Low Easter Sunday (Divine Mercy), Year C

We’ve all heard the expression that “seeing is believing.” Very often it is uttered as a manifestation of distrust, particularly after broken promises and dashed expectations. One spouse cheats on another and promises to be faithful. The cuckolded spouse says, “Seeing is believing.” The leader of one particular party encourages the support of a particular piece of legislation by claiming that it will actually lower the government’s deficit. The leader of the rival party responds, “Seeing is believing.” In today’s gospel reading, the disciples who witnessed the risen Lord proclaimed to Thomas that the one crucified was now alive. His response was, “Well, seeing is believing.”


Today’s scripture readings, however, invite us to turn that expression of skepticism on its head and to also recognize that believing is seeing! That is, if we are able to view our world and experiences through the eyes of faith, we may be able to see something entirely different than most people allow themselves to see.

John found himself exiled to the Greek island of Patmos, a late first century CE Roman penal colony during what most scripture scholars say was the reign of the emperor Domitian. His physical eyes may only have been able to behold a place of isolation and punishment for his refusal to offer sacrifices to the Roman gods and the emperor himself.

But because he came to the island with the eyes of faith—a faith that he wanted to instill and nurture in the early church—he was able to behold a vision that began with a vision of the risen Christ, assuring him, “Do not be afraid. I am the first and the last, the one who lives. Once I was dead, but now I am alive forever and ever.”

That vision, which John was commanded to write down, became the basis for the Book of Revelation—one of the most read (and least understood) books of the Bible—which helped to encourage and sustain the early church through some very trying times. Ultimately, not even the force of an empire could destroy it.

When the apostles were reported first to have cured people, they were typically greeted with doubt, fear and persecution. The passage from Acts 5 in today’s first reading followed several other dramatic ones in which Peter and James cured a crippled beggar in the name of Jesus (3:1-10), which led them to be persecuted by the elders and scribes (4:1-22). Meanwhile, the love, trust and unity of the nascent church in Jerusalem (4:32-37) buoyed their faith.

Yet while “none of the others” (that is, the disciples beyond the apostles) “dared to join” the apostles as they boldly continued their ministry of teaching and healing, “the people esteemed them.” Further, news of the healings drew people not only from Jerusalem but also from the surrounding towns and villages. These people had not seen what the apostles had done, they had only heard about it. But they believed…or at least they wanted to believe; and their faith was rewarded.

We can imagine that Thomas wanted to believe, too. After all, he was one of the twelve whom Jesus himself had chosen. But he couldn’t bring himself to it without seeing first. Perhaps the trauma of the Lord’s passion and death was too overwhelming. After investing so much of himself and his faith in following Jesus and hoping that he was the Messiah, it must have been a crushing and demoralizing blow to have it all seemingly end in the pain and humiliation of the cross.

It would not be surprising if Thomas felt not only a sense of deep personal loss and disappointment but even disillusionment and betrayal. Whatever his feelings, he wasn’t willing to trust anything but his own eyes.

What he failed to remember, however, is that our human sight is limited. We can’t see everything, everywhere, all the time. In fact, sometimes our eyes can deceive us. This is particularly true when our vision is clouded or narrowed by things like loss, confusion, or prejudice. We choose what we will see in the mistaken belief that it will somehow insulate us from the pain of seeing more. Sometimes it can…for a while.

But life has a way of crowding itself into our field of vision. Like Jesus, people and things step in front of us even when we have locked the doors, and we are forced to put our hands into the nail prints and lanced sides that we have tried so hard to avoid.

Lord Jesus, in your mercy deepen our faith! In a world where “seeing is believing,” open our eyes to also understand that “believing is seeing.” +

Easter Sunday, Year C

A man was running late for a meeting. In his rush to get across the street he failed to look both ways, was hit by a truck and died.

His soul traveled up toward heaven and he was met by St. Peter at the pearly gates. “Welcome to heaven!” Peter said. He glanced down at his intake computer and a look of concern came over his face. “Hmmm,” he said.

"Is there a problem, St. Peter?” the man asked.

“Just a little one…I hope,” Peter answered. “What kind of work did you do?”

“I am….I was a United States Senator!” the man said with pride.

“Oh, no wonder,” Peter said. “We don’t get a lot of your kind here…at least on the direct flight. The ones who make it usually have a bit of a layover.”

“I always liked the direct flights anyway,” the senator replied. “Why not just let me in?”

“Sorry, sir,” Peter said firmly. “We have our orders from higher up. You’ll have to spend one day in hell and another in heaven and then make up your mind about where you’d like to spend eternity.”

“Really,” the man contested, “I’ve made up my mind. Heaven is just fine with me.”

“I’m very sorry, Senator,” Peter insisted, “but we have our rules.”

With that, St. Peter escorted the man to an elevator that went down, floor after floor, past the P (Purgatory) floor, to the ground floor, parking garage, basement, sub-basement, sub-sub-basement, and finally to Level H: hell.

The doors opened, and to his shock the man came upon a scene of laughter and luxury! He saw many people he recognized there. They greeted him, handed him a drink, and invited him for a round of golf, which was followed by a dinner featuring steak, lobster and gallons of champagne. A dance followed, during which he met a gorgeous woman. He thought he remembered her from the movies. His time in Hell just seemed to fly.

St. Peter, however, soon reappeared in the scene. “Time’s up,” he said. “Now you have to spend a day in heaven.” With that, they got on the elevator and returned to paradise.

Heaven was nice, too—good food and a nice gym, plus a lot of praying, singing and uplifting conversation. But it was pretty quiet, perhaps even a little dull.

After a day, St. Peter returned and asked the man, “Well, Senator, you’ve had a taste of both heaven and hell. Which will it be? Where would you like to spend eternity?”

The Senator scratched his head. “Well,” he said, “I never thought I’d say it, but I really prefer hell.” St. Peter asked if he was sure, and the man insisted that he was.

So they got back in the elevator and down they went, floor after floor, until they again reached Level H. The doors opened, the man stepped out, and the doors closed behind him.

The Senator looked up and froze. He was on top of a landfill, with flames of methane gas shooting out from pipes. His friends were dressed in rags and picking up garbage as it fell from the sky. The devil approached. “Welcome to hell!” he laughed as he put an arm around the man.

“I don’t understand,” the Senator stammered, “I was here a day ago and people were laughing, playing golf and dancing, eating steak and lobster, and drinking champagne. Today it’s a garbage-filled wasteland and my friends look miserable. What happened?”

“Oh that,” the devil said as he chuckled, shook his head, and waved his hand dismissively. “Yesterday we were campaigning. Today was your election.”

---

Easter is, understandably, a day of great joy. After forty days of Lent and its penitential practices and after the solemnity of Good Friday and our remembrance of the great suffering that our Lord endured on the cross, we recall the great miracle of his resurrection from the dead and we welcome the gift of everlasting life that he won for us.

But our scripture readings also remind us that even Easter, like life itself, isn’t just sweetness and light, nor is it a past event only. It’s a hard lesson to absorb. After all, who of us wouldn’t rather focus on bunnies, jelly beans, and chocolate cream-filled eggs? It’s estimated that Americans this year will spend over $13 billion to celebrate Easter—most of it on candy, food, and new clothes. We all like a good party.

Our gospel reading points out, however, that the women who came to the tomb on the first Easter weren’t exactly in a partying mood. They had come with spices to anoint Jesus’ body and complete the preparations for his burial. Instead they found the stone covering his tomb rolled away and were confronted by “two men in dazzling garments.” Luke’s gospel noted that they were terrified, bowing their faces to the ground.

After being reminded of Jesus’ own testimony about his death and resurrection, these women became the first of his disciples to proclaim the good news that he was indeed alive again, just as he had promised. They ran from the tomb and told the apostles, whom our tradition teaches were the predecessors of our bishops and priests. Unfortunately, the two Mary’s and their companions didn’t get a very good reception: Luke notes that the apostles dismissed their story as “nonsense.” The lone exception was Peter, who ran to the tomb and left the scene “amazed” at what he saw.
Fear, skepticism, and amazement seem like a long way from marshmallow Peeps and Easter vacations. But they remind us that the resurrection of Christ and the new life we have because of it have consequences, no less the cross. One of them is to live with courage and hope, even when it’s difficult. With all the bad news about the Church that has lately been in the newspapers, TV, radio and the internet, we can sometimes feel like those women and the other disciples on that first Easter morning: fearful, confused, not especially confident of our leaders, and not entirely sure of what will happen next. But they worked through it; and two thousand years later so can we.

Another consequence of the resurrection is going beyond our comfort zones for the sake of the gospel, just as Peter did when he encountered the faith of Cornelius and his household—all gentiles. Take time this week and read all of Acts 10 and you will see that he had to work through the limitations of his own background and experiences to share the gospel and embrace those who were different than him as brothers and sisters in Christ. But he worked through it; and two thousand years later so can we.
In our second reading from 1 Corinthians 5, St. Paul urged the church in Corinth—a church struggling with many controversies and divisions—to be renewed, just like a fresh batch of dough at Passover. It was hard, but they worked through it…and two thousand years later so can we.
Two thousand years ago a group of trembling women stood before a tomb and were asked, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?”(Luke 24:5) Two thousand years later, we are asked the same question and face the same choice—the same election.

Happy Easter! +

Passion/Palm Sunday, Year C

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh…Sometimes, it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble!
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

That words of that African-American spiritual came to my mind and heart several weeks ago as I read the cover story in a recent issue of The Economist magazine (March 6-12). The article was entitled, “Gendercide: What Happened to 100 Million Baby Girls?” It opened with a description of a visit that the Chinese writer Xinran Xue made to a poor family in a rural province of that vast country.

She had just sat down in the kitchen as the woman of the house was giving birth. There was a moan of pain, a series of loud cries, and then silence…followed by a low sobbing sound. The author then heard a male voice brusquely mutter, “Useless thing!”

Then Xinran Xue heard some movement in the slop pail that had been placed behind her. To her shock, she saw a tiny foot poking out of the pail. She started to get up to reach it, but two policemen who had accompanied her to the house held her down and told her, “Don’t move, you can’t save it, it’s too late.”

She protested, “But that’s…murder…and you’re the police!” Then the little foot stopped moving. Xinran Xue objected, “That’s a living child!”

But an older woman came over to her and tried to comfort her. “It’s not a child,” she said, “It’s a girl baby, and we can’t keep it. Around these parts, you can’t get by without a son. Girl babies don’t count.”

Tragically, this is a story that could be told not only in China but in India, South Korea, Bosnia, Belarus, and too many other nations of the world, especially in Asia and Eastern Europe. Girls by the millions are aborted, neglected, exposed, and killed because they are perceived as not as valuable as boys. In many of these same countries, this discrimination persists throughout women’s lives and is manifested in the destruction of girls’ schools, so-called “honor killings,” and the denial of the most basic civil and human rights.

“Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” the old spiritual plaintively asks. As people of faith who believe in the sacredness of human life from conception until natural death, in the fundamental dignity and equality of each human being, and that God made us male and female in God’s own image and likeness, we can only answer, “Yes” when we think of that little girl in China whose life on earth was ended as soon as it began.

We can only answer “Yes” when we see the mangled bodies and limbs of people in Iraq and Afghanistan who are the victims of terrorist bombings. We must answer “Yes” when we read of yet another young man in Detroit, Milwaukee, Chicago, or any other major city in our own country whose life has been cut short by a bullet—a story now so familiar that it is no longer front page news. We can only answer “Yes” when we hear of a man like Congressman John Lewis—who nearly gave his life to the civil rights struggle—subjected to insults and racial slurs not on the streets of Birmingham or Selma in the 1960’s but in front of the U.S. Capitol last weekend as he prepared to vote on the healthcare bill.

The Passion of Christ is not a past event only. It is all around us, every day, not only in the events that make headlines but also in our personal and family struggles: sickness and sadness; poverty and pettiness; dysfunction and divorce; and when the bills are piling up and the money’s running short—all those times when, like Jesus on the cross, we feel like crying out in the words of Psalm 22, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” (Ps 22:2)

The horrors and pain of the cross might cause us to forget that the greatest power of the Lord’s Passion is not in suffering and pain but rather in love. It is the love of God—beheld in the incarnation, life, death and resurrection of Jesus—that we celebrate today and will celebrate in a very special way in the coming week.

It was love that enabled Jesus, in the words of St. Paul in our second reading, to disregard grasping for equality with God and instead to empty himself and take “the form of a slave.” (Phil 2:7) It was in love that he humbled himself and became “obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” (Phil 2:8) This is the love that we celebrate when—following the command and example of Jesus—we share in the unleavened bread and wine that are his body and blood.

On this Palm Sunday—Passion Sunday—can we accept that love, and are we willing to live out its consequences? Today we are called again to walk with Jesus as disciples and servants with:

• Well-trained tongues—Through prayer, reflection, and a growing knowledge of the Bible and our Catholic tradition, to be able to “speak to the weary a word that will rouse them.” (Isa. 50:4)

• Strong backs—Willing to help our sisters and brothers, especially those who are poor, marginalized and vulnerable, to carry their burdens.

• Flinty faces—Able to deal with the misunderstanding, opposition, and even the persecution that sometimes comes from fidelity to the Gospel.

• Emptied selves—Ready to grow in holiness and usefulness to God by letting go of our sins—especially the deadly sins of pride, anger, envy, greed, lust, gluttony, and laziness.

As we begin this Holy Week, may the Passion of the Lord be our passion, too. +

Image from ccdumaguete

4th Sunday of Lent, Year C

He grew up as a happy child with two loving parents in Portugal. But at the age of eight, he was taken away under mysterious circumstances and ended up on the other side of Spain. There he was abandoned and left to fend for himself.

He managed to survive by whatever means he could, and at age 22 he joined the army. Having long since abandoned the Catholic faith of his youth, he turned to a life of violence and dissipation. It wasn’t until he was 40 years old, after nearly two decades of violence, drinking and carousing, that he began to take stock of his life. Horrified at who he had become, he made a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, perhaps the most famous and important shrine in Spain.

He then decided to return home, only to find that both of his parents had died years earlier, his mother (it was said) of a broken heart. Bearing the weight of so many years of debauchery and now the added burden of his parents’ deaths, he experienced profound remorse, which he tried to assuage with all kinds of severe penances. He publicly renounced his sins in the town square and even considered going to North African to offer himself as a martyr. In fact, he was so effective denouncing himself that the authorities were convinced he was mad.

He was sent to an asylum where, in keeping with the limited knowledge and prejudices that prevailed at the time, he was beaten daily with a chain. He was so interiorly wounded that he not only accepted this abuse but welcomed it as a form of penance. Fortunately, however, a famous preacher of the time went to visit him. After hearing the man’s story, the priest concluded that he was not mentally ill but rather spiritually sick, overwhelmed with grief and guilt.

After obtaining the man’s release from facility, the priest encouraged him to continue leading a life of penance—but one that would be a much more powerful and positive witness. So the man embarked on a life of service. He opened a book store and gift shop that helped raise money for his real ministry: a shelter and hospitality center for the poor, sick and homeless, and travelers of all kinds. At times their numbers would swell to over 100 and he would wonder how he and the ministry would survive. In one letter he wrote:

Since this house is open to everyone, it receives the sick of every type and condition: the crippled, the disabled, lepers, mutes, the insane, paralytics, those suffering from scurvy and those bearing the afflictions of old age, many children and above countless pilgrims and travelers….

And for all this no payment is requested, yet Christ provides. I work here on borrowed money, a prisoner for the sake of Jesus Christ. And often my debts are so pressing that I dare not go out of the house for fear of being seized by my creditors.

Despite so many hardships and obstacles, he continued until his body gave out and he died at age 55. Today a religious order bears his name: the Brothers Hospitaller of St. John of God. The order’s motto is simple: caritas—i.e., charity or love in action. St. John of God is the patron saint of hospitals, patients and nurses. This prodigal son who returned home then made a home for others.

I sometimes wish there was a sequel to the familiar story of the Prodigal Son that we heard in today’s gospel reading. It would be one in which the younger son worked hard and long in thanksgiving for the grace and welcome that his father had extended to him. The older son and his younger brother would be reconciled.

But in reflecting on such a sequel, particularly in light of today’s other Scripture readings, I realize that the story I would like written is really about me. After all, I am the one who needs to grow in thanksgiving and to be reconciled with others! St. Paul reminds us in our second reading that in Christ we each are “a new creation.” Through the Sacrament of Baptism we are initiated into a life of discipleship, which includes “the ministry of reconciliation” and being “ambassadors of Christ.” But none of us gets there quickly.

Our passage from the Book of Joshua recounts the arrival of the people of Israel in the Promised Land, signaled by the fact that they no longer had to eat the manna but instead could eat “of the produce of the land.” Their celebration of Passover helped them to remember all that they had gone through to get there and, more importantly, the One who had brought them there. We have a similar opportunity each time we celebrate the Eucharist. The Mass gives us a formal opportunity in the Penitential Rite to “call to mind our sins,” but it is just as important—perhaps even more these days—to pause to call to mind our blessings! The period of silence after communion is a great time to do that.

Part of the power of the parable of the Prodigal Son is that it is a story that we ourselves could tell. All of us can probably recall a time (or times) in our lives when we have squandered the blessings that received, and it may only have been when we found ourselves soiled by our own mistakes and hungry for something better that we came to our senses, made the decision to “turn our lives around” by turning back to God, and started the long journey back to him.

The good news that Jesus gives us today is that once we begin that journey of repentance, reparation, reconciliation, and renewal God is more than ready to reach out to us and welcome us home. The challenge he gives us is to become more and more like the Father in our relationships with each other, even when our own feelings and even our sense of justice drive us to be more like the older son.

The scribes and Pharisees were scandalized by Jesus’ fellowship with sinners. Imagine what they would think if they came to any parish and scanned the pews on any given Sunday! Thankfully for us the scandal of God’s grace in Jesus Christ is still alive. May it remain alive—not only for us but in us as well! +

Images: Prodigal Son by Rembrandt, 1669

1st Sunday of Lent - Year C

Last Tuesday was a special day in cities with large Polish populations—places like Milwaukee, Chicago, Detroit/Hamtramck, Buffalo and Pittsburgh. It was Pazcki (poonch-kee) Day. For the uninitiated, paczki are small jelly-filled donuts that are made and consumed in large quantities on the day before Ash Wednesday. National Bakery in Milwaukee made and sold 145,000 last Tuesday!

Paczki were traditionally made in the home in an effort to use up the lard, flour and other ingredients that would be foresworn as part of the Lenten fast. Perhaps reflecting the Slavic genius for making indulgence penitential at the same time, the traditional paczek filling was prune-flavored. In more recent years, however, it has been joined by raspberry, lemon, blueberry and other varieties.

Whether it’s the celebration of Paczki Day in Milwaukee, Carnival in Rio, Mardi Gras in New Orleans or simply Shrove Tuesday, the day before Lent has long been a time to indulge (and overindulge) in the things that tempt us—the very things we hope to leave behind in Lent.

The only problem is that our temptations don’t get the message! They stick with us and often even intensify in the midst of our fasting, prayer and almsgiving. Just ask a smoker who has given up cigarettes, a drinker who has sworn off alcohol or a chocolate lover who is abstaining from her favorite desserts and snacks.

Lent is our time of our liturgical year that we find ourselves in the desert. Like Jesus in today’s gospel we are driven there by the Holy Spirit. Like the Lord we are also “tempted by the devil.” Lest we lose heart, we need to see that these temptations are as much evidence of our commitment as of our weakness.

Our gospel passage from Luke 4 comes at a pivotal moment in the life of Jesus, between his baptism in the Jordan by John (Luke 3:21-22) and his prophetic proclamation in the synagogue (as well as his potential martyrdom) at Nazareth (Luke 4:14-30). Just as his forty days in the desert tested and prepared Jesus for his mission and public ministry, so the Church gives us Lent to be readied to better fulfill our own vocations.

Today’s Scripture readings present us with five different temptations that are a common part of our pilgrimage of discipleship in Christ:

• The temptation of forgetfulness and ingratitude.
• The temptation of thoughtless faith.
• The temptation of instant gratification.
• The temptation of materialism and idolatry.
• The temptation of presumption and carelessness.

In our first reading from Deuteronomy 26, Moses warns us against forgetfulness and ingratitude. Nearing the end of their desert wandering and preparing to enter the Promised Land, he feared that the people of Israel would soon forget God and his commandments. Therefore he instituted in their law one of many forms of institutionalized thanksgiving.

In this particular passage, he commanded them to not only bring forth the first fruits of their harvest to God but also to remember or recall the great moments of their salvation history: the providential visit of Jacob, “a wandering Aramean,” to Egypt; the prosperity of the nation even in an alien land and in the midst of oppression; liberation; and now their place in “this land flowing with milk and honey.” Moses knew something about human nature and how easily we can get comfortable and forget our blessings.

Centuries later, St. Paul exhorted the early church in Rome to confess that the salvation God had once promised to the people of Israel had been granted to all through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. Confession was important to Paul because it represented a conscious decision to accept this life-changing gift. Most people limit their understanding of confession to a statement of what they have done (wrong). Paul invites us to see it as something more: a proclamation of what God has done and continues to do for us even today.

As followers of Jesus, like Paul, we are called to proclaim the good news; and even more, like Jesus himself we have also been gifted with the Holy Spirit to fulfill our vocations. But if we have been blessed with the gifts we also have to contend with the challenges and temptations:

• Changing stones into bread—Have we looked for the emotional highs of “exciting” liturgies or high-profile ministries where we get a lot of kudos but neglect times of quiet contemplation and avoid positions of humble service?
• Seeking worldly power and glory—Have we succumbed to the illusion that what really matters is being rich and famous or are we dedicated to following God’s will, even if it demands sacrifice? 
• Testing God’s providence and mercy—Have we allowed sinful habits to fester within us without making a real effort to change or worse, despairing that change is even possible?

Temptation is inevitable. Yielding to that temptation is optional. Victory over temptation is possible because salvation is our destiny. The same Spirit that was with Jesus in the desert is with us today. +