LIFE BEYOND DEATH

Homily for November 21st, 2020: Luke 20:27-40.

          Our lives are a journey. The journey begins at birth, most people would say, and ends at death. Christians know that the second part of that statement is false. Death is not the end of our journey. We journey on beyond death – to God. But what will our life beyond death be like? That is, at bottom, the question put to Jesus in today’s gospel reading. Perhaps this answer will help.

Go back in imagination, if you can, to a week before you were born. You were in your mother’s womb. You recognized the sound of her voice. You were moving about, but could not see. You could not possibly imagine what lay ahead of you: emerging into an initially frightening world; learning to move more freely, first to crawl, then to walk; learning to talk, to write, to read; learning later, perhaps, to play a musical instrument, to draw, to speak and read a second language. You could not possibly have imagined any of this in advance. Life beyond death, is something like that – yet infinitely more wonderful.

St. Thomas Aquinas, one the Church’s greatest theologians, writes: “Eternal life is the perfect fulfillment of desire; inasmuch as each of the blessed will have more than he desired or hoped for. The reason for this is that in this life no one can fulfill his desires, nor can any creature satisfy a person’s craving; for God alone satisfies and infinitely surpasses our desire ... Eternal life consists in the joyful companionship of all the blessed, a companionship which is full of delight; since each one will possess all good things together with all the blessed, for they will all love one another as themselves, and, therefore, will rejoice in one another’s happiness as if it were their own, and consequently the joy and gladness of one will be as great as the joy of all.”

The English Benedictine, Cardinal Basil Hume, one of the great men of the Church in the late twentieth century wrote, shortly before his death of cancer on June 17^th 1999: “We each have a story, or part of one at any rate, about which we have never been able to speak to anyone. Fear of being misunderstood. Inability to understand. Ignorance of the darker side of our hidden lives, or even shame, make it very difficult for many people. Our true story is not told, or, only half of it is. What a relief it will be to whisper freely and fully into the merciful and compassionate ear of God. That is what God has always wanted. He waits for us to come home. He receives us, his prodigal children, with a loving embrace. In that embrace we start to tell him our story. I now have no fear of death. I look forward to this friend leading me to a world where I shall know God and be known by Him as His beloved son.”

INSTRUCTION ON PRAYER

Homily for November 20^th, 2020: Luke 19:45-48.

          “My house will be called a house of prayer,” we heard Jesus saying in the gospel reading. “But you have made it a den of thieves.” He took this second phrase from the prophet Ezekiel (7:11), who uses the uses the words to remind people that worship and prayer can never be a form of barter with God: ‘I’m giving you this, Lord, so you will give me that.’ God is generous with his gifts – far more generous than we are. But we cannot put God under obligation. He gives his gifts in sovereign freedom.

          Jesus gives this teaching in connection with his cleansing of the Temple at Jerusalem, for Jesus’ people the earthly dwelling place of God. Mark’s version of this incident says that Jesus “did not permit anyone to carry anything through the Temple area.” The Bible commentators concede that the meaning of this sentence is unclear. They suggest, however, that Jesus may have issued this prohibition to remind people that the Temple area was set apart for God, holy. They must not use it as a shortcut as they went about their daily errands. For us the words are a reminder that church buildings are holy. Our conduct in church must always reflect reverence for the God who dwells here, especially in his consecrated body in the tabernacle.

          “The entire populace was listening to him,” Luke tells us, “and hanging on his words.” What clearer statement could we have of the fascination that Jesus exercised over people who listened to his words? Jesus Christ still fascinates those who approach him with open minds, and open hearts. How better could we respond to this brief gospel reading than to pray: “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.”

JESUS WEEPS

Homily for November 19^th, 2020: Luke 19:41-44.

          “As Jesus drew near Jerusalem, he saw the city and wept over it,” we heard in the gospel. Just twice in the four gospels do we read that that Jesus wept: at the tomb of his dear friend, Lazarus; and in today’s gospel, following Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Jesus was God’s Son, endowed with divine powers. But he was no Superman immune to human sorrow. Whatever grief and sorrow we experience, Jesus experienced more. He understands, and he is with us in all our own griefs and sorrows.

          Today’s gospel reading immediately follows Luke’s description of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, which we celebrate on Palm Sunday. Some of the Pharisees object to the cries of acclamation with which Jesus was greeted: “Teacher, rebuke your disciples,” they say (vs. 39). To which Jesus responds: “If they were to keep silence, I tell you the very stones would cry out.” Jesus may be referring to an obscure passage in the prophet Habakkuk, who says that against people who practice violence, living only to feather their own nests, the very stones and doorposts of their houses will cry out (Hab. 2:9-11). Habakkuk’s message is that of all Israel’s prophets: ‘God is not mocked. Evil actions bring evil consequences.’

          That is what moved Jesus to tears. Like all devout Jews, he loved the holy city of Jerusalem. To see the leaders of his people rejecting the Messiah, whose coming all the prophets had promised, grieved the Lord deeply. Note that I said “leaders.” Many of Jesus’ people did accept him. Most of them were “little people,” as the world judges things: Mary and Joseph, the fishermen Peter and his brother Andrew, James, and John; and Matthew, an outcast because he collected taxes for the hated government of occupation.  

          That remains true today. Pope Benedict said often that most of today’s saints are “little people”: St John Vianney (the Curé of Ars), Therese of Lisieux (the “Little Flower”), our own Rose Philippine Duchesne, Maximilian Kolbe (who gave his life in Auschwitz that another prisoner might live), the 20^th century Mexican martyr Miguel Pro, and Mother Teresa.

          The greatest people in the Church are not those with the impressive titles and fancy clothes, but those who are closest to God. What better could we pray for in this Mass, than that we may be among them?

"TAKE COURAGE, IT IS I."

Nov. 18^th, 2020: Matthew. 14:22-33.

AIM: To show that Jesus is always close in times of peril. 

          It was not a long voyage across the lake — five miles at most. Jesus’ friends were disappointed when Jesus refused to join them. He needed to be alone -- to spend time in prayer.

          What began as a routine evening crossing of the lake soon turns into a nightmare for Jesus’ friends in their small boat. The storm which breaks on the disciples so unexpectedly this evening comes from just the direction in which they are heading.

          This explains why they are still far from their destination “about three in the morning.” Small wonder, that they cry out in fear as they see a human figure approaching across the wind-whipped waves. “It is a ghost,” they cry out. One man in the boat recognizes Jesus, and wants to be with him. It is Peter. “Lord,” he calls out, “if it is really you, tell me to come to you across the water.”

          “Come,” Jesus replies.

          Peter’s willingness to do the unthinkable enables him to experience the impossible. He climbs out of the boat and starts to walk to Jesus across the storm- tossed waves. “But when he saw how strong the wind was,” Matthew tells us, “he became frightened. And, beginning to sink, he cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’”

          Jesus had a special role for Peter. He was to be the leader of Jesus’ friends and thus of the Lord’s Church. This terrifying experience was part of Peter’s preparation. Years later he would remember: as long as he had kept his eyes on the Lord, he was safe. When he looked down, and saw the danger, he began to sink.

          he beautiful story in today’s gospel speaks also to each one of us individually. Somewhere in this church right now there is someone facing a personal crisis: an illness, perhaps, your own or that of a loved one; a family problem; a humiliating failure; the sudden collapse of long held hopes, plans, and efforts. You are filled with fear. When you look down, you see only peril and ruin. But look up! Keep your eyes on Jesus. He still has power to save. 

          The story assures us that when the storm rages and the night is blackest; when we cannot see the way ahead; when we are bone weary with life’s struggle and our hearts fail us for fear, Jesus is close. He only seems to be absent. In reality he is never far from us. He knows at every moment the difficulties against which we contend. Across the storm waters of this world he comes to us and chides us, as he chided Peter: “How little faith you have! Why do you falter?”

          Happy if we today, in this hour, can respond to the Lord’s saving presence and power as his friends did in that boat. Happy if we too can bow before him in awe-struck worship and say, with those first friends of Jesus:

          “Beyond doubt, you are the Son of God!”

"HE HAS GONE TO A SINNER'S HOUSE."

Homily for November 17^th, 2020: Luke 19:1-10.

          Zacchaeus was an outcast. He collected taxes for the hated Roman government of occupation. And everyone knew that much of the money he collected went into his own pocket. When Jesus went to dine at Zacchaeus’ house, the good religious people of Jericho are scandalized. “He has gone to stay at the house of a sinner,” they protest. What for them was a scandal is for us good news. Jesus, we heard in the last sentence of our gospel reading, is the one who “has come to seek out and to save what was lost.” 

          Those words tell us who Jesus is. Then, now, for all time, Jesus Christ is the one who does not look at what we have been, or even at what we are. Instead Jesus looks at what, deep in our hearts, we would still like to be. He is the one who has come to search out and to save people without hope, the most abandoned, those most deeply entangled, like Zacchaeus, in webs of selfishness, self-indulgence, and greed.

          “Today salvation has come to this house,” Jesus tells Zacchaeus. He says the same to us today. This is our great today. This is our hour of salvation. Jesus is calling us, inviting us to his holy table. He reaches out to us in active, accepting love, though we have done little or nothing to deserve such love. He comes to us for no other purpose than to seek out and save people who, without him, are floundering, without hope, and lost. 

          Zacchaeus “welcomed Jesus with joy,” Luke tells us. We can share that joy. Because of Jesus Christ, and his love for us, life is not aimless, not without meaning. Our sins, our failures, our compromises are not the last word about us.  The last word belongs to the One who tells us that he has come “to seek and to save what is lost.” No matter what others think of us. No matter what we may sometimes think of ourselves. There is One to whom we are infinitely precious. He is Jesus Christ: Son of man and Son too of God — our brother, our lover, our best friend; but also, our savior, and our God!

"I WANT TO SEE."

Homily for November 16^th, 2020: Luke 18:35-43.

          “What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asks the blind beggar who has been calling out loudly, “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me!” Having heard that Jesus would be coming to Jericho, the beggar had positioned himself on the road where he knew Jesus would pass. There would surely be a good crowd eager to see the famous rabbi from Nazareth. With any luck at all, the beggar expected to receive many gifts. Yet when Jesus asked him what he wanted, the beggar asked for something more important than money: “Lord, please let me see.” The words of that blind beggar changed the life of a man who was for over two decades the leader of the Benedictine community here in St Louis: Abbot Thomas Frerking. He resigned two years ago because of advanced age. Let me tell you his story, just as he related it to me.

Born into a Lutheran family, Thomas Frerking, like many young people today, gave up all religion in high school. Following graduation from Harvard, he went to Oxford University in England, on a Rhodes scholarship, to study philosophy.

During a talk by an Orthodox archbishop he heard the advice to take one of the gospels, and read it straight through. He chose Mark’s gospel, because it is the shortest. When he came to the story about this blind beggar -- we have just heard Luke’s version -- he thought: “That’s me. I felt convicted of intellectual pride, and kept repeating: ‘Son of David, have mercy on me, a sinner.’ I heard Jesus saying: ‘Call him over.’ So, I went to Jesus – and he gave me a hard time. He asked me: ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ I had to tell him: ‘Lord, I want to see.’ This happened several times over the next few days. I realized that the people around Jesus were Catholic Christians. I knew I must ask for instruction in the Catholic faith. But then I thought: ‘Oh no, I could never do that!’”

“That was in July 1969. In August I came home for a holiday in the Rocky Mountains with my parents. Looking up at a cloud one day, the decision was just given to me. When I got back to Oxford in September I called the Catholic chaplain. He did know me from Adam. Yet he was with me in 15 minutes. I was received into the Church the following Easter.”

Jesus continues to speak to us today. His words still have power to change lives.