Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Silent Night

Christmas Eve
Cycle A

Why do we hate the silence so much? Why do we fear it so?

I only paused for 30 seconds or so just now, and you could feel the discomfort move throughout the room. The shifting in your seats, the breaking of eye contact. How many of you were thinking to yourself something along the lines of, “What the heck is he doing? Did he forget his notes? Why doesn’t he get on with it, I have 8:30 dinner reservations!” It was very difficult for me to pause and look at you for so long, too, even though it was only half a minute. I was uncomfortable, too.

We have to fill our lives with noise, don’t we? We have to be constantly stimulated. We’ve been preparing for this night since Halloween, and we still have so much more to do. But not tonight. Tonight, embrace the silence.

The joy can only be found in the silence.

Silent night, holy night. Christmas happens at night, in the peace and quiet of the night. Mary and Joseph had had a hectic few days themselves, moving throughout the crowds of Bethlehem looking for a place to stay. But Jesus was born in the quiet of the night, off away from the crowds and distractions.

Be still. Be quiet in the night and contemplate the Christ child.

Like many of you, I have been annoyed this year that among the constant barrage of Christmas carols on the radio there have been virtually no true Christmas carols. You know, the ones that actually mention Jesus. They’re all about white Christmases and sleigh bells and grandma getting run over by reindeer. None of the beautiful, peaceful and joyous songs that talk about silent night, holy night, joy to the world, and come, let us adore him.

But then it hit me that that’s ok, because for us, Christmas shouldn’t begin until tonight. All that other stuff that barrages us from October through today is for the world and its vision of Christmas. You know that all those carols will be gone from the airwaves after tomorrow and will not be heard again for another year. On to New Years!

For us, the Christmas season starts tonight and continues through the twelve days of Christmas to the Feast of the Epiphany and then to the Baptism of the Lord on January 12. You know that the idea that the Christmas season begins before Christmas Eve is only a couple generations old. Our parents often didn’t put up the tree and decorations until Christmas Eve and then left them up until the Epiphany. For us, the season of preparation is Advent, and Advent is a time of peaceful, quiet expectation. How many of us have taken advantage of that time to create an island of peace in our hectic worlds?

So, it’s ok that we have not been hearing any religious themed carols until tonight, because that’s when we should be hearing them. Let the world have its silly Santa songs; we have the joy of Christ tonight. Santa is perfect for the secular world, with his frenetic running around to every house in the world all in one night. A perfect metaphor for what some of us have been doing every day since Black Friday. And we have the image of poor old Santa collapsing into his easy chair at dawn Christmas day, exhausted from the pace. Is that you?

That shouldn’t be us. The Christ child is not frenetic and rushed. Jesus is peaceful. Imagine how quiet it was in that stable 2000 years ago. Imagine what Mary and Joseph were thinking and feeling. Look at the crèche before us. The image we have of Mary and Joseph is one of quiet contemplation of the Christ child. They must have been overwhelmed by the wonder of what was before them. They were in the presence of God, and it must have been awesome. I can’t imagine them chattering away with the shepherds. All who came into Jesus’ presence must have been moved to holy silence.

Why do we fear the silence? Is it because we are afraid of what we will hear? Are we afraid to be confronted by God in the silence? Because that’s where He is found, not in the hustle and bustle but in the quiet of the night. Jesus is not found in shopping malls full of wreaths and ornaments and blinking lights. Jesus is found in the silent darkness of our hearts. Are we afraid that if we stop and get off the treadmill for a moment we will be forced to take a look at who we really are and recognize why we need a Savior in the first place? Do we try to fill our lives with sound and movement because we can’t bear to hear and see ourselves as we truly are?

Do not be afraid of the silence. Jesus came in the silence because he knows what’s in your heart. He knows everything about you and he loves you anyway. Even more than you love yourself. You are the very reason he was born in that poor stable so long ago. Just as Mary, Joseph and the shepherds were silently contemplating Jesus, Jesus was quieting contemplating you. Just you. He knew who you were going to be and who you would become and that’s why he was born. For you.

Embrace the silence tonight. Go out into the snowy darkness and stare up at the sky and just become part of it. Try to clear your mind of all the things you think you have to do that are so important and remember once again what is truly important. You know what it’s all about. You know how to refocus yourself on the true meaning of Christmas, or you wouldn’t be here tonight.

Then take advantage of the next 12 days, the true season of Christmastime. The world will have forgotten about Christmas by Thursday. Not us. Keep those religious carols playing on your iPod. Take some time from playing with the presents you’ll receive tomorrow morning to just be quiet and contemplate the wonderful gift you have been given tonight.


Find Christmas in the silence of night. Every night.

Saturday, December 21, 2013

Funeral for a Friend

Jim Gonsalves Eulogy

It is very fitting that we are gathered here tonight in St. Mary’s church to celebrate and remember the life of Jim Gonsalves. This church and this parish were so much a part of his life, and it was here that most people were affected by his self-deprecating humor, his smile, and his patient optimism. It was through the parish that most of us met and knew Jim, and that is how I met him in 1996.

Jim and I had a lot in common. Jim was a pilot and loved to fly…though he never took me because I get motion sickness. He loved to golf… but in 17 years we never played a round because I struggle to break 100. He loved to ski…but we never skied together, because he went places I couldn’t go. He loved to go out on Lake Powell in his boat…but I was never invited. Hmm, maybe we didn’t have so much in common after all. Why did he ask me to do this eulogy again?

Well, we were both entrepreneurs. He owned a wood molding mill and had a lot of cool tools, and I have been a woodworker since I was 16. We both loved the mountains and the beach. We both had young children about the same ages. And we both had great hair. His was more perfect than mine, and the only time I ever saw a single hair of his out of place was last week in the hospital. Even then, he was upset that he wouldn’t be able to make his appointment with his stylist.

When I started my own woodworking business ten years ago, my shop was only a couple miles from his mill, and we would get together for lunch every week or so at the Rio Grande restaurant downtown. Jim loved Mexican food, and as you know, he was a creature of habit and routine. We always sat in the same seats at the counter and were served by the same waitress every time. It soon got to the point where as soon as he sat down, a Coke with a lime would appear at his hand. That was until he switched to Diet Coke and threw everything off. And he always ordered the same thing. We would sit there and talk about our businesses, our families, and our faith.

It was during that time that I was going through formation for the diaconate, and he had lots of questions and gave me lots of answers. When I moved my shop to Oakley the lunches became fewer and fewer, and for awhile we would only see each other at parish events or talk on the phone.

The Mass meant everything to Jim. When he and Tammy arrived here, this church was in the process of being built, and they jumped right into the planning of the dedication celebration. I think that that celebration did more to unite this parish than anything before or since, and brought a lot of us closer to one another into lifelong friendships. Once this church was open, Father Bob instituted the 5:30 Mass Sunday night as the skiers’ Mass, so that folks could ski all day and still get to Mass, often without changing out of their ski suits and boots.

I don’t remember exactly when it happened, but sometime soon after that Jim suggested that we make that Mass the youth Mass instead, since many of those attending it were teenagers with their parents. Jim had been in music ministry for most of his life, and he had seen what the Life Teen program had done for parishes in Arizona, so he went there to get trained in their methods. He came back and adapted those methods to the personality of St. Mary’s, and over the years that youth choir and Mass has been a main reason people from all over the world feel welcome here.

Most of us have attended those Masses and seen how good they are, but we never saw what it took to put them on. Jim would spend hours during the week choosing the music and arrangements, printing up music sheets, and organizing the kids in the choir. Jim and Tammy and later on Jim and Tracy would arrive every Sunday around 3 o’clock to begin setting up. I often wondered why they always arrived so early; surely it didn’t take two hours to plug in some mics and amps. It was only after listening to my daughter Kimberly tell me what went on during the rehearsals that it dawned on me why Jim insisted on taking that extra time. It wasn’t to set up the equipment, it was to spend time with the kids.

The kids were what were important to Jim. He literally considered them to be his own. He had a love for youth ministry, and I envied his affinity for it. This wasn’t a choir to Jim, it was an extension of his family. He took an active interest in their lives. Each and every one of those young people who have served in this choir are better people, and better Christians because of it and because of Jim.

Jim would always be on the lookout for new kids to add to the choir. It didn’t matter if they had a lot of talent, only that they were willing. He would slowly get them more and more involved in things, encouraging Kimberly, or Allie, or Gracie or Bridget or Lance to get up in front of hundreds of people and cantor or play. I know that each one of them realizes the influence Jim has had on their lives. It was very moving to see so many past members singing with the choir last Sunday night in his honor.

There are many, many other families in this parish who have been affected by Jim and his commitment to our youth. One man who had really only seen Jim at Mass every week came to his bedside in the hospital last week and tearfully told Jim that he had been helping him raise his two young boys to be good, strong Christian men and fathers someday, without even knowing it. He said that the seeds of faith had been planted in his sons, and that some day they would remember Jim. I saw a small tear run down Jim’s cheek when he said this.

Several other people came up to me after Mass last weekend to say the same thing. Jim realized that people were watching him and that his illness was affecting them, too. He told me that the past few months when it became difficult or impossible for him to sing, he would sit there in the front of the choir and mouth the words so that people wouldn’t see that he was declining. For Jim it wasn’t maintaining a front, it was a witness to others on how to live, even when you’re dying.

As his illness progressed he seemed to be more aware of what other people were feeling, especially when they were hurting. Every once in awhile he’d call me and ask if I were ok because he had seen something in my eyes or heard something in my voice that told him something might be wrong. Or he’d call me asking about someone in the parish who he had heard was having trouble.

Jim was always thinking about his children. One of the first things he did after he and Tracy married was to adopt Carolyn and treat her truly as his daughter. And no matter how complicated his relationship with his children became at times, I think all three of them saw Jim for who he really was during his illness and especially during his last few days.

And it wasn’t just his relationships with his children. People have always been amazed at the relationship he had with his first wife, Tammy, and her husband, Travis. Divorce is always painful, and most people do not maintain cordial relationships with their exes, but all I know is that Tammy was there at the hospital every day from morning to night last week, praying and telling stories with everyone else. That is a greater tribute to Jim’s character, and Tammy’s, than any I could make. And Travis, I know that you know that he told me that if his children ever had a stepdad, he’d want it to be you.

Tracy, Tammy told you that you have been a true warrior these past few years, and you have been. Jim used to tell Carolyn that it was good that people stared at Tracy carrying him on her back in and out of restaurants and stores, because it showed them what those words, “for better or worse, in sickness and in health” truly meant.  No one expects to have to live those words of fidelity so early on in a marriage. No one but your family knows what you have had to endure in caring for Jim all this time, the dark sleepless nights and long grueling days. Now you are being called to endure the pain of missing him and being faithful to his memory. Remember that your friends and family are here for you.

I often say at funerals that if someone lives well he will die well. Jim did both. He was both a realist and an optimist. He knew what the outcome of his illness would be but he was always hopeful for the future. Just last week he was telling me about the plans he had for the mill for the next two years. He would gladly tell you about the latest prognosis but never complained about it or about the hand he had been dealt. It was what it was.

Jim was not one to pray too much publicly; music was his prayer. He sang and hummed Amazing Grace over and over to himself. The version with My Chains Are Gone. Even though he could not speak during his last three days, he was a master of communicating with his eyes. He was ready. He did not give up, but he knew it was time to go. And so we played that song to him in the hospital, the song that was his prayer:

My chains are gone
I've been set free
My God, my Savior has ransomed me
And like a flood His mercy reigns
Unending love, amazing grace

Thank you , my friend.


Saturday, December 14, 2013

Are We There Yet?

3rd Sunday of Advent
Cycle A
Are We There Yet?
Here we are, three quarters of the way through Advent, at Gaudete Sunday. Gaudete literally means “rejoice”, and today we light the rose colored candle on our advent wreath and hear readings all about joy. Amongst the cold and barrenness of winter a rose has bloomed. Have you ever wondered why we stop here, change directions a bit from our longing and waiting for Christmas, and rejoice? I think it’s sort of like when we were kids. We adults tend to forget what it was like when we were little waiting for Christmas. We get all caught up in the stress of the season and forget how much we used to look forward to the coming of Christmas. It is like what kids say on a long car trip, “Are we there yet?” Today we say, “Not quite yet, but soon. And won’t it be wonderful when we get there?”
To a child, the four weeks of advent seem like forever. Time flies by for us old folks, and it seems like suddenly Christmas is upon us and catches us unprepared. For kids, Christmas can’t come soon enough. For us, we see the days getting shorter, the nights getting longer, and we put up our decorations and send out our cards hoping that that will put us in the Christmas spirit. For a child, every tree and every light and every mall Santa is just another wonderful piece of the Christmas puzzle to put together into a joyful expectation. They press their noses up against the storefront glass to peer at the wonders within and count down the days and the hours.
I remember when I was five or six, sitting on the edge of my bed around 5 o’clock in the morning, Christmas Day. Just staring into the dark waiting for my parents to wake up. The rule was I could not go out into the living room to see what was under the tree until my parents came and got me, and I was forbidden to go wake them up. So I sat and waited and stared at the bedroom door, willing it to open. I stared so long at the dark that I remember actually seeing stars before my eyes. My expectation was so great my stomach hurt.
Are we there yet? Not yet, but soon.
Today we say gaudete, rejoice. Be joyful again. It’s been a long three weeks. Stop and take a minute to actually find the joy of Christ and of Christmas again. That’s why we light the rose candle. That’s why we hear joyful readings again. Next week we will return to thoughts of preparation and waiting. Today we rejoice that it’s soon and very soon.
A friend of mine once had a job that he really hated. When he finally got up the gumption to quit, I asked him what he felt when he did so. He replied, “I quit with mixed emotions: joy and happiness.” I think a lot of us have mixed emotions when it comes to joy and happiness. Actually, I think we often mix the two up.
There is a difference between joy and happiness. We all want to be happy. We all strive for happiness, heck, it’s even in the Declaration of Independence. We all have an inalienable right to pursue it. But how many of us have every felt truly joyous? Happiness is fleeting, joy is so much more. Happiness is an emotion, how we feel at the moment, and it is the result of our reaction to events in our lives. I can be happy this moment and sad the next. Some people bounce back and forth between the two constantly. But joy is not a feeling, not an emotional response.
Joy is a state of being. Joy is an attitude. Joy is the wonder of knowing.
Joy does not depend upon happiness. Joy does not depend upon the things you have. Archbishop Charles Chaput of Philadelphia said yesterday, “One of the biggest sadnesses of modern life is this: We’ve mistaken comfort for happiness, and as a result, the pursuit of satisfaction has taken away our joy. We live in a culture increasingly based on the strange idea that whatever we want, we deserve — and we should have it, right now; a culture that constantly teases our appetites, fabricates new “needs” and then urges us to want more. This is a recipe for discontent.”
Your possessions can give you fleeting happiness, but it is always on the surface. The pursuit of happiness most often leads to much unhappiness. Joy is so much deeper, and paradoxically, joy can most often be found in the midst of great suffering. You don’t pursue joy. You become joy.
Dominique Lapierre, a medical doctor, wrote a book in 1992 called City of Joy, that chronicled his experience living and working in the slums of Calcutta, notorious for being a hell hole of human misery. What shocked him the most during his time there was that, in spite of living in such abject poverty, most people lived in a space no larger than a pup tent and resorted to scrounging in trash heaps for scraps of food, and horrific physical suffering, there was such a strong sense of peace and joy among them. Where you thought there would be selfishness and hoarding and violence there was instead giving and sharing and love. No one ever stole from someone else’s tent, even when they themselves were starving. Everyone looked out for everyone else. They didn’t share in their suffering, they shared their joy. Because that’s all they had of value.
You see, joy is contagious. I think we all know someone who radiates joy. It’s hard to pin down, and often you recognize it only when you see it, but there’s just something about them that you know is joyful. It’s no accident that Mother Teresa served in Calcutta and always radiated such joy. She received joy from her service to the needs of others, and others received joy from her service. Joy comes from the pursuit not of personal happiness but the happiness of others.
That is the mission of the Church. The Church truly is not about rules and regulations, do’s and don’ts. The Church is not about fear, the Church is not about us versus them. The Church is about joy. Pope Francis tweeted Friday morning, "We cannot think of a Church without joy. This is the joy of the Church: announcing to all the name of Jesus."
Announcing to all the name of Jesus. Just like John the Baptist did. The pope just published his apostolic exhortation, Evangelli Gaudium, “The Joy of the Gospel” The joy of the good news of Jesus Christ. Strip away all the other stuff and that is the core of Christianity. God became man so that man could become god, and that is the greatest news humanity has ever heard. No matter how much we suffer, no matter how much we fight, no matter how much we screw things up, God still came among us. God still loved us so much that he gave his only begotten son to us. God has given us hope, and that hope can and does overcome anything the world can throw at us.
We are preparing to celebrate that hope next week. Are we there yet? Nope, not yet, but soon. So press your nose up against the glass and peer at what’s inside. Let the expectation be so great within you it actually hurts. I hope that you have sometime in your life felt deep joy and recognized it for what it was. I hope you have been in the presence of someone who is joyful. I hope your joy will fill you up until you feel you will explode. Let it fill you. Let it explode from you so it gets all over those around you.
Let there be joy to the world. Let earth receive her king. Let every heart prepare him room and let heaven and nature sing.

Gaudete!

Saturday, December 7, 2013

The Voice

2nd Sunday in Advent
Cycle A

We are in the wilderness today.

The wilderness is wild, untamed. It is a place of unspeakable beauty and unseen danger. We are surrounded by wilderness here in Summit County. Many of us love to go up into the Uintas throughout the year just to be in the peace and quiet of nature. I’ll bet that all you skiers here today have found yourselves alone off on some deserted ski run from time to time. Didn’t you just stop for a moment, listen to the breeze moving through the trees, marvel at the view, and feel renewed?

We seem to be drawn to the wilderness. Jesus often went out into the wilderness to be alone and pray, braving the harsh conditions without food or water, in order to clear his heart, to clear his mind and soul so that he could understand his mission more clearly. Jesus appreciated the value of the wild. It was there that he felt closest to his father.

What is it about the wilderness that draws us so? What need do we have to seek answers far from all the things familiar to us? I mean, we built the cities, they contain the stuff of our daily lives, and we’re proud of them. They show the magnificence of human ingenuity and technology. Yet, they don’t seem to bring us much peace nor give us the answers we are truly seeking.

The people came to see John in the wilderness. They left their comfortable homes in the cities and towns and ventured out into the wild. They took a risk that they would survive bandits, the oppressive heat of the desert, and the lack of shelter against the elements.

Why did they come? Were they looking for some spiritual revival, some deep inner meaning, or were they just curious, looking for something to do on a Sunday afternoon? Perhaps they went to escape the problems of their lives for a little while, because they heard John had a message of hope.

Why do you come? What do you expect to find in the wilderness? What is worth the risk for you?

Repentance requires risk. When you’re all alone in the wilderness, you have no one to talk to but yourself, and it takes guts to ask yourself the questions that need asking. You have to keep yourself company. That can be a scary proposition. I often tell people the only reason I don’t take up cycling is that I couldn’t stand to be alone with myself on long rides. We are so bombarded with the noise of our civilization that when we are finally confronted with nothing but our own lives it seems too quiet. It takes guts to admit that you need to make changes in your life.

Repentance requires honesty. It can be scary to honestly examine our lives for what they truly are. John the Baptist’s message is brutally honest. He’s not addressing his words of condemnation to the wicked. He’s blasting the just! He’s calling out the churchgoers, the leaders who do everything they’re supposed to do. He’s challenging the “good” people to live up to what they espouse on Sunday. Fr. William Bausch once said, “There’s too much at stake when good people are content with the counterfeit comfort that they are good because they are not bad.”

Ouch. He’s talking to us.

John wasn’t exactly what you would call “tolerant”. He was on fire for the coming Lord and knew that the only way the people would recognize Jesus when he came was if there hearts were prepared. He had to sweep the decks clean, and he didn’t care what station in life you were in. He blasted everyone, from the poorest to the highest. He had the strongest condemnation for the leaders who should have known better, both religious and political, He blasted the people who should have been role models – and it finally cost him his head.

A few years back a scandal rocked the basketball world, when several pro players went into the stands and got into fights with some of the fans. Most of the pundits and sports analysts were quick to condemn the actions of all involved, yet, not surprisingly, some commentators actually tried to explain away the actions of these millionaires who were fighting. And it wasn’t just the players who were rich. The people they were fighting with weren’t sitting in the cheap seats. They were a couple rows from the floor. They had money, too. 

And what about all those rich reality show stars, who are famous just because they are famous. Are these the role models we emulate today? Are these the rock stars, our heroes? Who is condemning their actions today? Who is praying for their conversion? Are we all so “tolerant” that we’ll put up with anything? What would John the Baptist say today? Who would he take on?

I think he would chastise those of us who let these things happen, those of us who are good Christians yet say nothing. I guess repentance takes a bit of courage, also.

John was larger than life. He was a pro ball player, a rock star for his time. Yet he was an unusual hero. Instead of grasping for more and more power, more and more celebrity – remember, they thought he was the messiah – he gave it all up and placed himself lower than the servant who would carry his master’s sandals. He was content to stay in the wilderness. John’s success was that all his followers left him…to follow Jesus. He knew that he must diminish and Jesus must rise. Do we know that?

We are in the wilderness today.

Are we going to make good use of this wilderness? Will we leave our comfort zones and realize that we have the need for repentance, and then have the courage to take the risk? Or, are we like the Pharisees, who were more concerned with the external observance of religion than a true change of heart? Are we more concerned with the trappings of Christmas, along with all the stress, than we are about the true conversion that John preaches in today’s gospel?

It’s hard to imagine a world as Isaiah describes it today. It’s hard to picture peace when there is so much violence in the world. How do we get there? How do we beat our swords into plowshares? John spoke out against the hypocrisy of the leaders of his time, but when it came down to it, he was calling and baptizing individuals. He had a very public message that came down to personal conversion. He did it one soul at a time.

Maybe that’s how the world will change. Maybe our own personal conversions will bring about the conversion of the world.

A voice is crying in the wilderness. Shhh, do you hear it?




Saturday, November 30, 2013

Sneaky Thief

1st Sunday of Advent
Cycle A

Happy New Year!

Here we are again at the beginning of a new liturgical year, and, as always, it lands smack dab in the middle of the early Christmas rush. We’ve all been putting our gift lists together and decorating our homes and writing Christmas cards, and some of us actually woke up at ungodly hours to be the first to take advantage of the after Thanksgiving sales. We’re all getting into the Christmas spirit, we come here to the church decorated so beautifully for the season of advent, and the first thing we hear about in the readings is…the end of the world.

What a bummer! What is the Church trying to do, ruin it all for us? We’re preparing for the coming of Christ at Christmas, full of joy to the world and all that. Shouldn’t we be hearing about angels and mangers and wise men?

For the church, preparing for the coming of Christ at Christmas is exactly that. The true meaning of Christmas is not getting the “Christmas Spirit” by remembering something that happened long ago in Bethlehem. The true meaning of Christmas is the promise Jesus left us. The promise that he would not leave us alone, that he would come again in glory. That’s Joy to the World.

Early Christians didn’t celebrate Jesus’ birth. To them, the defining events of Jesus’ life were his death and resurrection. Only two of the gospels have any mention of Jesus’ birth, but they all have detailed accounts of his passion, death and resurrection. They took Jesus’ words to heart that some of them would not taste death before all these things came to pass. They thought Christ’s coming again was imminent. That’s where the glory was, not in a dirty manger surrounded by animals and shepherds. That’s where the promise was. In the coming.

The church teaches that there are three comings of Christ. The first is the actual incarnation in the person of Jesus of Nazareth 2000 years ago. The second is the final judgment, when Christ will come in all his glory to judge the living and the dead. The third is… today. That’s the coming that most affects us. We weren’t there 2000 years ago to witness the first coming, and we have no idea when he will come again in glory, nor can we control it. The only thing we can control is our acceptance of Jesus’ coming into our lives today.

If we take care of Christ’s third coming, the second coming will take care of itself. It is through the third coming that we are prepared for the second.

One will be taken; the other will be left behind. How many times have we and a friend been at an event, or heard a homily or listened to a talk, or read a book or an article, and one of us gets it and the other one doesn’t? Many times our understanding of these things is due to our openness to their message, or our level of commitment to it, or our level of knowledge about the subject. It’s the same with Jesus’ message. We are all here this morning celebrating together, hearing the same scriptures and saying the same prayers. Who will be taken and who will be left behind? Which of us will acknowledge Jesus’ coming into our lives this day and which of us won’t? And which of us will use that knowledge to change our lives in preparation?

Lew Wallace was one of the most accomplished men of the 19th century. A general in the civil war on the union side, highly decorated, one of the judges in the conspiracy trial of the Lincoln assassins, the governor of the New Mexico territory and the ambassador to Turkey. He was also, like many people, completely indifferent to religion. One day in 1876, on a train to Indianapolis, he struck up a conversation with Colonel Robert G. Ingersoll, the most accomplished and vocal atheist of his day. For two hours, Colonel Ingersoll regaled Wallace on the absolute certainty that there was no God, no heaven nor hell, and that all who thought there was were fools. He was very effective.

As Wallace puts it, “I sat spellbound, listening to a medley of argument, eloquence, wit, satire, audacity, irreverence, poetry, brilliant antithesis, and pungent excoriation of believers in God, Christ, and heaven, the like of which I had never heard. He surpassed himself, and that is saying a great deal.”

To a man completely indifferent to religion, such a strong argument could have convinced him that what Ingersoll was saying was indeed true. Wallace could have accepted the argument and gone on with his life as before, because it required nothing of him. Instead, Ingersoll put in Wallace’s heart a burning desire to learn more about his religion, to study what it really meant and to put down his findings in writing. Seven years later, he came out with what became the bestselling novel of the 19th century, a book that has never gone out of print, was made into a play that ran on Broadway for 25 years, and that was made into three major motion pictures. As Wallace puts it, “I did as resolved, with results – first, the book, Ben Hur, and second, a conviction amounting to absolute belief in God and the divinity of Christ.”

Two men having a conversation. Jesus came into both their lives that day.
One was taken, the other left behind. Unexpectedly, on a train.

The Son of Man will come when you least expect him. When you don’t think he’ll show up. When you don’t want him to show up. When you think everything’s hunky dory and you don’t need him. When you don’t have time for him in your busy lives. He has a habit of just showing up, uninvited, at the weirdest times.

Many of us are like the master of the house in today’s gospel. If we knew when the thief would come we would not let him break into our house. Unfortunately, for many of us the thief is Jesus, and if we knew when he was going to enter the houses of our hearts we’d bar the door and refuse him entry. We know that if we allow him in we’ll be asked to change our lives, and we like things just the way they are. We like our orgies and promiscuity, our drunkenness and lust, our rivalries and jealousies. We like our swords just the way they are, thank you. God can keep his plowshares. That’s just a pipe dream anyway.

Ah, but thieves are wily, aren’t they? No matter how well you prepare, they seem to find a way in. You really can’t prevent it. In the opening prayer this morning we heard Father pray that we “run forth to meet Christ.” Jesus came to earth once. That’s a historical fact. He will come again whether you like it or not. That’s his promise. How you meet him is up to you. 






Thursday, November 28, 2013

Happy Eucharist!


Sir 50:22-24
1 Cor 1:3-9
Lk 17:11-19

Happy Eucharist!

Why not “Happy Thanksgiving”? But that’s exactly what I just said, because the word Eucharist literally means “thanksgiving”. Did you know that? Wouldn’t it be great if every time we entered the church to celebrate the Mass we greeted each other by saying “Happy Thanksgiving”! Because that is what it is. The Mass is our greatest prayer of thanksgiving.

When Jesus offered himself up on the cross he did so in thanksgiving. The Last Supper was a memorial meal of thanksgiving. The Jews celebrate the Passover supper in thanksgiving for all that God has done for them throughout the centuries, especially when he rescued them from slavery in Egypt. Jesus was giving thanks to his Father for giving him his disciples and for giving him the opportunity to come down to earth to draw all people to him, and yes, even for the opportunity to die for us.

The Mass should be a happy event. It is a feast, just as much as our dinner later today will be a feast. Have you ever thought about the structure of the Mass? It’s the same as the banquet you are preparing today.

We prepare for this Mass long before we celebrate it, just as you have been getting ready for your dinner today for a long time. We greet each other at the door. We catch up on the latest goings on with each other. We enter the dining room and gather together around the table. We prepare ourselves spiritually by saying we’re sorry for anything we may have done to break our communion with each other since the last time we met, just like we apologize to Great Uncle Lou for getting in that fight over politics last Thanksgiving. We sit and hear stories about our family’s past and remember all who have gone before us in faith. Then we offer up prayers for our needs and the needs of others.

We get ready for the meal by bringing our gifts to the altar, because we’d never dream of going to someone’s house for dinner empty handed. We say grace, our prayers of thanksgiving over the gifts we have brought to the table. Those gifts are from God and from us. We don’t bring grapes and wheat, we bring bread and wine, having taken what God has given us and transformed it into something else.

We hear the most beautiful prayer of the Mass, the Eucharistic Prayer, the Thanksgiving Prayer, when God takes our transformed gifts and transforms them even more into his very self. Jesus has physically joined us at table. And those transformed gifts in turn transform us. We offer one final prayer of awe at the gift God has given us. “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.” No, we can never make ourselves worthy, but God wants us to be worthy to be with him forever.

Then we eat and drink. We acknowledge the gift by receiving the Body and Blood of Christ in communion with one another. We receive, we do not take. And we become the Body of Christ as we receive the Body of Christ.

Then we sit back for a bit and take it all in. We’re stuffed and couldn’t eat another bite. We clear the table and do the dishes. We announce when the next get together will be, and we say one final prayer and receive a blessing before we go out into the world once again, where we live the fruits of our thanksgiving.

We set aside a special day once a year to give thanks as a nation for all the blessings we have been given. We give thanks for the gift, but what about the giver? Who are we giving thanks to? If you look at all the decorations and all the advertising, you’d think we are giving thanks to the turkey, or the pilgrims, or something. You never see decorations giving thanks to God, do you. You rarely see or hear mention of God in any of the big celebrations being held across the country. There was no big Jesus balloon in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade this morning. Thanksgiving has become a completely secular holiday, all about food and football. It really should be called “Black Friday Eve” because that’s what all the focus seems to be on.

It wasn’t intended to be that way, and it isn’t that way for us. We don’t just remember our blessings, we remember the one who blesses us. When Abraham Lincoln issued his Thanksgiving Day Proclamation in 1863 he did it to recognize and celebrate all the wonderful things God had given to our country, even in the midst of the most terrible trial we have ever been put through. And he wanted to thank God for all that. That wonderful proclamation was actually a prayer.

“No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility and Union.”


The way we give our greatest thanks to God is through the Eucharist, so it is entirely fitting that we gather here this morning to link the two celebrations together. What better way to show our national thanksgiving than through our greatest prayer of thanksgiving! So, Happy Eucharist! We are a Eucharistic people, and every day for us is Thanksgiving Day!

Monday, November 25, 2013

Jesus, Remember Me

Feast of Christ the King
Cycle C

How do you want to be remembered?

Many people worry about how they will be remembered. It’s a big deal to them. They pay millions of dollars to have their names inscribed on buildings, they set up foundations with their names attached so that the world will remember them as good benefactors, long after they’ve gone. They erect impressive tombstones that will last for centuries, their names carved deep into the granite. Is that how you want to be remembered?

Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.

We don’t want to be left behind. There’s a series of wildly popular books out, the “Left Behind” series, that deals with what may happen during the last days, when the world will be in turmoil before the second coming of the Lord. They have sold millions of copies in dozens of languages. Why are people so enthralled about what will happen during the last days? Why are we so worried about being left behind?

On this last Sunday of the liturgical year, we look forward to the coming of the kingdom. We utter our own hopes for life with Jesus, just like the good thief did on his cross.

But who remembered Jesus on that Good Friday?

Jesus was totally abandoned on the cross. The only person who believed in him was a murderer, a criminal who wasn’t even one of his followers. How did Jesus feel when someone, anyone, finally expressed some belief in him during those horrible last moments? It must have been almost as painful for Jesus to see his friends run away as it was to undergo such horrific torture. The people he had come to save had rejected him. His own best friends had abandoned him. Was his mission a failure? Was there any hope at all that the world could be saved?

Yet, a common criminal showed faith in Jesus. “Any chance you could put in a good word for me? Just in case?” Jesus’ own closest friends, James and John, had asked that they be placed one on his right hand and one on his left, in the kingdom. He didn’t give it to them. However, this loser has the audacity to ask for the same thing, and Jesus gives it to him. For whatever reason, whether he truly believed that Jesus was who he said he was or if he was just covering his bases, the good thief’s request gave Jesus the hope he needed.

“You will be with me in paradise. Yes, there is a paradise and we will soon be in it. There is hope, for both of us.” We end this year with a message of hope. Just as Jesus was given hope on the cross, we are given hope because of that cross.

Jesus saw that hope in the plea of someone who needed him, someone who was completely hopeless himself.  The good thief’s request got Jesus’ mind off his own sufferings. He could perform one last miracle. He could show mercy to someone who didn’t deserve it. He could offer salvation to one of the very people he had come to save. The thief got it. He got the message. Jesus’ mission on earth had not been a failure. And if someone who had not been one of his followers got it, there must be lots of other folks who got it, too. There really is a kingdom.

Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.

This is the Feast of Christ the King. Yet, what a strange king we have. Kings have thrones. Jesus had a cross. Kings have crowns of gold. Jesus had a crown of thorns. Kings have a court of attendants to wait upon them. Jesus’ friends all ran away. Kings have rings of gold on their fingers. Jesus had nails driven into his hands. Kings receive accolades. Jesus was mocked by everyone, even by the guy hanging next to him.

We don’t do kings well in America. In fact, we fought a long war of independence to get rid of the yoke of kings. We chafe against anyone and anything that curtails our freedoms. But how do we see freedom? Is it just being able to do what we want without interference? That’s not freedom, that’s license.

Jesus is a different kind of king. He doesn’t take away our freedom, he gives it back to us. By humbling himself on that cross, Jesus showed us what real freedom is. Freedom in the kingdom of God is freedom from sin, freedom from the shackles of our own selfish humanity, freedom from death.


People in Jesus’ day understood what it meant to have a king. Everything they owned could be forfeit at his command. Their very lives were in his hands. At his whim they could be put to death. Signs of the emperor’s influence were everywhere, from the heavy taxes he levied against them to his ever-present legions of troops. To them, the emperor was the center of their lives, whether they liked it or not.

Who are our kings today? Around what does your life revolve?

Do we embrace the cross or just work ever harder for the comforts of this life? Do we resent our sufferings or enter into them, joining them with those of Jesus, to give them meaning? Many enter this season of Advent with feelings of hope and joy. But many others approach it with dread. For some it is a time of great loneliness. Perhaps they lost a spouse, or parent, or close friend this year and this will be the first Christmas without them. Maybe they’re out of work and fear they won’t be able to provide their family with even the basics of a Christmas celebration. Maybe they are very ill and realize this will probably be their last Christmas. They long for a sense of hope.

Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.

Jesus understands these feelings. He understands loneliness, fear, and death. He experienced them. He conquered them. The message of today’s gospel is that no matter how hopeless things seem, we will not be forgotten. How could Jesus forget us? The same good shepherd who would leave the 99 sheep to find the lost one would never forget us. The same Lord who showed mercy to the good thief on his cross will show mercy to us as well.

We won’t be left behind.



Sunday, November 17, 2013

YOLO

33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time
Cycle C

What a strange thing to say.

Imagine if you and some friends were visiting St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome or even the Cathedral of the Madeline here in Salt Lake and you were oohing and ahhing about the beautiful architecture and artwork and someone in the group said, “You know, all of this is going to be destroyed soon. You’d probably think, “What a downer! Who asked for your opinion?” Awkward.

But Jesus’ disciples didn’t have that reaction. They didn’t say to Jesus, “What do you mean, it will all be destroyed?” They asked him when it would happen. Not if but when. It’s almost as if they were expecting it to happen, and Jesus just confirmed that expectation.

That’s because they were.

The Jews of Jesus’ time were apocalyptic, eschatological. They were looking for the Messiah, and they believed that he would bring about the end days. This belief was in the writings of the prophets, and during the last few centuries it had risen to fever pitch. They saw the end and the coming of the Messiah as relief from their own suffering. They weren’t afraid of the end; they saw it as a good thing. And so, if they believed that Jesus was the Messiah, it was natural that he would say such a thing and natural that they would respond as they did.

What they didn’t expect was that Jesus’ answer included not glory but even more suffering and persecution. They thought the end was going to be the glorious restoration of Israel to its rightful place atop the nations. They did not expect destruction. They thought the Messiah would destroy the Romans. They didn’t dream that the Messiah himself would have to suffer under their hands. They never dreamed that their beloved temple and city would be crushed into the dust by them.

And yet that is what they got. The temple was destroyed by the Romans in 70 AD. Not one stone was left atop the other. And in 135AD Jerusalem and the entire nation was wiped out by the Romans during the rebellion of Bar Kokhba. The Jewish people would be dispersed throughout the world, to suffer even more persecution and suffering, for the next 2000 years.

Jesus was talking about something that would happen within one generation of his death and resurrection, yet his prophesy has rung true throughout all generations. There have always been wars and the threat of war, famine and natural disasters, and the end has not yet come. And so, I think we get complacent about the end and get lulled into a false sense of security.

The difference between us and the Jews of Jesus’ time is that we would be surprised by his statement. Maybe even embarrassed and offended that he brought it up. We’d not only be surprised by his description of the end times, we’d be incredulous that there even would be an end. For us, the end of the world is something out of a Hollywood movie. Sometimes it’s an alien invasion that does us in, other times it’s a huge asteroid or some other environmental disaster. 

This year it seems to be zombies.

Most of us are not looking towards the end times. We rarely even think about it. We live for the moment. Heck, less than 30% of us are even planning for our own retirement, let alone the end of the world. We don’t look towards our own ends, our own deaths, so why should we think about the end of the world? We are indestructible and can overcome anything.

Throughout the centuries, the end times have been depicted in art and popular culture as the violent destruction of the world, but where does Jesus say that? Jesus said that in the end all things would be made new. He never said the world would be destroyed, just transformed. How do we know what form the end will take? How can we know the time? We can’t and we shouldn’t. Like the Jews of the first century, we should not see the end of the world as a frightful thing, but the time of our redemption.

The Jews looked forward to the restoration of Israel. We look forward to the restoration of all creation. Judgment for us is not punishment. Judgment for us is justice. When the Son of Man comes in his glory we will share in that glory. Isn’t that what we are always hoping for?

And when we see the suffering and persecution of the followers of Christ, we should not be afraid, even if it happens to us. Jesus’ message to the disciples today is be not afraid. Don’t worry about these things happening, they are inevitable. The nature of being a Christian is to be misunderstood and even attacked. But we are not to fret about what we are to do or what we are to say. The Spirit will guide us in what to say and what to do.

St. Padre Pio is famous for saying, “Pray, Hope and Don’t Worry”. What a wonderful mantra. I have a printout of it hanging on the wall of my prayer room. I wish I could live by it. It is so easy to worry about all the bad things that might happen to us, even though 90% of what we worry about never happens and we can’t do anything to change the other 10%.

It’s funny. We don’t look towards the future yet that’s all we worry about. We live our lives for the moment yet worry about the unknown. Isn’t that a new mantra for today’s youth, YOLO, “You Only Live Once”?  The kids are right; we do need to live like there’s no tomorrow, not because we want to cram as much pleasure into our lives as possible with no consequences, but because there will be consequences. When the end happens it happens. Nothing we can do can change it. We need to live in the moment yet be prepared in our hearts and souls.

Just because we are not to worry doesn’t mean we aren’t to reflect on our lives and our actions from time to time and make corrections. I’m not saying don’t worry because you’re ok no matter what you do. I’m saying that we are all struggling to live our lives as true disciples and we shouldn’t worry about bad things happening to us. We understand that all our actions have consequences, both good and bad, but that should not cause us to fear and worry about it.

We will be hearing similar readings at Mass the next few weeks as we prepare to celebrate the coming of the Lord at Christmas. The church gives us these readings not to scare us into submission but to give us the opportunity to ponder the true meaning of our lives and God’s loving gift of redemption. We do this as we enter into the cold days and long nights of winter because we know that in a little while it will be spring.


You see, we are also apocalyptic people. We too are looking towards the end of time. We say it at every Mass: We look forward with joyful hope to the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

Sunday, November 3, 2013

Feelin' Small

31st Sunday in Ordinary Time
Cycle C
Last week we heard the story of the prayer of the Pharisee versus the prayer of the tax collector. Today we meet the tax collector.

Luke says that Zacchaeus was short of stature, and that he ran ahead to climb a sycamore tree in order to get a good look at Jesus. Zacchaeus was not a man concerned with appearances. A grown man in Jesus’ time did not climb trees. It would not be dignified. But then, Zacchaeus was not overly concerned with what other people thought, was he? He was the chief tax collector for Jericho, and he had gotten rich mainly by charging exorbitant fees on top of the taxes he collected from his neighbors for the hated Roman Empire. He had chosen wealth over prestige and honor long ago.

Why did Zacchaeus need to climb that tree? It wasn’t because he was short. If he were a man of influence and respect, the people would have let him move up to the front of the crowd so he could not only see Jesus but meet him. But no, his countrymen despised him and crowded him out. He was forced into that tree. He was forced into the humiliating position of having to climb a tree in order to see. Zacchaeus was probably used to being humiliated. He knew what his neighbors thought of him, and even his great wealth could not insulate him from their insults.

Have you ever been really embarrassed by something you did? Were you ever picked on as a kid? How did you feel? Did you want to curl up in a ball and disappear? Did you want to become small and invisible? I think Zacchaeus is a metaphor for what our sins do to us, how they make us feel. When we do something that we know is wrong, we feel small. We want to hide ourselves and our sins from view. We don’t feel very good about ourselves. When we are proud we stand up tall. When we are embarrassed we hunch over and make ourselves small. A good man is a pillar of the community. We say a man without honor is a small man. That was Zacchaeus.

But Jesus found him. Jesus was actually looking for him. He didn’t say, “Zacchaeus, can I come over to your house?” He said, Zacchaeus, come down quickly, for today I must stay at your house." He didn’t ask permission, he told him that he was compelled to stay with him that day. Do any of you remember Father Reyes Rodriguez? He was serving here at St. Mary’s and St. Lawrence for awhile several years ago. Once, on Super Bowl Sunday, just before the game was to start, the doorbell rang and it was Fr. Reyes standing on my porch unannounced. He said, “Hello, Zacchaeus, I must come and watch the Super Bowl at your house today.” Then he proceeded to plop himself down on the couch, kicked off his shoes, and put his feet up on the coffee table to watch the game. I was so surprised all I could do was grab him a beer.

Something happened to Zacchaeus that day, something that changed his life forever. We have no record of what Jesus said to him or what he did, but we know the effects. Jesus gave Zacchaeus a way out of his sinfulness. He offered him redemption. Zacchaeus felt small because his neighbors shunned him. Jesus gave him prestige when he chose to stay with him out of all the people in Jericho. He gave him honor and value when he told the good Jews, “This man too is one of you. He is also a son of Abraham. You may not like him or approve of how he lives his life, but he has value. He has so much value that I want to dwell with him.”

Zacchaeus was hunkered down and Jesus lifted him up. Zacchaeus responded to Jesus’ offer of redemption. And it brought salvation to his house. How many times do we feel unworthy of love? How many times do we make poor choices in our lives and think ourselves worthless failures? How many times do people humiliate us because of it? How many times do we feel small?

Zacchaeus had the advantage of having Jesus himself to lift him up, but all we have is each other. We may intellectually know that God loves us no matter what. We may tell ourselves that at least God will never reject us. We can hear the words from Wisdom today, “For you love all things that are and loathe nothing that you have made; for what you hated, you would not have fashioned,” and that’s all very good, but do they ever really change things in our lives? Do they stop the bullying? We can hear these words of comfort yet still live in fear of humiliation from our neighbors who don’t approve of our lifestyles. Bumper stickers that proclaim, “Jesus Loves You”, are all well and good, but unless someone actually lives that love for us in the real world they are just words.

We know that Jesus loves us, but we want the love of other people, too, don’t we? Jesus went straight to the sinner because he was compelled to. Do we do the same? Jesus knew that Zacchaeus felt small because of his sins and was hiding in a tree on the outskirts of town, hoping to see him. Jesus knew that his lifestyle was sinful, but he went to him anyway. Remember that the next time you judge someone because you think they are living a sinful life. Remember that the next time you see a gay couple walking down the street holding hands, or a couple who is cohabitating or divorced and remarried outside the Church. Remember that the next time your teenage daughter comes home late with her deadbeat boyfriend and you know what they’ve been doing. Remember that when you make them feel small with a snide comment or a disapproving glance just to make yourself feel superior. We say we hate the sin but love the sinner, but do we?

“This man too is a son of Abraham.”

All Zacchaeus wanted was a chance to repent. All he wanted was someone to accept him and give him a way out. He repented far too quickly for it to have been a spur of the moment decision for him. He knew he was doing wrong. He had been thinking about this for a long time; he just needed a plan and a push. He needed someone to give him the invitation with no judgments attached. He needed to feel he had value as a human being, just because he was created by a loving God. Jesus gave that to him. Do you think the people in our lives are any different? Are we ourselves really any different from Zacchaeus?


In a short while Jesus would be walking down another road, surrounded by people who were mocking and hitting and humiliating him. You could say he also climbed a tree, but not because he wanted to see, but in order to be seen by all.