Tuesday, November 5, 2024

Inviting Ourselves Over

Learning how to dine with the poor

11/04/2024

Lk 14:12-14 On a sabbath Jesus went to dine at the home of one of the leading Pharisees. He said to the host who invited him, "When you hold a lunch or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or sisters or your relatives or your wealthy neighbors, in case they may invite you back and you have repayment. Rather, when you hold a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind; blessed indeed will you be because of their inability to repay you. For you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous."

After 28 years as a priest I don’t have many new experiences that I have not encountered before. But I did recently. I asked a parish family if I could come to their home for supper and to bless their house and just to spend some time together to get to know each other. I figured Jesus told Zacchaeus he was coming to his house for dinner so it was okay for me to invite myself over for supper too.

We had set the date several weeks in advance. But the morning of the dinner the mother texted me and said somewhat embarrassed: “Fr. John, I feel so bad to tell you this but can we reschedule dinner? My husband and I are in-between jobs and we feel we really cannot afford a nice meal for you tonight. When we get back on our feet financially, we will definitely have you over!”

Of course, you can imagine how I felt, about 2 inches tall for inviting myself over. Obviously, that’s something Jesus can do but I cannot copy! Still, I replied and said: “Please don’t worry about dinner. But may I still stop by to bless the house and say ‘Hi’ anyway?” She eagerly answered: “We would love that!” You know, we have parishioners here at Immaculate Conception across the whole economic spectrum – from the super rich to the super poor.

But when we come to Mass, we are all spiritually beggars for God’s grace. We all humbly kneel during Mass because we are all equally penniless before the One and only King of kings, Jesus Christ. as James Joyce famously said, “The Catholic Church: here comes everybody!” Our parish is a microcosm of humanity, and that is as it should be, because that is one meaning of "catholic."

In the gospel today Jesus talks about inviting people over for dinner – and he does not say invite yourself over for dinner! Notice how our Lord makes a point about inviting “the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind” for supper. Now those folks would not typical make dinner guest list. In my home country of India, when someone dies in the family, we would have a big reception after the funeral.

But instead of family and friends, we would invite people in the neighborhood we knew were struggling financially or otherwise. When my uncle died many years ago, my family went to a leper colony and fed them lunch, and made a donation to Mother Teresa’s sisters who cared for the lepers. It was a small gesture to help the poor as Jesus prescribed in the gospel today by inviting them to a banquet.

My friends do you know your brothers and sisters in this parish? We have over 6,000 parishioners who attend our church. Sometimes we become part of a small group and that becomes our whole experience of church. And that belonging is a good thing because we need best friends in the faith. But that is no excuse to ignore everyone else. For example, we can get into a habit of always attending the same Mass. Maybe go to a different Mass on Sunday, and see who all belongs to your parish.

Did you know we have 6 Masses every weekend, and 2 are in Spanish? And by the way, there are more people packed into those 2 Spanish Masses than in all 4 English Masses combined. It’s a sight to behold. And the Spanish music ministry is amazing, with 5 different choirs taking turns singing on Sundays. They sing so loudly you can’t even hear all the babies crying!

And when you think about it, isn’t going to a Spanish Mass a beautiful way to fulfill Jesus’ command in the gospel today? How so? Well, think about going to a Spanish Mass – a spiritual banquet – and listen again to Jesus’ words: “When you hold a lunch or dinner do not invite your friends or your brothers and sisters or your relatives or your wealthy neighbors [kind of like going to an English Mass].”

Jesus continues: “Rather…invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, blessed will you be because of their inability to repay you [kind of like going to a Spanish Mass – although many of our Hispanics are very well off financially].” In other words, our experience of attending Mass can be a perfect way to put Jesus’ words into practice by dining with the poor. And maybe that is an instance where it is okay to invite yourself over for supper.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

An Unfair Test

Learning how to think about death in our culture

11/04/2024

Jn 6:37-40 Jesus said to the crowds: “Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and I will not reject anyone who comes to me, because I came down from heaven not to do my own will but the will of the one who sent me. And this is the will of the one who sent me, that I should not lose anything of what he gave me, but that I should raise it on the last day. For this is the will of my Father, that everyone who sees the Son and believes in him may have eternal life, and I shall raise him on the last day.”

One of our greatest dilemmas as a society is dealing with death. This dilemma about death was depicted dramatically in the movie “Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan.” In the beginning of the movie a captain-in-training, named Savvik, has to navigate the Kobiashi-Maru. The would-be captain confronts a no-win situation to either rescue survivors from a disabled ship and thereby violate Klingon airspace, or leave the survivors to their fate, which is morally unacceptable.

She decides to rescue them. But suddenly she finds herself face-to-face with three Klingon warships, and is hopelessly outmatched and her ship is destroyed. Afterwards, in the debriefing, Admiral Kirk talks to her and she comments: “I don’t believe this was a fair test of my command abilities.” Kirk asks, “And why not?” She continues: “Because there was no way to win.”

Kirk answers: “A no-win situation is a possibility every commander must face. Has that never occurred to you?” She replies coldly, “No sir. It has not.” Kirk keeps going: “How we deal with death is as least as important as how we deal with life, wouldn’t you say?” She states again stoically, “As I indicated, Admiral, that thought had not occurred to me.” Finally, Kirk smiles and finishes with, “Well, now you have something new to think about. Carry on.” Of course, the great irony is Kirk will face his own no-win situation by the end of the movie when his best friend Spock dies to save Kirk and the ship.

But our society is very much like Savvik: we do not know how to deal with death, we think it is "an unfair test." When we are young we believe we will never grow older and die. Why do we sell so much age-defying cosmetics in our culture? And then when we are old we want to rush head-long into the arms of death. I have an elderly friend who suffers from many ailments and prays God will take her home soon.

I remember Archbishop Fulton Sheen saying once that funeral directors dress up the deceased in the casket so beautifully that they promise “happiness in every box.” People often say to me, “I hope I go quickly, and preferably in my sleep.” Why? Because death is our great inescapable dilemma and we need to heed Admiral Kirk’s words to Savvik: “How we deal with death is at least as important as how we deal with life.”

Most of the year we can put death on the back-burner and ignore it. But on November 2, the Church invites us to bring death out of the closet and put it front and center. In other words, the Church, like Admiral Kirk, wants to give us “something new to think about.” Today we commemorate – not celebrate which is what we usually say – All Souls Day. And the main message both the Scriptures and the sacraments teach us is that death is not the end of life, but in some ways, truly the beginning.

The Book of Wisdom reminds us: “The souls of the just [who have died] are in the hand of God, and no torment shall touch them.” That is, the dead may not be in our arms, but they are embraced warmly and lovingly in God’s arms. And in the gospel Jesus assures us that he has come to offer us eternal life. Why? Because he says: “I shall raise him on the last day.” You see, Jesus has come not only to save our souls but also to save our bodies.

On the last day of resurrection, the final and eternal Easter Sunday, our bodies will be raised from the graves and glorified like Jesus’ Body was on that first Easter Sunday 2,000 years ago. In other words, only our faith can penetrate into the great mystery of death that our society struggles helplessly with. We tend to either exaggerate death and try to avoid it at all costs, or we run toward death and try to get it over with as quickly as we can.

The Christian attitude to death is all together different. Like Admiral Kirk said, “How we [Christians] deal with death is at least as important as how we deal with life.” And we believe that Jesus has dealt death a mortal blow. And therefore the Church invites us to pray for a happy death, that is, to die in the state of grace. To put it grammatically, Jesus’ resurrection has changed death from a period at the end of the sentence of life into a comma. And so maybe “now we have something new to think about. Carry on.”

Praised be Jesus Christ!

Indian Chief

Growing up to become saints

11/02/2024

Mt 5:1-12a When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain, and after he had sat down, his disciples came to him. He began to teach them, saying: "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the land. Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied. Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. Blessed are the clean of heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you and utter every kind of evil against you falsely because of me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven."

When you were small and someone asked you “What do you want to be when you grow up?” what did you answer? Maybe you said, “An astronaut,” or perhaps “a firefighter,” or maybe “a police officer.” My high school history teacher, Coach Long, always summarized our future job opportunities by saying, “Do you want to be a doctor, lawyer, or Indian chief?” I guess since I am pastor of this parish, I grew up to become an Indian Chief.

Yesterday morning we had the funeral of Dc. Bill Curry. At the end of Mass his son Mike stood up to deliver a very moving eulogy. At one point he remarked, “As a kid I always wanted to grow up to be like my dad, but he set the bar too high. I could never be as good as him.” In other words, a very good answer to the question “What do you want to be when you grow up,” is the reply, “I want to be like my dad.”

But did you every think we could ask God what he wants us to be when we grow up? I think we can and we can also expect to get an answer. For example, I tell young men who are thinking about being a priest, “The worst question you can ask yourself is, ‘Do I want to be a priest?’ Rather, ask yourself, ‘Does God want me to be a priest?’” Can you hear the difference?

In other words, God made each of us for a purpose, as the Scottish runner Eric Liddell said in the movie “Chariot of Fire,” to his sister, “God made me fast, Jenny, and when I run I can feel his pleasure.” And when we fulfill God’s purpose for us - when we become what he wants us to be - we too can feel God’s pleasure.

But besides the specific vocation of being a priest – or in my case an Indian Chief – God calls everyone to become a saint. That is, everyone could answer the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” with one word, “a saint”! At least that is what God wants us to be when we grow up.

And if you want to know what a saint looks like, we have a perfect portrait in the gospel in the Beatitudes. There Jesus teaches us a saint is “meek”, “poor in spirit,” “hungers and thirsts for righteousness,” “merciful,” “clean of heart,” “a peacemaker,” and “persecuted for righteousness.” In other words, besides aiming for becoming a doctor, lawyer, or Indian chief, God wants us to become a saint when we grow up.

I once heard a theologian say this whole universe is one big saint-making machine. How so? Well, everything that happens to us in this world and in our lives is designed to contribute to our sanctity: maybe to make us more meek, or to become more clean of heart, or to hunger and thirst more for righteousness, or to learn to become peacemakers. And I am not talking about going to the Peacemaker Festival in Fort Smith.

That is, try to see all your joys and sorrows, your triumphs and tragedies, your accidents and accomplishments, your stumblings and sacrifices as all designed to help you grow in holiness. So that when you finally “grow up” you will become a saint. That growth in holiness is our principal purpose on earth, and when we live for that, we too will “feel God’s pleasure.”

Today on this feast of All Saints, we praise God for all those men and women who have already achieved the purpose of life, namely, to become a saint. They grew up to be what God wanted them to be. So, next time someone asks you, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” now you know the best answer is “a saint.” Why? Because “Indian Chief” is already taken.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

Saved by Our Spouse

Seeing Christianity in light of spousal love

10/31/2024

LK 13:18-21 Jesus said, “What is the Kingdom of God like? To what can I compare it? It is like a mustard seed that a man took and planted in the garden. When it was fully grown, it became a large bush and the birds of the sky dwelt in its branches.” Again he said, “To what shall I compare the Kingdom of God? It is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of wheat flour until the whole batch of dough was leavened.”

Do you think that all people will be saved, that is, that in the end everyone will end up in heaven? And if you answer negatively – that is, some will go to hell – what will be the criteria to cause that condemnation? Do you feel only Roman Catholics will be saved and everyone else damned? Or, do you believe Christians in general will be saved while non-Christians will take the euphemistic "escalator down"?

Or perhaps it’s people who follow their conscience versus those who violate their own moral principles that end up in hell? Whether we agree or even like that rather sober language about heaven and hell, salvation and damnation, that was the frequent language of Jesus and the Church about what our Lord came to accomplish and the consequences of following him or abandoning him.

In short, that Christian faith revolves around being saved or not saved. As our Protestant friends like to persistently ask us Catholics: “Have you accepted Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?” Our eternal destiny hangs in the balance of the answer we give.

Without denying any of that, let me ask you another question. Don’t you sometimes wish there was another language for the faith that didn’t emphasize heaven and hell or salvation and damnation so much? To go a step further, do you think that most modern people today fear eternal consequences for the actions? Do you think your children or grandchildren worry about heaven or hell, about salvation or damnation?

Or don’t you rather think that all such talk sounds like spiritual scare tactics, or merely Medieval mumbo-jumbo, or maybe seems irrelevant and boring to people today?  Whether we like it or not, or agree with it or not, the general cultural consensus today is that the traditional language misses the boat and does not resonate with people’s lives today.

Well, I believe Pope St. John Paul II was acutely aware of that cultural criticism of Christianity. And so he developed an entirely new language to discuss and define Christian concepts that would excite and engage modern believers and even non-believers, namely, the love of human relationships, and specifically, marriage.

That is, without denying the doctrines of heaven and hell, salvation and damnation, John Paul cast Christianity in terms of love, and marriage to Jesus Christ. Think about it: what causes the greatest joy, produces the most anguish, is celebrated most exuberantly, and talked about incessantly more than marriage? Every human being hopes to enjoy a fairy-tale wedding and dreads the day they may be divorced.

No matter how confused we may be about marriage – like same-sex marriage, or divorce and remarriage, or polygamy, or cohabitation (aka shacking up), etc. – we all know intuitively that nothing matters more than marriage. Marriage and family life are the cell of society; and we know its breakdown will be our society’s downfall. No one doubts that, even while many doubt salvation and damnation.

So, Pope St. John Paul boldly proposed we should make marriage the matrix or language with which we talk about Christianity. For example, Baptism is the moment not only that original sin is washed away and we are forgiven, but also when we become part of the Church, the Bride of Christ. Hence the traditional baptismal gown was always 20 sizes too big for the baby. Why? It was supposed to resemble a bride’s wedding dress, which has a train making it 20 sizes too big for the bride.

Or take the intimidating sacrament of reconciliation or confession, if you can even remember the last time you went. Besides forgiving actual sins, which it certainly does, think of it in terms of husbands and wives needing to ask pardon for hurting each other. Every married couple without exception has said or done something to hurt their spouse. They have had to swallow their pride, and with humble hat-in-hand, said, “I’m sorry, honey. I promise never to do that again.” Suddenly, the dreaded sacrament of confession makes perfect sense when seen in the light of spousal love.

And what about the Eucharist, the Sacrament of sacraments? Well, we can talk about Holy Communion not only in terms of eating and drinking the Body and Blood of Christ in order to have eternal life, but also in marital terms. How so? When spouses consummate their marriage on their honeymoon night the two become one flesh. Every time we receive the Body of Christ, we become sacramentally “one flesh” with Jesus our Bridegroom.

At every Mass, we consummate our mystical marriage with Christ. And that is why we have to go to confession before going to Communion, because spouses should reconcile and be one in heart before they become one in body. We can debate and doubt salvation and damnation but no one with any common sense questions how spouses relate to each other. And the pope-saint says we should make marriage the language of faith.

Of course, John Paul is building on the foundation already laid by St. Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians. He writes in our first reading today: “Husbands, love your wives even as Christ loved the Church and handed himself over for her to sanctify her.” Can you hear how St. Paul employs marriage as a great analogy for the work of Christ? Or as we say in the South, “Christ came a courtin’!”

And one way to understand Jesus’ words today in the gospel is also in light of marital love. He compares the Kingdom of God to a small mustard seed which, “When fully grown becomes a large bush and the birds of the sky dwell in its branches.” I am convinced that what John Paul II taught about marital love as an analogy of faith is only a small seed today. But one day it will blossom into a large bush, where everyone will come to Christ, as their beloved Spouse. Oh, and then they will be saved, too.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

Tuesday, October 29, 2024

Innocent Suffering

Understanding how God orchestrates our salvation

10/26/2024

LK 13:1-9 Some people told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with the blood of their sacrifices. He said to them in reply, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were greater sinners than all other Galileans? By no means! But I tell you, if you do not repent, you will all perish as they did! Or those eighteen people who were killed when the tower at Siloam fell on them– do you think they were more guilty than everyone else who lived in Jerusalem? By no means! But I tell you, if you do not repent, you will all perish as they did!” And he told them this parable: “There once was a person who had a fig tree planted in his orchard, and when he came in search of fruit on it but found none, he said to the gardener, ‘For three years now I have come in search of fruit on this fig tree but have found none. So cut it down. Why should it exhaust the soil?’ He said to him in reply, ‘Sir, leave it for this year also, and I shall cultivate the ground around it and fertilize it; it may bear fruit in the future. If not you can cut it down.’”

One of the hardest questions you will ever attempt to answer is, “Why do innocent people suffer?” Have you ever tackled that? And that question becomes very personal and more pertinent when we face our own suffering, “Why am I suffering?” For example, in 1981 Rabbi Harold Kushner wrote a New York Times bestseller called “When Bad Things Happen To Good People.”

He wrote it as a response to the tragedy of losing his son when the boy was only 14 years old. He suffered from a rare disease called progeria, which causes premature aging. The young lad died as an old man. Now, Rabbi Kushner writes well and makes many good points, but he also commits a big theological blunder. See if you can catch what is wrong with this statement from the book.

Kushner reflects: “God does not, and cannot, intervene in human affairs to avert tragedy and suffering. At most, He offers us His divine comfort and expresses His divine anger when horrible things happen to people. God, in the face of tragedy, is impotent. The most God can do is to stand on the side of the victim, not the executioner.”

In other words, God has no direct control over the events of our lives. He can only react and try to help pick up the pieces after Humpty Dumpty falls off the wall. Now, the benefit of seeing suffering like Kushner does is that it lets God off the hook. God is not to blame because he did not cause Kushner’s son to be afflicted with progeria.

Now, I cannot judge if that is the authentic Jewish understanding of the suffering of the innocent. But I can say a word about the Christian perspective, as Jesus articulates it in the gospel today. The Jews ask if certain examples of extreme suffering and even sacrilege were caused because God was punishing their sins.

That is, they presume God’s wrath is directed at sin, which you may recall was one of the theories presented in the Old Testament book of Job. By the way, that book was the original New York Times bestseller on the topic of innocent suffering. But while that answer addresses the suffering of the sinner, it leaves aside the question about the suffering of the saint.

But Jesus’ answer is decidedly different from Kushner’s. He unflinchingly affirms that God is in control of the universe, and nothing happens without his directly willing it, or at least not without his indirectly permitting it. In other words, Fate and Chance are not the masters of the universe while God remains an innocent and impotent bystander.

Rather, God is the great Conductor and the universe is his symphony orchestra. No one plays a note without God’s knowledge and his head nod to do so. And what is this universal symphony’s musical score – by hitting high notes as well as low notes – trying to achieve? Simple: our salvation.

And so Jesus responds in the gospel, “But I tell you if you do not repent, you will all perish as they did.” In other words, everything that happens in our lives – the good, the bad, the ugly, and yes, even the suffering of the innocent – is all orchestrated by God for our salvation. Put differently, everything happens – even the movement of a molecule – for our ultimate happiness, attaining heaven.

Perhaps the famous poem called “The Weaver” by Grant Colfax Tullar will help to weave together these different and divergent threads of theology. Listen carefully: “My life is but a weaving, / Between my God and me, / I cannot choose the colors / He weaveth steadily. / Oft’times He weaveth sorrow; / And I in foolish pride, / Forget he sees the upper, / And I the underside. /

Not till the loom is silent / And the shuttles cease to fly / Will God unroll the canvas, / And reveal the reason why / The dark threads are as needful / In the weaver’s skillful hand, / As the threads of gold and silver / In the pattern he has planned. / He knows, He loves, He cares; / Nothing this truth can dim. / He gives the very best to those / Who leave the choice to him.”

I know that poem does not take away the pain of our losses, but it is a little more theologically rigorous and more spiritually satisfying than taking shortcuts answering the question, “Why do the innocent suffer?” Or more urgently, “Why do I suffer?”

Praised be Jesus Christ!

 

Wednesday, October 23, 2024

Election Interference

Preaching the gospel during a presidential election

10/23/2024

LK 12:39-48 Jesus said to his disciples: “Be sure of this: if the master of the house had known the hour when the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. You also must be prepared, for at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come.” Then Peter said, “Lord, is this parable meant for us or for everyone?” And the Lord replied, “Who, then, is the faithful and prudent steward whom the master will put in charge of his servants to distribute the food allowance at the proper time? Blessed is that servant whom his master on arrival finds doing so. Truly, I say to you, he will put him in charge of all his property. But if that servant says to himself, ‘My master is delayed in coming,’ and begins to beat the menservants and the maidservants, to eat and drink and get drunk, then that servant’s master will come on an unexpected day and at an unknown hour and will punish the servant severely and assign him a place with the unfaithful.

Several parishioners have asked me if I would speak about the upcoming election and I have been hesitant to do so. Why? Well, we live in such a toxic and polarized political climate that words and thoughts are ripped out of context to serve the listener’s political agenda. Some people will walk away from this homily thinking: “Ha! Fr. John only wants Trump to win!” or others will say, “I knew it! Fr. John secretly wants Kamala to be the next president!”

Like Jesus said, “This generation has ears but they cannot hear” (Mt 13:15). In spite of that concern, I still feel compelled to say something. After all, St. Paul urged his disciple Timothy: “Preach the word, be urgent in season and out of season, convince, rebuke, and exhort” (2 Tm 4:2). So, for those with ears to hear, let me make 3 observations about the November election.

The first observation in any election is prioritizing the protection of human life from conception to natural death. But sadly neither party can pass that litmus test. The Democratic ticket advocates abortion on demand, while the Republican ticket readily makes exceptions for rape, incest, and danger to the life of the mother. Not to mention the practice called IVF, and the so-called “snowflake babies” that result from it.

Catholic morality would not be 100% in agreement with either party’s platform and approach to the prolife issue. Sam Sicard recently sent me an article about a new party, a third party, called the American Solidarity Party, which upholds the full spectrum of the prolife position. That third party might be a better option for the more conscientious Catholic voter.

The second observation is that both parties engage in making patently false or contradictory statements, but are unaware of their own prevarication. For example, Democrats maintain that the embryo in the woman’s womb is a part of her body, and as such, she can deal and dispose of it as she wishes, like trimming your fingernails.

On the other hand, these same Democrats unflinchingly insist that embryo is a baby, and cherish it as a human life, and paint the unborn baby’s room and pick out the unborn baby’s furniture, and are devastated if the unborn baby dies before birth. Can you hear the contradiction? Is the embryo the woman’s body or is it the woman’s baby? It cannot be both.

300 years before Jesus Christ, Aristotle the Greek philosopher articulated his famous principle of non-contradiction: a thing cannot both be and not be true in the same sense and at the time same. In other words, the embryo cannot simultaneously be both the woman’s body and the woman’s baby.

But some Republicans engage in equivocation and making false claims that do not align with reality as well. It is beyond a reasonable doubt that the presidential election of 2020 produced a clear winner, namely, President Joe Biden. Joe Biden is indubitably the 46 president of the United State of America.

And yet, an October 2022 Washington Post article found that 51% of Republican nominees for House, Senate, and key statewide offices in nearly every state that year denied or questioned the 2020 election outcome. Can you hear the self-contradiction, or at least the incompatibility with reality?

A thing cannot both be and not be true at the same time and in the same way. But both parties routinely ignore basic logic for political expediency. And the real tragedy is that the American people are not smart enough to hear it.

A third observation is that both campaigns claim the other candidate is an “existential threat to democracy.” Have you heard that rhetoric? For instance, the Harris campaign asserts that if Donald Trump is elected he will scrap the Constitution and declare himself a dictator. On other hand, the Trump campaign insists that Kamala Harris desires open borders and that she will let our country be flooded by illegal aliens who will destroy our modern society.

Both campaigns take tid-bits of information and exaggerate them so much that fear motivates people to vote. Each side paints the other person as the Anti-Christ for America. Personally, I do not believe that Donald Trump will become a dictator, nor do I believe that Kamala Harris desires open borders.

But still, I am convinced that one day our democracy will come to an end. All great civilizations eventually end. The wise Greek civilization ended. The Roman Empire crumbled under barbarian invasions. Charlemagne’s French Kingdom, who boasted being “the eldest daughter of the Church”, is a mere memory today.

All empires, kingdoms, nations have a life cycle – a birth, a rise to full stature, a decline to senility, and finally a death. Our nations has reached full stature and is declining into senility - just listen to the political rhetoric. The Letter to the Hebrews said prophetically: “For here we have no lasting city, but we seek one that is to come.”

In other words, the true existential threat to democracy is not Trump or Harris but the inexorable march of history. Put differently, the brave men who signed the Declaration of Independence were not only signing our country’s birth certificate, but also our nation’s death certificate.

When I celebrate a funeral Mass, I give a word of explanation about the “Our Father.” I say that when we utter the words, “Thy Kingdom come,” we are really praying that Jesus will come back and establish his kingdom, definitively and permanently. And the sooner the better – Thy kingdom come! And Christ's Kingdom is where we should put all our marbles.

Indeed, Jesus says in the gospel today: “You also must be prepared, for at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come.” So what does all this mean for our upcoming election? Well, first, pray for our nation, and then vote according to your best lights. But don’t get derailed by all the distractions. And finally, maintain your peace. How? Remember that America will not save you, only Jesus will.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

 

The Stones Will Cry Out

Exploring the Eucharist through the Eyes of the Holy Land

10/20/2024

The most memorable place I have ever celebrated Mass was on a train traveling through the Canadian countryside. My parents and I boarded a five-day, scenic excursion train from Toronto to Banff. It was breath-taking gazing upon the crystal clear lakes, peering up at the snow-capped mountains, and catching sight of the skittish wildlife. I felt like I had glimpsed the Garden of Eden looking out the frosty window. Canada, as Gerard Manley Hopkins, the Jesuit poet, remarked in his poem "God's Grandeur" still does not "wear man's smudge and share man's smell."

We spent a week on the train, which included Sunday. I planned to say Mass with my traveling Mass kit in our tiny cabin with just my parents for 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 inviting perfect strangers to Mass. A generous couple kindly offered their spacious double-cabin for the Mass, so I thought, surely there will be plenty of space. But by the time Mass started, a flash mob of Catholics had converged, and lined up far down the hallway.

As the earthly Garden of Eden flashed by outside, we enjoyed the eternal Garden of Eden inside. Indeed, Rv 2:7 hints at this Eucharistic connection between Eden and the Eucharist, saying: "To him who conquers I will grant to eat of the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God." That is, Genesis’ tree of earthly life in Eden turns out to be Revelation’s Tree of Eternal Life which is the Eucharist. That unforgettable train ride taught me something profound: the land reveals deep secrets about the liturgy. You know how traditionally Catholic churches were built so that priest and people were facing east – ad orientem – toward the rising sun, which symbolized Jesus Christ, the Risen Son. In other words, land and liturgy are always mutually illuminating.

Today I want to take you on a tour of the birthplace of the Eucharist, namely, the Holy Land. Just like the untarnished beauty of Canada helped us passengers appreciate the untarnished beauty of the Mass, so I am convinced the topography of Israel can help us Christian appreciate the theology of the Mass. Pope Benedict XVI, in his apostolic exhortation Verbum Domini referred to the land of Israel as "the Fifth Gospel." 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'" (VD, 89). In a sense, the stones of the Holy Land are almost as inspired as the saints Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Analogous to the traditional four gospels, the Holy Land is a unique fifth gospel, giving us even more good news.

Last Spring Bishop Erik Pohlmeier invited me to accompany him and some pilgrims on a tour of the Holy Land. Since then, of course, the events of October 7, 2023, and the ensuing retaliation in Gaza have shelved any tourism or pilgrimages to Israel. Nonetheless, true pilgrims can still take a virtual tour of the Holy Land with the Bible as our infallible tour guide. Like I walked through that train offering tickets to Canadian Catholics to come to Mass (where the land sheds light on the liturgy), so this morning I would like to offer you a ticket in this talk to tour the Fifth Gospel, the original land of the liturgy. Specifically, we will hear how the stones will cry out to help us penetrate the mystery of the Mass.

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Our first stop on the tour of land and liturgy is the prototypical Mass of Melchizedek and Abram recounted in Genesis 14:18:20. Incidentally, in my master's thesis in seminary I investigated the identity of this mysterious Melchizedek and called it, "Who the Heck is Melchizedek?" But I didn't get any extra credit for the catchy title. Notwithstanding his obscurity, the Bible nonetheless punctuates critical junctures of salvation history with cameos of Melchizedek, like Alfred Hitchcock unexpectedly appeared out of nowhere in his movies. Besides Genesis 14, Melchizedek shows up again in Psalm 110:4, rubbing shoulders with royalty, King David and his son Solomon. He enters the scriptural stage a third time 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). You know, if you associate with scriptural hall of famers like Abraham, David, and Jesus, your name is not nobody.

Whatever his name on his real driver’s license, one fact remains indisputable, this priest-king brings out bread and wine as a thanksgiving offering to God on behalf of Abram. Now, what was Abram feeling so grateful for? Well, if we read the verses of Gn 14 before Abram’s meeting with Melchizedek, we discover the details of an against-all-odds military campaign Abram wages against four kings who had just vanquished five kings, and rescues his nephew Lot. Within the confines of Canaan, therefore, Abram stood tall as the king of kings and the one who brought peace or "shalom" (a variation of Salem) to a war-torn land. And Melchizedek's Mass of bread and wine was how Abram thanked God for his impossible victory and his rise to patriarchal prominence. 1800 years later the archangel Gabriel would assure Mary not to be overwhelmed by the against-all-odds chances of her being the Mother of God, saying: "For with God nothing will be impossible" (Lk 1:37).

I will never forget how Scott Hahn once illustrated how God's grace accomplishes everything good or great we do. One afternoon he was going for a jog in his neighborhood. He saw a man trying to mow his front yard. But his small son, who was pretending to mow the yard with his toy mower, kept crossing in front of him, and getting in the way. Hahn decided to make another loop around the neighborhood to see how the father would deal with his diminutive dilemma. When he came around the corner, he saw that the father had now picked up the son with one arm, and was steering the mower with the other arm. The small boy, meanwhile, had both his hands on the real mower and a huge smile across his face. Can you guess why he was grinning from ear to ear? The little lad thought he was moving the yard.

Abram, through Melchizedek's Mass, humbly acknowledged that he was just that little boy in God's arms, and that ultimately, God had mowed down his enemies. That is why Abram is called the Father of faith; he knows who's really responsible for all our so-called "good works." And that is also what the stones would cry out, who witnessed that first Mass of Melchizedek: "For with God nothing will be impossible”; that 318 men can overcome the combined power of nine armies.

And by the way, no place on earth is more fraught with fighting than the Middle East, especially the Holy Land, particularly the family feud between the sons of Abraham: the Israelis (those born from Isaac) and the Palestinians (the issue of Ishmael). That is, the stones around Jerusalem would not be surprised by today's war in Gaza. Why not? Well, these stones have been watching silently for millennia how "no one fights like family." But more importantly, they stand as eyewitnesses of how only Jesus Christ, the Eucharistic King of Kings, will one day end all war and bring lasting peace (shalom) as it was one betokened in the meal between Melchizedek and Abram. And so surely, the Eucharistic Lord can bring peace to the infighting in our own families.

In case you think I am making a theological mountain out of a Melchizedekian molehill, consider these sober reflections by Bishop Robert Barron on the significance of the Promised Land from his recent book The Great Story of Israel. Listen now: "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 peoples, 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" (The Great Story of Israel, 19-20).

In the movie, "Gone with the Wind," Gerald O'Hara taught his spunky daughter a similar love for the land. He gently chided her: "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, worth dyin' for, because it's the only thing that lasts." Of course, we Christians know the only land that truly lasts forever is the old earthly Jerusalem when it is finally transformed into the new, heavenly Jerusalem, when stones of sand and dust will glitter as “the streets paved with gold." And the stones of that Promised Land cry out that God's grace will ultimately defeat all foes and establish lasting peace. Why? Because these stones have seen it happen before and saw it celebrated in the Mass of Melchizedek.

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The curious thing about saying Mass on board a moving train is that the place where we start the Mass with the Sign of the Cross is always miles away from the location where we end the Mass with the dismissal "Go in peace." My parents and I started celebrating our Canadian train-Mass with that flash-mob of the faithful in the peaceful prairielands of Manitoba. But we did not finish the liturgy until we reached the borders of Saskatchewan. By the way, have you ever noticed how Mass in our local parishes can feel a lot like traveling on a train. Some priest--conductors are driving furiously fast, while others go agonizingly slow. I know one priest who can celebrate a Sunday Mass, and give a homily, in 15 minutes. I’m not going to tell you what parish he is located in.

Well, I want to suggest that the second Eucharist we will explore, the Lord's Supper, was also surprisingly a traveling Mass. That is, the liturgy of the Last Supper commences in one location but it concludes in an entirely different place. The Last Supper of Jesus begins in the Upper Room but ends on the heights of Calvary on the Cross. Further in this way, the Holy Land – upon which this liturgical procession took place - bears a unique witness to how movement is indispensable to the Mass. If you carefully watch the choreography of the Sunday liturgy in your home parish, you will notice how the Mass also visually travels from the Liturgy of the Word at the ambo to the Liturgy of the Eucharist at the altar. In other words, movement is constitutive for the Eucharist. Every Mass is a traveling Mass.

Now, in order to grasp how every Eucharist travels, we need to take a detour and do a deep dive into the rubrics of the Last Supper. You may know the Synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) present Jesus celebrating the Last Supper as the fulfillment of the Passover meal. But you may not know that the Passover, or Seder, consisted of consuming four cups of wine, each highly charged with historical and spiritual significance. The first cup was consumed after the initial blessing, called the kiddush. The second cup was drunk after reciting the Exodus story, "Why is this night different from all other nights?" The third cup followed eating the lamb and the unleavened bread, and was called the cup of blessing. Fourthly, and climatically, the Great Hallel was sung, Psalms 114-118, and 136, after which the fourth cup was consumed, fittingly called the cup of consummation.

Scott Hahn, in his book The Fourth Cup, draws attention to the astonishing fact that Jesus interrupts the Seder Meal by not drinking the fourth cup. That is the equivalent to a priest celebrating Mass and stopping right before Holy Communion. It is unthinkable. Rather, he takes the Last Supper, in effect, on the road. Hahn observes: "Among the difficulties presented by the Last Supper narratives is the way they end the Seder prematurely, leaving the liturgy unfinished. Jesus and his disciples exit the room and go off into the night singing a hymn (see Mark 14:26). But they neglect to drink the cup of wine prescribed to accompany the hymn - the fourth cup" (The Fourth Cup, 106).

Then Hahn answers the burning question on everyone's mind: well, did Jesus finally drink the fourth cup, and if so, when? In order to find the answer, Hahn takes us to the scene of the crucifixion and comment: "Finally at the very end, Jesus was offered 'sour wine' or 'vinegar' (John 19:30; Matthew 27:48; Mark 15:36; Luke 23:36). All the Synoptics testify to this. But only John tells us how he responded: 'When Jesus had received the sour wine he said, 'It is finished'; and he bowed his head and gave up his spirit' (19:30)" (The Fourth Cup, 116). In other words, at the moment he took that sip of Wine, Jesus not only concluded his passion and death by announcing, "It is finished", but he also finally finished the suspended Seder supper. By doing so, he also gave the Eucharist its definitive form, that is, as a traveling Mass: always moving between the Upper Room (the supper) and Calvary (the sacrifice).

In The Spirit of the Liturgy, Pope Benedict XVI insisted that these two foci (locations) of the Eucharist could be detected in ancient church architecture. He wrote: "Thus, in the early church buildings, the liturgy has two places. First, the Liturgy of the Word takes place at the center of the building. The faithful are grouped around the bema, the elevated area where the throne of the Gospel, the seat of the bishop, and the lectern are located. The Eucharistic celebration proper takes place in the apse, at the altar, which the faithful 'stand around'" (The Spirit of the Liturgy, 72).

Now, with this liturgical roadmap of the Mass in mind, let's return to look at the land during the Last Supper. Along the road between his supper and his sacrifice, Jesus stops to pray in the Garden of Gethsemane. And here I would propose the land gets a very privileged taste of the liturgy. How so? Well, the ground of Gethsemane was the first to sip from the chalice of the Blood of Christ, the fourth cup.

In his classic work, The Life of Christ, Archbishop Fulton Sheen described the dark and dangerous scene in the Garden: "No wonder, then, with the accumulated guilt of all the ages clinging to [Jesus] as a pestilence His bodily nature gave way...He now sensed guilt to such an extent that it forced Blood from his Body, Blood which fell like crimson beads upon the olive roots of Gethsemane, making the first Rosary of the Redemption" (The Life of Christ, 321-22). The name "Gethsemane" literally means "an olive press," because presses were present there in the garden to squeeze out the juice of the olives. In like manner, Jesus' Precious Blood was squeezed out of him in that spiritual olive press called his Passion. And the land drank deeply of the Blood of divine love as our Lord traveled from his supper to his sacrifice.

You know, in the 2,000-year history of the Church, great liturgical wars have been waged about the road between the ambo and the altar, between supper and sacrifice. In other words, what form should the Eucharist take? And liturgists – those who study and argue over the shape and structure of the liturgy – have staked out positions on all sides. You have heard the old joke, what's the difference between a liturgist and a terrorist? You can negotiate with a terrorist. For example, the way we celebrated the Mass before Vatican II is markedly different from the way we celebrate it today. Before the Council we emphasized its sacrificial nature, now we highlight the supper side of the Mass. This debate gets so heated that some have left the Church over that dispute. It is no small matter. My home state of Kerala, India, for the past two years has seen such serious skirmishes over the liturgy. It has gotten so bad that the archbishop had to close the cathedral for a time to cool things down.

But in the land of the liturgy, the stones would cry out, "Don't lose the forest for the trees!" Don't fight over the minutiae of the Mass, and miss the main point: the drama of our salvation enacted between the two foci of the liturgy, ambo and altar, supper and sacrifice. The liturgy not only travels between Word and Sacrament, but also travels down the ages with different emphases but always remaining the same Eucharist. In other words, the stones would cry out repeating Psalm 34:8, "Taste and see the goodness of the Lord!" The land would remind liturgist to stop acting like terrorists, because the Mass is always in motion, from ambo to altar, and from age to age.

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Now in order to learn the third lesson the land has to teach us about the liturgy, we need to open the book of Revelation or the Apocalypse. Until now we have focused on the land under the earthly Jerusalem. But now John the Seer invites us to gaze upward toward the heavenly Jerusalem. He writes: "And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God" (Rv 21:2). But why should we avert our eyes from the old Jerusalem at all? One of the main motifs of the book of Revelation is not only the retirement of the old Jerusalem, but its replacement by the new Jerusalem.

Scott Hahn summarizes how Revelation records his retirement:

The details of the destruction described in Revelation correspond closely to the history of Jerusalem's destruction [in A.D. 70]. In Revelation 17-19, John shows a city destroyed by fire; Jerusalem was entirely destroyed by fire...Revelation closely tracks the Old Testament book of Ezekiel, and Ezekiel's single outstanding message is that the curse of the covenant will come upon Jerusalem. We see this curse fulfilled in the Book of Revelation" (The Lamb's Supper, 95).

In a word, Jerusalem had an expiration date, namely, 70 A.D. when General Titus led the Tenth Roman Legion and leveled the Holy City, and burned it to the ground. You all have visited Jerusalem and know better than anyone, all that remains of the Great Temple Mount is the West Wall, the Wailing Wall. The extinction of the Temple was not an accident of history, but the deliberate design of divine providence, at least according to Revelation.

But the book of Jerusalem's story was not entirely closed. It has an epilogue in eternity. Just like Jesus' death on Calvary was not the end of his story, so John would see these earthly stones transformed – indeed resurrected – into streets of gold in Rv 21:21, paving a glorious heavenly Jerusalem. Jesus had already intimated how his body and the Jerusalem Temple would share a similar fate when he prophesied: "Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up" (Jn 2:19).

By the way, are you familiar with the fifteen psalms called "The Songs of Ascent"? They are Psalms 120-134, and were sung by the pilgrims ascending to Jerusalem for the three major Jewish feasts of Passover, Pentecost, and Tabernacles. For example, Psalm 122 begins: "I was glad when they said to me, 'Let us go to the house of the Lord!' Our feet have been standing within your gates, O Jerusalem! Jerusalem, built as a city, which is bound firmly together, to which the tribes go up, the tribes of the Lord..." You see, the topography of Jerusalem at an elevation of roughly 2,500 feet above sea level reinforced the theology of the psalms of ascent. In other words, the land – and even the stones the pilgrims stumbled over – point pilgrims to the place of the truly liturgy, and invite them to raise their eyes to look beyond the earthly Temple to the heavenly Temple.

Pope Benedict put it perfectly in Verbum Domini: “The Holy Land today remains a goal of pilgrimage, a place of prayer and penance, as was testified to in antiquity by authors like Saint Jerome. The more we turn our eyes and our hearts to the earthly Jerusalem, the more will our yearning be kindled for the heavenly Jerusalem, the true goal of every pilgrimage…” (VD, 89). That is, the stones, like the psalms, cry out: “The tribes go up,” and we must indeed go up as high as heaven to celebrate the true and lasting liturgy.

Sometimes on my day off, I celebrate Mass by myself in a little chapel we have in the rectory. It feels like I am talking to myself because I say, "The Lord be with you." And I reply back to myself, "And with your spirit." A priest friend of mine insists that I should not say "And with your spirit" because my guardian angel supplies that response. We priests suffer from spiritual schizophrenia when we celebrate Mass by ourselves. But it is theologically inaccurate to say "I celebrate Mass by myself." Why? Well, if we were to peer inside that rectory chapel with the eyes of faith, we would behold it is crammed with all the angels and saints of heaven. Vatican II taught: "In the earthly liturgy we share in a foretaste of that heavenly liturgy which is celebrated in the Holy City of Jerusalem toward which we journey as pilgrims" (Sacrosanctum concilium, 😎.

In other words, during every Eucharist we mere mortals stand spiritually in that Holy City and rub shoulders with the glorious heavenly hosts, St. Peter and St. Paul, with St. John Paul II and St. Teresa of Calcutta, with our deceased grandparents, and my beloved nephew Noah. The Eucharist sacramentally - but no less really! - unites us not only with those we can see (you and me), but especially with those we cannot see, because the Sunday Eucharist is also the Mass of the heavenly hosts. And therefore, the stones on the slopes of Jerusalem cry out the words of Ps 122:4, "There the tribes go up, the tribes of the Lord!" to inspire ascending pilgrims to look up and raise their minds and hearts to the heavenly liturgy. The land has much so teach us about the liturgy.

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Now if all this is true - and it is! - then why do so many Catholics find the Mass so boring? Because we bring little knowledge to the Mass. And you cannot love what you do not know. Golf is boring to those who know nothing about birdies, eagles, and bogies. They don't know "How you drive for show but putt for dough." Chess is boring to those who know nothing about how knights and bishops move, and how the most powerful piece is the queen. Chess is an elegant analogy for the Catholic faith. Cooking is boring to those who know nothing about spices and seasonings, and side dishes. And why Emril Lagasse shouts, "Bam!" when he tosses spices into his dishes. But when you know these things suddenly you fall in love with golf, and chess and cooking.

This, then, is how the land can help us fall in love with the liturgy, that is, when we listen to and learn from what its very stones cry out. The land teaches us in the Mass of Melchizedek that God mows down our foes and makes ultimate victory and lasting peace possible. The land teaches us in the traveling Mass of Jesus to desire to drink of the Lord’s love in the fourth cup, and not be distracted by the minutiae of the Mass, the liturgy wars. And the land teaches us, as we scales the sides of the Holy City that the true home of the liturgy is heaven. In other words, by studying the terrain and the topography of the Holy Land we learn the theology of the liturgy. Well, so what? Well, so that we can bring a little more knowledge of the liturgy when we go to Mass next Sunday. And once you know the meaning of the Mass, you cannot help but love it. And then the stones will cry out: “Bam!”

Praised be Jesus Christ!