Thursday of the Third Week of Easter

Lectionary: 276

 

“No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draw him, and I will raise him on the last day. It is written in the prophets:

They shall all be taught by God.

Everyone who listens to my Father and learns from him comes to me. Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father.

In today’s gospel Jesus cites a teaching from the Prophet Jeremiah, “They shall all be taught by God.” The Catholic translation (NABRE) of Jeremiah 31:33 reads thus:

But this is the covenant I will make with the house of Israel after those days…. I will place my law within them; and write it upon their hearts; I will be their God, and they shall be my people. They will no longer teach their friends and relatives, “Know the LORD!” Everyone, from least to greatest, shall know me… for I will forgive their iniquity and no longer remember their sin.

This verse, “All shall be taught by God,” emphasizes the particular relationship of each person with God. And it insists that everyone must come to the Father through Jesus. There is no other god; and there is no other way to know God.

Perhaps it helps to look at the three stages of this development:

First, the earliest Jewish doctrines believed that God had claimed the Hebrews for his own people and wrested them from the pharaohs of Egypt, men who were regarded as gods. He brought them through the Sinai Desert and into the Promised land. In doing so our God proved his superiority over the most powerful gods of Egypt, Mesopotamia, and Canaan.

Later, in humiliating exile in Babylon, an Isaian prophet would declare, “There are no other gods!” That’s quite a statement when you consider that the God of the Hebrews should have protected his nation from all other gods. But the prophets insisted he had not been defeated. Rather, he had allowed them to be defeated and driven into exile in punishment for their infidelity.

That's quite a stretch. Those who accept that doctrine accept responsibility for the catastrophe. If they don’t accept it, they abandon the faith and learn to worship other gods. Given the reluctance of people to accept responsibility for their own sins and the sins of their ancestors, I suppose this prophetic doctrine was a bitter pill. (How hard it is for Americans to recognize the  legacy of slavery, racism, and Jim Crow.)

But the doctrine was mysteriously sweetened by the love of Truth. When Ezekiel saw a vision of God enthroned on a heavenly chariot – a vehicle which sped from east to west and north to south at instantaneous speed – he understood that the Lord of Heaven and Earth was not bound by anyone’s geography. By the time of Jesus, Jews were scattered from India to Spain, on the three continents of Asia, Europe, and Africa. Subject to rulers of many different nations, they clung to their belief in the only God who had ever spoken to them.  They also practiced penance for their sins, as the prophets from Moses to John the Baptist urged them.

But, as the parent of any child will tell you today, it is not easy to maintain a minority religion in the face of suspicion, discrimination, ostracism, and occasional persecution. Children want to conform to the expectations of their pals and the dominant society. Only the Holy Spirit can keep them faithful. Distressed parents must have found some reassurance in Jeremiah’s doctrine, “They shall all be taught by God.” The Lord had brought them this far; he would not abandon them.

Into this fraught situation of Jewish cohabitation with gentile neighbors, the message of Jesus arrives: “Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father.”

A Pharisee might ask, “Do we really need this new teaching? Aren't fidelity to God and observance of the Law enough?”

The Christian must answer, “I receive from the Lord what I handed on to you.” We have been given a further revelation, inviting us into the heart of God. If we expected to find generosity in the King of Heaven and Earth, we are astonished to discover also humility and courage. We could not suppose that God the All-Powerful is courageous until we saw it in the Father’s surrender of all authority in heaven and earth to the Son; the Son’s surrender of himself to the Father through crucifixion; and their pouring the Holy Spirit upon sinful humankind. Receiving that revelation -- that is, being taught by God -- we become the very presence of God in our troubled world.  

Memorial of Saint Catherine of Siena, virgin and doctor of the Church

Lectionary: 275

There broke out a severe persecution of the Church in Jerusalem, and all were scattered throughout the countryside of Judea and Samaria….


The madness that swept through Jerusalem and crucified Jesus apparently subsided and lay dormant for several weeks during the Pentecost season. Dazed and exhausted, Jerusalemites watched as Jewish pilgrims were caught up in the Spirit of Jesus and were baptized. But the rage flared up again to stone Stephen to death, and then to drive many of the newly baptized out of town.
Saint Luke doesn’t say that they never came back; perhaps they only sought refuge with family and friends in the hinterlands until they could safely return. But, as a result, Luke says, the Gospel spread and took root far beyond Jerusalem.
We should appreciate this great irony, that the persecution of Christians inspired joy rather than terror. It’s hard to imagine such a scenario. These refugees must leave their city, families, jobs and careers, their synagogues, and familiar haunts to find a secure place where they might live the gospel in peace. They will enjoy the freedom Zechariah described in Luke 1:

…rescued from the hand of enemies, without fear we might worship him in holiness and righteousness before him all our days.

They would know “knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins, because of the tender mercy of our God.”

Scripture scholar recognize that Saint Luke idealized those halcyon days of the early church; and we would mistake his intent if we compared our own half-hearted fearfulness to his model community. The Evangelist demonstrated how the same Holy Spirit which animated Jesus fell upon the Church and drove believers. They were joyful and fearless, and they generously shared everything in common. As the story unfolds, that Spirit will direct the disciples to go two-by-two on missionary journeys. Peter and John first, and then Paul and Barnabas. On its way to the ends of the earth, the Gospel will bring Paul to the center of the earth, Rome.
Christians today challenge the assumption that the Spirit faded after the “apostolic age.” When the pope and his bishops could not routinely perform miracles, many supposed the glory days were past. Saint Luke would certainly not accept that theory. And it’s refuted by the innumerable movements that mark the history of the church, from the flight to the wilderness of the early hermits, the appearance of monasteries, the journeys of the mendicants, the congregations of healing sisters and teaching brothers, the vitality of Protestant denominations, and the charismatic movements of the twentieth century. Nor have the miraculous healings stopped.
If “Catholic culture” has faded during this secular age, it has left a core of inspired Catholics who demonstrate the courage, generosity, and zeal of Saint Luke’s ideal church. We’re still here. Praise God for that!

Tuesday of the Third Week of Easter

Lectionary: 274

 So they said to Jesus, “Sir, give us this bread always.”

Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst.”

The plea in today’s gospel, “Sir, give us this bread always,” echoes the prayer of the woman at the well in John 4, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may not be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.”

However, she became his “apostle” as she returned to her village and urged everyone to go meet the Lord, whereas the crowd in John 6 turned away from him.

The critical difference is not simply that she heard his word, but that she spoke to others about him, ““Come see a man who told me everything I have done. Could he possibly be the Messiah?”

During this pandemic the Church has suffered particularly because we could not invite others to come to Mass with us. Even in the VA hospital, where people routinely meet in small groups in close spaces, no one is permitted to be in the large chapel with the priest during Mass. They are told to participate “spiritually” by watching the television. As if....

The crowd in John 6 supposed they could find salvation by some means other than the immediate presence of the Lord. They would not come close enough to eat his flesh or drink his blood. But he did not come to establish a school of thought, or an ideological party. He will demand more of them than they’re willing to give; he will give more of himself than they choose to receive. They must put aside their personal preferences and their fear of engagement and let themselves be drawn into the relentless presence of Jesus.

While Jesus’ intentions are clearly “spiritual” they do not permit a disembodied response. A willingness to do good and avoid evil will save no one. Nor will a cool, disengaged sympathy for a heroic, suffering savior. Intellectual agreement with his teachings also means nothing. There is no life apart from the body of Christ.

By Baptism and Eucharist, we are incorporated into the body of Christ, becoming members of his person, as arms and legs are members of the human body. The eucharist gives us that knowledge of good and evil which fascinated the first matriarch Eve. We become like God by the Spirit that animates us, directing our decisions, actions, and desires. Becoming holy as God is holy, we are the carnal presence of God in our world.

If we appreciate his demands we can understand why so many turned away from Jesus. He wants more than we can afford to give! But his Spirit still moves in us, and we turn toward him. 

Monday of the Third Week of Easter

Lectionary: 273

“Amen, amen, I say to you, you are looking for me not because you saw signs but because you ate the loaves and were filled.
Do not work for food that perishes but for the food that endures for eternal life,
which the Son of Man will give you.


If Jesus was distressed when the crowd pursued him from one side of the Sea of Galilee to the other for the bread he was giving them, he would be all more disturbed by our materialism.
The American economy depends on salespeople to move the goods from manufacturers to consumers, and they rely on tons of freebies: ball point pens, scratch pads, refrigerator magnets, key chains, baseball caps, etc. Conventions invite sales reps to erect kiosks where conventioneers go from table to table collecting bags of giveaways. People want free stuff.

If you don’t put something in their hand, they’ll dismiss you out of hand.

Today's sixth chapter of the Gospel of John shows how difficult it is to convert that materialistic fascination to spiritual desire. The Lord has certainly won their attention by feeding five thousand people with a few loaves and fishes. They have enthusiastically pursued him back to Capernaum. In fact, there was some discussion of making him king! But that is precisely what Jesus does not want. When they eventually realized that his purposes are not theirs, “many [of] his disciples returned to their former way of life and no longer accompanied him.”
In this twenty-first century, many people say they are spiritually hungry; they have picked up the Lord’s language of food, bread, thirst, and so forth. But they use the word spiritual. Spiritual, in American parlance, is "What you make of it." For most people it seems like a hobby or pastime, something to explore when you’re not at work. It’s about feelings, and often about excitement. The self and its desires remain foremost in the pursuit of spiritual experience. Their "spirituality" is certainly not about frustration, disappointment, or taking up your cross daily and following the Lord to Calvary. 

As we plunge into this bottomless mystery of John 6, we realize the Lord makes no promises about satisfaction, security, freedom, or power. Although he heals many, he does not promise health and well being. His demand is simple and direct, “This is the work of God, that you believe in the one he sent.” 

If we ask, "What does that mean?" he replies, 

"...unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day."

But we're getting ahead of ourselves. We must know more of the Lord. We must know especially that, for all his demands about faith in him, his life is not about himself. As he explained so clearly in Chapter 5:

Amen, amen, I say to you, a son cannot do anything on his own, but only what he sees his father doing; for what he does, his son will do also.

The way of Jesus -- that way which Saint Paul first persecuted and then pursued -- does not garner much stuff along the way. It collects neither material possessions nor spiritual experience. It seeks not goods but the good of others, not pleasure but the happiness of others, not satisfaction but the well being of others, not recognition but the Glory of God. It finds its way in the darkness of obedience; its light, in the presence of God. 

Third Sunday of Easter

Lectionary: 46


Therefore my heart has been glad and my tongue has exulted; my flesh, too, will dwell in hope, because you will not abandon my soul to the netherworld, nor will you suffer your holy one to see corruption. You have made known to me the paths of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence.


Our weekly Old Testament reading is embedded in the first reading from the Acts of the Apostles, and an important reminder of how dependent we are on the Hebrew Scriptures. As Saint Jerome said, “Ignorance of Scripture is ignorance of Christ.”
Saint Peter quotes Psalm 16 as he announces the Resurrection of Jesus:

Therefore my heart is glad, my soul rejoices;
my body also dwells secure,
For you will not abandon my soul to Sheol,
nor let your devout one see the pit.

Just as Abraham’s son Isaac was restored to life after his near-death on Mount Moriah, the Son of God has been restored to life after his very real death, when he “descended into Hell.” But it was inconceivable that God should abandoned his Only Begotten Son to the netherworld, nor would he allow his flesh to see corruption.
Given our experience of life, family, companionship, church, and faith, we cannot imagine – we rebel against! – the notion that we are annihilated by death. We are simply convinced that the Lord who has shepherded us these many centuries will usher us through death. It is no more than a portal for us into another, more wonderful adventure in love.
Modern philosophy, dominated by materialism, supposes that individual existence collapses with the body. Our carbon components might find a second life in vegetation or flesh; but the person, they say, is gone.
But Faith expects the resurrection of the dead, final judgement, and endless bliss for the saved. We don’t pretend to explain how this might happen, although there will always be an imaginative industry to feed that curiosity. We are satisfied that God has promised it!
Moreover, we care about the dead. We pray for their eternal rest during the Eucharistic prayer of every Mass. And we don’t mind asking them to pray for us. (They must have more time on their hands than we do!) We can hope they have forgiven the wrongs we did to them; surely their bliss has healed and soothed away all that! And we pray that we might forgive them, especially if they died by suicide.
Our belief in Eternal Life begins with our conviction that the Father of Jesus would not abandon his soul to Sheol, nor let his devout one see the pit. Whether you or I deserve eternal life: that question will always remain open. But Jesus, who died a most horrible death on the cross in love for us surely deserved the Resurrection he enjoyed!
And we enjoy it with him! Our champion as been raised up despite the triumph of his enemies. Could the Lord enjoy eternity without you and me? I don't think so!

Feast of Saint Mark, evangelist

Lectionary: 555


Go into the whole world and proclaim the Gospel to every creature. Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved; whoever does not believe will be condemned.


The gospels have been described as "passion narratives with a long introduction." Compared to the length of his life and the weight of his teaching, the stories of Jesus' arrest, trial, torture, and death seem unnecessarily prolonged. 
But most critics disagree with that opinion; the passion and death of Jesus are too important to be lightly dismissed. 
Saint Luke tells us of the reception Saint Paul received when he announced the gospel of Jesus' death and resurrection in Athens. The sages of that famously philosophical town laughed at him and turned away. They may have had some vague interest in the teachings of the Lord but any talk of death and resuscitation was absurd. The dead do not arise. Nor could they hear of "resurrection," that the revived messiah is actually God Himself. 
I don't suppose many Americans would want to hear of the execution and unexpected revival of an inmate in Terre Haute, Indiana. If they were momentarily interested in this wretch's principles and ideas, they would dismiss him out of hand when they learned of his condemnation and death. 
I find it, therefore, all the more amazing that the early church so readily spoke of Jesus' passion and death. 
Since the Vietnam War ended in 1975, we have become rather familiar with PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. The witnesses of Jesus' crucifixion must have suffered dreadfully during and immediately following his death. Were they healed instantly upon seeing his resurrection? 
I think the process is more complex than that. I don't know if there is such a thing as instant healing, though a child who bumps his head can forget about it pretty quick when offered a chocolate kiss. 
I think the early church still had to make sense of what they had seen and heard. Even if they felt assured that everything is alright, there was still a confused memory of a pleasant journey to Jerusalem with a wonderful teacher, a searingly painful incident on Good Friday, a day of stunned, uncomprehending silence, and then an astonishing revelation. The last was really an epiphany, if that make sense. 
They had to recount the story again and again. They had to tell the complete story to strangers because they dared not pass it over. They knew instinctively that there is no Jesus Christ without his crucifixion and death. 
A cross without a corpse can mean just about anything. And Jesus' teachings, without his crucifixion, are not that remarkable. He added a unique twist to the ancient teaching of Tobit, "Do to no one what you yourself hate." But any clever poet might have done the same. 
If you don't know the passion and death of Jesus, in all its gruesomeness, you don't know Jesus. 
Saint Mark, the first author to put the Gospel on parchment, understood that. Scripture scholars suspect there were earlier documents but they didn't include passion accounts. They weren't important; they were not read after the four gospels appeared. No one made copies of them and the originals were lost. 
We are still celebrating Easter 2020, and we are still coping with the coronavirus pandemic. We are still searching for the "meaning" of Covid-19. We'll find it in the passion narratives of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. 

Friday of the Second Week of Easter

Lectionary: 271

When they had had their fill, he said to his disciples, “Gather the fragments left over, so that nothing will be wasted.”


Today we begin a series of readings from John 6. In our Catholic tradition, we find cardinal teachings about the Eucharist in this chapter. The Lord will insist, 

“Amen, amen, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him."

We take these words in the most literal fashion. When the Lord begins a teaching with, "Amen, Amen, I say to you...." we have to suppose his words mean what they sound like. He would surely offer some further explanation, apology, or -- as the news media would call it, "he would walk back the statement." -- if he intended only a metaphor.
But I do not intend to write a diatribe against other Christian denominations about how they interpret these words or celebrate their Eucharist. 

Rather, I ask myself, "What does this teaching do to me?"   

How I explain it is not terribly important. Should someone ask, after I've said that I've not had a drink of alcohol in forty years, "Don't you drink wine during the Mass?" I reply, "I drink the Blood of Jesus." They do not ask and I do not offer any further explanation. Why would I waste my breath on the inexplicable?

The real question is, "What does this teaching do to me?" The same chapter six leads us deeper into the mystery without explaining anything, 

Just as the living Father sent me and I have life because of the Father, so also the one who feeds on me will have life because of me.

In Baptism I died and rose with Christ, in the Eucharist I have life. I am not trying to parse this mystery into component, manageable parts; there is no essential difference between these two sacraments. 
They enfold me in the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. 

Saint Francis described this mystery in his address to Mary, "... you are the daughter of the Most Holy Father, king of heaven and earth, mother of the most holy Lord Jesus Christ, and Spouse of the Holy Spirit." 

Baptism and Eucharist draw the Christian into the enfolding presence of God. We walk in the mystery like married persons who are always in one another's company even when they are miles apart. 
Saint Paul explains it in his own way in Colossians, chapter 3:

...you were raised with Christ, seek what is above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Think of what is above, not of what is on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ your life appears, then you too will appear with him in glory. 

Thursday of the Second Week of Easter

Lectionary: 270

The one who comes from above is above all.
The one who is of the earth is earthly and speaks of earthly things.
But the one who comes from heaven is above all.
He testifies to what he has seen and heard,
but no one accepts his testimony.
Whoever does accept his testimony certifies that God is trustworthy.


If I were standing before a hostile crowd or a suspicious judge and had to declare what I believe to be true, and if only one person -- let's say a former opponent -- were to come and stand by my side and vouch for me, declaring that I am indeed an honest person and my word is trustworthy -- you can bet I'd think very highly of my new friend. 

So we can suppose God is pleased with you and me when we "certify that God is trustworthy!" We believe the Lord Jesus has come from above and is above all! We testify to what we have seen and heard. Our testimony includes what the apostles first declared so many centuries ago, that he was crucified and raised up and revealed to us as the Son of God. Our testimony also speaks of the Holy Spirit which has stood by us, directing, reassuring, strengthening, healing, and affirming us. If we meet skepticism, disagreement, or open hostility, we cannot alter what we have seen and heard, for we stand by the One who sent us. 

In today's world, those who speak of earthly things, like to call these things facts. If you've been reading this blog you know I have an issue with facts. I've done a word search of my Daily Homilies and found thirteen harangues on the topic. I'm like a dog with a rag on this issue, constantly tearing at it. But if you're not weary of my expansions on the topic, bear with me because I want to say (again) that facts are things of earth. 
They are not things of heaven; they do not have eternal life. 

For instance, I recall a story out of Africa when well-meaning American farmers gave tractors to their African counterparts. "Tractors are like elephants," they explained, "but fed with gasoline." And then, when their funding and their time ran out, they left. Within a few weeks the mechanical elephants, thirsting for oil, broke down, died, and rusted in the fields. Without the context of the entire American economy, including its agricultural schools and mechanical know how, tractors are useless behemoths. 

My point being, facts must have their context. The African farmers' context is a long way from that of their American supporters. And context of fact, science, and technology is this world; they know nothing of Truth, who comes from above. 

Secondly, as we realize that we live in the Anthropocene Era, we discover that we are the creators of this world. Fashioned by our beliefs, hopes, fears, greed, ambition, and aspirations, this world can hardly bear the Presence of One from Above. Facing environmental catastrophe, we cannot expect "God" to save us from the world we have created. If the coronavirus were not warning enough, hurricanes and forest fires should tell us something. There is no "nature" that exists apart from us. Nor was it ever immune to our scientific inquiries and technological advances. We have been recreating our world since the first hominids fashioned hand axes of stone. 

Finally, we speak of Truth, not facts. Truth exists between honest individuals who carry no hidden agendas of superiority or rank. Truth is revealed by the God who speaks his Word and gives us the Spirit to receive it. Honest individuals certainly use facts in their conversations, but they never use them to deceive. An honest husband will not tell his wife he is running down to the store to buy a quart of milk (a true fact) when his real intention is to buy a pint of alcohol. Nor will his wife use hard facts to hurt him. When they speak the truth to one another, they think first of all of their covenanted love, and then of how to speak honestly and clearly so as to ensure their deeper love. If they must speak painful truth to one another -- as every couple must on occasion -- it is not to harm but to heal. 
When parents speak hard truths to a child they find words that the child can understand. They do not confuse them with information that no child could assimilate.   

When we speak the Truth of Jesus the Spirit of God testifies with us. This Anthropocene world cannot understand what we say, but we speak of what we know and we testify to what we have seen, for whoever lives the truth comes to the light, so that his works may be clearly seen as done in God.

Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life,

Wednesday of the Second Week of Easter

Lectionary: 269

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

John 3:16 is so important that we hear it twice in today’s Mass, first during the Alleluia verse, and then in the Gospel. The statement is deceptively simple for it summarizes the doctrines of Creation and Original Sin, the mystery of the Incarnation, and the Good News of Grace and Salvation.

But the popularity of this verse lies especially in its first five word, “God so loved the world.”

The pandemic should remind us that “nature” and “the Earth” are not necessarily friendly to human life. If our sciences tamed a lot of nature’s threats, she seems to find new, creative ways to get at us. Penicillin, for example, was discovered in 1938 as an effective antibiotic, followed by several other wonder drugs. And then the microbes evolved and overcame the drugs, to be pursued by further developments. And the race is on!  

Diseases are only some of the "natural" threats to human life. There are blizzards, tornadoes, hurricanes, forest fires, earthquakes, etc. Not to mention the harm we inflict on one another.

Inevitably, some people suppose the Creator and his Creation have mixed feelings about the human species. God seems to distribute gifts arbitrarily, showing favor to some and cruelty to others. Virtue is not always rewarded; wickedness is rarely punished. Even the generous impulses of parenting can be perverted; and the name of “God the Father” can arouse traumatic memories of emotional and sexual abuse.

Our belief that “God so loved the world” is just that, a belief. The opinion is neither self-evident nor universal. Christians cling to it because we fear to lose that pearl of great price, because our religious tradition insists upon it, and because experience has shown that hope is better than despair, and faith is better than skepticism. Without this confidence in God we would perish. Faith is life and breath and nourishment to us. It is also a balm, a healing salve for injuries, ancient and new. We must apply it frequently for we are subject to every trial and temptation.

Pandemics test our faith especially as loved ones die. Many will face the unfamiliar challenge of grief. Some will be sorely tried to the point of madness; others will lose their religion, what little they had, under the strain. Unpracticed in the art of grief, they need the support of those who have walked with Jesus to Calvary and grieved with the women who anointed his body and the men who rolled a stone against his tomb. 

Witnesses of the Resurrection have known bitter sorrow and astonishing joy. We understand why some people doubt and despair. And we tell them what we have seen and believed: 

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

Tuesday of the Second Week of Easter

Lectionary: 268

Amen, amen, I say to you,
we speak of what we know and we testify to what we have seen,
but you people do not accept our testimony.
If I tell you about earthly things and you do not believe,
how will you believe if I tell you about heavenly things?

Christians announce what we have seen and heard. This is our duty. Our authority relies on our personal experience and on the One who sends us. We need both the conviction that comes with a very clear memory of what we have witnessed, and on assurance of the Lord’s backing.

And so we hear in today’s gospel, Jesus’ admonition to Nicodemus, “…we speak of what we know…” 

Our recent celebration of Easter should have been more than a memorial of a past event. Few of our colleagues, neighbors, and acquaintances care about what happened two thousand years ago in a backwater of the Roman Empire. If we have something to say to them; that is, if we speak of what we know; we come from the recent and personal experience of Easter.

This has been a very different Easter! We did not walk in the Palm Sunday procession; we did not have our feet washed; we did not reverence the cross on Good Friday; we neither attended the Easter Vigil nor the Sunday Mass. We have yet to sing the Gloria although Lent ended almost two weeks ago.

This has been a very different experience for each of us. This might be the year when we ask one another, “How did you celebrate Easter?” or, at least, “How did you observe Easter?” And finally, “How did you experience Easter?”

People sometimes ask me, “Is it a sin to miss Mass?” I answer, “Did you miss Mass? Did you feel a sharp sense of absence? …of wishing you were there? Like every day since then something has been out of kilter, alop, wrong?

If you missed Mass – or in this case, Easter – in that way, you have not sinned. Your heart is in the right place. 

But if you missed Mass and didn’t miss it, you need to ask when did you lose your faith.

Monday of the Second Week of Easter

Lectionary: 267

And now, Lord, take note of their threats,
and enable your servants to speak your word
with all boldness, as you stretch forth your hand to heal,
and signs and wonders are done
through the name of your holy servant Jesus.”

The Acts of the Apostles is the traditional name for Saint Luke’s sequel to the Gospel. But it might also be called “The Acts of the Holy Spirit,” a sequel to the Acts of Jesus. In this second book the last words of the Risen Lord from the first book are fulfilled: “And [behold] I am sending the promise of my Father.”

The promise animates the disciples. We know it as the Holy Spirit; we know it also as "that hope which springs eternal within the human breast" -- to quote Alexander Pope and Ernest Lawrence Thayer. But whereas Pope's and Thayer's hope comes with our human ability to anticipate the future, the Virtue of Hope is God's gift. It enables to practice our faith in trying times and despite the ever-present temptation to cynicism. 

Although the time after Jesus' resurrection is quite different, the Holy Spirit will do the same wonderful works of Jesus. Those chosen for salvation will repeat his message of great joy for all the people. Where the disciples were bewildered and confused, they now enjoy the Master’s courage, confidence, and energy. As Saint Luke says, “…they were filled with the Holy Spirit and continued to speak the word of God with boldness.”

Like their Master, the disciples encounter much opposition as they announce the Gospel. Where Jesus suffered torture and crucifixion, they meet floggings, imprisonment, stoning and beheading. Under ordinary circumstances these methods are very effective; they squelch philosophical movements and political upheavals. But they don’t work so well against the Holy Spirit, as the Books of Maccabees had shown a century before. Gamaliel knew that, though he couldn’t persuade his fellows.

In today’s first reading we hear the prayer of the early church as they cope with Jerusalem’s hostility. At this point in the narrative the authorities are confused. They don’t know what to do with Peter and John, the apparent leaders of this new disturbance in Jerusalem. Not until the disciples are arrested a second time will the officials punish them with flogging. We can imagine the elation of the church as the disciples returned to them and reported the distress of the city fathers. But their delight might be premature as the empire will strike back.

Can we find a common thread in our present distress with this ancient story? The Bible of both Testaments repeatedly tells us, "Do not be afraid." The earliest Christians might have despaired when Peter and John were beaten. They might have quit altogether when Stephen was stoned and James beheaded. But the Spirit whispered to them, "Do not be afraid!" The same reassurance calmed the young virgin in Galilee when Gabriel called upon her. 

We don't know the future. We should expect the coronavirus is altering our world even as we watch. A "new normal" will appear eventually, bearing only some resemblance to the normal we have known. It might not be "beyond recognition," but it will be different.

Given the cultural, economic, political, social, religious, and technological revolutions we have experienced throughout our lives -- if you're old enough to read you've already seen dramatic changes -- we know the Spirit of Jesus will remain with us. I like to remember Atticus Finch's word to his daughter, Scout: "It's not time to worry yet."

Sunday of Divine Mercy

Lectionary: 43

Now, Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples that are not written in this book. But these are written that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that through this belief you may have life in his name.

Inevitably there will be preachers who rush to judgement and declare the current pandemic is God's punishment upon the Earth. It is certainly punishing like the hurricane that stalled over Houston several years ago, pummeling humans, livestock and infrastructure with high winds and flooding. It feels like punishment. 

If it were punishment for sin we would expect the guilty to suffer more than the innocent. But these events are more often shaped by the infrastructure we have built. Consequently, the poor who must live in crowded apartments and use public transport suffer more than those who have the luxuries of privacy and personal space. They're not poor because of their sin; they're poor because of their skin color or their inability to compete in an increasingly complex, Darwinian world. We cannot blame God for this one. 

On Mercy Sunday we remember the great compassion of our God. The gift is especially the knowledge and love of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Although our religious and governmental structures used every weapon at their disposal to silence the Word -- ostensibly to protect helpless citizens -- the Father of Jesus has raised him from the dead and restored him to us. He shines among us now with all the more radiant glory. 

Saint John finished his Gospel with this extraordinary reminder: that we have life through our belief in "Jesus the Christ, the Son of God." Health and wealth are good things, friendship and family are precious, security and stability are vital to human existence, but these treasures mean nothing without our confidence in Jesus Christ. 

I have lately been reading F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Beautiful and Damned, published in 1922, shortly after World War I. It concerns a bleak moral and spiritual landscape and a “Lost Generation." There is love and longing among the denizens of that prosperous and stable world, but no purpose. An aristocratic American couple marries expecting to find satisfaction and happiness, but they have no vision. Their marriage is only for themselves, to satisfy their desperate loneliness and youthful desire. They will neither bear children nor commit themselves to an alternate greater good. And finally, they’ll perish in existential frustration. Shakespeare described the same disappointment in Macbeth’s futility. For the spiritually bankrupt, life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

This coronavirus is devastating like a World War. In some places it falls upon a population that has lost its purpose, that insistently ignored the consequences of wasted resources and time, that assumed the world is as it is and will ever be. I fear the pandemic will remain with us until we have forgotten what normal was. By that time many will remember, 

The LORD is my light and my salvation;
whom should I fear?
The LORD is my life’s refuge;
of whom should I be afraid?
When evildoers come at me
to devour my flesh,
These my enemies and foes
themselves stumble and fall.
Though an army encamp against me,
my heart does not fear;
Though war be waged against me,
even then do I trust.
One thing I ask of the LORD;
this I seek:
To dwell in the LORD’s house
all the days of my life,
To gaze on the LORD’s beauty,
to visit his temple.
For God will hide me in his shelter
in time of trouble,
He will conceal me in the cover of his tent;
and set me high upon a rock.
Even now my head is held high
above my enemies on every side!
I will offer in his tent
sacrifices with shouts of joy;
I will sing and chant praise to the LORD.
Hear my voice, LORD, when I call;
have mercy on me and answer me.
“Come,” says my heart, “seek his face”;*
your face, LORD, do I seek!
Do not hide your face from me;
do not repel your servant in anger.
You are my salvation; do not cast me off;
do not forsake me, God my savior!
Even if my father and mother forsake me,
the LORD will take me in.
LORD, show me your way;
lead me on a level path
because of my enemies.
Do not abandon me to the desire of my foes;
malicious and lying witnesses have risen against me.
I believe I shall see the LORD’s goodness
in the land of the living.
Wait for the LORD, take courage;
be stouthearted, wait for the LORD! Psalm 27

Saturday in the Octave of Easter

Lectionary: 266

But later, as the Eleven were at table, he  appeared to them and rebuked them for their unbelief and hardness of heart because they had not believed those who saw him after he had been raised. He said to them, “Go into the whole world 
and proclaim the Gospel to every creature.”


There's a line in Meryl Streep's movie, Music of the Heart, which I could not find online, and cannot quote from memory, but it went like this. Roberta Guaspari teaches the violin to poor children in New York City. She is fiercely dedicated and very demanding, and she often screams at her young students. Eventually, parents and other teachers complain and the principal asks her to tone it down or she'll be fired. 
She tries hard to do this, practically strangling herself not to say what she habitually says. This goes on for a while and finally one of the students tells her, "Mrs. Guaspari, go ahead and scream at us. We're used to it; everybody else does. We know you care about us." 
I think of that movie as I hear today's gospel and that Jesus "rebuked them for their unbelief and hardness of heart." 
That should sound very familiar to anyone who has read the Gospel according to Saint Mark. Although this passage was conspicuously tacked onto the end of the Gospel, it certainly picks up one dominant theme. 
How beautiful is the sound of his voice, even when he must rebuke us. If anyone has the authority to chew me out, it's the one who gave the last drop of his blood for my salvation. I can never doubt his love for me; I can never suppose there is a trace of ego in his word to me. The Lord has completely emptied himself as he "handed over his spirit," and then surrendered his water and blood. 

Shagbark Hickory by Lake MSF

We should notice too, precisely why he rebuked them, "because they had not believed (the women) who saw him after he had been raised." 
Since the earliest days of the Jewish religion and into the Christian era, women have been treated shabbily in our community. The author of First Timothy in the New Testament makes an unfortunate remark about Eve, as if she were responsible for Adam's sin. Apparently the author has missed the irony of Adam's blaming first God, and then Eve, for what he did. (“The woman whom you put here with me—she gave me fruit from the tree, so I ate it.”)
It's fitting then that women should be the first to announced the Resurrection, and they should be heard. The Risen Lord is steamed at the men's hardness of heart. Let's get this, People! 
First, when the Lord rebukes us we should hear the intensity and purity of his love. The sound of his voice is sheer delight to us, even when it's stern and demanding. 
Secondly, it's time we put behind us the consequence of Adam's sin, the superiority of men over women. It was not supposed to be that way. 

Friday in the Octave of Easter

Lectionary: 265

He is the stone rejected by you, the builders,

which has become the cornerstone.There is no salvation through anyone else,
nor is there any other name under heaven
given to the human race by which we are to be saved.”

Acts 4:12, the latter of the two verses above, is also a stone rejected by the builders. First there is the Risen Lord Jesus, who is despised and rejected. And then there is the proclamation: “There is no salvation through anyone else….” 

Neither is acceptable to many people. Even good people – the honest, hard-working Christians who pay their taxes and do their share – may find this requirement politically incorrect.

They may be mollified by an explanation; what we call an apology in the ancient tradition. Christian apologists attempt to explain our beliefs in ways that non-Christians will find palatable. In this case, many people believe that “anonymous Christians” are saved by the mercy of God. Devout by the standards of their own religious traditions, they care for their family, friends, and neighbors; act justly toward their enemies; and show reverence toward the God of their understanding. We hope for them as we hope for ourselves, that the Lord and Judge of All will show them mercy. 

If, on that Great Day, they ask, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink?" they will surely hear the invitation, "Come, you are blessed by my Father."

That said, we believe Jesus has opened the narrow way of salvation by his life, death, and resurrection; and there is no other narrow way. We pray that God’s will might be accomplished, and all people will be saved; and God surely intends that everyone know WHO saved them! Christians feel an obligation and a delightful duty to announce the Good News of salvation through Jesus Christ.

The Church has long applied the words of Psalm 19:4 to the apostolic project,

A report goes forth through all the earth, their messages, to the ends of the world.

Those who know the Lord’s name, our religious traditions, our moral teaching, and our blessed companionship enjoy an advantage, an "inoculation" against diabolical suggestions. They are more likely to enter through the narrow gate. Even as we strive to enter into his rest we invite everyone to come with us.

We know in our hearts the Goodness of God. It is unlimited and energetic and insatiable in its desire to enfold all people. Their blessedness cannot be complete without their knowledge of the One who saves them. I might be happy if someone gave me a fortune, but I would lie restless until I knew the donor and thanked them profusely. In the same way, no one can rest until they know the name of Jesus, have witnessed his passion, death, and resurrection, and sung his praises.

Thursday in the Octave of Easter

Lectionary: 264

Then he said to them, “Why are you troubled? 

And why do questions arise in your hearts? 
Look at my hands and my feet, that it is I myself. 
Touch me and see, because a ghost does not have flesh and bones
as you can see I have.”

When I turn the ignition key and the radio begins, the first word I hear is no longer “Trump” but “coronavirus.” Something new and terrible has happened, not only to America but to the world. Even the Gospel has changed because we are compelled to hear the Good News in the light of imposing current events. I suppose the terror has invaded the sleep of millions as they worry about contagion and disease throughout the night.

It’s good to learn of and appreciate the history of the Bible’s seventy-two documents, recognizing that they were written in particular places and times, by several authors and in Hebrew or Greek. But that information is only background to our present reading. 
The Gospel should always be heard in this world where we actually live. I want to know what God will say to me today, and how I might please him.

So when I hear Jesus inviting his astonished disciples to “touch me and see,” I think that I should have to overcome the present fear I have of touching another human body, and of being within range of his moist exhalation.

The coronavirus has given new meaning to, “We’re all in this together.” The boundaries of our bodies have been altered. Where I was comfortable with two or three feet between us as we stand in the hall and chat, I want at least six feet.

But the Church remembers a “more natural body politic,” before megaphones and amplifiers, when crowds stood shoulder to shoulder and belly to butt, listening to a trumpet-voiced evangelist. Moving indoors, those marvelous preachers commanded the congregation’s attention in high-vaulted cathedrals as his voice echoed off stone walls and floor. Only lately have we added wooden pews to those sacred places, separating the congregation into sedate, sedentary apartments. Their connections were nonetheless palpable, especially when people bathed only occasionally. The sacred incense could not cover the odor of human companionship. If the preacher aroused emotions of awe, joy, or remorse as he called them to prayer, the sentiments gathered them into a tight formation of praise. We can imagine the Lord seated on the praises of Israel as they offered their oblation.

Even now, separated as we are by the coronavirus, isolated in our homes and offices, the Lord gathers us in prayer and invites us to “Look at my hands and my feet, that it is I myself. Touch me and see, because a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you can see I have.”
The Lord is risen, Alleluia!