the green of the plant is left behind, and these have been taken to be planted here and there, in the hope that they will come back next year.

But not all has slipped away from that Easter day. The Paschal Candle continues to burn brightly in our midst. And the waters of our Baptism still remind us of the sacrament that unites us to the death and rising of Jesus Christ. The Scriptures that we hear proclaimed, especially from Acts, remind us of the core of the Gospel message, the good news that Jesus has risen from the dead.

But soon we will be in May, with Mother’s Day and graduations and all the other stuff that usually accompanies the end of the school year and the close of spring. Easter continues through the last Sunday of May this year, concluding as always with the celebration of Pentecost. How do we cling to that Easter joy?

Well, if you’re expecting a clear and concise answer, I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint. The busy-ness of life and the ups and downs of daily living often leave us feeling anything but joyful. Or perhaps our joy from Easter is just a dim memory, or a flickering flame, or the hint of aroma left over from something that has moved on.

Maybe that’s why we come back to Church Sunday after Sunday after Sunday. Maybe it’s simply to be reminded. We need that reminder of who Christ is (the Risen Lord), we need that reminder of who we are (an Easter people), we need that reminder of the hope we all share (everlasting life).

At each of our Church doors is a small container of holy water. Upon entering, we bless ourselves with that water, reminding ourselves of our baptism. It should not escape notice that we bless ourselves with the sign of the cross, recalling that great outpouring of God’s love in Christ. By remembering that sacrament, we recall that we are members of Christ’s Body, members of the Christ who lives and reigns forever. This is who we are, no matter what the season of the year or the emotions of our hearts. Nothing can change that.

And we have much to celebrate and much in which to rejoice. The Christ who rose from the dead is alive in our midst. The one who died and rose, dies no more. He is risen and lives forever. And he desires to share his life with us. We need to remember that, Easter lilies or no Easter lilies. Alleluia!

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Third Sunday of Easter - April 26, 2009
Another tidbit from the Holy Father’s Easter messages:

“During this liturgical season there are truly many biblical references and stimulations to meditation that are offered to us to delve into the meaning and value of Easter. The "Via Crucis" [Way of the Cross], that in the Holy Triduum we traveled again with Jesus to Calvary reliving the sorrowful passion, becomes the consoling "Via Lucis" [Way of Light] in the solemn Easter Vigil. Seen from the perspective of the resurrection, we can say that this whole way of suffering is the road of light and spiritual rebirth, of interior peace and solid hope.

After the weeping, after being lost on Good Friday, followed by the silence of Holy Saturday, charged with expectation, to the dawn of "the first day after the Sabbath" there resounded the proclamation of the life that has defeated death: "Dux vitae mortuus / regnat vivus!" -- "The Lord of life was dead / but now, living, he triumphs!" The unsettling novelty of the resurrection is so important that the Church does not cease to proclaim it, prolonging the recollection especially every Sunday: every Sunday, in fact, is "the Lord's day" and the weekly Easter of the people of God. Our Eastern brothers, highlighting this mystery of salvation that invests our daily Christian life, in the Russian language, call Sunday "Resurrection day" (voskrescénje).

“Thus it is fundamental to our Christian faith and witness to proclaim the resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth as a real historical event testified to by many authoritative witnesses. We strongly affirm this because, even in our times, there is no lack of those who deny its historicity, reducing the Gospel account to a myth, to a "vision" of the Apostles, taking up again and presenting old worn-out theories as new and scientific. Certainly for Jesus the resurrection was not a mere return to the former life. In this case, in fact, it would be a thing of the past: 2,000 years ago someone rose from the dead, returned to his old life, just as Lazarus did, for example. The resurrection is oriented in another direction; it is the passage to a dimension of life that is profoundly new, that also implicates us, that involves the whole of the human family, of history and of the universe.

“This year too, at Easter there resounds unchanged and always new, in every corner of the earth, this good news: Jesus, who has died on the cross and been resurrected, lives in glory because he has defeated the power of death, he has brought human beings into a new communion of life with and in God. This is the victory of Easter, our salvation!”

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Second Sunday of Easter - April 19, 2009

For today, an excerpt from the Holy Father’s Easter message:

“Indeed, one of the questions that most preoccupies men and women is this: what is there after death? To this mystery today’s solemnity allows us to respond that death does not have the last word, because Life will be victorious at the end. This certainty of ours is based not on simple human reasoning, but on a historical fact of faith: Jesus Christ, crucified and buried, is risen with his glorified body. Jesus is risen so that we too, believing in him, may have eternal life. This proclamation is at the heart of the Gospel message. As Saint Paul vigorously declares: "If Christ has not been raised, our preaching is in vain and your faith is in vain."

 He goes on to say: "If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all men most to be pitied" (1 Cor 15:14,19). Ever since the dawn of Easter a new Spring of hope has filled the world; from that day forward our resurrection has begun, because Easter does not simply signal a moment in history, but the beginning of a new condition: Jesus is risen not because his memory remains alive in the hearts of his disciples, but because he himself lives in us, and in him we can already savour the joy of eternal life.

“The resurrection, then, is not a theory, but a historical reality revealed by the man Jesus Christ by means of his "Passover", his "passage", that has opened a "new way" between heaven and earth (cf. Heb 10:20). It is neither a myth nor a dream, it is not a vision or a utopia, it is not a fairy tale, but it is a singular and unrepeatable event: Jesus of Nazareth, son of Mary, who at dusk on Friday was taken down from the Cross and buried, has victoriously left the tomb. In fact, at dawn on the first day after the Sabbath, Peter and John found the tomb empty. Mary Magdalene and the other women encountered the risen Jesus. On the way to Emmaus the two disciples recognized him at the breaking of the bread. The Risen One appeared to the Apostles that evening in the Upper Room and then to many other disciples in Galilee.

“The resurrection of Christ is our hope! This the Church proclaims today with joy. She announces the hope that is now firm and invincible because God has raised Jesus Christ from the dead. She communicates the hope that she carries in her heart and wishes to share with all people in every place, especially where Christians suffer persecution because of their faith and their commitment to justice and peace. She invokes the hope that can call forth the courage to do good, even when it costs, especially when it costs. “

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Easter Sunday - April 12, 2009

It’s about new life, of course. It’s about bunnies and eggs and lilies as well. For some, it’s about a new dress, and it’s certainly about spring. It’s about water and candles and light and darkness. It’s about bread and wine and body and blood. It’s also about nails and wood and whips. It’s about death. And it’s about new life.

It’s also about expectations not met. No, nothing about what God did on that first Easter Sunday falls short of what it should be. Here the expectations not met are exceeded, beyond anyone's wildest dreams. Yes, Jesus had said that on the third day something would happen, but who knew what that meant? The events of that first Easter morning turned the world on its head, flipped the universe around, and upended the cosmos. The one who was dead, most definitely, finally dead, was truly and actually alive.

In that sense, it is about history. We gather on Easter Sunday and remember events that witnesses tell us happened over two thousand years ago. This history is important because our celebration is not based on some pious fantasy but rather is founded on real events, centering around a real person. Jesus did die. Jesus did rise from the dead. This is truth, the truth of the resurrection.

But it’s not only about history. It is also about today. The God and Father who raised Jesus from the dead is still alive and well. And what began on Easter continues. It is about the power of God’s love in the face of darkness and sin, today. It is about Christ’s victory over sin and death, being realized in our lives, today. It’s about believing that this Christ who had left the tomb of his burial is still alive in our midst, today.

It is truly about today. When we celebrate Eucharist, we recall what Jesus did on the night before he died. As on Holy Thursday evening, we recall his gift of his own Body and Blood to us, a gift that is given to us over and over again, today. It is about a sacrifice that took place on that Good Friday, which in the Eucharist is made present again, today. It’s about each and every Sunday being a celebration of Easter, recalling Christ rising from the dead, today.

During all those days of Lent now completed, this is the “today” that we’ve been preparing for. “Christ is risen, alleluia. He is risen indeed, alleluia.” And all the bunnies and eggs and lilies in the world cannot begin to capture the joy of the Church as she celebrates this great Feast. Happy Easter!

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Palm/Passion Sunday - April 5, 2009

“This is the night”. These are words taken from the Exultet (the Easter praises), sung at the Easter Vigil. This is the only night in the entire year when these praises are proclaimed. And these words, “this is the night”, are sung not once, not twice, but four times, with four different descriptions of the events that make this night unique. That night is also called simply “holy night”, “night truly blessed” and even “most blessed of all nights”.

Why? Well, from the same Easter hymn, “This is the night when Jesus Christ broke the chains of death, and rose triumphant from the grave”. For this reason, and so much more, this is the holiest night of the year. The celebration of these events is so rich that it cannot even be all done on one day! The Easter Vigil is really the conclusion of an act of worship that begins on Holy Thursday with the Evening Mass of the Lord’s Supper and continues with the Commemoration of the Lord’s Passion on Good Friday. These three days are the Triduum, the holiest of the year.

Only during these days do we celebrate the actual institution of the Eucharist on Holy Thursday night. Only at that celebration do we do the Washing of the Feet, remembering that Jesus told us to do for one another what he has done for us. Without that example of service, would we really know who Jesus is? Without that gift of Eucharist, would we not be forever hungry, starving for the spiritual nourishment of his Body and Blood?

Only during these days do we venerate the cross – not the body of Christ hung on the cross, but rather the wood of the cross which became the instrument of our salvation. In doing so, we embrace the scandal, the stumbling block of the crucified God, the stricken Savior of the world. In reading his Passion from John on Good Friday, we enter into the complete and total self-giving that was both the life and death of Jesus, the Christ.

Only during these days do we sing the Easter Praises, the Exultet, as we mentioned above. Gathered in darkness we light new fire, and bless new candle, that is for us the Light of Christ. In that Service of Light, we experience the darkness being scattered and broken by the only one who can enlighten the darkness in our lives.

We tell our story on that night, the story of Creation and Exodus and we remember being Baptized into this death and rising of Christ. These are the days of our salvation. “This is the night.”

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Fifth Sunday of Lent - March 29, 2009

On March 24th, 1980, Archbishop Oscar Romero was celebrating Mass in a small chapel in San Salvador. While standing at the altar, holding up the Eucharist, a shot rang out, and his blood flowed out over the alter, as this man of peace was murdered.

Some two months before, Archbishop Romero had written to then president Jimmy Carter, begging him to end the military aid being sent to the government of El Salvador, aid that was being used to slaughter the poor. (The U.S. sent 1.5 million dollars a day in military aid for 12 years). His letter was ignored. This was a war which the U.N. Truth Commission would eventually call "genocidal".

While his voice was raised over and over again on behalf of the poor being slaughtered, his death may have been triggered by a homily given the day before he was assassinated. He addressed the military, saying, "Brothers, you are from the same people; you kill your fellow peasant . . . No soldier is obliged to obey an order that is contrary to the will of God . . . " After that, those in power could not let him live.

In 1977, he preached the following: “Christ founded the church so that he himself could go on being present in the history of humanity precisely through the group of Christians who make up his church. The church is the flesh in which Christ makes present down the ages his own life and his personal mission...

“The church can be church only as long as it goes on being the Body of Christ. Its mission will be authentic only so long as it is the mission of Jesus in the new situations, the new circumstances of history. The criterion that will guide the church will be neither the approval of, nor the fear of, men and women, no matter how powerful or threatening they may be. It is the church's duty in history to lend its voice to Christ so that he may speak, its feet so that he may walk today's world, its hands to build the reign of God, and to offer all its members to make up all that has still to be undergone by Christ. (Col. 1:24).

“Should the church forget this identification with Christ, Christ would himself demand it of the church, no matter how uncomfortable that might be, or how much loss of face that might entail. “(8/6/77)

Perhaps these words of Archbishop Oscar Romero will deepen our upcoming celebration of the Paschal Mystery, of the death and rising of Christ.

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Fourth Sunday of Lent - March 22, 2009

Triduum – The Three Days. There is a sense in which the entire season of Lent is aimed at the celebrations that take place on those days. Even after all these years, one of my central experiences of the liturgies of Holy Week dates back to college seminary, at St. Joseph Seminary in Covington (St. Ben). Our annual retreat was held during Holy Week, which gave us the opportunity to celebrate these holiest of days with the monastic community. As a member of the schola there, I was also blessed with the chance to contribute to the music at those special services.

Whatever the reason, the unique and special celebrations of Holy Thursday evening, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil continue to move me unlike any other feasts of the Church year. And I think rightfully so. On those three days, in three moments of worship that flow from one to the other, the Church celebrates the very heart and soul of the mystery of our salvation: the Paschal Mystery.

At the Evening Mass of the Lord’s Supper on Holy Thursday, we recall in a special way that last supper Jesus shared with his friends. In doing so, we enter into the event that actually gave us the Eucharist, so that the Church can continue to do this in memory of Him. The solemn, silent prayer following the Mass invites us to pray with Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, on the night before he dies.

There is no Mass celebrated anywhere in the world on Good Friday. As a matter of fact, throughout the world, the Eucharist is not celebrated from after Holy Thursday evening until the Easter Vigil. The tabernacle is empty, the altar is stripped, and the Commemoration of the Lord’s Passion begins and ends in silence, marking the death of our Lord.

When we gather on Saturday for the Easter Vigil, we do so in darkness, until the new fire is lit, which scatters the darkness of sin. The new Paschal Candle is lit, Easter Praises are sung, and we hear through the Scriptures the story of our salvation, remembering our Baptism which unites us to Christ’s dying and rising. Finally, on that Saturday night, the Eucharist is again celebrated, rejoicing in the risen Christ.

I have to say that Mass on Easter Sunday morning is truly anti-climactic after all that. Consider this year, making the Holy Week services of the Triduum – Thursday, Friday, and Saturday – the fitting conclusion to your observance of Lent.

Beginning this week, the priests of our Lafayette region will begin offering the Opportunities for Confession that have become a regular part of our area’s observance of Lent.  Through the kind assistance of our Regional Vicar, Msgr. Thomas James, there will be six different evenings when anywhere from 5 to 10 priests will be available to hear confessions. (Details are in the bulletin and in the Lenten mailing you received.)

I know that many people have woven these Lenten (and Advent) events into the practice of their faith.  These evenings become reminder as well as opportunity to avail oneself of the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  And there are many who of course go much more often.

And then there are the others.  I’m thinking of those who have fallen prey to the radical individualism that is so common in our society and culture, and that is so alien to the practice of our faith.  I’m thinking of those who state that they do not need to go to confession.  “I just go straight to God”, they say.  In so doing they deny themselves such an opportunity for grace, conversion and healing.

Why is this attitude misguided?  It is mistaken on at least two essential truths, the truth about sin, and the truth about being forgiven.

The idea that sin can be resolved “between me and God” depends on the idea that any sin I commit is a matter with which only I and God are concerned.  The truth about the nature of sin, however, is that sin is always and everywhere an offense not only against God, but also against the community.  There is no sin so private, and so individual, that it does not affect those around me.  Even if there is no direct action or inaction which explicitly harms another, the very fact that I have sinned makes me less than the person God made me to be.  My family and friends and colleagues are affected by my sin.  True reconciliation, therefore, requires that I be reconciled both to God and to the Church.  In representing the Church as well as God in the confessional, the priest in the Sacrament of Reconciliation offers us that opportunity to be fully reconciled.  Even though there may still be amends to be made to individuals, the sacrament addresses the true nature of sin in our lives.

The second truth is simply more human, if you will.  When we truly sin, we often struggle to forgive ourselves, to accept God’s forgiveness.  In the sacrament, we actually hear someone say the words out loud:  “I absolve you”.  “You are forgiven.”  Sometimes we just need to hear those words – spoken by another person.

In a 1966 statement by the U.S. Bishops on Penance and Abstinence, we read:

"If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.... If we say that we have not sinned, we make [God] a liar, and His word is not in us" (1 John 1:8-10).

1. Thus Sacred Scriptures declare our guilt to be universal; hence the universal obligation to that repentance which Peter, in his sermon on Pentecost, declared necessary for the forgiveness of sin (Acts 2:38). Hence, too, the Church's constant recognition that all the faithful are required by divine law to do penance. As from the fact of sin we Christians can claim no exception, so from the obligation to penance we can seek no exemption.

2. Forms and seasons of penance vary from time to time and from people to people. But  the need for conversion and salvation is unchanging, as is the necessity that, confessing our sinfulness, we perform, personally and in community, acts of penance in pledge of our inward penitence and conversion.

3. For these reasons, Christian peoples, members of a Church that is at once holy, penitent, and always in process of renewal, have from the beginning observed seasons and days of penance. They have done so by community penitential observances as well as by personal acts of self-denial; they have imitated the example of the  spotless Son of God Himself, concerning Whom the Sacred Scriptures tell us that He went into the desert to fast and to pray for forty days (Mk 1:13). Thus Christ gave the example  to which Paul appealed in teaching us how we, too, must come to the mature measures of the fullness of Christ (Eph 4:13).

As we read these words, we do so as members of that Church which is “at once holy, penitent and always in process of renewal”.  This means that we as individuals, while both holy and penitent, must be open to the process of renewal to which God’s grace invites us.  This is why Lent is such a special season of opportunity. As a community of faith, we embrace the tools of Lent (prayer, self-denial, charity) and use them to strive for the goal of Lent:  conversion. 

By admitting our need for on-going renewal, we abandon denial of our guilt and sin.  Only by looking honestly at those aspects of our lives in need of transformation can we open the door to God’s healing and transformation.  Lent truly is a season of grace.

The following comes from a sermon on fasting by St. John Chrysostom, a 4^th century Father of the Church:

“Fasting is the change of every part of our life, because the sacrifice of the fast is not the abstinence but the distancing from sins. Therefore, whoever limits the fast to the deprivation of food, he is the one who, in reality, abhors and ridicules the fast.

Are you fasting? Show me your fast with your works. Which works? If you see someone who is poor, show him mercy. If you see an enemy, reconcile with him. If you see a friend who is becoming successful, do not be jealous of him! If you see a beautiful woman on the street, pass her by.

In other words, not only should the mouth fast, but the eyes and the legs and the arms and all the other parts of the body should fast as well. Let the hands fast, remaining clean from stealing and greediness. Let the legs fast, avoiding roads which lead to sinful sights. Let the eyes fast by not fixing themselves on beautiful faces and by not observing the beauty of others. You are not eating meat, are you? You should not eat debauchery with your eyes as well. Let your hearing also fast. The fast of hearing is not to accept bad talk against others and sly defamations. Let the mouth fast from disgraceful and abusive words, because, what gain is there when, on the one hand we avoid eating chicken and fish and, on the other, we chew-up and consume our brothers?”

He goes on at some length in much the same vein.  On one level, it’s an instruction about doing more during Lent than just going through the motions.  But it goes deeper than that, if we recognize that Lent is fundamentally about moving toward a conversion of life that endures.

Normally, we “give up something for Lent”.  So come Easter, we stop giving it up, and life goes back to the way it was before.  This implies that the self-denial is an end in itself, and that we’ve accomplished something worthwhile by denying ourselves this or that for 40 days or so.  While this would be an interesting exercise in some kind of self-discipline, it’s not conversion.

The self-denial of Lent is intended to un-clutter a space in us and in our lives, for God to enter in.  For example, if the self-denial yields hunger, we are reminded of our need for God, who alone can satisfy.

What will we have allowed God to change in us, after Lent 2009 draws to a close?

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Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time - February 22, 2009

How do you create a desert in the middle of town?  In some ways, that is the challenge of the Lenten season upon which we are about to embark.  Amidst the busy-ness and the noise and the tasks of life, where does one find the space to spend time with Jesus in the desert?

“The Spirit drove Jesus out into the desert, and he remained in the desert for forty days, tempted by Satan.”  With these words Mark’s gospel describes for us the event we recall each Lenten season.  With his usual brevity, Mark does not outline any temptations.  Perhaps that’s a good thing.  While the temptations of Jesus in the desert were real, perhaps his specific temptations our not our specific temptations.  What are the things that tempt me to abandon the desert, to give up on Lent, to just float along with the activities of daily life?

Awareness of the particular attractions in each of our lives that draw us further from God, perhaps we can begin to be led by the Spirit, as Jesus was, taking a different path, going to a different place if you will.  If it was the Spirit which drove Jesus into the desert, perhaps we can ask that same Spirit to drive us into the desert where we can encounter God this Lent.  Traditionally, that Spirit has made use of three tools to lead us.

I would put prayer at the top of that list.  This includes prayer alone and prayer with the community.  Many make a special effort to include daily Mass in their Lenten devotions and I cannot recommend that enough.  At Eucharist, we encounter our own spiritual hunger, and our need to be fed by the hand of God, at the tables of Word and Sacrament.  And our experience of this common prayer will be enriched by the quiet time we spend each day, perhaps entering more deeply into that silence where God can speak to our hearts.

The second tool is of course self-denial.  For many it is food, and the Church asks us to abstain from meat on Fridays and Ash Wednesday.  Make each Friday a real day of penance – consume less, if your health allows.  (Let’s face it, folks, 5 pounds of boiled crawfish is no penance!)  But self-denial can also focus on attitudes, behaviors, habits and reactions.  Perhaps asking God’s help in not being driven by my shortcomings is the self-denial I need.

The third practice is of course charity.  Our Lent cannot remain focused on self.  True spirituality always leads to concern for the other.  That may mean a donation to the needy, or it may mean more patience and understanding for the person next door.  May the Spirit drive us into a fruitful and prayerful Lent.

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Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time - February 15, 2009

I suppose one of the benefits of living in Louisiana is that it is impossible for Lent to sneak up on us.  King cakes and barricades are sure signs that Lent is approaching, as Mardi Gras ramps up it’s partying and parades.  And we here in Louisiana are also notable in our ability to take a single day (Fat Tuesday), and turn it into a whole season.

But you have to wonder – how many of those celebrating Mardi Gras will be keeping Lent? 

Like all the liturgical seasons of the Church year, Lent has many facets.  For those preparing to enter the Church at Easter, it is the high point of their formation and catechesis.  For all of us, it’s a time of looking forward to Easter, the greatest feast of the Church year.  For many it is a time of heightened attention to their spiritual life, with increased devotion and self-discipline.

But I would say that the key element of a fruitful Lenten season is self-denial.  We recall Jesus’ fast in the desert.  That fact makes the Lenten season an eminently counter-cultural one in this nation of consumers. 

Or at least we were a nation of consumers, but not so much today, and for many not by choice.  We enter the Lenten season of self-denial when many are and will be finding themselves “doing without” or “getting by with less”.  Some will be cutting back by choice, out of a sense of caution.  Others will be practicing self-denial because they’ve been fired from their jobs and they can’t find another one.  (Why do we think words like “cutbacks” or “lay-offs” make the reality of unemployment any less devastating to the person getting the “pink slip”?)

This is not the kind of self-denial we seek, because many will probably be struggling to maintain even the necessities of life.  Lent is not about that kind of “doing without”.    Even though we have not yet felt the brunt of the depression as directly here in Lafayette, many will be suffering.  And it helps little to watch the on-going partisan game-playing in Washington.

All of this brings me to the key question I want to raise in these days leading up to Lent:  To what extent have greed and selfishness brought us to where we are today?  Is our economic system structured with a view toward what it offers to the poorest among us?  Or is it a system crafted to produce ever larger golden parachutes for the privileged few?  Isn’t it the poor who will be most devastated by this situation?

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Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time - February 8, 2009

Last week in this space, I wrote about the unifying function of posture and gesture in our celebration of the Mass.  About Communion, I wrote:  Another moment when our posture expresses our unity of faith is in the procession to receive Communion.  While this might seem just a practical way to get something done, it takes on real significance when one remembers that the Church is a Pilgrim People --  we are a people on the way, seeking to live The Way, again together.  The Passover in the Old Testament has the Hebrews standing to eat, staff in hand, before setting out on the great journey that is called Exodus.  We are also a people on the move, following Jesus down the road to the cross and to glory.  And again, it is not something we do alone.  The banquet that is Communion is a communal sacrificial meal, and as one former pastor of St. Pat’s was fond of saying, not a “private dinner party with Jesus”.  We always receive Communion with and in the midst of the Church.

I just want to expand on that a bit, because there is a choice that is offered to us in the manner of receiving Communion.  While we all stand to receive, and we all bow before reaching the minister, we may choose to receive either in the hand or on the tongue.  Neither method is in and of itself more reverent than the other (since reverence is a matter of the heart, which gesture and posture only express).  Rather, one is always to receive Communion in a spirit of reverence and awe for the Body and Blood of Christ.

Of the two, receiving in the hand is the more traditional, with receiving on the tongue being a later innovation.  When receiving in the hand, we extend one hand over the other, or as St. Cyril of Jerusalem said around 350 A.D., “placing thy left hand as a throne for thy right, which is to receive so great a King, and in the hollow of the palm receive the body of Christ”.  The gesture is one of receiving, not reaching out to take.  Ideally, one receives the Body in one’s hand, takes a step to the side, and consumes the host immediately.  If one is receiving on the tongue, let us just say that it is important to actually extend one’s tongue.

Because Jesus said both “Take and eat” and “Take and drink”, receiving as well the Precious Blood from the cup is strongly recommended.  While one is not denied the grace of the sacrament by receiving only under one kind, one does miss out on the fullness of the sign and the symbolism that underlies Eucharist.

Having received such a gift, the silent thanksgiving which follows Communion is right and fitting!

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Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time - February 1, 2009

I know that it’s been a while since Christmas, but this topic has been on my mind since the Feast of the Incarnation.  I’m just getting around to it now.  That is the way in which we use our bodies in worship.  People who are unfamiliar with Catholic worship are often baffled by the kneeling and sitting and bowing that we do, and I suppose it seems a bit strange.  But we don’t leave our bodies behind when we come to Mass.

I think the most significant thing about our sitting and standing is that we do it together.  Alongside our voices raised in song together, as well as our vocal responses to various prayers, we express our unity as a praying congregation by our posture.  When it’s time to begin Mass, we all stand – together.  When it’s time for the proclamation of the Scriptures, we all sit, in order to listen attentively together to the Word of God.  Then, in honor of the special place of the Gospels in our worship, we stand together to hear Jesus speak to our hearts.

Another moment when our posture expresses our unity of faith is in the procession to receive Communion.  While this might seem just a practical way to get something done, it takes on real significance when one remembers that the Church is a Pilgrim People --  we are a people on the way, seeking to live The Way, again together.  The Passover in the Old Testament has the Hebrews standing to eat, staff in hand, before setting out on the great journey that is called Exodus.  We are also a people on the move, following Jesus down the road to the cross and to glory.  And again, it is not something we do alone.  The banquet that is Communion is a communal sacrificial meal, and as one former pastor of St. Pat’s was fond of saying, not a “private dinner party with Jesus”.  We always receive Communion with and in the midst of the Church.

Gestures too are important.  When praying the Creed, we bow together at the words “and became Man”.  Another is that we bow as we are coming up for Communion, preferably before we actually reach the minister.  This is simply a gesture we all make in recognition of the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist.  Can I genuflect, or just kneel to receive Communion?  Not really.  These common gestures express our unity as the people of God, a unity Christ himself prayed for.  Trying to use a different gesture or posture just says, “I’m different, I’m special, I’m not one of you”.

Lastly we’ll mention the Sign of the Cross. There is one at the beginning, and one at the end, marking the start and finish of our common worship as a Pilgrim people, a people united in faith and hope and in love.

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Third Sunday in Ordinary Time - January 25, 2009

There has been much in the news of late, and rightfully so, about the events of the 50’s and 60’s that we call the “civil rights movement”.  Stories of courage and sacrifice are mixed with accounts of violence and hatred, as our nation struggled with a cancer eating away at society’s soul:  racism.  In the broad scope of changes in any society, the 50 or so years since then is but a moment, and we can be grateful at the changes that have taken place.

Yet we must say honestly that the movement is not yet done, no matter who is occupying the White House.  This is true because this kind of movement is not primarily about laws (though that’s important) but about the attitudes of the human heart.  It is in the heart of a person who no longer judges another by the color of their skin that true victory is achieved.  While great strides have been made, those attitudes are still in need of conversion in our society.

For the Church, this always comes back to the issues of human dignity, and the sanctity of life and of the human person.  Our understanding of that dignity is of something that is given, not acquired, that is granted by God rather than established by law or constitutional amendment.  Any law which upholds human dignity and which protects the sanctity of human life merely recognizes the truth about the human person.

Of course, racism is not the only threat to human dignity.  We are particularly aware in these days of the assault on the sanctity of life that is legalized abortion.  And we should not be blind to other related and intimately connected threats like euthanasia, the use of capital punishment, war and violence in the streets, and an economic system that all too often tramples upon the poor.

Just as was true with the civil rights movement, changing of laws is important.  But courts and legislatures are not the true battleground in this fight to uphold the dignity of the human person.  As it is with racism, so it is true that the real victory will be won in the attitudes of the human heart.  Any and every attack on the dignity and sanctity of human life weakens the respect for the sanctity of every other human life.  Pope John Paul II wrote clearly that our witness to life must be profoundly consistent.  The devil is in the exceptions.  As long as any life is seen as not sacred – in the womb, on death row, or in the nursing home – all life is devalued and at risk.  This is what it truly means to “choose life”.

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Second Sunday in Ordinary Time - January 18, 2009

You will find information in this week’s bulletin about an upcoming initiative from the U.S. Bishops to mobilize Catholics in speaking against a potential piece of legislation, the “Freedom of Choice Act”.  The very title of the bill embraces the warped rhetoric of the pro-abortion camp, cloaking the evil of abortion with our natural desire for freedom and choice in our lives.  This bill, if passed, would effectively eliminate any and all limitations on abortion in our country.

The idea is not new.  It was first introduced in both House and Senate in 2004, and again in 2007, when it languished in committee.  What has changed is President-elect Obama’s commitment to sign the bill should it be passed by Congress.  This has increased efforts to bring the bill up again and to bring it to a vote on House and Senate floors.

The bill is first of all a frontal assault by the federal government on the rights of the states to legislate on these issues, since it would invalidate many laws passed by the states (including our own) to regulate abortion. For example, any law requiring parental consent for a minor’s abortion would be tossed out.  There is something rather bizarre about a 14 year old needing the consent of her parents to get her ears pierced but not to procure an abortion.

Some states have attempted to assure that sufficient information is given to persons seeking abortion, a fundamental concept called “informed consent” that is required before any surgical procedure.  These laws too would be made null and void. Other ramifications of the bill are a bit unclear, but since it is so radical in its prohibitions, there is some question as to whether it would overturn so-called “conscience clauses” which allow health care institutions (including Catholic hospitals) to refuse to provide abortions.  It is questionable whether Catholic hospitals could remain open in the face of such demands.

For all these reasons and more I ask you to consider being involved in this initiative.  It is consistent with the Catholic Church’s practice of speaking to issues and legislation from a faith-based perspective, while avoiding the endorsement or rejection of particular candidates or parties.  It is an exercise of our fundamental right as Catholics to be involved in the political process.  And it is an attempt to preserve the lives of the most vulnerable among us, the child in the womb.

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Baptism of the Lord - January 11, 2009

“You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.”  These words from Mark’s gospel are proclaimed at our liturgies this weekend.  They are the words spoken by the voice that came from the heavens.  They are the words that affirm and confirm Jesus as the beloved Son of God.

There had been such confirmations prior to this one.  Over the last few weeks we have been hearing of the signs and wonders described in the various parts of the Christmas story, a story filled with message-bringing dreams and message-announcing angels.  The star itself that led the magi to the epiphany of the Lord spoke its own language, a language of light shining in the darkness, showing the way.

This affirmation of Jesus as the beloved Son of God takes on a unique significance however, if we consider what came before and after these words.  Jesus had just been baptized by John in the Jordan river.  Having heard the message of repentance proclaimed by John, the one who had no need to repent still accepted this baptism, going down into the waters of cleansing and rebirth.  John hesitated, recognizing the one who came to him for baptism, yet Jesus insisted that this baptism was for him, too.  Like us in all things but sin, this Jesus had fully embraced our humanity, from the moment of conception in the womb of the virgin by the power of the Holy Spirit.  The mystery remains however that he did not relinquish his divinity, coming among us as true God and true man.

Following this embrace of humanity, he began his public ministry.  It was after his baptism in the Jordan (and following a time of fasting in the desert) that Jesus began the work for which he had been sent.  He announced the day of the Lord, now at hand, he called to repentance, and he proclaimed the Kingdom of God.  Signs, wonders and miracles accompanied this glorious proclamation.

He also began to call disciples.  And this is where we begin to see how this baptism by John relates to us.  This mission of his was not to be a solitary undertaking.  He called Peter and James and John, and all the others.  They walked with him, they witnessed his message and miracles, they shared the heat of the day and the chill of the night. And when the time came for him to return to the Father, he entrusted his mission to them.  Go out, he said, teach and baptize, as I have taught you, he said.  Follow my example, he said, for you are the baptized, you too are beloved children of God.

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Feast of Epiphany - January 4, 2009

What is this thing that people call “the Christmas Spirit”???

From the Pope’s “Urbi et Orbi” address, we read:

“Wherever the dignity and rights of the human person are trampled upon; wherever the selfishness of individuals and groups prevails over the common good; wherever fratricidal hatred and the exploitation of man by man risk being taken for granted; wherever internecine conflicts divide ethnic and social groups and disrupt peaceful coexistence; wherever terrorism continues to strike; wherever the basics needed for survival are lacking; wherever an increasingly uncertain future is regarded with apprehension, even in affluent nations: in each of these places may the Light of Christmas shine forth and encourage all people to do their part in a spirit of authentic solidarity. If people look only to their own interests, our world will certainly fall apart.”

 And from the Pope’s Christmas homily, we hear:

“With these thoughts, we draw near this night to the child of Bethlehem – to the God who for our sake chose to become a child. In every child we see something of the Child of Bethlehem. Every child asks for our love. This night, then, let us think especially of those children who are denied the love of their parents. Let us think of those street children who do not have the blessing of a family home, of those children who are brutally exploited as soldiers and made instruments of violence, instead of messengers of reconciliation and peace. Let us think of those children who are victims of the industry of pornography and every other appalling form of abuse, and thus are traumatized in the depths of their soul. The Child of Bethlehem summons us once again to do everything in our power to put an end to the suffering of these children; to do everything possible to make the light of Bethlehem touch the heart of every man and woman. Only through the conversion of hearts, only through a change in the depths of our hearts can the cause of all this evil be overcome, only thus can the power of the evil one be defeated. Only if people change will the world change; and in order to change, people need the light that comes from God, the light which so unexpectedly entered into our night.”

Might this concern for the poor and oppressed, this concern for the vulnerable among us, especially the children, express the true “Christmas Spirit”?

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