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.

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.

Are We There Yet?

3^rd 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!