Interview with Pope Francis

Homily – September 22, 2013

Today I decided to move away from the readings and talk a little about an event that has received considerable press this past week – an interview with Pope Francis. I decided to do this first, because I wanted to, and secondly, I suspect most people have heard about the interview from the secular press. I do think the press generally has done a good job in covering the interview but their perspective has been a bit narrow and coverage has been limited to a few topics. I think it is important to consider the interview in a wider context. And so that is what I am going to try to do. Please keep in mind that I offer these reflections not as an historian of the papacy or as a theologian. I speak as a pastor, or rather, as a former pastor now removed from the responsibilities of administration but still trying to minister in whatever way I am called.

On Thursday, when the interview was first published, emails and text messages from friends came fast and furious – had I heard about the interview, had I read it? Why all the fuss? Well, it is rare for a Pope to grant an interview. And in this interview Pope Francis spoke with a candor and tone that is not like anything we have heard before from the Bishop of Rome, the successor of Saint Peter.

Each Pope brings to the papacy his own personality, his own style. I have lived under seven popes and each has been very different. Pope Pius XII, most of whose ministry was spent working in the Vatican under Pope Pius XI, was ever the diplomat in an era when the Pope was treated like royalty and took on the air of a prince. John XXIII, his successor, by contrast was the Italian grandfather everyone wanted to have! His calling the Second Vatican Council shocked everyone as he sought to find the church’s way in the modern world. Paul VI, in many ways, was like Pius XII. He worked for many years in the Vatican before becoming Bishop of Milan. He was really groomed for the papacy by Pius XII. I have always had a special place in my heart for Paul VI. In the years following the Council he suffered greatly as the church experienced growing pains trying to respond to the challenges of Vatican II. We hardly had time to get to know the so-called September Pope, John Paul I. But in a short month his engaging smile and profound spiritual insight voiced in the simplest of words made a lasting impact. Then came John Paul II, part ecclesiastical giant, part rock star as he traveled the world and, in a special way, captured the attention of young people. Both John Paul II and John XXIII will be proclaimed saints on Divine Mercy Sunday at the end of April and the world will applaud with thunderous ovations. Pope Benedict was always the professor, always the theologian carefully articulating, in his own shy manner, the tenets of the faith in words that were precise, clear and direct. And now we have the Argentinean of Italian parentage, Jorge Bergoglio – the first pope to choose the name Francis and the first pope who is a Jesuit. When he stepped out on the balcony in front of Saint Peter’s and was introduced to the world on the evening of his election I thought to myself: fasten your seatbelts, the church is beginning a wild ride to wherever it is that the Holy Spirit is leading us. I thought then and I think now, Francis has a Franciscan heart and a Jesuit mind.

About the interview. It was held over a period of three meetings in August when everybody is at the beach or in the mountains to avoid the heat and humidity of Rome. It seems no one knew about the interview – it was kept a secret until the text was published on Thursday. The interviewer was a Jesuit journalist, editor of an Italian Catholic journal. It was understood that the interview would be published on the same day by 17 Jesuit publications around the world. In the United States it was published by America magazine, a Jesuit commentary on issues at the heart of Catholicism, often as they relate to the secular world. America engaged five people to carefully translate the interview from Italian to English. It is important to note that Pope Francis gave final approval to the text so there can be no question about the accuracy of what was reported.

Now, why all the fuss? It has to do with style and tone, really. I think, my own opinion, that most of the pope’s before him, with the exception of John XXIII saw the church and world as two fighters  in opposite corners, opposed to one another. Taking his lead from John XXIII, outlined in his reason for calling the Second Vatican Council, Francis seeks to engage the world – not from an opposing corner. Rather he sees the necessity for the church to enter the ring with the world as it were, not to pick a fight but to engage in dialogue and find common ground where all can work to promote the dignity and worth of all of God’s children, whatever their origin, language or religion. For Francis, the dialogue begins with the recognition that all are sinners; all are in need of mercy; all miss the mark. But because of the goodness and patience and generous love of God, we need not be held captive by our shortcomings. For Francis, if God loves all of his children, can the church do less? In seeing the inherent goodness, the divine indwelling in all people, Francis is very much the Franciscan. In seeking to engage the world in dialogue rather than in confrontation, Francis is ever the Jesuit. It is sometimes said that most people look for the right answers; Jesuits, on the other hand, look to ask the right questions! And in this interview Francis raises some important questions about how the church sees, understands and approaches the world, particularly those in the world who struggle in any way. That accounts for his attention and love of the poor. Francis does not define the church as an institution but rather as the holy faithful people of God. In this he echoes the teaching of Vatican II. Francis said the church is like a field hospital after battle, needing to heal wounds and to warm the hearts of the faithful; Francis says the church needs “nearness, proximity” as it walks with people in their journey of life.

Francis said some other things about the church and the church’s ministers that got a great deal of attention because of the compassion and understanding his words convey. He said: “The church sometimes has locked itself up in small things, in small-minded rules. The most important thing is the first proclamation: Jesus Christ has saved you. And the ministers of the church must be ministers of mercy above all.” He went on to ask (here is the Jesuit asking questions!): “How are we treating the people of God? I dream of a church that is a mother and shepherdess. The church’s ministers must be merciful, take responsibility for the people and accompany them like the Good Samaritan, who washes, cleans and raises up his neighbor. This is pure gospel… The ministers of the Gospel must be people who can warm the hearts of the people, who walk through the dark night with them, who know how to dialogue and to descend themselves into their people’s night, into the darkness, but without getting lost.” Francis continued (you will have to tell me if you agree with him): “The people of God want pastors, not clergy acting like bureaucrats or government officials. The bishops, particularly, must be able to support the movements of God among their people with patience, so that no one is left behind. But they must also be able to accompany the flock that has a flair for finding new paths.”

Perhaps the part of the interview with Pope Francis that got the most attention was the section that dealt with hot button issues: abortion, homosexuality, contraception and how the church can respond to people who live in situations that are irregular for the church or who are in complex situations that represent open wounds: the divorced and remarried, same-sex couples, people who no longer attend mass and the sacraments, and people in other situations that often elicit judgment from the church. Francis has not changed church teaching on any issue. But he has said that there is a hierarchy to issues; he also said that we must consider these issues as part of a larger context of faith and discipleship; we have to find a “new balance” or we run the risk of losing perspective and thus losing credibility and becoming irrelevant in the eyes of the world, even among our own people.

Francis is very concerned that often the church is quick to make judgments without seeing the dignity of the person who is the target of those judgments. He is emphatic: “we must always consider the person.” We must always “endorse the existence of a person with love”, as Jesus did, not rejecting and condemning. We have to stand in awe before the mystery that is the human person.

This is an important sentence in the interview. While acknowledging church teaching and saying he is a “son of the church” Francis also says (echoing the teaching from the Catechism of the Catholic Church): “religion has the right to express its opinion in the service of people, but God in creation has set us free: it is not possible to interfere spiritually in the life of a person.”  God in creation has set us free: it is not possible to interfere spiritually in the life of a person.

Wow! I read that sentence and then read it again and paused. It means that while we articulate the tenets of the faith we have to be respectful of the conscience and faith journey of each person, sacred in the eyes of God, directed by an inner spirit that is the voice of the individual conscience. Wow! I read that and thought of all of you who are yourselves, or whose family members and loved ones are dealing with the issues Francis mentioned and other issues as well. I thought of those who have left the church because they have been made to feel less than worthy by harsh judgment. And I thought of those who are still a part of the church but are made to feel like second class citizens because their life situation is complex or who have made difficult decisions about their lives that don’t exactly measure up to the church’s expectations.

Francis is saying there is room for all of us. We have to find a way to open, not close the doors of the church to all of God’s children. He said: “This church with which we should be thinking is the home of all, not a small chapel that can hold only a small group of selected people. We must not reduce the bosom of the universal church to a nest protecting our mediocrity. And the church is Mother; the church is fruitful. It must be.”

What does all of this mean and where does it lead? I don’t know! But I do know that the Holy Spirit has given this man to the church, this Jorge Bergoglio, this Francis the first for a reason. And in time together we will discover that reason if we trust that Francis is following the lead of the Holy Spirit.  During the interview Francis said that as it became apparent he was going to be elected as bishop of Rome he felt a “deep and inexplicable peace and certain comfort come over him” even as he recognized the challenges and difficulties he would face. In all that Francis has done and said these past few months I have always felt that he was acting and speaking from that inner peace that is the presence of the Holy Spirit within him as he guides the church.

The interview deals with many other issues such as church governance, his Jesuit identity, and women in the life of the church. I encourage you to read the interview slowly, deliberately and prayerfully. At one point Francis acknowledged his own sinfulness and the realization that as a young Jesuit superior he made many mistakes because of his authoritarian style and failure to seek counsel and collaborate with others. He said he learned from that mistake and he hopes it made him a better bishop. I think what he has learned together with his gentleness and humility and wisdom will make him a great Holy Father for our church.

One secular commentator, whom I believe was raised a Catholic but who no longer practices, said that since his election he has had a “spiritual crush” on Pope Francis. And that has intensified as a result of this interview. I think his gentleness and humility and wisdom will make Francis a great Holy Father for the entire world. Let us continue to pray for him. Let us continue to listen to him.

THE WEDDING FEAST OF CANA

Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

There was a wedding at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples were also invited to the wedding…

As I think about it, I am not sure there were ever more perfect words written to begin the telling of a short story than these, the first verses of chapter two in the Gospel of John. As soon as we hear these opening words and the verses that follow the evangelist has painted a picture that enables us to imagine every detail of the scene: a wedding feast of joy; a blushing bride; a nervous groom; a puzzled waiter-in-charge; Mary, the ever attentive guest; Jesus, who reluctantly becomes the center of attention; and last, but not least, the satisfied guests now enjoying the choicest of wines. It is a story perfectly told. But more importantly, it is a story that lives on beyond the pages of a book in the minds and hearts of anyone willing to invite Jesus to the wedding feast that is our union with him.

The evangelist John makes it clear that this first miracle of Jesus is more than a miracle, more than what happens at the feast. This miracle, like the others he recounts in his gospel, is a “sign” that points to something else. And the “something else” is Jesus himself. As wondrous, as profound the miracle might be, it pales in comparison to the one who performs the miracle: Jesus, the true bridegroom of his heavenly father’s beloved children; Jesus, the true bridegroom, who all throughout his public ministry that follows this miracle will draw all who are willing into deeper intimacy with him.

Wedding feasts in the Mideast at the time of Jesus lasted for seven days. Is it any wonder the wine might run out? It might be good for us to read between the lines of the story because I think the story beneath the story tells us something about how Jesus the bridegroom invites us to deeper intimacy with him.

Hospitality was and is among the highest of virtues in Mid-eastern and Mediterranean cultures. It all has to do with honor. Not being able to provide for a guest would bring dishonor to the less-than-gracious or ill-prepared host. Think of the parable Jesus tells of the man who received visitors during the night while he is asleep – how he ran to his neighbor for bread that he might feed his unexpected guest. The wine running out at the wedding feast sets the stage for great embarrassment for a young couple who would not be able to provide for their guests. Mary senses the unfolding drama and, as only a mother could know her son, she recognizes he would not be insensitive to the needs of the newly married couple. Her intuition of faith allowed her to say with full confidence to the waiter in charge: “Do whatever he tells you.” Usually we hear those words and note Mary’s intercessory power. But it is not Mary’s intercessory power that is at play here. Her virtue is her extraordinary faith, because up to this point in the story Jesus has performed no miracle or extraordinary sign. Mary knew intuitively that her Son would respond to the deeper need that was present: not the need for guests to have more wine, but, rather, the need for a couple to be spared embarrassment and shame on the day of the wedding.

That, I think, is the lesson for us as we begin to walk with Jesus during this new liturgical year. How does Jesus invite us to deeper intimacy with him? He enters into those areas of our lives not where we are strong and assured; rather he enters into those vulnerable corners which we would rather keep hidden, those corners that cause us embarrassment and shame, those corners where we sit in the shadows of our weakness rather than bask in the light of Jesus’ saving grace. Jesus enters into those corners of our lives where we most need him to be, those corners where we do not live out the dignity that is ours as children of God.  Jesus enters into the corners of our lives not where we put our best foot forward; he enters into those corners of our lives where we hobble lame and crippled, unable to walk with the assurance that should belong to those who know that Jesus walks by their side.

In this liturgical year the evangelist Luke will be our guide. It is his gospel we will hear read Sunday after Sunday during the Ordinary Time of the Year. And it is his gospel more than the other three that presents Jesus as the compassionate Lord, always anticipating and responding to the deeper needs of the people who come to him. Next week we will hear the itinerant rabbi Jesus read in his synagogue in Nazareth a passage from the prophet Isaiah; it is the passage which reads “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to announce a year acceptable to the Lord.” As he rolls up the scroll, all eyes are fixed on him and he says: “Today this scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing.”

Those words remind us: when we are poor, when we are held captive, when we are blind, when we are oppressed, in short, when we are most vulnerable, it is then that Jesus fulfills the words of Isaiah and enters into those areas of our lives that are most in need of his compassion, his grace, his forgiveness, his understanding. The story of the wedding feast of Cana is our story. We are the bride and groom in need of his powerful, yet gentle intervention that we might be freed from the embarrassment that is ours when we do not live out our dignity as beloved of our heavenly Father. May we embrace this story as our story. And may it be for us a sign, pointing to the Jesus, who accompanies us in the often uncertain journey that is our lives.

Christmas -2012

“How silently, how silently,

The wondrous gift is giv’n!”

Preaching on a day like Christmas, the Nativity of the Lord, is both exhilarating and frightening. Exhilarating, because the feast is filled with joy and hope. No matter what our life circumstance somehow, on Christmas, we are able to set aside our concerns and disappointments and in some measure enter into the meaning and mystery of the feast. Even if life is difficult at the moment, memories of the joys of Christmas past often sustain us.

Preaching today is also frightening, even for the most seasoned of pastors. Why? Because expectations are so high. Everyone is hoping to hear a word that will encourage, a word that will direct, a word that will sustain and give reason for renewed hope in a world that sometimes disappoints, a world that we know all too well is far from perfect. And so what is a preacher to do? Well, I know what this preacher does. He simply shares what has been the insight, the word, the message that he has heard in his own heart with the hope that said word will speak to you as well.

This year, as ironic as it may seem, on a day when words like “gloria” and “triumphant” punctuate our liturgy, the word that most speaks to me is: silence.

Remember, there were no roving reporters wandering the streets of sleepy Bethlehem looking for a story. Joseph did not have a cell phone to call the relatives back home in Nazareth to tell them Mary have delivered a son in, of all places, a cave in royal David’s city. The shepherds were not texting and tweeting the local herdsmen to tell them a child had been born. No, the humble birth of this child, born under the most incomprehensible of circumstances,  happened in silence.

Oh, decades later, after they understood the significance of this marvelous birth, Luke and Matthew would retell the story, adding  shepherds and angels, wise men and census takers and innkeepers to help the reader, you and me, understand that something earth-shattering, something history-making, had happened when God broke through in human history and gave the world his son as savior. But that night, that first Christmas night, was a night when, as the carol tells us, the wondrous gift was giv’n in silence in one of the stable-caves surrounding Bethlehem.

God never imposes himself on anyone. Despite his great love and will that all be drawn to him, you and I are never forced, never coerced to submit to God’s desire that we be one with him. The choice is always ours. And so a silent birth in a sleepy back-water village, far from the center of the hustle and bustle of Jerusalem or the imperial majesty of Rome, seems most appropriate and most consistent with God’s way of inviting his own to deeper union with him. 

Remember, the angel Gabriel did not appear to Mary at the Nazareth well in full view of the jar-toting women of the village who had gathered there, to invite her, who had found favor with God, to give birth to a son who would be called Jesus who would be given the throne of David his father. The angel Gabriel spoke to Mary in the silence of her heart. Traditional paintings show Mary at prayer when the angel arrives, not in temple or synagogue, but in the protected garden of her parent’s home, an enclosed garden that symbolized her virginity.

Remember, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph inviting him to take Mary as his wife, not in his woodworker’s shop within ear-shot of the gossiping men of his village. The angel appeared to him in the quiet of a sleepy dream where the heavenly message was heard only by this just man.

That is how God works, that is how God invites, that is how God beckons his beloved to deeper union; not in the frenzied activity and drama of our lives, but in the quiet moments when we make time for silence in the middle of the busiest of days; when we finger the rosary beads and mediate on the mysteries of our faith rather than channel-surf through life looking for the most exciting, the most outrageous, the fastest, the best of whatever that can only promise to distract us from the stuff of real living. When the company goes home, when lights are low, when dishes are done, when mountains of wrapping paper are totted to the trash or even saved for another season of gift-giving, in those quiet moments - that is when we should expect our God to speak to us, even as he spoke to Mary in her secluded garden or to Joseph in the privacy of his bed chamber.

On a day feast like Christmas, what we proclaim and sing and herald publicly in song and worship, only has meaning when it emanates from the quiet chamber of our hears, that sacred space where God speaks to us not in words of grandeur but in the silence of love.

So enjoy the chatter of the family gathered around the Christmas table; sing along with the carols you love; play with your sugar-saturated grandchildren and even converse with your craziest uncle. But find time too, when shadows lengthen and lights begin to twinkle, to listen to the silence of this feast. And in that silence hear the voice of your God speaking once again the word that is his son, the son who is your brother, the son who is your friend, the son who is begotten of the father but born in time, our time, the time that is measured in the silent beating of our hearts.

 

 

Fourth Sunday of Advent

The Visitation – Climbing the Mountain of Faith

Finally, the Fourth Sunday of Advent! Enough of this talk about the second coming of Christ at the end of time. Enough of hearing the bellowing of John the Baptist in the desert calling us to repentance. I don’t know about you, but I am ready for the Christmas story. And I want to hear that story in the coming days, told over and over again; the story, as the evangelist says, of “how the birth of Jesus came about.” The church does not disappointour longing for Christmas today. We hear the prophet Micah extolling the virtue of sleepy Bethlehem, the tiny, out of the way village that produced mighty King David and would host the birth of the Messiah. We hear the story of the Visitation - Mary visiting her kinswoman Elizabeth after offering her “fiat” to God by way of the angel Gabriel, agreeing to cooperate with the plan of the Father for the birth of his son.

The Gospels do not tell us where Elizabeth and her husband, the priest Zachariah lived. Luke says only that Mary went in haste to a town in the hill country of Judah. But since the third century and the time of Saint Helen, mother of the Emperor Constantine, that hill town has been identified as “Ein Karen,” another sleepy town in what is now a suburb of the modern city of Jerusalem. Like Bethlehem, it is a tiny village which today is home to a colony of artist who find inspiration in its beauty and in the quiet away from the hubbub of noisy Jerusalem.

Since the time of Helen there has been a church in Ein Karem where pilgrims can commemorate the meeting of Mary and Elizabeth – that wonderful story that gives to our prayer life both the “Hail Mary” and the “Canticle of Mary.” The most recent church was built in the 1950’s by the Franciscans of the Holy Land who care for this most sacred spot. And like most of the major churches in the Holy Land, it was designed by the Italian architect Antonio Barluzzi. Barluzzi had a distinct style. He not only designed churches which tell the gospel story, he also designs churches which convey the “feeling” of the story. For example, he designed the Church of All Nations in the Garden of Gethsemane. Using alabaster windows the church has a glowing purple light that conveys the feeling of sadness we associate with Jesus’ Agony in the Garden. He designed the church in the Shepherd’s field in Bethlehem to look like a Bedouin tent.

 The most distinctive feature of the Church of the Visitation is that it hangs precariously on the side of the Judean hill; it is not a convenient church to visit. A pilgrim must climb the hill to pray at this sacred sight. There are no escalators or elevators. Foot power is the only way for a longing pilgrim to stand on this sacred spot and hear the voice of Elizabeth echoing down the corridors of time: “Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb.”

Perhaps that is most appropriate. When we think about the events associated with the birth of Jesus we tend to remember those events as if they were following a neat little pattern outlined by the mysterious plan of God; everything falls neatly into place. That might be a proper perspective from our vantage point in history. But as the events were happening there was no blueprint or program the players were able to follow. Mary and Elizabeth and Joseph and Zachariah cooperated with a plan of God they could not foresee and could not understand. Rather, they had to say their “yes” to God’s mysterious ways and then proceed to climb the path along the side of the hill that lead to the birth of Jesus, a path that was often cold and dark, a path that was had so many twists and turns most often they could not see their destination, where it was that God was leading them.

 

It reminds of receiving a gift that says “some assembly required.” Most times that “some assembly” requires hours of work and an engineering degree. When Mary and Joseph and Elizabeth and Zechariah received the gift of being asked to cooperate with the plan of God for the birth of his son, there was lots of assembly required. They had to walk by faith along a path that often brought confusion, ridicule, and misunderstanding sometimes by those who were closest to them. Mary and Joseph were assumed to have violated the terms of their betrothal when it was discovered Mary was with child before she and Joseph lived together. Zechariah was questioned when he broke with tradition and in obedience to the command of the angel he called his son John, even though none of his relatives had that name.

The players in the story of the birth of Jesus have much to tell us about responding in faith. The “yes” we say to the mysterious plan of God does not present us with a four lane highway speeding us forward to a seen destination without inconvenience or detour. No, most often our “yes” uttered in faith finds us like Mary and Joseph and Elizabeth and Zechariah climbing a mountain path where the top of the mountain is hidden from our sight. Our life’s journey, traveled in faith, is often like the darkened streets of sleepy Bethlehem, where hopes and fears come together and we put one foot in front of the other uncertain where this God of ours is leading us.

As we celebrate this season it is good for us to remember that the warmth we associate with the radiant beams emanating from the child Jesus’ holy face was born of a world of darkness and cold. The woman who went in haste to a hill town of Judah traveled most of her life blindfolded, unable to see how the plan of God, to which she had consented, was unfolding before her. The just man Joseph, agreeing to take Mary as his wife, would spend his life in silence; remember the gospels do not record one word uttered by this just man; he truly was a silent partner in God’s plan for salvation.

In the days ahead, as Christmas angels and morning stars proclaim the holy birth, we pray that like Mary and Joseph, Elizabeth and Zechariah, when our life is uncertain,  we will look at the child born in Bethlehem and remember: no ear may hear his coming, but in this world of sin, where meek souls will receive him the dear Christ enters in.

GAUDETE SUNDAY

16 December 2012

I must tell you that it is a challenge to preach today. Not because this is the first time I am preaching in almost two months because of my recent illness; but rather because I love this third Sunday of Advent, Gaudete Sunday, Rejoicing Sunday. But this year I do not feel like rejoicing.

I love the entire Advent season with its beautiful, haunting hymns, its gradual lighting of the Advent wreath leading us the Birth of Jesus, the light of the world. And I especially love this Gaudete Sunday – with its subtle rose colored vestment moving us from somber purple telling us we are one step closer to the feast we anticipate with longing hearts. I have been looking forward to preaching the message the prophet Zephaniah proclaims with great boldness and certitude: Shout for joy, O daughter Zion! Sing joyfully, O Israel! Be glad and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem! You have no further misfortune to fear.

No further misfortune to fear? Really, Zephaniah? Perhaps you did not foresee the events of a brisk, soon to be winter, December 14 in a sleepy Connecticut town. I have to ask you, Zephaniah, would you take the pulpit at the parish church of Saint Rose of Lima in Newtown this weekend and dare to say to the faithful gathered in shock and grief “you have to further misfortune to fear?”

I know I would not. Because the truth is, Zephaniah, we have much to fear. Our experience tells us that there are misfortunes we cannot even imagine that seem to lurk just beyond the horizon, ready to disloge us from our security and comfort; misfortunes that shatter our dreams, misfortunes that break our hearts, misfortunes that leave us tearful, speechless, alone,  heads and hearts spinning with doubt even though as are told we are to walk by faith and not by sight.

I have been wrestling with all of this, Zephaniah, for the past 24 hours. And the only conclusion I can reach, O might prophet, is that you live in a different world. You hear the beat of a different drummer. You see things no one else can see. You touch a reality that seems to be just beyond our grasp when we awaken to a day like Friday, our minds wandering aimlessly as we look for a home base, where we can rest for awhile, catch our breath, get our balance and renew our strength before we take another step in the journey that is our uncertain lives.

I must tell you, Zephaniah, that the only resolution I can find for all of this is not a happy one. Because it is a resolution that challenges me to not hold on so tightly to this world and to join you in that other world where prophets seem to wander. It is a resolution that challenges me to turn off the disturbing sounds of the here and now and listen with you to that different voice that speaks words of peace and forgiveness, words that are, to be honest, out of sync with what I am really feeling. It is a resolution that challenges me to stop grasping for a security that is measured in worldly terms and allow myself, like you O mighty prophet, to grasped by the one who reaches through time and space to guide me to a place we call eternity, a place, a mindset well beyond my imagining.

Or to put it in the context of the season, the challenge of Zephaniah is to understand that “rejoicing” is not measured by the hanging of another strand of twinkling lights or by toasting with yet another glass of eggnog.  The challenge of Zephaniah’s rejoicing is this: to move beyond the cave of Bethlehem where we ooh and aah at the Savior’s birth, and travel instead to the hill of Calvary where the babe in a manger has grown to a man of full stature; a man who on the cross embraced our pain, our uncertainty, our misfortune all the while providing us a vision of a place where rejoicing happens not over the “stuff” of this world. Rather, the rejoicing of Zephaniah happens when we allow ourselves to be grasped by the outstretched arms of the crucified one and begin to see the world with his eyes allowing our hearts to beat in tune with his own heart pierced with a lance.

I might say it this way as well – and I find myself saying it often both to you and to myself. The challenge of the Christian life is to acknowledge that this ain’t heaven yet. In heaven there is no shooting of 26 innocent people. No grieving parents. The Christian life, the life of discipleship, the life of faith, challenges me to stop expecting this place, this time, to be heaven, to be perfection, to be the world I want it to be.

There is a great deal of talk in our church these days today about the “new evangelization” – the effort we must make to preach the gospel anew. And so pope’s twitter and bishop’s blog all in an effort to get the word out there, And all of that is well and good. But the truth, as I see it, is that the word, the good news, is not very appealing to the world today.

Our world wants answers but discipleship often raises more questions than it answers – think of the events of Friday.

Our world wants comfort and security, but the gospel offers the cross.

 Our world wants to be loved and accepted, but the words of Jesus tell us that like him when we live the gospel and speak its truth we will be rejected by many.

Our world wants to find “closure” to events like those in Newtown, or Columbine so that we can get on with life and begin once again to live a comfortable, secure existence.  But the gospel tells us that in this life we will have to embrace our pain, and, like Mary, carry much sorrow in our hearts. Even in the cave of Bethlehem, when the wise man presented her son with myrrh, the bitter perfume foreshadowing his passion, Mary knew this ain’t heaven yet.

I hope you understand that I am not saying this life is joyless, unhappy, destined for doom. No, I am not saying that at all. Here and now there is much that is good and true and beautiful that must and should be celebrated with great rejoicing. But what we see and hear and hold in our hands in this world is intended to lead us to a greater goodness and a greater truth and a greater beauty beyond what this world can comprehend.  That is what Zephaniah rejoicing is all about.

There if more beyond the horizon, but it is given to us as promise; there is a beauty that will be revealed but first our earthy sight must be replaced with replaced with a heavenly vision at the end of our days; there is a goodness we will know that cannot be defined by human wisdom and reasoning, but it is a goodness known only when we see God face to face.

 Zephaniah rejoicing tells us not to be held captive by the limitations of the here and now. Zephaniah rejoicing says do not get stuck in the world we can see and hear and feel; Zephaniah rejoicing challenges us to lift our heads and see and hear and feel what God has ready for those who love him.

Zephaniah rejoicing tells a sleepy Connecticut town and a sleepy Pennsylvania town to hold onto the God who walks with us through this present pain and uncertainty; a God who and allows us with his eyes, his wisdom, to see a vision not of what has been but a vision of what will be when we see him face to face. Not here and now in a heaven of our making; but a heaven that will be in that kingdom he has prepared for us from the foundation of the world.

The hymn of the season recognizes that this ain’t heaven yet. The hymn of the season is for every Newtown experience of our life. The hymn of the season promises Zephaniah rejoicing.

O come, O come Emmanuel. And ransom captive Israel. That mourns in lowly exile here. Until the Son of God appear. Rejoice, rejoice, O Israel, shall come to you Emmanuel. Come, Lord Jesus.

Christmas Homily 2011

Everyone went to register...

“Everyone went to register, each to his own town. And so Joseph went from Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to David’s city of Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to register with Mary, his espoused wife, who was with child.”

My older brother is, and for as long as I can remember has always been, a fisherman. I can’t remember a time when he wasn’t spending any spare time he could find or could make with rod and tackle box in hand traveling off to stream or ocean to do what he loves most: fish. When he retired some years ago he moved to the seashore so that when he could get out of bed long before God did to join a circle of friends who shared his passion. Fishing is in his blood. I remember once that the biologist in him must have decided it was time to find out if it was in my blood, too. So when I was very young he took me with him to a favorite stream and taught me how to bait a hook with some innocent, unsuspecting worm spending a day that would not end waving off flies and sending a night crawler we had unearthed the day before to his eternal reward; for my brother it was nirvana, for me, the lower recesses of Dante’s Inferno. It didn’t take my brother long to realize that this fishing thing was not in my blood. We were brothers but with a decidedly different strand of DNA flowing through our entertainment genes. And so to this day he is off to the inlet the moment he hears the blues are running and I am off to the theatre or to my favorite chair to read about The Old Man and the Sea, or Ishmael or Jonah. But even if I choose not to join him at ocean’s edge I do like to hear my bothers fishing stories, particularly about the people he meets while casting away for endless hours.

One story is about a man  who seems to be an anomaly in today’s world: an angler who does not use a cell phone, does not carry a credit card, and who waits in long lines at the toll booth while we whiz by,  Easy-Pass adhered to the windshield. My brother and I have spent hours speculating on why he does not want Uncle Sam or Macy’s or Verizon to know where he is at any given moment. The speculating lead to the stuff that keeps John Grisham and John LeCarre with enough material to write yet another spy novel. But for whatever reason, my brother’s friend does not want to be counted. He comes to mind this night (day) because what we are about here is remembering that you and I have been counted. Not by Caesar who seems to know every dollar we earn; not by Big Business who tells us what we need for a happy life; not by Garmon or Tomtom who can pinpoint our exact location at any given moment of the journey; not by the Giant or Karns or Wegman’s who scan our rewards card so they know if we prefer raisin bran or fruit loops; not by Orbitz, who with the promise of cheaper airline tickets wants to know if we are longing to escape to the Caribbean or to Rome; not by the Turnpike commission who counts us each time we decide to pay the toll to travel from the Gettysburg exit to Harrisburg East exit to avoid holiday mall traffic; and not by the monitor that knows if your heart skips a beat.

No, tonight we remember that like Joseph and Mary we have been counted, not by some Roman census official and not even by the Babe wrapped in swadding clothes. No, tonight we remember that we have been counted by the Babe who grew into a man who traded the wood of his manger for the wood of his cross so that, as we will pray in the Roman Canon, this night (day), we might be “delivered from eternal damnation and counted among the flock of those you have chosen.”

Tonight (today) we want to be counted; we want the Savior of the world to know where we are at every moment of everyday: when life is good and we are one with the triumphs of the sky; and when we need the everlasting light to navigate us thru the dark streets of uncertainty as we travel to our own little town of Bethlehem wherever that may be.

Tonight (today) we want to be counted when with shepherds our joyous strains prolong; and when with those same shepherds we quake before the litany of disappointments and unfulfilled dreams that punctuate our days and interrupt the rhythm of  the life we have planned for ourselves and those we love.

Tonight (today) we want to be counted when with the child we rest on Mary’s lap and are lulled to sleep with angel’s anthems sweet, and when the nights are endless and we lie in the mean estate of our doctor’s latest diagnosis and our financial planner’s review of our retirement portfolio.

Tonight (today) we want to be counted in triumph as the star shines forth with royal beauty bright and we are crowned with gold by a king named Caspar. Tonight we want to be counted when the gift we are given by a wise man named Balthazar is myrrh’s bitter perfume and we are left sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying sealed in stone cold tomb.

Tonight (today) we want to be counted when Isaiah’s words ring true and every boot that trampled in battle and every cloak rolled in blood is burned as fuel for flame and even if only for a moment our world is at peace. And tonight (today) we want  to be counted when we do not heed Paul’s advice to Titus and we fail to reject godless ways and worldly desires and live temperately, justly and devoutly in this age. Tonight (today) we most need to be counted and see the saving grace and glory of our God that has appeared in the person of his Son, our Savior Jesus Christ, who gave himself to deliver us from all lawlessness and to cleanse for himself a people as his own; when we need once again to be eager to do what is good.

“Gospel” means good news. And it is my joy, my pleasure to remind you this night (day) of the good news that WE HAVE BEEN COUNTED. This night (day) remember the name they have given him: Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-forever, Prince of Peace. Remember this night (day) that this God of ours lives not in some far away heaven; he is Emmanuel, God with us.

This God of ours is as close as person sitting next to you who shows you kindness when you are most undeserving; He is as close as the beggar or undocumented neighbor who needs your understanding and hosptality.

He is as close as the gentle breeze that cools your forehead in the midst of summer’s heat and as close as the driving wind that reminds you of his power when you are most weak and trembling with fear.

He is as close as the baby who hungers for the milk of human kindness and as close as the bread of the altar that feeds you for life’s journey.

He is as close as the next confession that extends to you the forgiveness you so desperately need and as close as the family member who needs from you that same forgiveness to be freed from days or months or even years of guilt because you choose to hold onto your hurts and disappointments.

He is as close as the healing you know when sleep follows fever and as close as the latest ache and pain that unites you with his suffering.

This God of ours is closer to us than we are to ourselves because he knows the frailty of our hearts and allows them to beat in tune with his own sacred, loving heart. This God has counted us to be among his chosen giving himself for our salvation without counting the cost himself.

I like to hear my brother’s fish tales. But I like even more to hear the tale of the fisherman called Peter who left his fishing nets and who with his brother Andrew allowed themselves to be counted as disciples of the carpenter of Nazareth.  And I like to hear the tale of the successor of Saint Peter, Benedict, who in a midnight Mass homily reminds us: “God’s sign is simplicity; God’s sign is the baby; God’s sign is that he makes himself small for us. This is how he reigns.”

That is why I like to hear the Christmas story told over and over again; why it is in my heart and mind forever. It reminds me, reminds us, that we who rely on his patronage have with Joseph and his espoused wife who was with child been registered, have been counted by that child to stand forever in God’s presence, holy and righteous in his sight all the days of our lives.

“Everyone went to register, each to his own town. And so Joseph went from Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to David’s city of Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to register with Mary, his espoused wife, who was with child.”

Those Lazy Hazy Crazy Days of Summer

I remember as a kid touring the Valley Forge Military Park with my sister and her new husband and hearing for the first time Nat King Cole on the radio singing “Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer.”  Maybe it was the joy of a school-free summer.  Maybe it was feeling special because I was spending vacation time with my sister and new brother-in-law.  But something about the melody and lyrics resonated with my young mind and heart.  To this day, when the first days of summer heat and oppressive humidity are upon us, I still hear Nat King Cole singing of “soda and pretzels and beer” and my spirits are lifted.

How blessed we are to live in a part of the world where each of the four seasons has its distinctive character.  I like to think of the winter’s chill, springtime’s promise, the summer’s sun and autumn’s color palette as a reminder of what Saint Augustine called “the diversity of God’s brilliance.” Maybe someday I will be attracted to a part of the world that is ever spring time, but, for now, the ever changing seasons invite me to appreciate and adapt to what nature has to offer.

A memorable part of my childhood summers was going on a picnic. I wonder, does anyone still “go on a picnic?” My mother would prepare food (always potato salad!), pack a large cooler and off we would go to a local swimming pool or lake to join other family members or friends to spend a day doing nothing! The kids would swim, the adults might play cards; but mostly they seemed to sit around on portable folding chairs and talk for hours on end. There were no cell phones, and no I-pods and imagine this: no one was bored! At some point the portable grill was fired up, no easy task since there was no such thing as easy-light charcoal in those days! Endless hamburgers and hotdogs and shared picnic food kept us happy and well-fed all day long. As evening shadows began to fall we made our way home, relaxed and rested.

I wonder if that isn’t what summer is all about: finding ways to escape from what has become the routine hectic pace of life we live so that our bodies, minds and spirits are refreshed. So harried are we in this modern world that often vacation and time with family and friends have become one more thing to do rather than a time of refreshment and renewal.

On the western slope of the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem, the remains of a Crusader church are built over a cave where it is said that Jesus went with his disciples in secret. There, freed from the crowds (some seeking his counsel, some looking for ways to entrap him) he found a safe place to share his wisdom with those closest to him. On the other side of the Mount of Olives is the village of Bethany where Jesus found rest and friendship in the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus. Jesus knew the importance of rest and friendship.

When the “lazy, crazy, hazy days of summer” come to an end, may a new season find us renewed in spirit because we too have made time for rest and friendship in the summer sun.