STE.THÉRÈSE OF LISIEUX

Homily for Oct. 1^st, 2020: A spiritual prodigy.

          The young woman whom we commemorate today – she died at only 24 – was a spiritual child prodigy. Born Thérèse Martin on the 2^nd of January 1873 to deeply devout Catholic parents in northwestern France, she was the youngest of five sisters. Her father called her his “little queen.”        

         Her mother’s death when Thérèse was only 4 plunged her into terrible grief which would last into adolescence. At age 9 Thérèse received a second blow, when her older sister Pauline, who had been a second mother to her, entered the Carmelite convent at Lisieux, where the family was living. Thérèse decided that Carmel was the place she too wanted to be – “but not for Pauline, for Jesus.” So certain was Thérèse of her vocation, that she started to ask permission to enter Carmel when she was only 14. It finally came, in a letter from her bishop, on January 1^st, 1888, a day before her fifteenth birthday. Three months later she was received into the community where she had longed to be from age 9. 

Thérèse soon discovered the shadow side of Carmelite life. “Of course, one does not have enemies in Carmel,” she wrote, “but still there are natural attractions, one feels drawn towards a certain sister, whereas you go a long way around to avoid meeting another.” Thérèse resolved to counter these difficulties by going out of her way to be kind to the Sisters who most irritated her. Over time this would become what she called her “little way.” Since she could not do great things, she would do little things as an offering to God. One of those little things was her request to remain a novice. To her life’s end she had to ask permission to do things her fellow Sisters could do on their own.

For the last 18 months of her short life, Thérèse was suffering from tuberculosis, for which there was then no real treatment. She also suffered spiritual darkness, like a later sister with her name: Mother Teresa, who is now St. Teresa of Kolkata. Death came on the evening of Sept. 30^th, 1897.

A year later the account of her short life which she had been commanded to write was published in a limited-edition of 2000 copies, under the title, The Story of a Soul. Translated over time into 40 languages, it would produce what Pope Pius XI said at Thérèse’s canonization in 1925, before half a million people “a storm of glory.” People read Thérèse’s story, invoked her intercession, and found their prayers answered. Words she had spoken toward the end of her life came true: “I will spend my heaven doing good on earth.” Today we pray, therefore: “Ste. Thérèse, pray for us. Amen.”

NEVER LOOKING BACK

Homily for September 30^th, 2020: Luke 9:57-62.

          Three potential disciples come to Jesus. The first pledges total loyalty: “I will be your follower wherever you go.” The man’s good will is obvious. With his unique ability to read minds, Jesus sees a potential defect in the man’s stated willingness to serve. He may find the road more difficult that he has reckoned: “The foxes have lairs, the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” 

          The next recruit responds to Jesus’ call, “Come after me.” There is something he wants to do first, however. “Let me bury my father.” An important duty for Jews, burying the dead has been taken over by Christians as the last of the seven corporal works of mercy. When Jesus calls, however, this takes precedence over all else. “Let the dead bury the dead,” Jesus tells him. “Come away and proclaim the kingdom of God.”

          The third recruit, like the first, volunteers for discipleship: “I will be your follower, Lord,” he says. But like the second man, he sets a condition: “First let me take leave of my people at home.” With seeming coldness, Jesus tells him he is not truly qualified: “Whoever puts his hand to the plow but keeps looking back is unfit for the reign of God.” Jesus’ message to all three is the same: the Lord’s call takes precedence over all else. Is that possible? For some it is. Let me tell you about one.

          She was born in Albania in 1910 and baptized with the name Agnes. As a young girl she was fascinated by stories of missionaries in India. At age 12 she decided to join them. A Jesuit told her that the Loreto nuns, based in Dublin, worked in India. At age 18 Agnes, not knowing a word of English, journeyed to Ireland to become a Sister of Loreto. She would never see her home, or her mother, again. After only 6 weeks, she was sent to Calcutta, where she received the religious name Teresa, after the then recently canonized French Carmelite whom we shall commemorate on Saturday  In the years following she became a teacher and later Principal of a girls’ school.

          On a train journey in 1946, she received what she called “a call within a call”: to leave the security of the convent to live among and serve the poor. Slowly former pupils and others joined her. At her death in 1997, at age 87, the Missionaries of Charity, whom she had founded, numbered over 3,800 in 122 countries – and that in a day, when in the United States alone, over 1000 Sisters left the convent to pursue other paths. Another thousand have joined the order since. On the 4^th of this month Pope Francis enrolled her among the canonized saints.

          Toward the end of her life Mother Teresa summed up her life in a single sentence: “I am but a small pencil in the hand of a writing God.” Happy are we if we can say the same.  

ANGELS ASCENDING AND DESCENDING

Homily for September 29^th, 2020: John 1:47-51.

          “Truly, I say to you, you will see the heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man.” Jesus speaks these words to his newly recruited disciple, Nathaniel. Elsewhere in the gospels Nathaniel is identified as the apostle Bartholomew. The words tell us that Jesus is the contact person between earth and heaven, between humanity and God. 

We contact God by offering prayers to our heavenly Father through his Son Jesus, in and through the Holy Spirit, who inspires us to pray and supports us as we do so. The ascending angels carry our prayers heavenward. And the descending angels bring us the Father’s blessings in answer to our prayers. 

The Bible identifies three special angels, Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, whom we commemorate today. Michael, whose name means, “who can compare with God?” is mentioned in the book of Revelation, where we read: “War broke out in heaven; Michael and his angels battled against the dragon. Although the dragon and his angels fought back, they were overpowered and lost their place in heaven.” The archangel Michael represents God’s power, defending us against the forces of evil.

Gabriel is God’s messenger. He appeared to the Old Testament prophet Daniel to help him understand a vision Daniel had about the world’s end (cf. Dan. 8:16 & 9:21). Later he appeared to a teenaged Jewish girl called Mary, to tell her she was to be the mother of God’s Son.

The archangel Raphael is traditionally the angel of healing. Chapter 12 of the Old Testament book Tobit speaks of his healing power. And chapter 5 of John’s gospel speaks of sick people waiting to be healed at a pool in Jerusalem called Bethesda. An ancient verse which is missing in modern Bibles speaks of an angel, identified in Catholic tradition as Raphael, coming to stir up the waters, to release their healing powers.

In 1886 Pope Leo XIII composed a prayer to the archangel Michael which was prayed at the end of every Mass until 1968. This custom is being revived today, in many parishes. It goes like this:

“Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; and do Thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host - by the Divine Power of God - cast into hell, Satan and all the evil spirits, who roam throughout the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.”

 

WHO SHALL BE GREATEST?

Homily for Sept. 28^th, 2020: Luke 9:46-50.

          “An argument arose among them about which of them was the greatest.” So, what else is new? we ask. The argument continued at the Last Supper (cf. Lk. 22:24). It continues today: we clergy are especially susceptible. Even canonized saints have engaged in the contest for position and honor. We celebrated one of them last Friday: St. Vincent de Paul. He decided to be a priest, even managing to get himself ordained several years before the minimum age, because he thought priesthood was a career, rather than a service. Only years later did he come to realize his error, acknowledging it with the words: “If I had known what priesthood was all about, as I have come to know since, I would rather have tilled the soil than engage in such an awesome state of life.”  In an attempt to put a damper on this contest about greatness, Pope Francis has put a severe limitation on the granting to priests of the honorific title of “Monsignor.”

          Our gospel reading makes it clear that Jesus didn’t overhear what his friends were arguing about. He didn’t need to. He could read people’s thoughts. This is one of a number of occasions in the gospels when he did so.

Jesus responds to the argument about greatness by calling a young child to his side. “Whoever receives this child in my name receives me,” he tells his disciples. “And whoever receives me receives him who sent me. For the one who is least among all of you is the one who is greatest.” We grasp the full meaning of Jesus’ action and words only when we know that his society was anything but child centered. In Jesus’ world children, like women, were supposed to be seen and not heard.   

When I entered seminary 72 years ago, we newcomers were given a book of “Principles,” as they were called, to guide our lives. One of them went like this: “Choose for yourself the lowest place, not because of modesty, but because it is most fit for you. There is always someone whose burden is heavier than yours. Find him out, and if you can, help him.”

I’ve never forgotten that. Nor should you.  

 

 

"THEY WERE AFRAID TO ASK HIM."

Homily for Sept. 26^th, 2020: Luke 9:43b-45.

          “They were all amazed at [Jesus’] every deed,” today’s brief gospel reading begins. Immediately before this verse Luke has described Jesus’ healing of an epileptic boy, the only son of his father (9:38). The man has already asked Jesus’ disciples for healing, without success. The youth has an epileptic fit even as he is being brought to Jesus. The Lord heals the boy with a word and gives him back to his father. “And all who saw it marveled at the greatness of God,” Luke tells us (vs. 43a).  The opening words of our gospel today follow immediately: “All were amazed at [Jesus’] every deed.”  

          Jesus breaks into the people’s amazement to tell them something he wants them to remember. “Pay attention to what I am telling you” are the words we heard. What Luke writes literally is: “lay up in your ears these words. The Son of Man is going to be betrayed into the hands of men.” This is so jarring that the people do not understand it. “They were afraid to ask him about this saying,” Luke tells us.

          This fear can be understood if we reflect that the miracle of healing which the people have just witnessed, indeed all Jesus’ miracles, kindled in them a desire for something we all want: a success story. Being betrayed into the hands of men certainly didn’t sound like success. No wonder the people were afraid to enquire too deeply about Jesus’ meaning.

          The day would come, however, when people would understand. After Jesus’ death and burial his women disciples, more faithful than the men, visit his tomb as soon as the Sabbath rest is over, intending to do what had been impossible Friday evening, because the Sabbath had already begun: anoint the Lord’s body. The women find not Jesus’ body but “two men in dazzling garments” (clearly angels) who ask them: “Why do you search for the Living One among the dead? He is not here; he has been raised up.” And then, Luke tells us, the angels tell the women: “Remember what he said to you while he was sill in Galilee – that the Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.” “With this reminder,” Luke writes, “[Jesus’] words came back to them” (Lk 24:4-8).

          We pray, then, in this Mass: “Open our ears, Lord Jesus, to listen to your words. And   when we do not understand, give us patience to await the day when we shall understand, when we shall see you face to face. Amen”

AN APPOINTED TIME FOR EVERYTHING

Homily for September 25th, 2020: Ecclesiastes 3:1-11.

          The short Old Testament book Ecclesiastes, from which our first reading is taken, has the repeated refrain, “All is vanity.” No wonder that many call it the most cynical book in the Bible. The refrain brings us not good news, but the bad news that life is indeed empty, “vanity,” unless we center our lives on the Lord God. In the midst of this bad news, however, we come upon a passage that is like finding an oasis in a desert: the assurance which we heard in today’s first reading, that “There is an appointed time for every thing under the heavens.”

          In words of great beauty the author, called Qoheleth, a word of uncertain meaning, often translated “the Preacher,” says that there is “A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant; a time to tear down, and a time to build. A time to weep, and a time to laugh . . . A time to be silent, and a time to speak.”  

The full and rounded person makes time for each of these pairs of opposites. There are times when it is important to speak. At other times silence is more appropriate. When I entered seminary 71 years ago, we newcomers were given a little book called “Principles.” One of them went like this: “The conversation of the brethren should help and cheer us, but God’s voice speaks most often in silence. Keep some part of every day free from all noise and the voices of men, for human distraction and craving for it hinder divine peace.” I’ve tried to do that in all the years since I first read those words.

About one sentence in this short reading, Bible scholars have been disputing for over 2000 years. God “has made everything appropriate to its time, and has put the timeless into [people’s] hearts.” What is this “timeless”? I believe it is the sense, inborn in us but rejected by the book’s author, that there is a world beyond this one, and a life beyond death. It is for this that we are born and made: to serve God, our loving heavenly Father, faithfully here on earth; but beyond that to be happy with him forever in heaven.

 

HEROD'S CURIOSITY

September 24^th, 2020: Luke 9:7-9

        “Herod was curious to see Jesus,” Luke tells us. This Herod, called the Tetrarch or Herod Antipas, was ruler of Galilee and one of the many sons of Herod the Great, who ruled Palestine at the time of Jesus’ birth. He was the one who, when told by the Wise Men from the East that they were going to Bethlehem to venerate the infant king of the world, ordered the killing of all children there, two years old and younger, in the hope that one of them might be the infant king these Kings from the East, as they were called, had told Herod about.

         At a drunken party in his palace, this Herod Antipas was so carried away by the erotic dance of a young woman named Salome that he promised her any reward, up to half of his kingdom. Salome’s mother told her daughter to ask for the head of John the Baptist, languishing in Herod’s prison for criticizing his adulterous marriage to the mother. And the head was promptly brought to Salome on a platter.

Herod’s curiosity to see Jesus would be satisfied after the Lord’s arrest by Pontius Pilate, who sent him to Herod, because Jesus came from “up north,” in Galilee, which belonged to this Herod’s territory. Hoping to see Jesus work a miracle, Herod questioned him at length, but Jesus spoke not a word. Whereupon Herod sent Jesus back to Pilate.

Luke reports all this to contrast the indifferent indifference with which so many of Jesus’ contemporaries looked on him -- “Isn’t this the carpenter’s son, they asked scornfully – with the faith of the minority who “saw and believed.”

The story in today’s brief gospel reading challenges us with the question: how do we look on Jesus? Is he just someone we call on when we’re in a jam and want help getting out of it? Or is he the Lord of all my life and a deeply loved friend?

 

 

"TAKE NOTHING FOR THE JOURNEY."

Homily for Sept. 23^rd, 2020: Luke 9:1-6.

          “Take nothing for the journey,” Jesus tells the Twelve as he sends them out “to proclaim the Kingdom of God and to heal the sick.” He wants those whom he commissions as his messengers to travel light. They are to depend not on material resources, but on the Lord alone.

          Jesus’ words are especially relevant today. All over the world, the forces hostile to the Church are rising. In our own country the government is trying to impose on Catholic organizations, such as Catholic hospitals and universities, requirements which we cannot, in conscience, accept. We are being asked, for instance, to pay for sterilization and abortion. In Ireland, unlike the United States a historically Catholic country, there is even an attempt to pass a law which would compel priests, in certain instances, to violate the seal of the confessional. TV entertainers air gross jokes about Catholic priests which they would not dare make about Muslim imams or Jewish rabbis. And the media show little interest in reporting studies which show that Christians are the Number One target of religious persecution in the world today.

          We rightly lament this tide of anti-Christian and anti-Catholic sentiment. But it has a good side as well. Whenever in its two thousand year history, the Church has been favored by the powers that be, whether financially or in other ways, it has grown spiritually flabby and weak. The Church is always at her best in times of persecution. When persecution is raging it is difficult, mostly impossible, to see this. Things become clear only when we look back. So let’s look back.

In recent centuries the most violent attack on the Church came in the French Revolution, which started in 1789 and lasted more than a decade. Thousands of priests were murdered under the guillotine. Most of the French bishops fled the country. Those who remained had to accept restrictions on their ministry which they justified on the plea that there was to other way to continue offering the sacraments to God’s people. 

As the Church moved into the nineteenth century, however, there was an explosion of religious vocations in France, and the foundation of an unprecedented number of new religious orders, for both men and women.

          When we grow discouraged at the hostile forces confronting us, we need to remember: God can bring good out of evil – and he does, time after time!