6th Sunday of Easter—May 5, 2013
Theme:
‘Not as the World Gives’
This
Sunday’s Gospel captures the heart of the Christian faith: “We will come to him
and make our dwelling with him.” Christianity is not a law-based religion
or one that uses strict moral bookkeeping as its indicator of spiritual
progress. Christian holiness is a matter of something entirely new—a
matter of becoming wholly united with God as he dwells in and through each of
his followers, thereby forming that “one Christ” which is his Body, his Church.
Readings:
[Acts
15:1-2, 22-29 ● Rv. 21:10-14, 22-23 ● Jn. 14:23-29]
Homily:
The first
generation of Christians needed some time to figure out the “newness” of their
recently-begotten faith. This time of decision making was not without its
tensions and struggles. Yet, the Holy Spirit led the Apostles to set the
faith in the way God intended and, foremost in this new founding, was the
Apostle Paul. St. Paul was so open to the Spirit, he refused to allow
communities to revert back into their desire to put the Jewish law at the
center of their new life in Christ. For the first Christians wanted to
keep a hold of the law because it was unambiguous, achievable, and
certain. This temptation to put plans above people, and actions over
being, is perennial. Why so? The law is easy: we remain in charge
of our lives and we determine how we stand with the divine. Love is a new
way, a way that demands not our determination so much as our receptivity, not
so much our exertion as our vulnerability. Love is terrifying (how often
we hear the Lord tell us, “Do not be afraid”) precisely for that reason, we are
no longer at the center of our lives, but now are called to find our welfare in
the heart of another. Love demands that we let go of the illusion of
self-centeredness and thus become participants in the life of another, in the
divine life of God.
This is why
even the liturgy is new for the Christian people: no longer a matter of
determining and enacting the rituals precisely so as to curry the quasi-magical
favor of the divine, but now a means of personally appropriating liturgical
rites and symbols. Notice what John is doing in Revelation. He
demands that the new temple is not a place but a person, not the edifice Jews
longed to see in the heart of their ancient city Jerusalem, but it is the
Lord’s very person. Even paradise is now something new: no longer a
distant destination but a living relationship. Heaven is now, ultimately,
Christ’s divine humanity here, eternally presented in terms of light and the Lamb
who was slain, but who now rules forever. The glory of God is now this
invitation for all to approach and to see his life and labors through temples
and created things (e.g., sun and moon).
Again, it
is St. Paul who expresses this theology first: we are the new and living
temples of God (cf. 1 Cor 6:19). This enjoys a long pedigree in Christian
thought. Ignatius of Antioch insisted that he was Theophorus, the God-bearer. Origen taught
that the true heavens were the Christian people gathered in worship. St. Augustine
knew that liturgical accoutrements mattered only when they became assumed and
appropriated by Christ’s followers: “Imitate what you celebrate and become what
you praise” (sermon 345.5),
“Be what you proclaim” (sermon
34.6). This is where the spirituality of all the great saints
and mystics converge: they know they have been chosen so as to allow Christ to
dwell not only in and through them, but as
them. This is essential to understand if our congregations are ever going
to embrace and live the faith fully. Christ did not come to live a mere 33
years on this earth, but to dwell in and through every baptized member of his
body. He not only came, he comes,
even now, in the way we choose to live his life. He can come in glory and
light, joy and integrity; or, he can come impaired and less than recognizable
when we choose to lead sinful lives, unworthy of those who bear his name. How
could we, today, forge a greater connection between what people say and see at
Mass, and who they are becoming? Images abound: becoming God’s light in
the world, his Word to those with whom we are in conversation, his Eucharist to
those who hunger for more.
So, as we
either build up to the Gospel in our homily today, or choose to focus
singularly on it alone, we should stress two main points: (1) humanity’s love
of God means keeping his word; and (2) God’s love for humanity means his coming
to dwell within us. First, to keep God’s word is not simply a matter of
textual adherence, but a way of living, that consistently closes the places in
our lives where an obvious gap exists between who we are called to be as
saints, and where we find ourselves today. Perhaps, we could invite our
congregation to an examination of conscience: “Where do you hold on to God’s
word? Where in your life do you think and act like Christ? Where do
you still put your own opinions and desires first? Where do you expect
God to agree with you, and not the other way around?” Second, use the
Liturgy of the Eucharist, and the supreme moment of Holy Communion, as the
great instance of how God hungers to dwell in his creatures. He loves us
more than we love ourselves and, just as bread utilizes many grains of
wheat—ground, kneaded and baked—to make one loaf of bread, the Lord longs to
unite us as one in the same way. He “grinds” us by destroying our
self-centeredness; he “kneads” us by adding to our souls the waters of baptism;
and he “bakes” us in the fire of his Holy Spirit. We are to become his
presence so the world may know that, even though he has ascended to the Father,
his adopted brothers and sisters, his Mystical Body, make the presence of the
Eucharist real by becoming Jesus’ hands and eyes, his feet and his words in
this world. Here, is the peace the world can never know: that in our
living outside of ourselves, we find freedom; in dying to the false comforts
and familiarities of sin, we become fully alive; in keeping God’s word, we
inherit eternal life.
Suggested Readings from the Catechism of the Catholic Church [CCC]: 478, 575, 598, 616, and 2666
Ascension of the Lord—May 12,
2013
Theme:
Looking Backwards, So As to
Live Above
If Christ has truly ascended into
heaven, so have Christians. We are no longer meant only for this world but, on
this day, have also been made heavenly beings, the children of God.
Today, we can stress how the restless heart will never be content resting
in creatures, and that the discomforts of living in this world are not signs of
failure but of grace, reminders that we are made for heaven.
Readings:
Acts 1:1-11 ● Eph 1:17-23 / Heb 9:24-28; 10:10-23 ● Lk 24:46-53
Homily:
Some in the
Church will celebrate the Ascension today; others will celebrate it on the
coming Sunday. Either way, we begin with St. Luke’s opening of the Acts of the
Apostles. Addressed to Theophilus, a name meaning “Lover of God,” this
work is thus given to all who constitute Christ’s body, intended as a record
for all those who love the Lord. At the onset, Luke begins by reporting
how Christ ascended to the Father, after a relatively lengthy discourse on
reading the “signs of the times,” and on our need to receive the Holy Spirit,
if we are going to be able to carry out our vocation to evangelize. What
is intriguing here is how the “power” of the Holy Spirit, Jesus says, does not
give us extra-human telepathic powers to know the future, but something even
better, the grace to become his witnesses throughout the whole of the earth.
Here,
perhaps, we could get those at Mass to see how the spiritual life is one
primarily of retrospection. As C.S. Lewis suggests, “The doors of the
spiritual life open only backwards.”
That is, we
grow in holiness as we come to embrace more truly all that God has done for
us. We grow in our trust of God by seeing how God has never really
abandoned us, and to see how the Lord has been present, in one way or another,
in every scene of our life up to this point. The future is not something
the Lord ever offers us: “It is not for you to know the times or the seasons …
But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you.” How do
we examine our consciences in gratitude at the end of each day? How do we
see God’s blessings throughout our lives? Do we take the time for daily
reflection, perhaps for an annual retreat? Could we ourselves use part of
today’s homily to show our people how to examine their consciences?
If so,
perhaps we could take them through the five main points of the Examen, as
Ignatius of Loyola conceived of it. Settle into a comfortable place and recall
how you are, right now, in the presence of a loving and providential God. Review
the past 24 hours, giving thanks to God, our Lord, for all the many benefits
received.
Now, ask
for the Holy Spirit to descend into you, allowing you to see the actions that
stand out to you from this day, as the Holy Spirit sees them. Ask for the
grace to know your intentions and what it was you were trying to accomplish in
those events that come back to you.
Review one
or two of those scenes from the day. Take the time to “walk- around” what
prevailing emotion or experience emerges that day. Why am I feeling
stressed? Why did I act that way with that person with whom I am normally
quite happy to see? Why do I have this unexplained sense of joy or peace
today? And so on.
End by
simply talking to Jesus about what just happened, and what you are facing the
next day. Offer him your stress or joy, your co-workers or families,
whatever it was you spent time walking around just minutes before. Ask
him to bless and to consecrate these very real and very concrete circumstances
of your everyday life. Now, simply pray for light come tomorrow.
Some like to pray over the next day’s calendar and meetings. Ignatius
then suggests one ends with an Our Father or Hail Mary.
Jesus never
promises us details about the future, but simply invites us to “come and
see.” No destinations, no Google Maps, simply the trust offered those who
are humble enough to allow him to lead.
From here
we could expound accordingly on the virtue of hope (Ephesians) as the virtue of
the traveler forced to live, day-to-day, in a world of temporal
uncertainty. Hope affords those of us on pilgrimage the serene assurance
that the destination has already been provided, and now one must simply allow
oneself to be led by the Spirit. If Hebrews is selected as the second
reading, one could frame the Ascension of Christ as God’s invitation to see how
the sacrifice of Calvary is now completed, as the Son and the Father are
reunited in heaven. This sacrifice, which has transformed all things,
continues in this Mass, where we are elevated to the Father as his children.
Finally,
the Gospel provides, of course, the definitive scene of Christ’s being “taken
up to heaven.” This could provide the crescendo of our reflections: in
Christ, we are no longer merely terrestrial beings. We constitute a body
whose head is now in heaven and, therefore, we are no longer to think like mere
mortals, to act like self-centered horrors, and to seek satisfaction in things
that are ultimately dust.
Do we take
the care needed to foster such a sense of heaven in our lives? Do we
insist on prayerful contemplation each day? Do we carve out room for
intentional silence each day so as to hear better the call of Christ from
heaven? Do we think of heavenly or earthly things, watch “heavenly” or
“earthly” shows, visit internet sites worthy of eternity or not? There is
a real opportunity this day to get people to understand the trials and woes of
this world, not as places where they are failing necessarily, but as places where
God is, indeed, calling them higher. He is calling them out of thinking they
are to live for only 70 or 80 years; calling them out of self-loathing and
internal division, out of their despair, loneliness and the temptation to think
that this world is all there is.
Suggested Readings from the Catechism of the Catholic
Church [CCC]: 572, 601, 652, 2177, 2625, 2763
7th Sunday of Easter—May 12 (if the Ascension was
celebrated on Thursday, May 9)
Theme:
The Unifying Power of Love
Love is a
unifying power (vis unitiva) in that
it unites otherwise separate, if not disparate, others. By looking up to
heaven, both Stephen and Jesus, aim to catch others up into their gazing upon
the Father. Both are today represented as “martyrs,” witnesses, to the
Father’s love. These readings thus aim to bring our parishioners into a
greater understanding of how they, too, are to be caught up in this great
movement of love, from the Father, to the Son, to his Church.
Readings:
[ Acts 7:55-60 ● Rv. 22:12-14,16-17, 20 ● Jn. 17:20-26]
Homily:
The
readings, today, begin with a mad rush, but end with a gentle prayer: from
Stephen’s stoning to Christ’s intimacy with the Father, we see how “unworldly”
Christian love really is. Jerusalem’s Sanhedrin could not stand hearing
what they considered to be blasphemous, Stephen’s equating Jesus with their one
true God (“the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God”). Such an
incarnational theology brought God to close, and seemed to multiply divinities,
challenging both the transcendence, and the monotheism, upon which Judaism is
rightly built. God is wholly other, and there is only one God. What
these religious leaders could not, however, fathom was the consubstantiality of
Father and Son (with the Holy Spirit uniting them equally). How often do
we use our perceptions of error to act on our own pent-up frustrations and
hatreds? How long must these men have hated Stephen?
The word
“martyr” is used over 400 times in the New Testament, truly a central image for
the early Christians’ description of what it means to belong to Christ.
What did such witnessing entail? First, there was a close and dear
knowledge of the Lord’s life and ways within oneself, which was a kind of
incessant awareness transforming our moment to moment existence. Second,
this interiority led to external courage, and the desire to make Christ known
in whatever way his Spirit was bidding at that time. At some moments, it
may mean patiently and prayerfully waiting, at other times, it may mean
speaking boldly even to the point of death.
But,
martyrdom is not an end in and of itself. St. Augustine knew it was the
cause, not the pain that made the martyr (causa
non poena martyrum fecit), and the readings today reflect
this. We end not with Stephen’s death, but move on to John’s vision of
the Church. “Come, Lord Jesus”— Maranatha—”Come,
come to your bride, the Church, our souls, and give us your very life!”
This is precisely what Jesus does in the Gospel: he comes to us and,
simultaneously, brings us into his own communion with the Father. The
Church is the extension of Christ’s own body and, therefore, the only place of
holy communion. We must, therefore, exhort others to see that martyrdom
is never an isolated act, but a communal giving of self. The Christian is
never alone, never acts in seclusion. Can we get people today to see that
they are never alone, never separate from one another, the saints, the
Trinity? Loneliness is the greatest illusion the enemy uses today to try
to convince people they don’t matter, that they have to work everything out for
themselves.
Against
such a lie, we must get others to see that only by handing themselves over to
Christ and to his body, can they find true freedom and security. On this
Sunday, we might get our congregations to think alongside spiritual master,
Jean Pierre de Caussade, in his book, Abandonment
to Divine Providence. This work provides guidelines by which
one can grow in sensing God’s direction throughout the day, as well as how to
unite boldly one’s own will with God’s desires. The first point is in
trusting that nothing is done, nothing happens, which God has not foreseen from
all eternity. Everything in my life happens because God has directly
willed or, at least, passively permitted it. Would not our lives change
dramatically if we would believe that everything that happens to each of us is,
in fact, an invitation from God showing how he neither wills nor permits
anything to happen in each person’s life, other than what will draw each one of
us closer to him? All things in my life are a result of the Father’s
love, and his glory in Christ, for all those who love him in return. Once
this trust has been established in my life, I can move on to seek true freedom
and joy. How so? According to de Caussade, we should hand ourselves
over to God in every circumstance of our lives. We do this, not only by
seeing all things in our lives as God’s invitation toward greater union with
him and the saints (passive submission), but also to seek actively God’s will
for us in each moment of our day (active abandonment). We must begin to
see ourselves as those in whom God labors, longing to love those he
intentionally puts into our day. We are the God-bearers whose only
ultimate vocation in life is to become Christ to the world.
This will
not be easy; it will take martyrdom. John of the Cross realizes that “The
divine awakening produces in the soul of the perfect, a flame of love which
participates in that living flame, the Holy Spirit himself … this is the
operation of the Holy Spirit in the soul that is transformed in love, that his
interior actions cause it to send out flames … This flame wounds the soul as it
is given, but the wound is tender, and, instead of causing death, it increases
life; for the soul is holiest that is most wounded by love” (The Dark Night of the Soul).
Invite others this day to see where they do trust Christ, and have handed
themselves over but, also, ask them where they are still unwilling to suffer
the tender death of abandonment. Where are they already one with Christ,
and where do they still resist the unifying power of love?
Suggested Readings from the Catechism of the Catholic Church [CCC]: 877, 1258, 2473
Pentecost Sunday—May 19, 2013
Theme:
Fiery Flesh
Pentecost
was first celebrated, obviously, in Jerusalem, as we read in Acts 2 today, soon
becoming one of the more important liturgical feasts in our Church. Why
so? Pentecost is to the Holy Spirit what Christmas is to the Son: a
divine person’s definitive break into the created order, now inviting other
(created) persons into greater life-giving communion.
Readings:
[Acts 2:1-11 ● 1 Cor.
12:3b-7, 12-13 or Rom 8:8-17 ● Jn. 20:19-23 or Jn. 14:15-16, 23b-26]
Homily:
The Spirit
has never been missing from creation. He is first noticed hovering over
the primal waters in Genesis; we see how he came to the patriarchs, the priests
and the prophets of Israel, dwelling in such diverse figures as Samson and King
David. Yet, today, there is something new, something more personal, reciprocal.
It is one thing to be inspired, even “taken over” by God. But, it is something
altogether different to have God’s Spirit dwelling personally within our souls,
enabling us to unite our intellects and wills freely to him throughout each
moment of the day.
This is one
way to approach these festal readings today: the Spirit comes today as the Son,
who, likewise, was never really absent from his people. He comes at his
nativity, in a new and definitively “enfleshed” manner. Yet, the Spirit’s
“incarnation” is not manifest in one man, but in the Church. Whereas, the
Son “hypostatically” united himself to one human nature in the womb of Our
Lady, the Spirit comes to one mystical body, Christ’s Church. “Where the
Church is, there is also the Spirit of God; and where the Spirit of God is,
there is the Church and all grace” (Irenaeus, Against Heresies, 3.24.1). The Spirit
is the love poured into the hearts (cf. Rom 5:5) of those he adopts as children
of the Father, making us other Christs by grafting us as branches onto the
great Vine. The Spirit is thus the one who extends and continues the Body
of Christ throughout all time, and into every corner of the globe (cf. Acts
1:8). As any great protagonist’s arrival, the Spirit’s entrance, today,
is marked by fire and by wind, by these “symbols” of ardency, lissomness, and
movement, outwards and upwards. Here, the followers of Christ truly
become Catholic, universal, as they are now sent to all peoples. There is
now one body (cf. 1 Cor 12:12), infinitely greater than the geography of
Israel; the New Covenant is for all, “whether Jews or Greeks, slaves or free”
(1 Cor 12:13).
That is why
Paul also reminds the Romans that before God broke into this world personally
and irrevocably, humanity suffered under the Law because without the grace of
Christ, without being able to realize God as one’s own loving Abba (cf. Rom
8:15), we were craving sin, still “debtors to the flesh” (Rom 8:12). The
Spirit liberates us from these fallen desires by uniting us, not only to God,
but to God’s people. In this, I refer to the efficacy of the Holy Spirit
as the “three C’s”: communion, conviction, and conversion. First, the
Spirit is the one who eternally unites the Father and the Son in the Love who
is the Trinity; therefore, in time (in what theologians call, the “economy” of
salvation) it is fitting that the Spirit continues this same sort of
uniting. Whereas the Spirit is the infinite communion between divine
persons, in time, he connects human persons to divine persons, as well as to
other human persons. This is the Church: a people bound in love to God,
and to one another. Second, the Spirit never condemns us of our sins but,
instead, convicts us (cf. Jn 16:8) showing us where God is not yet done with
us, and where his love is burning all the more ardently. If our people
ever feel mocked or belittled by their sins, this is not coming from the Holy
Spirit but the enemy; the Spirit’s pricking of conscience is always done in
hope and in love. Finally, the Spirit is given to the members of Christ’s
body, not simply for their own personal sake, but for their courage to convert
the nations. The good Spirit is always the Spirit of constant conversion, of
speaking boldly to ourselves, and to others in the world, that they are made
for holiness, created for Christ!
All these
themes are contained in the beautiful Sequence for today’s feast: Veni, Sancte Spiritus.
Let us not rush over this. The Holy Spirit comes (“Veni“) into our very
selves so that we experience the Father anew, and render our lives sweetened by
his presence. The Spirit is, therefore, our light, our comfort, our
solace, our innermost selves. He is the divine breath which Christ
imparts upon us, giving all the power to loose and to bind sins, sending all
throughout the world. Jesus gives us his Spirit, not only to ensure his
love, but to assure us of his love; we now have the same communion with the
Father, the same “Advocate” which Christ enjoyed while he preached and prayed
on earth. We are made other Christs in this Spirit, for we now enjoy the
same divine gifts and power. So, if we do not choose to preach directly
on the Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit, perhaps we could run a brief catechesis
in our parish bulletins this week on the “sevenfold gift” mentioned in the Sequence:
fear of the Lord (timor
Domini), piety (pietas),
knowledge (scientia),
fortitude (fortitudo),
counsel (consilium),
intelligence (intellectus),
and wisdom (sapientia).
We could describe what each gift is, or perhaps more importantly, show that through
Christ’s imparting of his Spirit into each one of us and onto his Church, he
longs to share his own divine life with all. This is the good news: we no
longer have to live merely as fallen, wayward humans. We have been given
God’s own Spirit, a spirit of adoption and filial boldness. In the same
Spirit, we have been brought into divine communion, convicted that we can
indeed be saints, and converted outward for the salvation of the world.
Come, Holy Spirit!
Suggested Readings from the Catechism [CCC]: 731-32, 1287, 1830-32, 2632
The Most Holy Trinity Sunday—May 26, 2013
Theme:
The Inner Life of Our Maker
The
movement of the liturgical year comes to its crescendo today. We prepare
for Christ’s coming in Advent, celebrate his appearance at Christmas, go out
with him in the desert during Lent, are with him in his abandonment during
the holy Triduum, rise with him on Easter, go up with him on the Ascension, let
the Holy Spirit come down upon us at Pentecost, and now, today, rejoice in this
“three-persons” God, who, we now understand, has been at work all along.
Readings:
[Prov. 8:22-31 ● Rom. 5:1-5 ● Jn. 16:12-15]
Homily:
We begin
every prayer, and every liturgy, by revealing the inner-life of our
Maker—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. We remind ourselves of his presence
as we pass every Catholic Church and tabernacle. We pray this threefold life at
the beginning of every rosary, every hour of our breviaries, and at the close
of each day. This is our life, this is our God: perfect love manifest as
life-giving unity between persons. But, how can we get the average parishioner
to appreciate the infinite profundity and beauty of the Most Holy
Trinity? Try this.
Ask how
many people are present in the parish today? At any given Mass, how many
people are in attendance? 500? 1000? Now ask how many
“humans” are present. Laughter, and then the same number repeated.
Stop and ask, how many persons are God? Three. But how many Gods
are there? One. See the hitch? You and I have our own
humanity, and if I do not like this homily, or if I do not like you, I can
“pick up” my humanity, and go home. You and I have an autonomy which, in
our American way of thinking, might appear, at first blush, to be a good
thing. Don’t you and I usually equate autonomy with perfection? The
more proficient I become at this or that, the less I need others to show me
what to do. The more individually wealthy I become, the less I need to
rely on others for help. And so on. Yet, it is not that way in God:
the Father has a unique identity as Father only because he has a Son. The
Father does not have his “own” divinity, but shares the divine nature,
godliness, while perfectly in communion with the Son, and the Spirit. The
nature of God is not exclusive to any one person, with the result that the
persons of the Trinity have a unique identity, not because of their substance
(divinity), but because of their relationship with one another. The
Father is identifiable as Father only vis-a-vis the Son, the Son vis-a-vis the
Father, and the Spirit receives his particular identity only as the Love
between them, the Gift uniting Giver (Begetter) and Receiver (Begotten).
If we can
convey such a mystery, we can then invite our congregation to imagine how they
understand perfection. Most of us instinctually think of perfection as
autonomy, not as dependence. We think of perfection as moving away from
others, standing out. But, it is not that way with God. Divine perfection
is revealed today as reliance on the other, as the need for relationship in
order to understand fully who I am. This is the Christian paradox: the
self is made only for gift, and one cannot truly know oneself, cannot truly
flourish as a person, until one learns how to make oneself gift (cf., Gaudium et Spes
§22). Today, we could thus emphasize the Church as the place where one
learns to make oneself a gift for others, in service, through intercessory
prayer and Mass attendance, through acts of charity at home and throughout our
communities.
Sin arises
in most of us when we feel that we are unable to make ourselves gift. We
fearfully hold on to our petty little selves because, at least, there we will
not be open to the risk of loving. C.S. Lewis is unmatchable here: “To
love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly
be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact,
you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round
with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in
the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket— safe, dark,
motionless, airless—it will change. It will not be broken; it will become
unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy or, at
least, to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven,
where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love,
is Hell” (The Four Loves).
Use the
homily to focus a few minutes on the security and confidence the Gospel is
meant to convey this day: all that the Father is belongs by nature to Christ,
and all that he is and has, is now ours by grace. We can never be taken
from the Lord’s hands. When we realize this more and more, we can quit trying
to define ourselves, make ourselves determine our own way. We are to be
led into the vulnerability of Christ, first and foremost, by realizing that our
welfare is not something discoverable within our little selves, but is found in
the well-being of another. This is the movement of true love, not only
outward, but upward as well. When we risk the “dangers and perturbations”
of love, we risk losing our illusion of self-rule and autonomy. Like the
Trinity, you and I are made for eternal communion, to come to know and find
ourselves only through a sincere gift of self. Truer strength could not
be given.
Suggested Readings from the Catechism [CCC]: 232-37, 2205, 2655
Thank you,
David
Vincent Maconi, SJ
[20th
April 2013]
