The Mystery of the Incarnation

Sunset marks the beginning of the Fourth Sunday of Advent. Tonight, we light all the candles! At the Easter Vigil, as the deacon enters the Church carrying the lit Paschal Candle, he sings three times, "The Light of Christ." The response to this is a sung, "Thanks be to God." Indeed, Christ is the Light of the world, the One who illuminates us.

Our Collect for the Fourth Sunday of Advent is the closing prayer for the Angelus. Maybe it's the other way around. Either way, this prayer is one faithful Roman Catholics don't just say daily, but three times a day. During Easter, we recite or sing Regina Caeli instead of the Angelus.

Beginning as it does with "The Angel of the Lord declared unto Mary. And she conceived of the Holy Spirit," followed by a Hail Mary, which, in turn, is followed by our Blessed Mother's fiat: "Behold the handmaid of the Lord: Be it done unto me according to Thy word," the Angelus is all about the Incarnation. So is the Fourth Sunday of Advent.

For Year C of the Sunday lectionary, our Gospel for the Fourth Sunday of Advent comes from the first chapter of Saint Luke's Gospel. It follows the stories about the previously barren Elizabeth conceiving John the Baptist and her kinswoman, Mary's, miraculous conception of Jesus. Known as "the Visitation," this Gospel episode is the Second Joyful Mystery of the Holy Rosary.

Love of neighbor is the fruit of the Joyful Mystery of the Visitation. These two women were happy for each other. Elizabeth also recognizes and honors the freedom with which Mary assented to God's plan. "Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb" are words with which we're very familiar. As Gabriel foretold about the Blessed Virgin, "all generations will call you blessed." This began with that very generation.

Life is a miracle. It seems we increasingly see it as a burden. Human beings are the point at which creation becomes conscious of itself. Only we ponder the mystery of life, its meaning and purpose. When observed, Advent is a time to reflect on these things, these big questions. In a real sense, history both before and even after Christ's coming is Advent. Life is an Advent, an expectant waiting.

The Visitation, by James B. Janknegt, 2016?

Chatting with a friend online earlier today, the subject of Advent came up. Agreeing that we both really enjoy this season and try to observe it, we noted the advent nature of life, and the subject of hope came up. Insisting, as is my wont, that hope and optimism aren't the same thing at all, my friend "sometimes I feel like my hope comes from my pessimism." This summarizes my relationship with hope very well- it comes pretty much exclusively from my pessimism.

In my view, pessimism is what differentiates hope from optimism. I revisited something today from an article by Anglican bishop David Welbourne that appeared in the Church Times back in 2020. He wrote about an interview playwright Dennis Potter gave to television journalist, author, and Member of Parliament Melvyn Bragg shortly before the former's death. Potter was a man of Christian faith and Bragg, who was not, asserted that faith was merely dressing on a wound. I guess he was referring to the wound of death, the awareness of the shortness of life, something like that. "No," replied Potter, "it is the wound, faith is the wound."

Jumping ahead chronologically is Luke and liturgically, the righteous old man Simeon tells the Galilean virgin that faith is wound by letting her know that her heart would be pierced. When praying the Rosary, I have little narratives for each Mystery. For this, the Fourth Joyful Mystery, the fruit of which is obedience, I use the phrase "hope through suffering."

As our reading from Hebrews tells us, in coming to do His Father's will, Jesus did away with the offerings and sacrifices that constituted the ritual sacrifices of the Temple. Leaping all the way to the twenty-second chapter of the Gospel According to Saint Luke, we see what the Father’s will was. Praying Jesus implores, "Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me; still, not my will but yours be done." This is hard to comprehend, like a young woman from Nazareth agreeing to bear the Son of God.

I think this petition from the Intercessions for Evening Prayer I of the Fourth Sunday of Advent rounds this reflection off beautifully:

In your life on earth, you came to die as a man
   -save us from everlasting death

A dream and making sense of reality

My post yesterday, through which I am trying to resurrect the Καθολικός διάκονος Friday traditio, focused on the last chapter of Metropolitan Kallistos Ware's book on healing for peace through the Sacraments of Healing (the link to the book is where you can read it for free online; see "Taking it 'as it comes'"). This chapter was about death as the ultimate healing. You don't have to be a Heidegger aficionado to grasp that from birth, life is a journey toward death.

Of course, for a Christian, death is not the end. Even so, death is a horizon over which we cannot see. Immortality, at times, can seem like a mere wish.

Last night I had a dream. My dreams tend to be pretty realistic, as opposed to fantastical. I kind of envy people whose dreams seem to be, well, more imaginative and fun. In my dream, I was on a bus in my hometown. The bus was driving down one of that city's main thoroughfares, making its way toward my house, which was just off the furthest northern end of this boulevard. The dream started with the bus pulling into a bus stop.

This stop would've been the last one before I got off the bus. Once the bus stopped, one person stood up to get off. I recognized this person as a dear friend. So, I stood up and greeted her enthusiastically. Moving past me to get off the bus, she managed a curt "Hi" with an equally curt glance. She exited without looking back. I sat there devastated. End of dream.

I woke up still feeling the way I did at the end of the dream. It took me a minute to realize that it was a dream and not an actual occurrence and to shake it off.

As I laid there reflecting on my dream, I realized the friend was amalgam of two friends but the appearanceo of the person in the dream wasn't in the least bit odd. They are people I met at different points in my life and with whom I've had quite different relationships over years. One has more or less "unfriended" me and the other has inexplicably gone from a relationship communicating back and forth to me checking in once in a while with answers indicating that with a short, polite reply the conversation is done- have a nice day.

I readily admit that I am not a great friend. Like most men my age in this culture, I don't really have many friends. While I am at it, I am not a great son, husband, father, or cousin either. Some of this is driven by the fact that I am an introvert. I donn't mind being alone and often even prefer it. Often is not always. I could go on, but unlike Beckett, I won't except to say I know I am never really alone.

I am not writing that out of self-pity, as easy as that is for me to do, but as a way of facing reality. Most days, I find myself older and none the wiser. Beyond that, like most middle-aged men, I have developed something of a hardened shell, a protective layer. It's a battle sometimes to keep sorrow from turning into self-pity. Sometimes I lose the battle.

Considering Met. Kallistos' wise observation that "the secret of true life is to accept each state as it comes," the only sense I could make of the dream that was not self-pitying is that the bus ride is my journey. On this journey, most people only travel with me part of the way. This is okay, maybe even how it's supposed to be. From my youngest years, I have found life a bit heartbreaking. Plus, all relationships wax and wane.

What I want to genuniely feel and say with deepest sincerity is "May God bless them on their journeys." I hope my probably not-that-great friendship was of some benefit to them along their way and that they know, somewhere in their hearts, how truly I appreciate their love, care, and concern for me.

I can see this as part of the interior work I mentioned in yesterday's post. With respect to the loss of friendship- trying to be grateful and not bitter while working through disappointment. Lord, hear my prayer.

Taking it "as it comes"

Friday in the Third Week of Advent. Time to reflect. Not just during Advent and Lent but all year, Fridays are days of penance. Days of abstinence and, hopefully, recollection.

On the recommendation of a trusted teacher, my spiritual reading for Advent has been a little book by the late Metropolitan Kallistos Ware. The book, Sacraments of Healing, published posthumously, consists of conferences for a retreat he led in 1999. While his overall theme is peace, he discusses the sacraments of healing: penance and anointing. To start, he sets forth a lovely Christian anthropology and he ends with a deep and deeply moving reflection on death.

Since today is a penitential day in a penitential season, I am focused on Metropolitan Kallistos' meditation on death. The aspect of his meditation that struck me, especially in light of the fact that I am turning 60 next year, is how, as a Christian, to live life, to pass through life's various stages.

Here I am going to get a little personal. For some reason, lately I have felt the need for affirmation. This feeling holds in all domains of my life: professional, ministerial, and personal. When I don't get it, I find myself feeling disappointed and even angry at times.This is not a wholly new experience for me. Quite the opposite. For some reason, in this season, this unhealthy need has been set in bold relief.

Admittedly, this deep need is quite juvenile and I am grateful for the grace to recognize this. I am even aware enough to know that it stems from some developmental issues.

Concurrently, this year more than other times, I have really struggled with praying. Nonetheless, I feel the Lord drawing me closer to Himself.One evening not too long ago, feeling unaffirmed and unappreciated, I was really struck by a palpable intuition from the Lord. He wants me to find my affirmation primarily in Him, not from Him, but in and through Him. As for the rest, whether I am affirmed or not, whether I am appreciated or not should be a matter of indifference. This has been reaffirmed several times since then. What this means for me right now is dealing with some disappointments.

Reading the final chapter of Ware's Sacraments of Healing, I came across this: "Surely, the secret of true life is to accept each state as it comes." True wisdom, it seems to me, is not verbose or complicated but direct and simple. As with most true wisdom, easier said than done. Along these same lines, there are a couple more things from this chapter I have been mulling over. One is from a Cecil Lewis poem, "Walking Away," that Met. Kallistos used:

How selfhood begins with a walking away

Reflecting on this, Ware states: "By hanging on to the old, we refuse the invitation to discover the new."

Lord, help me walk gracefully into a new season of life, always in the newness of life in You.

For our traditio today, let's turn to the late Rich Mullins. It's funny, Rich always thought he wasn't enough to lead people to Jesus. In honesty, none of us are. We lead people to the Lord, as Saint Paul insists, not through our strength but through our weaknesses, through our need and how He strengthens you and more than meets your needs. In and through Him, you come to recognize what it is you truly need and what you really don't need and, therefore, what you shouldn't seek.

Year I Monday of the Third Week of Advent

Readings: Numbers 24:2-7.15-17a; Psalm 25:4-9; Matthew 21:23-27

Authority is a big issue for Christians. Historically, authority is the main reason for the two major splits in the Christian Church: the East/West schism of AD 1054, when what are now known as the Orthodox and Catholic Churches split, and the protest or Protestant split in the sixteenth century, usually dated to 1517, when the Augustinian friar, Martin Luther, nailed his 95 theses to the door of the Church of the Holy Spirit in Wittenburg, Germany.

As human beings, we like things to be neat and clean. But God is not bound by our tidy ways of thinking. While the history of the Church with regard to its fracturing is contrary to God’s expressed will, through the Holy Spirit, God never ceases to answer the prayer of His Son that we all be one as they are one.¹

When you look at today’s Gospel from the perspective of a twenty-first century Christian, it seems absurd that the chief priests and elders asked Jesus, the Son of God, who is true God from true God, by what authority He taught what He taught and performed the miraculous deeds He performed. While always done in concert with the Father and the Holy Spirit, we can safely say, the Lord acted on His own authority.

It isn’t Jesus who provides the parallel to Balaam in our readings. Rather, it is John the Baptist. Both prophets came out of nowhere to tell others of the ways of God and to foresee, even if dimly in the case of Balaam, the Lord's coming. The Baptist comes into play when the Lord turns the tables on his interlocutors by asking them what they thought of the baptisms John performed.

It’s easy to see the chief priests and elders "of the people," which I prefer take as the inspired author being sarcastic, wanted to deny the divine nature of the Baptist’s ministry. His ministry, if you remember, consisted of calling Jews to repentance, that is, back to fidelity to the Covenant by the righteous observance of the Law and baptizing those who heeded his call. This was a scandal to these Jewish leaders. Jesus put these men on the horns of a dilemma. Maybe it’s more accurate to say the Lord highlighted the existential dilemma we all must face in the realization that choices have consequences.

There is a line from the chorus of the song “Freewill” by the band Rush that states this dilemma well: “If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.” By choosing not to decide in that moment, the chief priests and elders “of the people” only kicked the can down the road.

Ultimately, these men were forced to decide. Unwittingly, their choice to call for the condemnation and brutal execution of the Messiah, the Son of God, accomplished God’s purpose: the redemption of the world. So much for tidiness.

In His life and ministry as set forth in the Gospels, Jesus is always driving those who encounter Him to make a choice, to decide who He is for yourself. In the Gospels, this choice is somewhat evidence-based, especially regarding the miracles and wonders he performed.

Philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein, himself a Roman Catholic, albeit in adulthood not a practicing one, summed this dilemma up very well:

“No man can say that Jesus is the Lord, but by the Holy Ghost.”² - And it is true: I cannot call him Lord; because that says nothing to me. I could call him 'the paragon', 'God' even - or rather, I can understand it when he is called thus; but I cannot utter the word “Lord” with meaning. Because I do not believe that he will come to judge me; because that says nothing to me. And it could say something to me, only if I lived completely differently (italics in original)³

Unlike many professing Christians, Wittgenstein understood his dilemma. He understood, quite clearly, that were he to acknowledge Jesus’s authority by professing Him as Lord he would need to live “completely differently.” Do you?

Don’t worry too much about Ludwig. From there he launches into a reflection on faith by asking: “What inclines even me to believe in Christ's Resurrection?”

It’s important to see, as we do in our Gospel today, that Jesus never asserts His authority by making a power move. In Christ, there is no coercion, only freedom. After all, He did not reply: “On whose authority? Being God’s only begotten Son in the flesh, by my own authority given me by my Father!”

It is important to always keep in mind that for Christians, freedom is first and foremost freedom for not freedom from. As Saint Paul insisted in his Letter to the Galatians: “For freedom Christ set us free.”⁴

And so, back to Rush:

You can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice
If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice

---

1 John 17:11.^↩
2 1 Corinthians 12:3.^↩
3 Ludwig Wittgenstein. Culture and Value, 33. Trans. Peter Winch. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.^↩
4 Galatians 5:1.^↩

Year C Third Sunday of Advent

Readings: Zephaniah 3:14-18a; Isaiah 12:2-6; Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:10-18

Charity, which requires self-sacrifice, is the way to joy. By contrast, living only for yourself is the shortcut to misery and meaninglessness. This truth is clearly revealed to us in scripture, especially in the Gospels, which tell us of the life of the Lord. It is also the theme of what is perhaps the best-loved Christmas story in English: Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.

A Christmas Carol, as with most things Christmas-related, has been trivialized. Dickens, himself a Christian, albeit one with significant flaws, making him like the rest of us, did not write a story about a grumpy old man overcoming his grumpiness and finally joining in all the holiday cheer because, it’s just plain fun or on the premise “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

Rather, A Christmas Carol is about a disappointed old man who, granted the great grace of visits by the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future, responding to God’s grace and becoming a new man, or, perhaps more accurately, the man he was destined to be before life’s concerns jumped in, bringing him to where the reader initially finds him: alone and miserable on Christmas Eve.

After his harrowing night, Ebeneezer Scrooge not only seems to be a different but a much younger man, embodying these words from T.S. Eliot’s poem “Little Gidding”-

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time¹

Scrooge’s change, his rebirth, his finding true joy was his heeding the Baptist’s call found in our Gospel for today. Doing these things are the fruit of repentance, proof that you have repented, that you’ve undergone a metanoia, a Greek word that denotes a transformation.

Becoming charitable is not the price you pay to earn God’s favor. Rather, being charitable is the result of realizing that, in and through Christ, you always already have God’s favor. Hence, each genuine act of charity is an act of rejoicing.

Today is Gaudete Sunday. It is the Sunday of the pink candle and the pink vestments (“rose” for those who prefer). The Third Sunday of Advent is called “Gaudete” because Gaudete is the first word of the Introit (that part of Mass that is sung prior to ringing the bell for everyone to stand). Gaudete is Latin for “Rejoice!” It is an imperative, urging us, maybe even ordering us, to rejoice. Note that “joi” is at the heart of “rejoice.”

Gaudete in Domino semper: iterum dico, Gaudete = “Rejoice in the Lord always: again, I say rejoice.”² This comes from our second reading today, taken from Saint Paul’s Letter to the Philippians. As the apostle wrote in his Second Letter to the Corinthians:

Each must do… without sadness or compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. Moreover, God is able to make every grace abundant for you, so that in all things, always having all you need, you may have an abundance for every good work³

Charity should not be a once-a-year thing, acts you perform between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Being charitable is what it means to be a Christian. Being a Christian, at least on this side of eternity, amounts to becoming. It is a journey, like the one described by Eliot in his poem. In Christian parlance, caritas, the Latin word from which “charity” is derived, is a translation of the Greek word agape.

Scripture teaches that “God is love.”⁴ Agape is the word translated as “love” in this passage. Unlike English and most Western languages, koine Greek- the original language of the New Testament- has four words for love. Three of these are used in the New Testament. Eros refers to what we call romantic love; philos to brotherly love- think the city of Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love; agape to self-giving, self-emptying love.

I think motherhood is the closest human analog to agape. It’s beautiful that during Advent, this year in the week leading up to Gaudete Sunday, that we celebrate Immaculate Conception and Our Lady of Guadalupe. Agape, self-emptying love, is the essence of the nature of the Most Holy Trinity.

It is through the Incarnation of the Father’s only begotten Son, whom the Father sent because He so loved the world, that we can begin to understand what the revelation “God is love” really means.⁵ A few chapters earlier in Philippians, in the “kenotic hymn,” we read this of Jesus:

though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness⁶

True charity doesn’t consist only of giving something to someone in need, as important as that is. It requires giving something of yourself. While well-intentioned, things like “Giving Machines” make giving transactional rather than relational. Frankly, I find it fairly easy to give money and donate items. It’s much harder to give something of myself, to give time, attention, and care. Vulnerability is scary.

Our Lord only ever gives Himself whole and entire. In the Eucharistic exchange, you pledge your entire self to Him. In response to His self-giving, you pledge yourself to others, to charity, to self-giving, self-sacrificing love. You pledge to love your neighbor as you love yourself. Like Ebeneezer Scrooge, doing this is how you discover true joy. Only the joyful can rejoice.

---

1 T.S. Eliot, “Little Gidding,” Part V.^↩
2 Philippians 4:4-5; Roman Missal, The Third Sunday of Advent, Entrance Antiphon.^↩
3 2 Corinthians 9:7-8.^↩
4 1 John 4:8.16.^↩
5 John 3:16.^↩
6 Philippians 2:6-7.^↩

Advent & kwanzhanuaukamas

Apart from August, the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas is, at least for me, the least wonderful time of the year.

About the only thing born anew this time of year in late capitalist societies is consumerism. My typical response to "What do you want for Christmas?" is, "For it to be over." What I mean by that is that I want secular Christmas, which runs concurrently with Advent, to be over and done.

I enjoy celebrating Christmas after all the hoopla has died down and it's actually Christmas. I love the week between Christmas Day and New Years. I love St Stephen, St John the Evangelist, Holy Innocents, Thomas a Becket, Solemnity of Mary, the Mother of God, etc., playing games, reading books, watching movies, eating good food, thinking about the New Year. I am no Scrooge. I actually love Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. It is a deeply Christian book.

This year, I made it almost to the Third Sunday of Advent before realizing I've had enough already. This is pretty good for me. I have been fascinated this year by the fact that Padre Pio's favorite liturgical season was Advent (for a short treatment of this, see "Padre Pio and Advent: A Journey of Renewal and Grace"). Of course, he lived in a Capuchin monastery, but still, his advice given in some letters is most helpful.

Here is a late Friday traditio that, I believe, captures well the spirit of this season. The Kinks' "Father Christmas":

In any case, here's to those who wait in quiet expectation, preparing their hearts to once again not merely celebrate, but experience the great mystery of the Incarnation, those and who ponder this great mystery in their hearts. The mystery of Christ, "hidden from ages and from generations past," we read in Colossians, and has now "been manifested to his holy ones... Christ in you, the hope for glory" (Col 1:26-27).

As for the rest, as John Calvin put it: "The human heart is a perpetual idol factory." For the Latinists, who are, rightly, suspicious of translations- from the 1559 definitive edition: hominis ingenium perpetuam, ut ita loquar, esse idolorum fabricam (Institutes I.11.8). "Man's genius, so to speak, is to perpetually make idols."

Kwanshanuakkhmasdinosaurias- a photo from my walk this morning

"by a singular grace and privilege"

Today the Church celebrates the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Of course, this does not refer to the conception of Jesus by the Holy Spirit, thus becoming "incarnate of the Virgin Mary." Rather, it is a celebration of the conception of our Blessed Mother herself by her mother, who tradition hands on was named Anne. Saint Anne's conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary happened in the normal way.

What the Immaculate Conception refers to is set forth very well in the dogmatic formula found in the Papal Bull Ineffabilis Deus, promulgated by Bl. Pope Pius IX in 1854:

We declare, pronounce, and define that the doctrine which holds that the most Blessed Virgin Mary, in the first instance of her conception, by a singular grace and privilege granted by Almighty God, in view of the merits of Jesus Christ, the Savior of the human race, was preserved free from all stain of original sin, is a doctrine revealed by God and therefore to be believed firmly and constantly by all the faithful

It was not until four years after the promulgation of Ineffabilis Deus that the Blessed Virgin appeared to the peasant girl, Bernadette Soubrious, introducing herself to Bernadette as "the Immaculate Conception."

Since the dogma of papal infallibility was not formally defined until 1870, the apparitions of Our Lady at Lourdes, France served as a kind of proof of the truth of the dogma of this de fide belief. It's important to keep in mind that dogmas do not appear out of nowhere. They are tenets of the faith that have to be shown both to be a part of divine revelation and, even if in seed-like form, believed always, everywhere, and by all. While theological reflection, examination, and even disputation are vital for the Church, even with regard to dogmas of the faith, for faithful Catholics, belief or at least assent to dogmatic teaching is of the utmost importance.

The Immaculate Conception of Los Venerables (Soult Madonna), by Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, 1660-1665

It surprises many people that since the First Vatican defined the dogma of papal infallibility in the constitution Pastor Aeternus, which was promulgated by the same Pope Pius IX 1870, there has only been one exercise of papal infallibility. This occured in the Jubilee Year of 1950, when Bl. Pope Pius XII infallibly proclaimed the bodily Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary into heaven in Munificentissimus Deus.

Falling as it does during the season of Advent, today's Solemnity, which, this year, is moved to Monday because the Second Sunday of Advent takes precedence, also reminds us something very important: the Son of God, as it pertains to his humanity, is consubstantial with His Mother, the Blessed Virgin Mary. And so, through Blessed Mother, who is also our Mother, is consubstantial with us.

To answer a popular song of yesteryear, "What If God Was One of Us?," through the womb of the Blessed Virgin Mary, He became one of us. Through His Holy Spirit he remains present not just among us but, if we let Him, in us. If He is in us, then we can make Him present to others. This the famous third advent of our Lord set forth by Saint Bernard of Clairvaux in an Advent sermon a long time ago. Like the Gospel itself, while old, it is ever new.

Today, pray Our Lady's Rosary, say a Memorare or two, or three... Of course, observe this Holy Day of Obligation, this gift of the Church. Don't neglect to ask for the intercession of Saint Bernadette.

Baruch's message of hope

Reading: Baruch 5:1-9

It isn't often that we hear a reading from the Book of the Prophet Baruch at Sunday Mass. But in Year C of the Sunday lectionary, on the Second Sunday of Advent, our first reading comes from this little-known book of Sacred Scripture. Baruch is numbered among the deutero-canonical books. As such, many Christians do not consider this book to be part of the scriptural canon.

One of the features of deutero-canonical books is that they were written in Greek, not Hebrew. With regard to Baruch, some scholars believe that this book may have been originally written in Hebrew and then translated into Greek and that only the Greek manuscripts were preserved and handed down. There is a similar theory, albeit not widely held but with some credibility, concerning the Gospel of According to Saint Matthew.

While attributed to an assistant of the prophet Jeremiah, the Book of Baruch is not a unified text. The different texts that comprise the book were probably not written by the same author. It may have been during the compilation of these texts into a unified book that it was rendered into Greek.

Like a number of deutero-canonical books, the texts that comprise it were composed later than the time in which they are set. Given the disparate nature of the texts that make up the Book of Baruch, no definitive dating is possible. However, the book in its final form was likely put together between 200-1 BC.

The setting for Baruch is the Babylonian Captivity (597-539 BCE). Our passage for today comes from the part of the book known as "Baruch's Poem of Consolation." It is the final part of this poem. It is addressed, not to the exiles, but to the Holy City, Jerusalem, and those Israelites not exiled. I think that its being written much later than Babylonian captivity of Israel is a great aid for us in seeing how these inspired words have something to say to us today.

From the beginning, the Church has viewed herself as enduring a kind of capativity between Pentecost and Parousia. Especially during the first few weeks of Advent, the theological virtue of hope is the underlying theme. Hope should never be confused with optimism. Hope is what remains when all options are exhausted. I am probably one of the least optimistic people you will ever meet. Because of Jesus Christ, I have hope. But that is to state the matter poorly.

Jesus Christ is my hope! He is hope of the world, just as Baruch posits God as the hope of Jerusalem. I can only imagine how in, say, the middle of the 58 years of Babylonian exile how hopeless their situation must've seemed both to the exiled Israelites and those left behind. To many, it probably seemed like end. So much for being God's chosen people! At least to my mind, one of the greatest miracles of history is the survival of the people of Israel as a people.

I am not going to lie, I think the Church is currently going through a very difficult time. We are experiencing difficulties from within and without. While these struggles are real and, like many, I am deeply concerned about much of what is happening within the Church, we can't lose sight of our need, as Christians, to simply and steadfastly live our faith in its fullness, holding fast to what has been faithfully handed on. In other words, you must not lose hope, even as your optimism wanes.

Living your faith is what it means to "take off your robe of mourning and misery; put on the splendor of glory from God forever," even if some days it doesn't feel like it. Let's face it, many days it doesn't feel like it. But God is faithful. Yet, God is God. God's fidelity is made manifest according to your criteria or on your timeline. Knowing God, which means cultivating a relationship with God, is the only way to really understand what this means. Such understanding is a matter of experience.

In light of revelation, it's weird and detrimental to faith that we have made the Lord's return such a scary thing. "Apocalypse," which means uneveiling, revelation, is used synonymously with destruction, death, catastrophe. But for early Christians, whose prayer was Maranatha (an Aramaic word meaning something like "Our Lord, come!"), the day of the Lord's return is the day of liberation, the end of exile, salvation, the fulfillment of genuine hope. Stated simply, they lived in joyful anticipation of the Parousia. They knew the meaning of Baruch's exhortation:

Up, Jerusalem! stand upon the heights;
    look to the east and see your children
gathered from the east and the west
    at the word of the Holy One,
    rejoicing that they are remembered by God

Note: With this, I am getting back to the practice of posting reflections each Sunday. Time permitting and inspiration allowing, I may get back to posting the Friday traditio. I appreciate the encouraging messages from so many of you to continue my efforts here. I hope each of you are having a blessed Advent.

Year I Monday of the First Week of Advent

Readings: Isaiah 2:1-5; Psalm 122:1-9; Matthew 8:5-11

Advent is the season during which the theological virtue of hope comes into full relief. Longing is almost a one-word description of human experience. As human beings, we long for what we desire. When you think about it, desire expressed as longing, that which drives us, is what constitutes our humanity.

Longing often remains ambiguous because the object of one’s desire is often not clear. There is a tendency to think if I acquire this or accomplish that I will be fulfilled. Within a short time, one is left asking questions like, “Is this all?” or “What’s next?” It takes us time to learn that all accomplishment and all acquisitions are fleeting.

For those who are attentive to experience, the fleeting nature of things reveals over time that human desire is infinite. Infinite desire can never be satisfied by finite things. Infinite desire requires an infinite object.

Our reading from Isaiah paints a picture of something worth desiring: God’s kingdom as place of peace and tranquility. In this passage we hear the words “ways,” “paths,” and “walk.” These all refer to God: God’s ways, God’s path, walking in God’s light. We don’t need to wait until eschaton to walk in God’s paths, to follow God’s ways, to walk in the light of the LORD. In reality, these describe how to live between already and not-yet of God’s kingdom.

Saint Bernard of Clairvaux preached about the Lord coming three times. His first coming is as man, His Incarnation. In the end, He will come again in glory. But in between, this span between the already and not-yet, there is a hidden advent that happens in the one with true faith.

“In case someone should think that what we say about this middle coming is sheer invention,” says Saint Bernard, “listen to what our Lord himself says: ‘If anyone loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him’ [Jn. 14:23].” He then exhorts his listeners: “Keep God’s word… Let it enter into your very being, let it take possession of your desires and your whole way of life.”¹ This is how one brings desire into focus.

Christmas is not only about celebrating the Lord’s birth in Bethlehem, which often becomes very sentimental. It is much more about the present, about Him being born anew in you. Advent, then, is a gestation period. It is Jesus present in the Eucharist who bridges the span between the already and the not-yet.

If the Lord is truly present in the consecrated bread and wine and you receive Him under these signs, it stands to reason that He is in you. He comes to be present in you not merely for your own sake, but for you to make Him present to others.

Making the Lord present to others, thus living in and for Him is how you begin to fulfill your longing, to satisfy your desire. The title of a lovely hymn composed by Bach summarizes this well: Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.

Rightly, the issue of worthiness comes up. As a wise mentor said to me years ago, “You’re not worthy. Get over it.” Try as you might, you will never make yourself worthy. Only One is worthy: Jesus Christ.

The words of the Roman centurion from our Gospel today should sound very familiar to you. At each Mass, we say aloud, or should say aloud, a variation of what this man says to the Lord in today’s Gospel: “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.”

To be fully healed is something we all desire because it is something we all badly need. Wholeness and holiness are integrally related. To become holy is to be made whole. We’ve all been wounded and all of us have wounded others. To be healed, therefore, is to become, in the words Father Henri Nouwen, a wounded healer.

Attend to the fact that the centurion did not reject what Jesus did because he was unworthy. His honest profession of unworthiness is a sign of genuine faith. It is what hope looks like. On the one hand, this pagan recognized who Jesus is and understood he had no right, no standing, to ask the Lord for anything. On the other hand, he recognized that this is what the Lord came into the world to do and so humbly implored Him, confident in the Lord's mercy.

If we follow the story beyond the bounds of our reading from the lectionary, after lauding this Roman soldier to his fellow Jews by way of rebuke, Jesus tells this pious pagan, “You may go; as you have believed, let it be done for you.” The inspired author ends this pericope with these words: “And at that very hour [his] servant was healed.”²

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1 St. Bernard of Clairvaux (Sermo 5, "In Adventu Domini," 1-3: Opera Omnia, Edit. Cisterc. 4 {1966}, 188-190..^↩
2 Matthew 8:13.^↩

Year C First Sunday of Advent

Readings: Jer 33:14-16; Ps 25:4-5.8-10.14; 1 Thess 3:12-4:2; Luke 21:25-28.34-36

Prior to Mass yesterday, we celebrated the first liturgy of this new year of grace. With Evening Prayer last night, the Church throughout the world entered the season of Advent. Being a noun, “advent” means arrival. This is a season meant to prepare us both for the Lord’s return and celebrating His humble birth in Bethlehem at Christmas. Advent, therefore, is consciously living between the already and not-yet, about letting Christ be born in you as “we look forward to his second coming.”¹

The liturgical year is a great gift. Understanding it and living the seasons of the Christian year, not only at Church, but at home, and in your personal life, grounds Christian spirituality in the Paschal Mystery. In the words of pastor/theologian Trevor Hudson, all the seasons of the Church year “are ‘time-gifts’ that the church offers to help us participate more fully in what God has done [and is doing] in human history.”²

God has done nothing in human history greater than being conceived by the Holy Spirit and made incarnate of the Virgin Mary, thus becoming fully human.³ This is why, when reciting the Creed, we bow while professing this central truth of our faith, which marks the beginning of the Paschal Mystery. Jesus Christ is not only consubstantial with the Father as it pertains to His divinity, He is also consubstantial with His Mother as to His humanity.

During Advent, we celebrate two great Marian observances: the Solemnity of Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary, a Holy Day of Obligation, which we will observe this year on Monday, 9 December y el doce de diciembre, celebramos la Fiesta de Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe. En virtud de la Inmaculada Concepción, la Madre María es la patrona de Estados Unidos. Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe es patrona de todas las Américas. Under the Immaculate Conception, Mother Mary is patroness of the United States. Our Lady of Guadalupe is the patroness of all the Americas.

Keeping Christ in Christmas starts with observing Advent. Observing Advent requires you to live contra mundum, to swim against the stream of well-meaning but premature and excessive festivities that leave everyone exhausted. Let’s face it, Santa Claus has little in common these days with Saint Nicholas. By all means, in the fullness of time, let’s celebrate Christmas! In the meantime, let’s prepare ourselves so we are properly disposed to do so.

Christmas starts on 25 December and, here in the United States, lasts until the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord, which we will observe this year on 12 January. Traditionally, Christians prepare for great solemnities by observing a time of more intensive prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. Advent is to Christmas as Lent is to Easter.

While a relatively short season, Advent has a twofold character. We begin Advent as an extension of Christ the King, when we celebrate, not the end of the world, but end of time. Time will end when Jesus returns “to judge the living and the dead.”⁴ And so, for roughly the first two weeks of Advent, we look forward to the Lord’s Advent, His second coming. In a very real sense, the whole of human history is mostly an Advent, a time of waiting on the Lord.

Our reading from Saint Paul’s First Letter to the Thessalonians, is indicative of the beginning of Advent. Likely written in AD50, it is probably the first book of our uniquely Christian scriptures to be written, First Thessalonians possesses what might be called an eschatological urgency. In other words, it urges Christians to live in readiness for Christ’s return so as “to be blameless in holiness before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his holy ones.”⁵

“Eschatology,” in case you’re wondering, is just a fancy theological word referring to the end of time, to last things. It is often the case today that our eschatology does not extend beyond the fact that someday we'll all die. This even though Christ's return to judge the living and the dead (yes, judge) is credal, dogmatic, de fide, that is, an essential and indispensable element of Christian belief. Our dogmatic beliefs should have bearing on how we, as Christians, live our lives. Yes, you may die before the Lord returns. Then again, you may not.

As Saint Paul wrote to the Church in ancient Rome, in a passage from the scriptural reading for the Church’s Morning Prayer on the First Sunday of Advent: “it is the hour now for you to awake from sleep. For our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed.”⁶ Put simply, it’s always later than you think. How can we regain the proper sense of urgency? While not a panacea in and of itself, observing Advent can help in this regard.

It is tempting to explain away hard passages like the one from Saint Luke’s Gospel that is our Gospel for this First Sunday of Advent. But turning Christian faith into an exclusively this-worldly philosophy is to be unfaithful to what God has revealed in Christ. Note that our Gospel for today comes from the final chapters of Luke’s Gospel, not its beginning.

Let’s give our Lord the last word as we begin Advent, letting Him set the theme. After warning His followers not to be carried away either by excessive revelry or by excessive worry about “the anxieties of daily life,” thus living sub specie aeternatatis- under the aspect of eternity, always bearing foremost in mind the purpose of existence, He instructs us:

Be vigilant at all times and pray that you have the strength to escape
the tribulations that are imminent and to stand before the Son of Man⁷

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1 Roman Missal, The Order of Mass, Eucharistic Prayer III, sec. 113.^↩
2 Trevor Hudson. Pauses for Lent: 40 Words for 40 Days. Upper Room Books. Kindle Edition. Location 73.^↩
3 Roman Missal, The Order of Mass, The Liturgy of the Word, sec. 18.^↩
4 Ibid.^↩
5 1 Thessalonians 13:3.^↩
6 Romans 13:11.^↩
7 Luke 21:34-36.^↩

It's the end of time, liturgically speaking

Well, today the Church marks the end of time. With Evening Prayer today, we usher in a new Year of Grace, a new liturgical year. And so, with the Office of Readings and Morning Prayer, we see out the old.

Understanding the liturgical year is a great aid to spirituality. Observing the different seasons, not just when you go to Mass, but at home and personally, is greatly enlightening.

For example, Advent, the first season of the liturgical year, is almost completely extingushed by our rush to dive in to the "Christmas season." Hence, the Christmas season, properly understood, which only starts on Christmas Day, and (for those of us in the U.S.) extends to the Baptism of the Lord, with its wonderful feasts and observances: St. Stephen, St. John the Evangelist, Holy Innocents, Thomas à Becket, the Twelve Days, etc., goes mostly unobserved, largely due to exhaustion.

While this has died down in recent years, the cries to "Keep Christ in Christmas," starting as they do after Thanksgiving, also ignore the richness of Advent. Observing a season of fasting, abstinence, and penance, a time of deeper and more frequent prayer, in preparation for a major solemnity is a Christian tradition. Many try to say that Advent is not a penitential season. But traditionally, it is. If nothing else, this is highlighted by the liturgical colors (violet and rose, or, if you prefer, purple and pink).

Our Eastern Christian friends, even most of our Eastern Catholic sisters and brothers, observe the Nativity Fast. Keeping Christ in Christmas starts with the observance of Advent, with preparation. In other words, Mass at Christmas is not the after party.

During Advent, when we both look back at the Incarnation of God's Only Begotten Son and look forward to His glorious return, awaiting the light in the darkness, we moderate rather than celebrate. Stated differently, we moderate in preparation to celebrate. This requires us to live contra mundum. Living this way is increasingly alien to Christians. Immersed as we are in the world, in politics particularly (which too many see as a means of salvation and ultimate rather than proximate), we no longer think of ourselves as exiles. And so, adherence to time-tested traditions is often seen as reactionary and so not with it.

During Advent, don't forget the Ember Days associated with Saint Lucy's Day. These are the Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday that come after: 18 December, 20 December, and 21 December.

Even when it comes to Christ's return, we no longer wait with anticipation for that great and dreadful day. Instead, our eschatology does not often extend beyond the fact that someday we'll all die. This despite the fact that Christ's return to judge, yes judge, the living and the dead is credal, dogmatic, de fide. Yes, you may die before the Lord returns. Then again, you may not. We've largely lost our sense of urgency. Observing Advent can help you regain it.

Advent, then, is a time to reflect, to pray, to examine your conscience in light of the Paschal Mystery, which starts with the Son being born into the world and culminates with His return. In light of this, as Christians, we should live vigilantly, waiting in joyful expectation, preparing ourselves and the world for the end of time, when the King will come.

Being thankful (to God)

Thanksgiving is a nice holiday. I still observe it in what I suppose is now considered to be a rather old-fashioned way. I start by serving at Mass and then proceed home to continue preparing for a feast. After Mass, I strenously avoid going anywhere, unless for a walk. As a matter of fact, I just returned from a walk, my second of the day, having gone on one early this morning before Mass. It's a beautiful day, something for which I am deeply grateful.

Speaking of Mass on Thanksgiving, while today is not one, for some reason, at my paris htoday we celebrated Mass like a solemnity. We sang the Gloria and recited the Creed.

Truth be told, I have a lot for which to be thankful. Being even more honest, I am rarely truly thankful and never as thankful as I should be. Since my fifty-ninth birthday a few weeks ago, I have been thinking back on my life. Doing this makes me thankful. Like most people, I suppose, there were some true crossroads, forks-in-the-road, and even turning points. I believe, looking back, I can see God's hand on my life, not forcing me one way or the other but guiding me to the extent I was open to His guidance.

As Søren Kierkegaard insightfully noted in his Journals and Papers: "Life must be understood backwards; but… it must be lived forwards." Nonetheless, life unrelentingly moves forward. As I get older, life seems to move forward at an accelerting pace.

The Gospel the Church's lectionary provides for Masses in observance of Thanksgiving here in the U.S., is from Saint Luke. This is especially fortuitous this year because Thanksgiving falls just a few days before the First Sunday of Advent. With the advent of the new year of grace, we move from Year B to Year C of the Sunday Lectionary. During Year C, the Gospel According to Saint Luke becomes the Gospel from which we read on Sundays.

As the late New Testament scholar, Fr. Eugene LaVerdiere, S.S.S. beautifully unfolded in his book, published in 2007, Dining in the Kingdom of God: The Origins of Eucharist according to Luke, Luke's Gospel is deeply focused on the Eucharist. It isn't focused on the celebration of the Eucharist, as such. Rather, Luke considers what it means to live eucharistically, that is, thankfully. It is no surprise that this eucharistic focus is beautifully exposited by a member of the Congregation of the Blessed Sacrament (this is what the "S.S.S." after his name indicates), which was founded by the "Apostle of the Eucharist," Saint Peter Julian Eymard. If you're looking for a good and accessible book on Luke's Gospel, I recommend this one very highly!

Today's Gospel today tells of Jesus healing ten lepers. As He walked through Samaria and Galilee on His way to Jerusalem, He heard these men shouting, "Jesus, Master! Have pity on us." Have pity on them He did. Jesus' response was for them to go show themselves to the priests. As they went, they were cured of their leprosy. Therefore, all they needed was for a priest to declare them clean.

At the heart of this pericope is that only one of the ten came back to worship and thank Jesus. When we hear that the one who came back, a Samaritan no less, was "glorifying God in a loud voice," the word "glorifying" is a translation of the Greek word doxazon, the word at the origin of "doxology." The grateful Samaritan, cured of leprosy, worshipped Jesus by thanking him, which in the Greek original found in this passage is euchariston.

These lepers, of course, are stand-ins for you and for me. Sin is a far worse disease than leprosy. Any one of us, recognizing who Jesus is, which requires you to recognize yourself, your need, your deepest desire, couldn't help but cry out, "Jesus, have mercy on me!" In the context of the Eucharist, we do this just before receiving Holy Communion: "Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed." Jesus doesn't just say the healing word. He is the healing Word who, in and through the Eucharist, gives Himself to you.

Our proper response to God's love is, in a word, "Eucharist." Eucharist simply means to give thanks. We give thanks to the Father, through the Son, by the power of the Holy Spirit for the Son and for what God accomplishes in and through Him. Given this, it isn't hard to see how fundamental gratitude is to Christian being, to being a Christian.

Far from being something we only do at Church, Eucharist, thanksgiving, is the mode of Christian life. Given that the law of prayer is the law of belief and that the law of belief is the law of life, we need to take seriously that part of every Preface to the Eucharist Prayer, addressed to the Father, that states plainly- "It is truly right and just, our duty and our salvation, always and everywhere to give you thanks..."

In his book, Gratefulness, The Heart of Prayer: An Approach to Life in Fullness, Br. David Steindl Rast urges: "Look closely and you will find that people are happy because they are grateful. The opposite of gratefulness is just taking everything for granted." Take nothing for granted. Be thankful.

Mem. of the Dedication of the Basilicas of St Peter & St Paul

Readings: Acts 28:11-16.30.31; Psalm 98:1-6; Matthew 14:22-33

The word “apostolic” has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? For Christians, all of whom use it in reference to the Church when saying the Creed, it is a crucial word. While being apostolic can’t be reduced to apostolic succession, apostolic succession isn’t just vital, it is necessary for the Church, if she js to be the Church of Christ, if she is to be fully apostolic.

It bears noting that there is no higher sacramental office in the Church of Christ than bishop. As successors of the apostles, each bishop, particularly those who are ordinaries, that is, those who head dioceses, which are local churches, enjoys the fullness of the sacrament of orders. Episcopal ministry has a threefold munera: to teach, to govern, and to sanctify.

Priests and deacons receive their authority to minister from their bishop or, if not a member of the clergy of a diocese, then from the bishop in whose jurisdiction they serve. For those of us who are diocesan clergy, it is no exaggeration to say that our ministries are extensions of the bishop’s apostolic ministry.

As our reading from the Acts of the Apostles, which tells of Paul’s arrival in Rome as a prisoner, apostolic succession centers in Rome, the imperial capital of ancient world. The pope holds his office by virtue of being the Bishop of Rome. Rome being the “See” of the Apostles Peter & Paul. Because all the sees subject to Rome are suburbican (i.e., they are Roman suburbs), Rome is designated a diocese and not an archdiocese.

Saint Peter's Basilica

Today, the Church celebrates the dedication of two Roman Basilicas: Saint Peter’s in the Vatican and Saint Paul Outside the Walls. Believe it or not, Saint Peter’s in not the Mother Church of Christendom because it is not the Bishop of Rome’s cathedral. Saint John Lateran, the dedication of which the Church celebrates each year on 9 November, is the Cathedral of the Bishop of Rome, where his cathedra, or chair, can be found. Unlike today’s observance, which is an optional memorial, the Church’s celebration of the Dedication of Saint John Lateran is a universal feast.

Both the Basilicas are built over the tombs of their namesake. Saint Peter was crucified in Rome during the persecution of the Emperor Nero in AD 64. Saint Paul, being a Roman citizen, was beheaded in Rome sometime between AD 62-67. If you remember, Paul used his prerogative as a Roman citizen to appeal his case to the emperor, despite a good likelihood of being acquitted. Fully believing he would be exonerated, Paul, as his Letter to the Romans indicates, was planning to evangelize westward from Rome.

As Church father Tertullian observed: the blood of martyrs is the seed of the Church. Rome is proof of this. While the pope is the successor of Peter, who is revered as the first Bishop of Rome, the papacy has a missionary aspect, which is its Pauline. dimension. It wasn’t really until modern times, until the papacy of the aptly named Pope Paul VI, that popes really began to travel around the world. This is an important part of the papal office, which is why popes go to such great lengths to do it.

Basilica of Saint Paul Outside the Walls

Whether we’re talking about Peter or Paul we’re talking about evangelization, about spreading the Gospel, the Good News that is Jesus Christ. More than a program, evangelization is about telling others what Jesus has done for you, what difference knowing Jesus makes in your life. To mistake apologetics for evangelization is to risk addressing questions no one is asking, or to reduce an encounter to a formula.

As he was sinking in waters of the Sea of Galilee, Peter called out “Lord, save me” and “Immediately,” without hesitation, the Lord “stretched out his hand and caught him.”¹

In his Letter to the Romans, it was Paul the prisoner who wrote:

What will separate us from the love of Christ? Will anguish, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or the sword?²

This brings us to the other dimension of what it means for the Church to be apostolic. An apostle is one who is sent. In a Christian context, it is one who is sent to testify about Jesus Christ. You can’t testify to an experience you have never had.

Both Peter and Paul had direct encounters with the Risen Lord. Their apostolic ministries, therefore, are about proclaiming that Jesus is Lord. At the end of Mass, this is what you are sent to do.

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1 Matthew 14:30-31.^↩
2 Romans 8:35.^↩

Year B Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Daniel 12:1-3; Psalm 16:5.8-11; Hebrews 10:11-14.18; Mark 13:24-32

Today is the penultimate Sunday of this liturgical year. I admit, I’ve been looking forward to using the word “penultimate,” all week. Along with “juxtapose,” it is a word I love finding occasions to use.

The Book of Daniel, from which our first reading is taken, is an apocalyptic book. As such, it is fitting to read from it as the Church year ends. At the end of each year, the Church looks forward to the end of time, not to the end of the world, but to the end of the world as we know it. This reading looks forward to the resurrection of the dead.

Our reading from Daniel makes mention of Michael. Calling him “the great prince and guardian of [God’s] people.”¹ This is a reference to none other than Saint Michael the archangel. We do not speak about angels very much. I suspect this is due, at least in part, to how angels are often depicted: as chubby toddlers. Hence, it seems childish, superstitious, or perhaps even downright silly to some.

Nonetheless, “the whole life of the Church benefits from the mysterious and powerful help of angels.”² For example, the Sanctus, an ordinary part of the Mass, which is sung or recited at every Mass, begins Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus… (i.e., Holy, holy, holy), is the song of angels. By singing or reciting the Sanctus, we join the choirs of angels in praising God.

We profess in both the Nicene and Apostles Creeds our belief that Jesus Christ will return in glory to judge the living and dead. Like angels, we do not pay much attention to this dogmatic belief. As Christians, we need to live our lives in joyful expectation of that day when God will make good on all His promises, which is the source of all true hope.

In our Gospel, Jesus teaches his closest disciples about His return. He, too, mentions angels, saying He will send them forth to “gather his elect from the four winds, from the end of the earth to the end of the sky.”³ In light of this aspect of divine revelation, we need to mightily resist the stripping away of the great mystery of creation and redemption and the reduction of Christianity to a this-worldly, utopian project that simply bids one to “Be nice.”

As C.S. Lewis observed:

But we must not suppose that even if we succeeded in making everyone nice we should have saved their souls. A world of nice people, content in their own niceness, looking no further, turned away from God, would be just as desperately in need of salvation as a miserable world-and might even be more difficult to save⁴

I could go into the distinctions between being nice and being kind and between being kind and being charitable. Don’t get me wrong, being nice, at least when used as a synonym for being kind, matters. As Maj. Frank Burns quipped: “It’s nice to be nice to the nice.” But being nice, even in this way, isn’t everything. I think I could lack faith and still manage to be nice.

No one knows when the Lord will return. According to Jesus, not only do the angels not know the day or hour of His return, but even He, at least during his earthly sojourn, did not know. This is why, as that great Christian spiritual master, Metropolitan Anthony Bloom, insisted that for Christians, every day is judgement day.

“Epiphany” is a word frequently used in the New Testament to refer to the Lord’s return. An epiphany is a sudden occurrence, realization, or revelation. If today’s Gospel is to be believed, Christ’s sudden appearance will happen after a time of great tribulation. Remember All Saints when we read from the book of Revelation? Specifically, to when the elder tells the revelator that those wearing white robes and holding palm branches who surrounded the Lamb and praised Him are those “who have survived the time of great distress; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.”⁵

There is a reason in the Salve Regina that we refer to this life as hac lacrimarum valle- this valley of tears and to ourselves as exsules filii Hevæ, - Eve’s “poor, banished children.” Like all who have come before us, we live in a time of great distress.

Our reading from Hebrews mentions those who are being consecrated. Note that this is in the present active tense. So, it does not refer to those who have been consecrated. It is about those who are, even now, being consecrated. Primarily, to be consecrated means to be set apart for a purpose. Theologically, the purpose for which one is set apart is God’s purpose. And God’s purpose is the redemption of the world through Jesus Christ.

In the Rite of Baptism, just prior to making a credal profession of faith, several questions are posed to the person being baptized or, in the case of an infant, to her/his parents and godparents:

Do you renounce sin, as to live in the freedom of the children of God?
Do you renounce the lure of evil, so that sin may have no mastery over you?
Do you renounce Satan, the author and prince of sin?⁶

These are not rhetorical questions. Furthermore, they presume belief in “all things… invisible” mentioned in the first part of the Nicene Creed. The spiritual or unseen part of creation is real, not fantastic, let alone imaginary. Hence, the sacraments are not antiquated exercises in medieval magic designed to make us feel good in some non-specific way.

A few weeks ago, we celebrated the Rite of Acceptance whereby several adults entered the Church’s Order of Catechumens. At the beginning of the rite, Fr. Andrzej asked those desirous of becoming Catechumens what they asked of God’s Church. They responded by saying “Faith.” He then asked them what faith offers them. They answered by saying “Eternal life.”⁷ Even as Catholics, we profess that we are saved by grace through faith in Jesus Christ. But as we are taught by scripture: “faith without works is dead.”⁸

Even after being baptized, we need help. God, in His infinite goodness, in His lovingkindness, gives us help of every kind. For example, as Saint Basil the Great explained: “Beside each believer stands an angel as protector and shepherd leading him to life.”⁹ Yes, you have a Guardian Angel!

Don’t hesitate to call upon your Guardian Angel. Saint Therese of Lisieux, a Doctor of the Church, gave us this lovely prayer:

My holy Guardian Angel, cover me with your wing. With your fire light the road that I’m taking. Come, direct my steps… help me, I call upon you. Just for today

Let’s not forget the Prayer to Saint Michael, which used to be prayed at the end of every Mass:

Saint Michael the archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray;
and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host,
by the power of God,
cast into hell Satan and all the evil spirits
who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls

My dear friends in Christ, the only way to survive the time of great distress is to recognize, something C.S. Lewis noted: “Relying on God has to begin all over again every day as if nothing had yet been done.”¹⁰ And so, make use of all the means of grace our loving Father has placed at your disposal. As we prayed in our Collect today, “it is full and lasting happiness to serve with constancy the author of all that is good.”¹¹

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1 Daniel 12:1.^↩
2 Catechism of the Catholic Church, sec. 334.^↩
3 Mark 13:27.^↩
4 C.S. Lewis. Mere Christianity, Book IV, Chapter 10, “Nice People Or New Men?”^↩
5 Revelation 7:14.^↩
6 Order of Christian Initiation of Adults, sec. 224A: Order of Baptism of Children, For Several Children, sec. 57.^↩
7 Order of Christian Initiation of Adults, sec. 50B.^↩
8 James 2:17.^↩
9 Catechism of the Catholic Church, sec. 336.^↩
10 C.S. Lewis Letters to an American Lady, "A Letter to Mrs. L."^↩
11 Roman Missal, “On Sundays and Weekdays,” Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time.^↩

Memorial of Saint Martin of Tours

Readings: Isaiah 61:1-3; Psalm 89:2-5.21-22.25.27; Matthew 25:31-40

The cultus of Saint Martin of Tours was large, on par with that of the deacon, Saint Francis of Assisi. It remained so for more than a millennium. It only began to diminish in the last century. Born a pagan, Martin, followed in his father’s footsteps and entered military service for the Roman Empire. He was born around the time of the Council of Nicaea, the first ecumenical council, which was convened in AD 325. He became a champion of orthodoxy, vigorously opposing Arianism, which denied Jesus’ full divinity.

Against his parents’ wishes, Martin began to attend church at about the age of 10. In the following years, he became a catechumen. He remained a catechumen for years, entering Roman military service aged 15.

The most famous story about Saint Martin occurred while he was on active military service and still a catechumen. Riding on horseback, he encountered a freezing beggar. Martin cut his long military cloak in half and gave it to the beggar. It is reported that he dreamt that night of seeing Jesus wearing the cloak he gave away. In the dream, while wearing the cloak, Martin heard the Lord say to an angel: “Martin, who is still but a catechumen, clothed me with this robe.”

His encounter with the beggar seems to have been the catalyst for Martin to finally be baptized. While there is no chronology, the main chronicler of his life noted that he remained in military service for two years after being baptized.

Como nota breve: no me fío de los restaurantes mexicanos que no tienen una imagen de San Martín de Tours, al que llaman San Martín caballero, en la área de recepción.

After his baptism, on the eve of a battle, Martin refused to fight, insisting that he was now a “soldier of Christ.” Imprisoned for cowardice, Martin offered to go to the battle lines unarmed. The authorities were inclined to have him do this, but the battle never happened. Shortly afterwards, he left military service.

After leaving military service, Martin became a monk. Prior to being made a bishop, he established several monasteries. Saint Benedict, usually held to be the father of Western monasticism, who lived in the late fifth and early sixth centuries not only greatly admired but was inspired by Saint of Martin of Tours.

Bas relief of Saint Martin of Tours as a British WWI soldier for Westminister Cathedral, London, by Eric Gill, carved 1914-1918

For his time, Martin was a unique saint. As a friend of mine, Father John Montag, a Jesuit, noted several years ago: “St Martin was a hugely significant figure--he sort of redefined sainthood. Before he came along, you pretty much had to be a martyr to be considered a saint.” Father Montag went on to note: “I hope all the soldiers we remember today are inspired by Martin and his humble generosity. We could all use a bit of that!”

Saint Martin of Tours is the Patron Saint of beggars, reformed alcoholics, soldiers, tailors, and, oddly enough, in that lovely Catholic manner, also of winegrowers. Martin Luther, born on 10 November, was named “Martin” in honor of Martin of Tours.

Many Eastern Catholic Churches along with Orthodox Churches observe what is called Saint Philip’s Fast. Also called the Nativity Fast, it is similar to Lent, a penitential season during which one prepares to celebrate the Lord’s Nativity. Traditionally, in certain places in the Western Church, the Feast of Saint Martin ushered in what was called “Martinmas.”

Like Saint Philip’s Fast, Martinmas was a penitential time to prepare for the celebration of Christmas. The post-Mass activities tonight are the kinds of things that belonged to the celebration that preceded the beginning of Martinmas, kind of like a Mardi Gras.

My parents gave me Stephen as my middle name. So, Saint Stephen, who is held by the Church to be one of the first seven deacons from Acts 6, is my patron saint. But, being born on 11 November, I claim the holy bishop Saint Martin of Tours as my co-patron. Given the special connection between a bishop and his deacons, it is a divine arrangement that makes sense to me.

As I urged in a homily a few Sundays ago, make friends with some saints. Ask for their prayers, their intercession, and study their lives. As Fr. Tonino Lasconi, an Italian parish priest and author of several volumes on the renewal of catechesis, observed, “Without the saints, the faith vanishes.” Any form of Christianity that does not venerate the saints is impoverished.

It is no accident that it was on 11/11/1911 at 11:00 AM that the ceasefire that ended World War I occurred. All parties, at least all the European nations, engaged in the war knew that 11 November was the Feast of Saint of Martin Tours, a soldier who, through his encounter with a beggar, became a thoroughgoing man of peace, a man of God, a Christian. As Servant of God Msgr Luigi Giussani insisted: “The true protagonist of history is the beggar: Christ who begs for man’s heart, and man’s heart that begs for Christ.”

It is fitting, too, that we observe Veteran’s Day on Saint Martin’s Day. As General Douglas MacArthur said in his farewell speech before a Joint Session of Congress- “The soldier above all others prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war.” As a combat veteran myself, this rings true.

In a world that is just as dangerous and war-prone today, a world in which many are dying for lack of peace, in humility, let us ask- Sancte Martine Turonis, ora pro nobis- Saint Martin of Tours, pray for us.

All Saints

Readings: Revelation 7:2-4.9-14; Psalm 24:1-6; 1 John 3:1-3; Matthew 5:1-12a

In the end, when it is all said and done, when Christ returns and judges the living and dead, the Church will only consist of saints. “There is only one sadness,” it has been noted, “that is for us not to be saints.”¹ To disbelieve this is to place yourself in in danger of not being included in the white-robed multitude we heard about in our first reading.

How you live today and tomorrow matters. As for the past? Repentance is available. Your priorities are revealed by how you spend your time, not by giving the correct answer in Church by saying what you’re expected to say: “I put God first.” Is this really true? Something to ponder.

How often do you pray? By this I mean, how often do you dedicate time to prayer, to cultivating your relationship with God, through Christ, in the power of the Holy Spirit? A lie from the bowels of hell, one I sometimes even hear repeated by people who profess to be Christians, is that you cannot have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.

Having an ever-deepening personal relationship with Christ is the entire point of the Christian life. Thomas à Kempis’ Imitation of Christ, which is the bestselling book of all-time after the Bible, start-to-finish, it is a dialogue with our Risen Lord. Taking a cue from our Responsorial, do you long to see the Lord’s face, to hear His voice, to be in His presence?

As G.K. Chesterton urged, “Let your religion be less of a theory and more of a love affair.” Love, specifically agape, or self-sacrificing love, is the essence of holiness, of sanctity. It is the beating heart of the life of the Blessed Trinity. How this looks in reality is set forth beautifully in the Beatitudes from our Gospel tonight.

This amounts to being humble, empathetic/sympathetic, meek, merciful, desiring righteousness, committed to seeking peace. Teaching children the Golden Rule (i.e., “Do to others whatever you would have them do to you”²), they typically respond with something like, “If you’re nice to others, they will be nice to you.” But it doesn’t take a lot of experience to realize that this is often not how it works. What’s tough about being a Christian, is you must persist even when kindness isn’t reciprocated.

There is a reason why at the end of this teaching Jesus immediately speaks about persecution. To paraphrase the late theologian, Father Herbert McCabe: “if you don’t love you’re dead, and if you do, they’ll kill you.”³ Far from being pessimistic, this is hopeful.

Hope is not optimism! Nick Cave pointed out that “Unlike cynicism, hopefulness is hard-earned, makes demands upon us and can often feel like the most indefensible and lonely place on Earth.”⁴ Failure to recognize this is to place yourself in danger of despair.

Optimism means wishing for what you want to happen. Hope means surrendering yourself to God, abandoning yourself to Divine providence, recognizing God’s ways are not our ways and that His will is holy and perfect.⁵ As in all things that truly matter, Jesus, while in the garden, shows us the way, saying to the Father: “not as I will, but as you will.”⁶ “Surrender don’t come natural to me,” sang Rich Mullins, “I’d rather fight You for something I don’t really want than take what You give that I need.”⁷

This is hard because we live in a society that is literally hellbent on control. Because, culturally, being self-determining is the supreme value, surrendering control, strikes most people as crazy. This view is not merely unchristian, it is anti-Christian. It is anti-Christian because being fully committed to your own will is the surest way to evade sainthood.

Something easy to miss in our reading from Revelation is an elder asking the revelator, rhetorically, “Who are these wearing white robes?” Answering his own question, the elder goes on to say: “These are the ones who have survived the time of great distress.”⁸ It is always the time of great distress until Christ returns.

Our reading from 1 John says we are to become “like” Christ.⁹ Likeness, it bears noting, is not identity. You will never be Christ! To be children of God through Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit is the greatest gift imaginable. This pales in comparison to what we can become.

Becoming a saint cannot happen accidentally. It requires an intention born of deep desire. Holiness must be your deepest desire. Fourth among the Luminous Mysteries of Our Lady’s Holy Rosary is the Lord’s Transfiguration. The fruit of this mystery is the desire for holiness. We need to pray for this desire because it doesn’t come naturally. Rather, it is supernatural.

Cooperation with the grace given to you in baptism and confirmation as well as each time you make a good confession and receive Holy Communion is vital. While amazing, grace is not magic. Using Holy Communion as an example, it is like good nutrition. What makes certain foods “junk” foods is a lack nutritional value. To be healthy requires you to eat healthy foods. To eat in a healthy way requires intention and effort, not to mention self-denial. Cooperating with God’s grace requires intention and effort.

Finally, make some heavenly friends. Get to know some saints. Ask them to intercede for you. Wear a blessed medal featuring that saint(s). Read their words, study their lives. You don’t have to leap back 2000 years. The Church exists to make saints. There are holy men and women from every age of the Church. The darkest times produce the greatest saints.

Let us heed what Saint Paul wrote in the passage chosen by the Church for the scripture reading for Evening Prayer on this Solemnity:

Since we have these promises, beloved, let us purify ourselves from every defilement of flesh and spirit, and in the fear of God strive to fulfill our consecration perfectly¹⁰

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1 Alan Morris, OP. “Leon Bloy: A Man for the Modern World,” in Dominica Journal 33 no 2, 119.^↩
2 Matthew 7:12.^↩
3 Terry Eagleton. "Lunging, Flailing, Mispunching."London Review of Books, October 2006.^↩
4 Stephen Colbert Show. 15 August 2024. “Nick Cave On Singing With Johnny Cash And The Joyful, Uplifting Vibe Of His New Album, ‘Wild God’” Timestamp: 21:07-21:52.^↩
5 Isaiah 55:8.^↩
6 Matthew 26:39.^↩
7 Rich Mullins. Song "Hold Me Jesus."^↩
8 Revelation 7:13-14.^↩
9 1 John 3:2.^↩
10 2 Corinthians 7:1.^↩