Fifth Gospel, Part 3

Seeing the Eucharist as Bread for the bivouac

06/24/2024

After another lengthy hiatus, we again board this train of homilies to virtually tour the Holy Land, the Fifth Gospel. Remember our destination is to learn how the land shapes the liturgy. The stones cry out to teach us the Good News. The second and third Masses (or liturgies) are celebrated by Moses in Exodus 12 and by David in 2 Samuel 6. Let’s look briefly at how these two primordial liturgies and try to understand how the sacred stones of the Holy Land are uniquely equipped to teach some profound lessons about the liturgy.

In Exodus 12, like we saw in Genesis 14, God commands that the Israelites utilize bread (actually unleavened bread) and wine as the principal component of their worship. Bishop Barron write insightfully: “Just as trouble began with a bad meal – Adam and Eve eating of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil – so redemption is tied to a rightly ordered meal, commanded by God and serving to bring the families of Israel together.” 

For our purposes, though, we want to examine how, besides the unleavened bread of the Passover supper, God provided another symbol of the Eucharist in Exodus 16, the manna in the desert, bread for the bivouac (a bivouac is a camping tent). When the restless people complained of hunger on their journey, we read in Ex 16:14, “there was on the face of the wilderness a fine, flake-like thing, fine as hoarfrost on the ground.” In his untiring love, God would continuously provide this “food for the journey” for forty years, until the people entered the Promised Land.

That is, through the rest of Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and even to the end of Deuteronomy, God gives the people manna for food as they walk. Hence, when Israel finally enters and occupies the Holy Land the manna ceases. It is not until the beginning of the book of Joshua that we read: “And the manna ceased on the next day, when they ate of the produce of the land; and the sons of Israel had manna no more, but ate of the fruit of the land of Canaan that year.”

In other words, the stones of the Holy Land, witnessing the entry of the Chosen People into the Promised Land, immediately understood the provisional purpose of the manna in the desert. Thus, they teach us how the Eucharist is truly food for the Christian pilgrimage through the wilderness of this world. That is, one day, we will no longer need the earthly Manna of the Mass, because we, too, will eat “of the produce of the land,” that is, of the produce of Paradise.

When a priest is called to the hospital in the middle of the night because a Catholic is dying, he should always take along not only the Holy Oils for the Last Rites, but also the Blessed Sacrament for Holy Communion. Why? Well, because receiving Communion for the last time is called Viaticum, literally meaning food for the journey, Bread for the bivouac, indeed, when you strike your tent for the last time. A Catholic having his last meal in the desert before crossing the spiritual Jordan River into the Promised Land.

You may know that prisoners on death row are often given a “last meal” before their execution. Some ask for lobster, others for steak, some ask for scrambled eggs. But back in 1916, Roger Casement was tried for treason in the United Kingdom. He converted to Catholicism days before his execution by hanging. For his last meal, he asked for Holy Communion, saying, I go “to my death with the body of my God as my last meal.” Whatever controversies swirl around his life and legacy, Roger Casement died in God’s good graces by receiving Viaticum, Bread for the bivouac.

How then does the land teach us about the liturgy? By witnessing how the manna stopped at the borders of the Holy Land the stones “cry out” that the liturgy of the Eucharist will one day be “retired” and replaced by the eternal liturgy of heaven. These earthly Masses and liturgies are temporary, only preparing us for the eternal. And that is an urgent lesson to learn because we sometimes think we will live forever on earth, or at least we wish we could. But that is a grave error. But one day we will die and fold up our tent, and the Fifth Gospel is trying to teach us that lesson that real life begins in the Promised Land. In short, Grace will give way to glory.

Let’s look at how King David celebrates another “preliminary Mass” or liturgy in the Old Testament by assuming the role of both priest and king, shades of Melchizedek. In 2 Samuel 6, David triumphantly escorts the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem to be install and consecrate it as the prized showpiece of the Holy of Holies. Along the way, ascending to Jerusalem, he puts on a linen ephod in 2 Sm 6:14 (priestly vestments, like modern priests wear a white alb), and distributes to the people “a cake of bread, a portion of meat, and a cake of raisins” in 2 Sm 6:19.

David, imitating his predecessor Melchizedek, a priest-king who shared a sacred meal with Abram, now shares a sacred meal with the whole people of Israel. But I would like to draw your attention not only to the meal of bread, wine, and meat but in particular to the Ark of the Covenant, which contained the manna of the desert, the bread for the bivouac. Here again the land will teach us something significant about the liturgy.

We read in 2 Sm 6:15, “David and all the house of Israel brought up the ark of the Lord with shouting, and with the sound of the horn.” And surely those sacred stones “cried out” in jubilation as they supported the sandaled feet of faithful pilgrims making that ascent, especially the feet of Melchizedek’s successor in Jerusalem, the priest-king David. The stones would prophesy like Isaiah: “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the one bringing good news” (Is 52:7).

For several years now on the Sunday of Corpus Christi our parish participates in a liturgy of Eucharistic Procession. We literally carry Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, shaded under a square, embroidered canopy, throughout the city as we too sing and shout God’s praises. What are we doing? We are imitating King David, who carried the Ark with the manna into the city.

Pope Benedict XVI noted the unmistakable parallels between the Ark’s entry into the city of David and Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, remarking: "This point is made most clearly in Matthew’s account through the passage immediately following the Hosanna to Jesus, Son of David: “When he entered Jerusalem, all the city was stirred, saying, Who is this? And the crowds said: This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth of Galilee” (Mt 21:10-11)…Now the people were “quaking”: the word that Matthew uses, eseísthē (seíō), describes the vibration caused by an earthquake."

And we all know how Luke records Jesus’ reply to the Pharisees who told him to tell his disciples to stop shouting “Hosannas”, answering: “I tell you, if they keep silent, the stones will cry out” (Lk 19:40). Later, at the end of Holy Week, Matthew will recount at Jesus’ crucifixion, “the earth shook, and the rocks were split” (Mt 27:51). The stones of this land are literally “at pains” to teach us about the liturgy.

To summarize: the land of Israel can teach us a profound liturgical lesson in urging the absolute appropriateness and supreme importance of Eucharistic Processions. When we walk through the streets of a city, singing and dancing with all our might like David – to the point that his wife Michal felt he made a fool of himself (2 Sm 6:20) – and carried the Ark with the manna, we, too, should see a snapshot of our whole life in these Eucharistic Processions.

How so? The entire Christian life is a journey not just to the old Jerusalem on earth like Bishop Pohlmeier invited me to take, but especially to the new Jerusalem in heaven. We dare not forget to pack the Manna, the Bread for the bivouac, our “last meal” before we die. And the stones of the Holy Land cannot contain their joy in teaching us this liturgical lesson.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

Fifth Gospel, Part 2

Examining the Eucharist of Melchizedek and Abram

06/22/2024

In case you are just joining us, we are picking up now with a second in a series of homilies on the Eucharist, seen from the perspective of the land of Israel. Everyone should have a ticket in hand and taken their seat as we open the Fifth Gospel, and hear the Good News not from inspired saints but from inspired stones. Our first stop on this tour of land and liturgy is the prototypical Mass of Melchizedek and Abram recounted in Genesis 14. Incidentally, my master’s thesis in seminary investigated the identity of this mysterious Melchizedek, with the cheeky title: “Who the Heck is Melchizedek?” Unfortunately, I did not get any extra credit for the catchy title. My modest thesis was just the latest attempt in a long line of Scripture scholars all scratching our collective heads about the true identity of Melchizedek, and not turning up any conclusive answers.

The Ignatius Catholic Study Bible offers a few possible personas for this rather peculiar priest: “Christian tradition sees [Melchizedek] as a type of the royal-priestly Messiah (Heb 5-7) and has identified him as an angel, as a manifestation of the pre-incarnate Christ, or as the patriarch Shem.”  Significantly, the Bible punctuates critical junctures of salvation history with surprising manifestations of Melchizedek. Where? Well, besides Genesis 14, Melchizedek shows up again in Psalm 110, rubbing shoulders with royalty, King David and his son Solomon. He makes a third cameo in the Letter to the Hebrews, where Jesus is said to be “a high priest for ever according to the order of Melchizedek” (Hb 6:20). In other words, if you tend to associate with scriptural hall of famers like Abraham, David, and Jesus, your name is not “nobody.”

But whatever his real identity, one fact remains indisputable: this priest-king – the first priest mentioned in the Bible no less – brings out bread and wine as a thanksgiving offering to God on behalf of Abram. Now, what is Abram so grateful for? Genesis 14 details an amazing military campaign Abram conducts to defeat four kings who themselves had defeated five kings. Consequently, within the confines of the land of Canaan, Abram stood squarely as “the king of kings,” bringing peace or “shalom”, a variation of the word “Salem.”  Abram’s primordial Eucharist of bread and wine was a thanksgiving offer to God for victory and peace.

But how does the Fifth Gospel, the land of Canaan, shape the liturgy? This brief Eucharistic encounter between the first biblical priest the “father of faith” is the moment of the birth of the first Mass. These stones around Salem (future Jeru-salem) acted as “spiritual midwives” witnessing to and bringing about this birth. It was on their heads, sort of say, that war was fought and victory was celebrated.

But also, looking ahead, these same stones, which once witnessed Abram conquer worldly rulers, would one day witness Jesus, the real King of kings, conquer the “world rulers of this present darkness” (Ep 6:12) and bring everlasting peace. Hence the Catechism describes the Eucharist as “a sacrament of love, a sign of unity, a bond of charity.”  That is how this land afford us a deep look into the liturgy: as the quintessential place of war and peace.

And by the way, no place on earth is more fraught with fighting than the Middle East, especially the Holy Land, particularly by the sons of Abraham, the Israelis (born from Isaac) and the Palestinians (issue of Ishmael). That is, the stones around Jerusalem would not be surprised by today’s war in Gaza. These silent stones have been watching for millennia how no one fights like family. Only the Eucharistic King of kings can end to war and bring peace as it was once betokened in the meal between Melchizedek and Abram. That is how the land shapes the liturgy, and why we pray for peace at every Mass.

In case you think I am making a theological mountain out of a Jerusalem molehill, consider these reflections by Bishop Robert Barron on the supreme significance of Abram’s arrival in and acquisition of the Promised Land. He lists the lessons this land teaches: "Throughout the history of Israel, this particular plot of earth, east of the Mediterranean, west of the Jordan, from Dan in the north to Beer-sheba in the south, would be of crucial importance. Whether they were loving it, longing for it, fighting over it, defending it, planting it with cities, counting its people, mourning its loss, or singing of its beauty, the Promised Land would be a unique obsession of the descendants of Abram. This, of course, is because it was much more than a piece of real estate; it functioned as a symbol of the divine favor, the land flowing with milk and honey, the base of operations for the announcement of God to all the nations, and ultimately, an anticipation of the ultimate homeland of heaven. "

In the movie, “Gone with the Wind”, Gerald O’Hara taught his daughter a similar love of the land. He gently chided: “Do you mean to tell me, Katie Scarlett O’Hara, that Tara, that land, doesn’t mean anything to you? Why, land is the only thing in the world worth workin’ for, worth fightin’ for, worthy dyin’ for, because it’s the only thing that lasts.”

Bishop Barron and Gerald O’Hara’s words describe the Fifth Gospel, the land that injects meaning into the liturgy, the Mass, and should thrill us with excitement every time we celebrate the Eucharist. Why? Because in a spiritual sense, we, too, stand on those sacred stones at every Eucharist and ask Jesus – “a high priest for ever according to the order of Melchizedek – to end the wars and bring peace in our own lives.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

Fifth Gospel, Part 1

Studying how the Holy Land shapes the liturgy

06/18/2024

We begin a new series of homilies on the Mass or the Eucharist. Why? Well, because the U.S. bishops are calling all Catholics to deepen their faith in "the source and summit" of the Christian life, as Vatican II described the Eucharist. The most unusual place I ever celebrated Mass was while hurtling through the Canadian countryside on a train. Many years ago I took a five-day, scenic train excursion with my parents from Toronto to Banff. It was breathtaking to gaze on the crystal clear lakes, to peer up at the snow-capped mountains, and to try to catch sight of the skittish wildlife as the train sped by. Gazing out the frosty window I felt like I was glancing back in time to the Garden of Eden at the creation, still unspoiled. Canada, as Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote, still does not “wear man’s smudge and share man’s smell.”

We spent a week on the train, and one of those days happened to be a Sunday. As usual, I brought along my traveling Mass kit (about the size of a briefcase). I planned to say Mass in our tiny cabin with just my parents for my parishioners. But suddenly it occurred to me: surely there must be more than three Catholics in Canada! So like a conductor I went up and down the train not taking up tickets but handing out tickets to “the greatest show on earth”, the supernatural circus of the Eucharist! I often think of myself as the circus monkey in the pulpit performing silly antics to make people come to the main attraction, Jesus in Holy Communion.

One family graciously offered their spacious, double-cabin for the Mass, so I was certain we would have plenty of room. By the time Mass started, however, a flash mob of Catholics had gathered, even lining up far down the hallway. As the earthly Garden of Eden flashed by outside the window, we enjoyed the heavenly Garden of Eden inside. In other words, wherever the Eucharistic Lord is present, we enter the true Garden of Eden, like innocent Adam and Eve.

The best way to deepen our faith in the Eucharist, though – besides attending the Mass itself – is by studying Scripture. St. Jerome famously said “Ignorance of Scripture is ignorance of Christ.” I would paraphrase that to say: “Ignorance of Scripture is ignorance of the Eucharist” because the Eucharist is Christ hidden behind the mask of the Mass. John Bergsma and Brant Pitre make this connection explicitly: “the Bible is the Church’s liturgical book" (liturgy is another word for the Mass). If the Bible remains closed on our shelf, our minds remain closed to the mystery and miracle that is the Mass.

And tragically that ignorance is spreading like wildfire. On August 5, 2019, the well-respected Pew Research Center released a study with the astounding title: “Just one third of U.S. Catholics agree with their church that the Eucharist is body, blood of Christ.” Put simply, American Catholics are experiencing a profound crisis of faith in the Eucharist. Think about it: if sixty-six percent of Catholics don’t believe Communion really is Jesus’ Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity, why would they come to Mass? As Flannery O’Connor novelist famous retorted a a dinner party: “If the Eucharist is just a symbol, to hell with it.” And that is exactly why sixty-six percent of Catholics think, and why they don’t come to Mass. One remedy that could put out this fire of ignorance is studying the Bible, “the Church’s liturgical book.”

In the following essay I want to take you on a tour of where the Eucharist was born, namely, the Holy Land. In a sense, the Bible will serve as our tour guide. Pope Benedict XVI once referred to the land of Israel as “the Fifth Gospel” in his post-synodal apostolic exhortation Verbum Domini (meaning the Word of the Lord). He observed: “The stones on which our Redeemer walked are still charged with his memory and continue to ‘cry out’ the Good News. For this reason, the Synod Fathers recalled the felicitous phrase which speaks of the Holy Land as ‘the Fifth Gospel’.” That is, its very topography is theological. Its stones teach us every bit as much as Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, the other four gospels.

What I am proposing is that Israel, especially its capital city of Jerusalem, should hold a central place in the liturgical imagination of all Judeao-Christians. Why is that? Well, Jonathan Smith, professor of humanities at the University of Chicago, summarizes the numerous sacred, and we might even say “sacramental” events that took place at the site of the Jerusalem Temple. He writes: It is the place where the waters of the “Deep” were blocked off on the first day of creation; it is the source of the first light of creation; it is the place from which the dust was gathered to create Adam; it is the location of Adam’s first sacrifice, it is the site of Adam’s grave; it is the place where Cain and Abel offered sacrifice and hence, the location of Abel’s murder; the Flood was caused by lifting the Temple’s Foundation Stone and releasing the waters of the Deep; Abraham was circumcised on the Temple place; the Temple site was the location of Melchizedek’s altar; the Temple was the site of the altar prepared for Isaac’s sacrifice in the narrative of the Akedah; the Foundation Stone was the rock from which Moses drew water; YHWH stood on the Temple site to recall the plagues.” Can you hear how the very stones “cry out” to preach the Good News in the Holy Land?

Last Spring Bishop Erik Pohlmeier invited me to accompany him and some pilgrims on a tour of the Holy Land. Since then, however, the events of October 7 and the ensuing retaliation in Gaza have shelved all tourism and pilgrimages to Israel. But a war cannot stop us from going on a virtual tour of the Holy Land with the Bible as our infallible tour guide. The Fifth Gospel of the Holy Land is as close as our family Bible. Like I walked through that train offering tickets to Canadian Catholics to come to Mass, I would like to offer you a ticket to come tour the Fifth Gospel, the land of the liturgy.

Specifically, we will travel to Jerusalem and study four Masses in the Scriptures: the Mass of Melchizedek in Genesis 14, the Mass of King David in 2 Samuel 6, the Mass of Jesus and the Apostles in the Synoptic Gospels, and the Mass of the Heavenly Hosts in the book of Revelation. My hope as we proceed, is to show you how an amazing transformation occurs in the Fifth Gospel – the land where the stone “cry out”. That is, the Bible when it speaks about the Eucharist lifts our gaze from the old Jerusalem on earth to the new Jerusalem in heaven. And we can experience the Fifth Gospel – heaven on earth – even on a train between Toronto and Banff.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

Hit the Road

Praying for our priests and parishes during transitions

06/17/2024

Mt 5:38-42 Jesus said to his disciples: "You have heard that it was said, An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. But I say to you, offer no resistance to one who is evil. When someone strikes you on your right cheek, turn the other one to him as well. If anyone wants to go to law with you over your tunic, hand him your cloak as well. Should anyone press you into service for one mile, go with him for two miles. Give to the one who asks of you, and do not turn your back on one who wants to borrow."

Today, June 17th, is a date that has been emblazoned unforgettably on the minds of many priests of our diocese. Why is that? Well, because today is the date that all the priest changes actually take place. So on the highways of Arkansas there will be priests driving in one direction or another, either leaving the parish they were serving or driving to the new parish they will be serving. And two of those priests are coming and going from IC in Fort Smith.

Today, Fr. Bala is putting together his final belongings and driving north to Tontitown and Decatur. And Fr. Samy who has been in those two parishes will be driving south to IC to serve here as a priest. They are not the only ones: about 25 priests will “hit the road” today. So, please pray for them. It is never easy to leave a parish and start all over again with an entirely new community. And it is not easy for the community as they say good-bye and see a new face standing behind the altar, representing Jesus Christ, the High Priest.

I also wanted to share with you how we got to this date. How does the bishop decide that Fr. Bala should go to Tontitown and Fr. Samy should come here? Well, June 17th didn’t just happen within a week; the process of priest-changes actually started back in December. In December of every year, all priests of the diocese receive a letter from the bishop called “a personnel survey.”

He asks us basically, “How are you doing?” Are you happy where you are? Do you want a change and move to the city, or perhaps to the country, a parish with a school, a parish without a school, etc. Since we receive that letter in December, I always tell the parish staff: If there’s a priest you don’t especially like, be mean to him in December. So, when he gets that letter, he will reply to the bishop, “Get me out of here!”

Or, if there’s a priest you kind of like, be nice to him in December, so the priest will ask the bishop to leave him be. After the bishop receives all those responses back from priests, the bishop creates a graph in which he tries to place priests where they would like to go according to their preferences. This year, thanks be to God, we have a new priest ordained for the diocese, Fr. Cody Eveld. Thus, the bishop now has a new pawn on the diocesan chessboard to move.

And then the bishop meets with a group of priests called the Personnel Board, once a month, starting in January. At each meeting he brings that graph and he asks our opinion. Incidentally, I happen to be on that personnel board, and we share great gossip at that meeting talking about our brother priests and what parishes they might go to. It is the most entertaining board to be on. We talk about which priest and parish would make a good match.

It is really quite beautiful to see the humility and wisdom of Bishop Taylor. Clearly he is the one who makes the final decision after praying to the Holy Spirit for guidance. And then he finally sends the letter of assignment to the priests who then find out that on June 17th of this year their lives will change dramatically, and they will "hit the road."

When we think about it, such changes are not anything new in the church. This has been happening from day one. If you read the Acts of the Apostles very carefully, you discover that St. Paul did not stay in one place very long. He is constantly moving as the Holy Spirit prompts him, making journeys, and staying in some cities as long as three years, like in Ephesus. But in other places he stays a very short time.

So, too, we priests are moved, not by the bishop, but by the hand of the Holy Spirit, following in the footsteps of St. Paul, going here and there and everywhere and preach the Good News. And sometimes the people are happy we came, and like St. Paul the people hugged his feet when he had to leave. At other times, people are happy to see us go, like when they stoned St. Paul and dragged him out of the city for dead.

Our concern is not really whether the people like us or don’t like us. We are here because the Holy Spirit has sent us here to preach the Good News, in season and out of season. Nonetheless, there is a personal side of priest-changes, and that is we do fall in love with our parishioners, and some of our parishioners fall in love with us. Thus these priest changes are ultimately very hard.

But in the end, we cannot avoid priest changes. Because at one point every priest has to leave his parish. Why? Well, either he will walk out of the church on their own volition, or he is carried out feet first, like Msgr. Galvin was. Priests always eventually "hit the road." There is only one Priest who always stays and is with you forever, Jesus Christ, and you don’t have to worry about Him being transferred. Keep your eyes on that Priest.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

Face of the Father

Seeing God's Face in our human father's faces

06/16/2024

Mk 4:26-34 Jesus said to the crowds: “This is how it is with the kingdom of God; it is as if a man were to scatter seed on the land and would sleep and rise night and day and through it all the seed would sprout and grow, he knows not how. Of its own accord the land yields fruit, first the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear. And when the grain is ripe, he wields the sickle at once, for the harvest has come.” He said, “To what shall we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable can we use for it? It is like a mustard seed that, when it is sown in the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on the earth. But once it is sown, it springs up and becomes the largest of plants and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the sky can dwell in its shade.” With many such parables he spoke the word to them as they were able to understand it. Without parables he did not speak to them, but to his own disciples he explained everything in private.

This weekend we celebrate Father’s Day, so this homily will be a little bit of a shout-out to my dad. If you don’t like it, tell your son to become a priest and maybe he’ll do that for you. This year my father reaches the milestone of 90 years of age, so this Father’s Day is extra special for us. He’s a great father, and has given me a glimpse of Face of God the Father. That is the purpose of every human father: to reflect the love, wisdom, strength, and holiness of the heavenly Father. No father on earth is perfect, but my dad is about as close as you can get. Okay, maybe St. Joseph is a little closer.

My dad came to the United States in 1976, when he was already 42 years old. Can you imagine if when you were 42 you moved your whole family to a foreign country to live there permanently? I have learned so much courage, sacrifice, and perseverance from my father’s fearless example of immigration. When things have gotten hard for me, I think of what my father did and say to myself, “Suck it up, Buttercup!” My dad never said that but he didn’t need to. His actions spoke louder than his words.

My father worked in the Indian government while living in New Delhi. In those days a government job was a great job. When he arrived here it wasn’t easy for him to land a high-paying job, so he started selling insurance. He pounded the pavement day after day, and knocked on door after door. But surprisingly, lots of people welcomed him inside because they loved to talk to him.

They were intrigued by his appearance: He wasn’t exactly black but also didn’t look very white and he had this great Indian accent people loved to hear. Some thought he was Arabian. They would buy the insurance just to keep him around and talking, and my dad loves to tell stories. My father sold enough insurance to put three kids through Catholic schools and later college. That’s a lot of insurance.

What I love and admire most about my father is how much he loves my mom. Most Fridays I go visit my parents in Springdale, and we celebrate Mass in their home first thing in the morning. Dad reads the Scripture readings as the lector, and his job is the ring the bell at the consecration as altar server. But he rings it a few other times when he shouldn’t so our altar servers aren’t alone! Then at the Our Father, my parents hold hands, and at the Sign of Peace, they give each other a kiss.

But long before that, back when my mom worked as a nurse at UAMS in Little Rock, she would come home at 11 p.m., my dad would stay up and listen to how her day had been. Even though he was exhausted himself, he wanted to be present to help mom unwind from a stressful day at the hospital. These are a few ways how I glimpsed the Face of the heavenly Father every time I looked at the face of my earthly father.

In the gospel today Jesus presents a parable to explain the Kingdom of God. And he uses the example of a seed. Our Lord describes how a tiny mustard seed eventually blossoms into one of the largest plants where birds find shade in its branches. So, too, God’s Kingdom would begin with the Seed of His Son, the Word made Flesh, whose Kingdom now covers the whole world and everyone can find shade, that is, spiritual health and holiness in the branches of its seven sacraments.

My father, a little like God the Father, should also feel some satisfaction because he, too, has planted the seeds of his two sons and one daughter in this world, who have in turn born much fruit. My brother had four kids, my sister has five kids, and I have six thousand kids. I win! (It’s always a competition.) Recently, I met a couple I had married shortly after I arrived at I.C. They are celebrating their 10th wedding anniversary this year.

They have two boys, and I jokingly said to the oldest: “You know, I am responsible for you being here!” He didn’t laugh, so I quickly added, “hey, I’m just kidding! I am the priest who married your parents!” I wanted to say, “I am your father, Luke!” but he probably wouldn’t get the reference. And my father’s grandchildren – natural and spiritual – will one day also bear fruit. Here again we see in human fatherhood a snapshot of the goodness and love of heavenly Fatherhood.

I hope you still have your father with you on earth so you can tell him you love him and can give him a big bear hug today. If he has passed, I hope you remembered him in our Novena of Masses for Father’s Day. It’s always ironic how the stack of envelopes for Mother’s Day is always twice as tall as for Father’s Day. But dad needs our prayers more than mom does! There is only Dad who is perfect, so be patient with any weaknesses or failings of your earthly father. Most of us will never know the sacrifices they made for us so we can enjoy the blessings we have.

As my father turns 90 this year, I am extremely grateful for every year he is still with us. But one day, he will have to set sail for what Shakespeare called “the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns,” namely, heaven. Just like 48 years ago, in 1976 he left India to set sail for this country, America, and blazed the trail for us. One day he will do that again and the angels will have to figure out if he’s black, white, or Arabian. But most importantly, please God, he will see God the Father Face to face. And I have a sneaking suspicion there will be a remarkable resemblance.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

A Modern Prometheus, Part 5

Tying up an AI teacher's tentacles.

06/13/2024

Today we will conclude our reflections on AI teachers versus human teachers with some final remarks and a summary. In the latest salvo in this high-tech versus no-tech sibling boxing match, my brother tried to help me understand how AI technology would touch and transform virtually every aspect of modern life. I asked in bewilderment: “So, you think this would be like a new industrial revolution?” He smiled at his naïve little brother and explained: “No, bro. It will not be that small. It will be more like the discovery of the light bulb.”  That comment would have blown my hair back, if I had any. My mind scrambled like an alpinist scaling the sides of the Himalayas during an avalanche desperately clutching at the vast implications of what he was suggesting. We can already see the impact of AI all around us. People turn to AI as their new internet search engine; AI writes college term papers; AI could compose my Sunday homilies; Hollywood writers and actors are striking before AI makes their occupations obsolete, to name but a few of AI’s first forays into our world. The sweeping changes of AI technology would leave no human stone unturned, including escorting human teachers right out of the classroom.

These reflections have been a modest effort to circumscribe the limits of AI’s tentacled reach into the classroom, or at least to tie up a few of its flailing arms. We identified three such limits AI may not cross by highlighting what a human teacher can do that an AI teacher cannot. Like Gandalf in the depths of Khazad-Dûm defied the Balrog, we too said to the AI teacher: “You cannot pass!”  Or, as God declared in the book of Job: “Thus far shall you come, and no farther, and here shall your proud waves be stayed” (Job 38:11).

We tied up a first tentacle when we noted that humans are capable of multivalent actions operating on both the symbolic but also on the spiritual level. For example, a meal between two human signifies not only refueling the body with food, but also refreshing the soul with friendship. And ultimately a shared meal would serve as the underlying matrix for the Mass. The AI teacher, however, needs no such replenishment, symbolic or spiritual. As a result, therefore, two humans can offer each other the opportunity for a profound and life-changing encounter whereas an AI teacher meeting a human student would only offer the possibility of a titillating but temporary experience.

We tied up a second tentacle when we considered what all teachers would be required to do in a religious school as opposed to a public or a purely private school, namely, pray. That is to say, the instructor would be asked not only to teach religion academically in the classroom setting but also to demonstrate the quintessential activity of all religions by praying in the laboratory setting of a chapel or a church. Here again, the AI teacher comes up short. Why? Well, without the divine mirror – a soul, a constant connection to God, and the hope of everlasting life – an AI teacher in the liturgical laboratory is like a fish out of water, gasping and flopping in the rarified air of prayer.

And we tied up a third tentacle by exploring an AI teacher’s limitations in a liberal arts school. In such institutions subjects like philosophy, history, psychology, poetry, literature, and religion are intended to induce existential shocks that cause the teacher and student alike – because both are acutely susceptible to them – to transcend the sensible world and even to transcend themselves. They are catapulted beyond the cosmos in order to understand and grasp the totality of things. An AI teacher, by contrast, is aloof and apathetic, entirely impervious to what Shakespeare described as “the thousand natural shocks / That flesh is heir to.”  But that cold indifference is precisely the true Shakespearean “tragedy” – the tragedy of never experiencing a tragedy. While an AI teacher is indeed impervious, it is also thereby impoverished, trapped and tamed within its own microscopic little world; forever undisturbed, but alas eternally unawakened.

I believe C. S. Lewis articulated best of all the utter unrepeatability and infinite worth of every human being, and perhaps in a special sense, his remarks apply to human teachers. He insisted: "There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations – these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit…Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbor is the holiest object presented to your senses. If he is your Christian neighbor, he is holy in almost the same way, for in him also Christ vere latitat – the glorifier and the glorified, Glory himself, is truly hidden." An AI teacher could indeed absorb and impart the nearly incalculable content of “nations, cultures, arts, [and] civilizations.” It is the veritable embodiment of all that is material and maybe even memorable about mankind. And yet for all that, standing next to a human teacher the AI teacher would be the equivalent of a “gnat.” Why? Because in the final analysis, the AI teacher is inescapably mortal and destined for the dust-bin (like last year’s smart phone), while the human teacher alone remains inherently immortal, and destined for divinity.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

A Modern Prometheus, Part 4

Seeing how only humans can transcend this world

06/11/2024

It's been a bruising few rounds between the AI teacher and the human teacher. But ready or not, it is time for Round Four: Ding, ding! In addition to the edge a human teacher enjoys in religious schools, we discover another advantage in liberal arts schools. Even though I attended the University of Dallas, a proudly professed liberal arts school, I did not understand the purpose and power of a liberal arts education until I read Josef Pieper’s book, Leisure, the Basis of Culture. Do not be fooled by Pieper’s anodyne title; the book will rock your world. Pieper identifies two chief characteristics of liberal arts that make it an unique and even formidable education. First, it is inherently free from external demands and even from work. Think of liberal in the sense of liberty or freedom, not as liberal versus conservative. And second, it produces an existential shock that wakes us up to realize we are in the rat race. When we learn how these two facets of a liberal arts education function, we discover a third definitive advantage of a human teacher over an AI teacher.

One year after I was ordained, Bishop McDonald sent me to study canon law at Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C. One of our more entertaining professors was Fr. Robert Kennedy, who regaled us with hilarious stories. But he never tired of reminding us: “This is not a trade school!” Naturally all of us students agreeably nodded assent, but in our minds we were thinking: “Yeah, right. Look, the bishop only sent us here so we could learn how to do annulments. That is the only trade we want to learn. You can dispense with the rest.” Don’t most students only care about making an A in class, and landing a lucrative job? Otherwise, what is a school for? Put it this way: what do you call the person who graduated last in his class from medical school? You call him “doctor.” That is, he has learned enough to practice the trade of medicine, even if you don’t want him as your doctor. In other words, Fr. Kennedy hoped to instill in us a love for canon law beyond any practical benefit. To appreciate its inner logic and power as an expression of our faith, and therefore free (liberated) from any external uses we might make of canon law in annulment cases. But we did not care.

Josef Pieper distinguishes between liberal arts and the useful arts, remarking: “The knowledge of the functionary [those in a trade school] is not the only knowledge; there is also ‘the knowledge of a gentleman’ (to use Newman’s very happy formula in the Idea of a University, for the term artes liberales).”  That is, while other subjects, like science, math, engineering, technology, medicine (and we would have lumped in canon law!), all aim at a useful purpose (healing, building, buying/selling, balancing the books, annulling marriages), a liberal arts education is “free” from these outside aims. Therefore, one freely studies them for their own sake. In a moment we will consider how a human teacher is far better suited to teach such liberal arts, that is, the “knowledge of a gentleman,” than an AI teacher.

Pieper also insists that liberal arts produce a sort of “shock” that can shake a student and open their eyes to see the world and themselves as they truly are. Pieper provides this stark illustration: “But all the same, just try to imagine that all of a sudden, among the myriad voices in the factories and on the market square (Where can we get this, that or the other?) – that all of a sudden among those familiar voices and questions another voice were to be raised, asking: “Why, after all, should there be such a thing as being? Why not just nothing?” – the age-old, philosophical cry of wonder that Heidegger calls the basic metaphysical question!" Such a cry might elicit laughter from many people engulfed in the workaday world. But it might also come across as cold water splashed on the face, waking us up as if the whole world were somnambulists.

Besides this philosophical cry, Pieper lists other topics and experiences like poetry, prayer, love, and death that tend to produce this soul-shaking shock. Pieper explains: "The act of philosophizing, genuine poetry, any aesthetic encounter, in fact, as well as prayer, springs from some shock. And when such a shock is experienced, man senses the non-finality of this world of daily care; he transcends it, takes a step beyond it. The philosophical act, the religious act, the aesthetic act, as well as the existential shocks of love and death, or any other way in which man’s relation to the world is convulsed and shaken – all these fundamental ways of acting belong naturally together, by reason of the power which they have in common of enabling a man to break through and transcend the workaday world.” Liberal arts, therefore, are programmed precisely to deliver this dramatic “Aha!” moment. Like the moment the ancient Greek mathematician Archimedes cried, “Eureka!” discovering the law of displacement in the bathtub, and ran naked through the streets of Syracuse. It is an urgent invitation to step back (or step beyond - transcend) the sensible world around us.

Let’s apply Pieper’s analysis to education specifically: to a liberal arts school (where philosophy, poetry, literature, history are taught) and a technical school (where law, medicine, engineering, math, etc. is taught). In the technical or trade school, I freely grant that the AI teacher is better prepared to help students achieve their aims: be a canon lawyer to work on annulments, be a doctor and heal the sick, etc. In a liberal arts school, however, matters are decidedly different. How so? While an AI teacher could indeed present the textbook material on philosophy and poetry and "teach" it with all the best available pedagogical skills, such teaching would stop at solely imparting information, but it would be utterly incapable of the critical next step, the step beyond, namely, transcendence.

The AI teacher would never cry out like Fr. Kennedy did so often in class: “This is not a trade school!” For an AI teacher it is always and only a trade school. The AI teacher could never demonstrate the method of philosophizing by its own example (recall the same impossibility regarding prayer). It could not say to the students, "Watch how I philosophize," or "Imitate me", or "This is how you do it." Why is that? Because the act of philosophizing requires an existential shock that can only be experienced by a being with spiritual powers wielded by a soul. That spiritual principle enables it to catapult and transcend the immediate, tangible world before his eyes and, as it were, to see all things, indeed see itself, from thirty thousand feet. An AI teacher is ultimately incapable of self-transcendence, but a human teacher is. Remember in the movie “The Truman Show" how falling in love – an emotional shock! – caused Truman to see how his whole world was a television show, a sham? An AI teacher would never experience the shock of love and thereby possibly transcend “The Truman Show.” It is trapped in this world, and it is trapped within itself.

It is noteworthy that Richard Dawkins, the atheistic, Oxford professor, also deals with this possible shock, but only to inoculate readers from any of its deleterious effects (in his view). He wrote about the aesthetic shock of beautiful music: "Obviously Beethoven’s late quartets are sublime. So are Shakespeare’s sonnets. They are sublime if God is there and they are sublime if he isn’t. They do not prove the existence of God; they prove the existence of Beethoven and of Shakespeare. A great conductor is credited with saying: “If you have Mozart to listen to, why would you need God?” In other words Dawkins would say that Pieper’s so-called shock is another “delusion” which the truly wise would do well to ignore. In order to maintain that position, however, Dawkins must deny the immaterial, spiritual soul, our origin and continuous connection to God, and our eternal destiny. Put differently, if Dawkins had starred in The Truman Show, he would forever have happily repeated the catch-phrase: “Good morning! And if I don’t see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night!” Because he refuses to take the step of transcendence, he remains forever trapped. Ding, ding! End of Round 4.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

A Modern Prometheus, Part 3

Testing our humanity in the laboratory of prayer

06/10/2024

We're back in the boxing ring, witnessing the contest between a human teacher and an AI teacher, to see who's better. We discover two more advantages for human teachers when we consider the different kinds of schools where teachers provide instruction. All schools are not created equal. Think of each advantage as Round Three and Four of our brotherly boxing match. We now begin Round Three. The first kind of school provides instruction in religion, like a Catholic school, where we are privileged to practice prayer in school. A second class of schools we will consider shortly teaches the liberal arts (like philosophy) as well as the so-called useful arts (like physics).

For twenty-eight years as a priest, I have been deeply immersed in Catholic schools, promoting them vigorously. There we require educators not only to teach religion as a subject, but to instruct students in how to pray by their own example. Churches connected to such schools serve as laboratories of prayer. An AI teacher could very effectively explain the theoretical as well as the practical aspects of religion, mimicking mantras and meditations. But it would come up short in the practice of praying itself when it moves into the lab work. An AI teacher who attempts to pray suddenly faces a chasm it cannot cross. This limitation is of no small consequence, as we will see. A human teacher, by contrast, not only can but must cross that chasm of prayer, and teach prayer both in the classroom and in the lab.

After I was ordained in 1996, I was assigned to Christ the King Church in Little Rock. One day I was making the rounds of the classrooms visiting students, and stopped briefly in the eighth grade. You might recall that earlier in the same summer, Dolly the sheep had been cloned. The media was all abuzz about whether we would soon clone human beings. One astute student alert to scientific advances asked: “Fr. John, do you think we can clone people?” I whispered a quick prayer to the Holy Spirit and stuttered something to the effect of: “Well, if a cloned human being could kneel down and pray to God, then I think it would show he has a soul and therefore was truly human.” Then I looked at my watch, and gasped, “Oh my gosh, look at the time! Gotta go!”

Admittedly, that answer was not the most sophisticated reply in human history. I was just a rookie. Still, it hinted at those three fundamental building blocks of being human: (1) the immaterial, spiritual soul, (2) its origin and on-going connection to God, and (3) its destiny in eternity or immortality. In other words, the only way a clone could pray is if God were to infuse an immortal soul into it, making it capable of raising its thoughts to its Creator. One of the most fundamental goals of prayer is to return to one’s origins and adore our Creator, as we confess in the Creed about the Holy Spirit, calling him, “Dominum et Vivificantem,” meaning “the Lord and Giver of life.” (An AI teacher would not have stopped to shoot a quick prayer to the Holy Spirit when asked about the possibility of human cloning.) A clone could not adore a divine Origin – it has none – but only adore its human origin. But would the clone adore his human creator, or might he instead attack his creator? Notice, we are now conducting experiments in the laboratory of prayer.

Mary Shelley explored the psychology of cloning back in 1818 in her chilling classic Frankenstein, subtitled The Modern Prometheus. Victor Frankenstein (the human creator not the humanoid creature) sternly warned his new-found friend, Robert Walton, not to make the mistake of playing God: “You seek for knowledge and wisdom, as I once did; and I ardently hope that the gratification of your wishes may not be a serpent to sting you, as mine has been.”  Victor’s “serpent” did finally “sting” him when his wretched creation turned on him and killed him. In the end, the forlorn creature was driven to despair and burned himself on a funeral pyre in the North Pole.

Robert Walton remembered the pitiful creature’s last words before his self-immolation: “But soon,” he cried, with sad and solemn enthusiasm, “I shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning miseries will be extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly, and exult in the agony of the torturing flames. The light of that conflagration will fade away; my ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds.” If by some miraculous incarnation, God had bestowed Frankenstein’s poor creature with a soul, he might still have retreated to the icy north. But rather than seek his own demise, constructed a holy hut, living as a hermit contemplating the presence of God in the cosmos and in himself. In other words, we can always test the humanity of a clone in the laboratory of prayer, which was in effect the thesis of Shelley’s masterpiece.

I admit comparing a clone human to an AI teacher may not be the most helpful analogy. Nonetheless, it remains useful in one sense, namely, regarding the possibility of prayer, or rather, the impossibility of prayer. Certainly, an AI teacher can absorb all the information about all world religions and impart that knowledge flawlessly. It could likewise master all the precise movements and even stillness of Buddhist meditation, the bowing Salat al-Fajr (morning prayers) of the Muslims, the nature spirituality of the Native Americans, etc. But would aping those spiritual gestures mean the AI robot was truly “praying” to God? No. A creature cannot connect to the Creator in the most meaningful way – that is, prayerfully – without the divine mirror, namely, a soul. If prayer primarily a journey back to our origins, an AI teacher can travel back to Harvard, but it will never return home to heaven. As Shakespeare said: “Words without thoughts never to heaven go.”

We should note one possible exception in the song of the three young Israelites in the fiery furnace. They sang of how all creation instinctively praises its Creator: "Bless the Lord, you whales and all creatures that move in the waters, sing praise to him and highly exalt him for ever. Bless the Lord, all birds of the air, sing praise to him and highly exalt him for ever. Bless the Lord, all beasts and cattle, sing praise to him and highly exalt him for ever” (Dan 3:57-59). But instinctively does not mean intentionally.

Only the human creature wields the awful freedom to assume the authentic posture of prayer and praise, or to neglect it. Only a human teacher, therefore, is fundamentally equipped not only of teaching religion but also of modeling prayer in the laboratory. A human teacher lifting his mind and heart to God (the classic definition of prayer) reveals to students that they too can know and love God in prayer. And more importantly, know that God loves them in return. This laboratory – or more precisely, this liturgical – lesson is utterly beyond the capabilities of an AI teacher because it has no soul and thus no ability to reflect and thereby reach its divine Creator.

An old Latin maxim teaches, “Nemo dat quod no habet,” meaning, “One cannot give what one does not have.” That is never more true than in the case of an AI teacher who tries to pray. The closest an AI teacher might come to prayer is the final soliloquy of Frankenstein’s creation as a modern Prometheus: “But soon, he cried with sad and solemn enthusiasm, “I shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt…I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly…The light of that conflagration will fade away; my ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds.” Why is that an AI teacher’s only possible prayer? Because it possesses no soul, it loves no God, and looks forward to no eternal destiny. Either it will be content to stop at that modest prayer, or it will become a serpent that will turn around and sting its creator.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

Our House Name

Understanding our true name as Christians

06/09/2024

Mk 3:20-35 Jesus came home with his disciples. Again the crowd gathered, making it impossible for them even to eat. Summoning them, he began to speak to them in parables, "How can Satan drive out Satan? If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand. And if Satan has risen up against himself and is divided, he cannot stand; that is the end of him. His mother and his brothers arrived. Standing outside they sent word to him and called him. A crowd seated around him told him, "Your mother and your brothers and your sisters are outside asking for you." But he said to them in reply, "Who are my mother and my brothers?" And looking around at those seated in the circle he said, "Here are my mother and my brothers. For whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother."

When I meet people for the first time, they naturally ask me my name. I always reply, “My name is Fr. John Antony.” But then they often follow up with, “Yes, but what is your last name?” I answer again, “I just told you, my last name is Antony.” Most people think that “Antony” is my middle name. And then I explain that in India the father gives his first name to his children as their last name. For example, if I had gotten married and had children in India, their last name would all have been “John”. I know that’s a little confusing.

What people here in the U.S. usually mean by “last name” is what we Indians call our “house name.” What does that mean? Well, a house name includes everyone who lives under the same roof: not only the immediate blood relatives like the parents and children, but also cousins, uncles, aunts, and even people who work as maids and gardeners. They all share the same house name.

So, if you were really smart, when you greet someone from India for the first time, you would ask him or her, “What is your house name?” rather than “What is your last name?” And if you had asked me that question, I would have answered, “My house name is Konuparampil.” And I would have said that with a slight jiggle of the head, like a bobble head doll.

In the gospel today, Jesus also speaks about belonging to a family like we Indians talk about belonging to a house. The gospel of Mark presents Jesus in two seemingly distinct and unrelated scenes, but if you look closely, they are tightly connected. First, Jesus speaks to the scribes who accuse him of being possessed. But he warns them that a “house divided cannot stand.”

Then in the next scene Jesus’ family come to talk to him and he surprisingly answers, “Here are my mother, and my brothers. For whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.” In other words, Jesus is saying the only “house” that will not be divided will be the House (or the Kingdom) that he builds. And those who belong to that House and that Kingdom will not be related by blood but by the will of God.

Put differently, if you were to meet Jesus for the first time, it would do no good to ask, “What is your last name?” Why not? Well, because “Christ” is not Jesus’ last name, and “H” is not his middle initial. It is much more true to say “Christ” is really our Lord’s house name. Why? Well, because “christos” in Greek (or messiah in Hebrew) means “anointed one.” And all who belong to that “house of Christ” carry that name of “christos” and therefore are called “Christian” because each member is anointed to do God’s will. In other words, what unites all Christians is not the same blood, but the same anointing to do God’s will. Our house name is “Christian.”

Now I am going to say something that may sound a little unpatriotic or even un-American, but that is not my intention. You be the judge. I believe the United States of America is a great nation, and my family has been enormously blessed by living here. Nonetheless, I am convinced that this nation will not last forever, just like every other nation in history has come and gone.

Jesus said in Mt 16:18 the gates of Hades would not prevail against his Church, his House, his Kingdom. He made no such guarantee for the United States or any other country, kingdom, or empire. And human history is replete with people who belonged to great civilizations that today are but rubble, relics, and tourist attractions we visit while on vacation.

That is, do not put all your eggs in the basket of this country because as Jesus taught: a house divided cannot stand. And every human house is eventually divided and conquered. Instead, strive to belong to the House that our Lord built on the rock of St. Peter. The floods, rains, and winds will buffet that House but it will never fall. If someone asks you, “What is your name? You should answer, “Well, my house name is Christian.” And you can jiggle your head like a bobble-head doll when you say that.

Bishop Robert Barron shared this beautiful story in his book Catholicism. He wrote: “In April of 2005 the newly elected Pope Benedict XVI came onto the front loggia of St. Peter’s Basilica to bless the crowds. Gathered around him on the adjoining balconies there appeared all the cardinals who had just chosen him. The news camera caught the remarkably pensive expression on the face of Cardinal Francis George of Chicago. When the cardinal returned home, reporters asked him what he was thinking about at that moment.

Here is what he said, “I was gazing over toward the Circus Maximus, toward the Palatine Hill where the Roman Emperors once resided and reigned and looked down upon the persecution of Christians, and I thought, “Where are their successors? Where is the successor of Caesar Augustus? Where is the successor of Marcus Aurelius? And finally, who cares? But if you want to see the successor of St. Peter, he is right next to me, smiling and waving at the crowds.” In other words, human houses are inevitably divided and destroyed; only God’s House remains standing forever.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

The Marble Anniversary

Putting our money where our mouth is for Jesus

06/02/2024

Mk 14:12-16, 22-26 On the first day of the Feast of Unleavened Bread, when they sacrificed the Passover lamb, Jesus’ disciples said to him, "Where do you want us to go and prepare for you to eat the Passover?" The disciples then went off, entered the city, and found it just as he had told them; and they prepared the Passover. While they were eating, he took bread, said the blessing, broke it, gave it to them, and said, "Take it; this is my body." Then he took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, and they all drank from it. He said to them, "This is my blood of the covenant, which will be shed for many. Amen, I say to you, shall not drink again the fruit of the vine until the day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God." Then, after singing a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives.

I heard about a couple who had been married for fifty years. It was their golden anniversary but it had been a tough 50 years. They argued their whole married life. From the wedding onward they argued, day-in and day-out, week-in and week-out, year-in and year-out. So their family decided the best gift they could give them was a visit to a top consultant psychiatrist, all expenses paid. Well, the couple argued about accepting that gift, they argued on the way to the appointment, and argued as they were entering the psychiatrist’s office.

The psychiatrist asked them one question and immediately they started arguing about that. He said, “Stop!” Then the continued: “Look, I am going to do something I have never done before in my professional career.” He got up from behind his desk, walked around to the other side, and he took the little old lady in his arms and kissed her on the lips for a very long time. And then he said to the man: “Now, that is what this woman needs – three times a week!” The man scratched his head and said, “Okay, doctor, if that’s what you say. I’ll bring her in Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

My friends, this weekend we, too, celebrate a milestone anniversary, and we also need to kiss Jesus to show him our love. By the way, have you noticed how much kissing goes on during the Mass, by the priest and deacon (they’re not kissing each other!)? When we start Mass, we kiss the altar. After we read the gospel, we kiss the book called the Lectionary. At the end of Mass we kiss the altar again. One kiss you usually don’t see is when the priest puts on his vestments, and kisses his stole, a long sash he wears around his neck. All those kisses show Jesus how much we priests and deacons love him.

And I am convinced this is why Jesus left us the Eucharist as his Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. Why did he do that? So he could be kissable by everyone. Hence, our Lord said in today’s gospel while holding the bread, “This is my body,” and while picking up the chalice, “This is the blood of the covenant.” The Eucharist, you see, is simply the extension of the Incarnation through time. What does that mean?

Well, Jesus did not become a Baby in Bethlehem so that only Mary and Joseph could kiss him. He is born sacramentally on every altar at Mass so that all Christians may kiss him in Holy Communion. Just like the psychiatrist said: “That’s what this woman needs at least three times a week!” That woman is also the Church, the Bride of Christ, and she needs a from Jesus at least every Sunday!

This magnificent church was dedicated on June 1, 1899, so that means June 1, 2024 is our 125th Anniversary. Now, at every anniversary we should put our money where our mouth is. That is, you should not only kiss your bride, you should show your love through a symbolic gift. You give a gift of “paper” for your first anniversary, a gift of “wood” for your fifth, a gift of “silver” for your 25th, and a gift of “gold” for your 50th.

Do you know what symbolic gift you should give your bride for your 125th anniversary? It’s marble! Just kidding, I totally made that up since no human couple reaches that milestone. Nonetheless, that is why we are building a beautiful marble back altar for Jesus in the tabernacle. This past week you should have received a letter from me describing our campaign in greater detail. In the entrances of the church, the school, the office, and St. Anne’s are posters with a list of the major projects and approximate cost for each.

One project that is still uncertain right now is the solar panels to provide electricity for our whole campus. And by the way, we are NOT putting the solar panels on the roof of our church, like you see on some people’s homes. We will need to buy several acres of land for enough solar panels to generate electricity for the entire church and school campus. But meeting the deadline to get the federal rebate and getting diocesan approval may sideline the project. So the solar panels are still up in the air, you might say.

So, today I am asking you to do what that psychiatrist advised the married man: give Jesus a kiss not only by coming to Holy Communion, but also by putting your money where your mouth is and making a generous three-year pledge to our Yesterday, Today, and Forever Campaign. I will personally pledge $100 per month for three years for a total gift of $3,600. Some families may give more, other families may give less.

Here’s what is really at stake in this campaign. We have a rare opportunity to leave a lasting legacy for this parish. You and I will be long gone one day, like those names you see on the stained glass windows. But that magnificent marble altar will still be standing here, to glorify God and bring sinners closer to their Savior.

When we celebrate anniversaries in the Church we use a special word called “Jubilee” which comes from the Hebrew word “Yobel” meaning a “ram’s horn.” In the Old Testament they would blow a ram’s horn to commence a jubilee or an anniversary. We are marking this anniversary not by blowing a horn but by eating Corpus Christi cookies – 2,000 of them! Thanks to Virginia Ricketts and her minions who baked and individually wrapped each one! Not many married couples see a 50th, 60th, or 70th wedding anniversary. But when you are married to Christ as his Bride, you can celebrate your 125th marble anniversary, and we will give our Beloved Spouse a gift of a marble altar.

Praised be Jesus Christ!