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?