Death Has No Sting

The Resurrection of the Lord
April 20, 2025 — Year C
Readings: Ac 10:34a, 37-43 / Ps 118 / Col 3:1-4  / Jn 20:1-9
by Rev. Jay Biber, Guest Celebrant

In Lexington where I live, we have a little bit of a reading group, and what we landed on at the beginning of Lent this year, was a work which included some homilies, done in 1981 by a German theologian.  His name was Joseph Ratzinger.  You may remember him; he  became Cardinal Archbishop shortly after Pope John Paul II was made Pope in 1978.  This book, by whom I believe now is the greatest theologian of the 20^th century (although none of us knew it at the time), was published in 1981.  This was a series of homilies that he gave in Munich in 1981.  

Looking at the piercing of Christ on the cross, and at the Resurrection, Cardinal Ratzinger took a different starting point.  It was captivating to me.   When you think of the Resurrection, what image comes to mind?  The scripture doesn’t give us that moment that shows what it was like.  We could look at the Shroud of Turin and we’re free to believe that, somehow in its miraculous way, it captures what happened beyond our knowing.  And so, I think we imagine the stories of the dazzling angels.  So, for me anyway, it’s sort of dazzling.  

But actually, when you see all the stories of the Resurrection, whether it’s the Sunday night in the Upper Room where Jesus joins the disciples, He walks through the door.  So, obviously, there’s something very different here, but He’s still in a body.  He’s still got the wounds.  He’s the same, but He’s not.  By the Sea of Tiberius, He makes a point that He’s eating fish for breakfast, like they are.  Other examples are the story of the women who are at the grave – Mary Magdalene thinks He is the gardener.  She sees Him but doesn’t recognize Him.  On the road to Emmaus, He is not recognized until the breaking of the bread.  Something profound is going on.  

Within what we call the west, there are two dimensions and Pope John Paul II was keenly aware of those.  Of course, Cardinal Ratzinger became the main theologian of the Church and then later became Pope himself in 2005.  So, if you look at what is between Greece and Italy, Greece belongs to the eastern part of the empire,  but from Italy all the way over to Germany, Austria, Finland, England, and Ireland are the western part of the empire.  I guess you could say that Poland is in the middle – it touches both the east and the west.  So, in the two parts of the empire, the art is different.  We have our representational art here; it looks like people.  We don’t want it to become idolatry, but it looks like people.  It’s got three dimensions.  In the east the Orthodox art is much more mystical, and so when you see it, you are seeing icons, perhaps the famous icon of the Trinity, or the icons of Mary with the Infant Jesus.  These are clearly not meant to be exact representations of people because they are only two-dimensional, not three.  They are created this way so that we pass through it to the deeper, mysterious, mystical reality that it leads us through.  

It turns out that this was where Cardinal Ratzinger made the point that, as far as the Resurrection goes, in the eastern part of the west, that half (all the Balkans, and Russia, Georgia, Kazakhstan, Turkey, Greece) have looked at the Resurrection in a very different way.  If you want to see it, you can see pictures of it; just punch in “the Harrowing of Hell” or “Descent to Hell.”  Remember when we pray the Apostle’s Creed, “He descended to Hell,” to the land of the dead, not to the permanent separation of God for those who have rejected or unconfessed, but the waiting, beginning with Adam and Eve, all the just people waiting for God to set things right.  And so, in the east, since there was no image of the Resurrection, the image they developed was the Harrowing of Hell.  Now, a harrow is an agricultural implement that basically roughs up the ground.  After all the vegetables, fruits, and grains are all harvested, the earth needs to be turned over so it can receive the rain, so it can receive the seed, somewhat like aerating a lawn.  The harrow is a machine that churns up, so we speak of the Harrowing of Hell.  Go online; you’ll see icon after icon after icon and with some of them, you can find the commentary, so you can even understand the details of what the symbols are.  

Basically, the Harrowing of Hell, the Descent to Hades (Sheol in Hebrew), is where Christ goes to bust up Hell. It’s very physical because he comes to break open Hell, to break all the locks, to let the light in to where there was only dark.  So, in the icons, first you see the images of Him going to Adam and Eve who have been waiting for so long, and to all the just souls who have been waiting for that great moment of redemption.  This becomes the final act in Christ’s saving work.  He has come to earth, He has taken on our flesh, and now He has died, which permits the final act – to go down to the land of the dead and say, “I did not make you to live in a dungeon.  Come out.”  The story of Lazarus is a foreshadowing of that.   “Come out,” He says to all the souls who were waiting.  So that’s the redemption.  

The harrowing is that He shows no mercy to Satan.  Satan turns out to be a nothing, just a minor thing.  The Satan that had everybody terrorized is now seen whimpering in the corner.  The death that had everyone terrorized no longer has any power. 

Now we read the Psalms with a different mindset.  Think of Psalm 24.  “Oh gates, lift high your heads.  Grow high you ancient doors.  Let him enter, the king of glory.”  He’ll break those gates open.  It’s physical, it’s athletic, it’s muscular.  Who is that king of glory?  The Lord, the mighty, the valiant.  Oh gates, lift high your heads, because death has no sting.  He has entered the world of death for our sake, His love for us, and blown it up at the middle.  

What Cardinal Ratzinger understood too, was that this is the story that applies; this is a pattern that gets repeated all through history.  For Israel certainly had the experience of the Exodus of being set free from slavery, from the dungeon of darkness, of pure solitude and the loneliness of no connection.  All that is done away with.  This is not just for once; this is a pattern of God.  It is a rhythm.  Lost, then found.  Israel would experience not only the Exodus, but hundreds of years later, the exile.  And the Church would navigate in our own way. The new Israel would navigate seas and waves and tides and winds that we could not have imagined,  every generation going through the pattern.  To even up to now; to yourselves and your stories.  Even in those moments when you felt like death warmed over, you somehow experienced that there was a new life under all this and this is true today as well.  

To go all the way back to the story of Abraham going up the mountain with Isaac ready to sacrifice him and Isaac’s asking where the lamb will come from.  Abraham says the Lord will provide.  And there he is bound on the altar and they look and see the ram caught in the thicket, and that becomes the sacrifice.  The derivative of Isaac’s name is “laughter.”  Ultimately, there is joy for the person of faith because this is the way God has set up the world.  It is a joy that courses in a laugh.  Probably most of us have been in certain situations where we thought we would never laugh again.  But no, we have too much evidence to the contrary.  With Isaac, he laughed to see the lamb, as if to say that, Yeah, I need to learn to believe that when God says, “I got this,” He means it.  

Bestow Your Spirit

Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time
September 29, 2024 — Year B
Readings: Nm 11:25-29 / Ps 19 / Jas 5:1-6 / Mk 9:38-43, 45, 47-48
by Rev. David Stanfill, Guest Celebrant

In the first reading from the Book of Numbers, Moses says, “Would that all the people of the Lord were prophets, would that the Lord might bestow His spirit on all of them.”  And then Jesus says something very similar: “There’s no one who performs a mighty deed in my name who can at the same time think ill of me, for whoever is not against us, is for us.”

I love what Moses said to the young man who was scandalized that the two stray men receive the Holy Spirit, but not in the planned way, and I love that Jesus says the same response when he tells His disciples, because they are upset that someone else who isn’t a regular follower was driving out demons in Jesus’ name.

God’s grace, God’s many gifts don’t always come in the pathways that we expect. It is an unfortunately natural jealous reaction in us that resents that someone isn’t a follower of Jesus the right way, and we’ve missed the great presence of the Lord working in that person, through that person, because it isn’t happening the approved way, the way that we think it should be.

Think about the current conflicts and controversies in the government, even in the Church concerning Pope Francis, and how he’s proclaiming the Gospel and the Church teachings in a different way than other popes or Church leaders have in the past. Because conservative Church leaders or conservative radio hosts don’t hear Francis standing up strongly for the issues or doctrines that they feel are most important, they say things to weaken the message that’s being given, they criticize.

And it’s easy to criticize, it’s easy to jump to conclusions, it’s easy to favor our own way of thinking.   Sometimes, if a person doesn’t like if you’re not from their team, their club, their fraternity, their political party, their theological direction, nothing you say will be good enough to please them. If we get in our mind that a person doesn’t like us, then we can interpret anything that they say as insulting or confrontational, even if what they’re saying is true.

I remember having some hard feelings towards my father when I was a teenager. He was always on me about my hair or other things too.  You wouldn’t think about it now to see me, but at one time, I had a really thick head of hair and wore it unkempt and long all the time.  He did not like that. My father came from a military family, you see, and he thought any head of hair that could hold a part was way too long. Finally, at my mother’s urging, to keep the peace, I went to the barber myself and I got a haircut that I thought was better, but probably still borderline.   So, I get home from the barbershop and my father takes one look at me and says, “Hey, nice haircut.”  And before his words registered in my brain, I jumped right back at him angrily and I said, “What do you mean by that?  You never like my hair!  Why can’t you just give me a break?”  He was giving me a compliment, and I took it as an insult. Selective hearing can get us into a lot of trouble, for sure.

People can too often easily condemn others, whether they are bad sinners or just people who don’t seem to be following the rules.  Jesus sees the presence of the Spirit where we do not sometimes. Thank goodness for that. Jesus is always looking for the good in us and in everyone.  So, we can be encouraged to look more deeply for the effects of the Spirit’s working, rather than in the externals.  Each of us can look for ways to do this.

In our reading from St. James, it’s quite concrete.  Several weeks ago, he challenged us to notice whether we treat wealthy visitors better than poor ones.  The next week, he reminded us of the importance of good works in the form of care for others as a sign of our true faith.  Then last week, he warned us about the results of jealousy and selfish ambition, as well as the divisive passions that are within us.  This week, he reminds us that wealth is corrosive and it will devour our flesh like a fire.  And he powerfully points out to us that our injustices towards others are crying aloud.

Jesus offers us a remedy from the things that take us in such dangerous, destructive, and sinful directions.  He tells us to cut it off, to separate ourselves from what is the source of our self-defeat.  The easiest way to begin that journey is for us to recognize the problem.   Why am I so judgmental? Why do I always seek to have more, to look better than others? Why do justice or care for those on the margins come to me with such difficulty?  What causes me to sin?

From there, we can ask for forgiveness in healing, and asking for healing can lead us to identify what instincts and practices and habits that I can change, what I should cut off from my life.   Change is difficult, that’s for sure. We only change something in our life, which has become habitual or addictive when we arrive at a deeper desire for something else, something better. Otherwise, it’s just so easy to deny that we even have a problem, even when we know we aren’t happy.  When we experience God’s love and mercy filling our hearts with gratitude, then we can want to be closer to the one who loves us.   Being closer to Jesus leads us to want to be more like Him.   Gradually, over time, His love heals our wounds, changes us, and it helps us to make our heart like His.   Let’s bow our heads now and pray for that right now.

Dear Lord, fill our hearts with Your love and then open our hearts to love the way that You love. Open our hearts to those who are different from us, difficult for us, to those who have hurt us in the past. Let us see, or at least believe, that Your own spirit is with them, in them somehow.   Let us believe there is a path to You from every human heart, even the most sinful, those who are most insecure and difficult. Transform us, O Lord, and help us become instruments of Your justice, real advocates for those in need. We ask this, trusting in Your spirit’s work within each of us.  Amen.

Right on Time

Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time
June 23, 2024 — Year B
Readings: Jb 38:1, 8-11 / Ps 107 / 2 Cor 5:14-17 / Mk 4:35-41
by Rev. Louis Benoit, Guest Celebrant

Today’s gospel has a few meanings.  One meaning is that Jesus is the fulfillment of God in the Old Testament. In the Old Testament, especially in the book of Psalms, like the psalm we just heard, we hear how God is over all creation and over the storms and the winds, with God having domination over all those things.  So, we see Jesus fulfilling these Old Testament aspects of God, being creator and domineering over all.

Also, at the beginning of Mark’s gospel, we are told who Jesus is.  However, for Jesus’ followers, that gradually unfolds as the gospel goes on.  As they see Jesus doing various things, it deepens their faith in who Jesus is.

And so, we have, at the last line of today’s gospel, “Who then is this, whom even the wind and sea obey?”  It’s the deeper knowledge of who Jesus is, as they come to a deeper faith in Him.  For the apostles, it’s a deepening of faith.  And it’s a faith that needs to be deepened.  He asked them, “Why are you terrified?  Do you not yet have faith?”  And that’s not just an admonition, but it’s calling them into deeper faith in who Jesus is, and of course, they are questioning it.

Who then is this, whom even the winds and sea obey?  Now, for us, it’s a very good gospel.  How many times in your life have you felt you were in your own little boat on rough seas and by yourself, and you don’t know where to turn?  I think anyone who has logged in some adult years can identify times when that has happened.  And yet, do you doubt that Jesus is in the boat with you?  I think we do doubt when we are being tossed about by the waves of life, and wondering where God is, but Jesus is with you.

You know, the apostles weren’t too keen on that, but although He was asleep on a cushion, He was with them, and that’s for us to see that Jesus is with us.  And we have things that keep us from that.  We have a peculiar situation in our country that militates against that, that we so over-emphasize independence.  We tend to ignore our dependence on God and others.  And we are very dependent on people.  This over-emphasis on independence is not a good thing, because we are extremely dependent.

You’re dependent on dozens of people every day.  We can’t live alone; it’s impossible.  And so, we have to get that sense of dependence, and many times in a sense of dependence, we find the presence of Jesus in other people around us.  If we get too much into our own independence, we don’t see it.  But Jesus is with us, and many times it’s with the people who are surrounding us.  We’re not as independent as we think.

Years ago, I was chaplain of a Youth Development Center.  It’s kind of a reform school for young men, and many of them were extremely belligerent and believed that they didn’t need anybody and could get by on their own.   So, I played a little game with them.  I said, “Well, if you are so independent, what would you do if you were out in the woods alone?  How would you survive?”  A response might be, “Well, I’d get an axe and I’d chop down some trees.”  I would respond, “Wait, wait, where did you get that axe?  Didn’t somebody provide that for you?”  And as I played that game and kept pushing it, and they realized that if they were totally independent, they’d be standing naked in the woods.

We’re terribly dependent, and we really need Jesus, and we really need each other, and sometimes “each other” is the presence of Jesus.  That’s the way it is, and we have to realize our dependence on Jesus, and that Jesus is with us to calm the storms of life.

The other aspect of this, a totally different aspect but a very important one, is that it’s God’s creation, not ours.  We have a terrible time with this.  But God is the one who is running the show, not us.  And we have to learn to be able to discern God’s action in our lives and what that action is calling us to.

I know that almost any of you my age or even a bit younger can recall times in your life when things happened that you hadn’t planned, but it worked out for the best.  You know, God was working, and it was God’s plan, not yours.  And so, it’s for us to see that no, we’re not running the show, and when we try to run the show, we can end up feeling very alone, swamped by the waves of life.  We are trying to run everything ourselves, and we do the best we can with life, but always with an openness to God’s presence, God’s plan, and God’s direction.  It’s God’s, not ours.

I love an old spiritual that the gospel choir at St. Gerard’s used to sing.  The chorus of the song says, “He ain’t always there when you want Him, but He’s always right on time.”  That’s a bit humorous, but it’s quite profound.  You know, He ain’t always there when you want Him, but He’s always right on time.

Can I Get a Witness?

Third Sunday of Easter
April 14, 2024 — Year B
Readings: Acts 3:13-15, 17-19 / Ps 4 / 1 Jn 2:1-5a / Lk 24:35-48
by Rev. Jay Biber, Guest Celebrant

Some of your fellow parishioners are away on a Cursillo weekend.  If you are not familiar with that word, it’s a Spanish word which means “a short course.”  In Christianity, it began almost a hundred years ago as a way of revitalizing the Faith among lay people.

And so, this is a women’s Cursillo going on this weekend, and like all Catholic stuff, there’s a specific order to it.  There’s reason behind it.  It’s ordered so it exposes the core elements of the Faith in an ordered way, but it’s also very personal.  There’s a lot of witnessing to people’s own experiences.  One of the things that happens is what they call the Emmaus Walk.

What we begin the gospel with today is the end of that walk.  Two discouraged disciples encounter Christ on the way to Jerusalem, on the road.  They are so discouraged and heartsick.  They think that everything they hope for is gone.  They meet the risen Christ, but they don’t recognize Him, and He explains it all.  He lays it all out to them – this is how it had to happen.  And then at the end, when did they recognize Him?  This is the breaking of the bread; that’s when they recognize Him.

The women on Cursillo this weekend are from as far Charlottesville, Harrisonburg, Waynesboro, Roanoke, this whole part of the state.  On this Emmaus Walk, two participants are paired with each other; they go out and walk for half an hour.  They are a couple of days into this experience already, and it’s probably begun to shake up their hearts a little bit.  This is the time when they’re saying, “This is the time; what’s going on in there?”  They get a chance to talk; and they know they won’t be judged.  They probably don’t know the other person to start with.  But they know that God is at work, and it’s a good opportunity to put their faith into words.

At the core of our Faith is the capacity to take into the world, sort of like charity.  It begins at home, but it doesn’t end there.  The giving of witness, a testimony is a way of doing that.  Telling the stories begins at home, but it doesn’t end there.  The allusions to witnessing are strong.  If you believe you have a gift to give, a gift around which you can organize your whole life, a gift that echoes through the ages, that gift can be shared with simple people, complicated people, rich people, poor people, educated, not educated people.  We can give that gift to our children by telling them here’s where you are, you’re a member of this family, you belong here, you’re not just some piece adrift in the universe.  As you’re at this table, you’re part of a great family, and it goes way, way back in time and every place on Earth.

Think about Peter in the Acts of the Apostles.  He says the author of life you put to death, but God raised him from the dead.  Of this we are witnesses.  That’s what the apostles were doing – being witnesses and giving a testimony.  And then of course in the gospel, it is Jesus himself.  Thus, is it written – He’s laying out what you can do with your children and tell them the stories that say that Christ would suffer and rise from the dead.  So, you don’t have to panic or run away.  No – He said this was going to happen and that repentance for the forgiveness would be preached in his name.  Where?  To all the nations.  And you are witnesses of these things.

In the summer of 1983, I had completed my seminary studies but had declined ordination in 1972.  I went into the business world, enjoyed the heck out of it, and thought I’d be married with a family by 1982.  But it didn’t happen, and I began to consider ordination.  People asked if it was the hand of God, and I said no, I think it was the foot!  He was nagging me.  I thought I had a better idea, but long story short, I was in Boston at the time, and happened to meet the bishop; he asked if I wanted to go to school.  I said no, I need to decide if I have enough faith for something like this, and I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.  I needed to know if people would think I was any good at it.  I said I don’t know what I think; you’ll have to throw me in the pool.  So, he did; I started off at six months at St. Vincent DePaul by the shipyard in Newport News.  That was a special blessing because it was way ahead of its time in a lot of ways.  It was a very integrated parish.  I sang with the folk group and a gospel choir both.

When summer came, I knew this would be a real test because I worked up at what was then called Medical College of Virginia in Richmond.  I liked it, because it was a combination of the hospitals I had known in Boston, a little of Mass General, and a little bit of Boston City Hospitals – Mass General being the high-end teaching place for all the exotic stuff, and Boston City being a tough hospital in the inner city.  MCV (now VCU Medical Center) was both.  I spent ten weeks there in the summer of ’83.  And I was a wreck at the end of it – we were on call two nights a week and saw all that comes in in the course of a night.  My special unit was the burn unit in which people come from all over.  I also had general surgery which included a lot of gunshot and knife wounds. These are tough places to be.  I wondered if I could bring faith to this whole world, not just to Catholics.  It was awful at the time, but it did the trick, and I decided that I could go on.

At the same time, I realized that I was going to benefit from being there.  Broad Street in Richmond is a great dividing line between white and black neighborhoods.  And there I was on campus at VCU staying in one of the dorms.  And somebody recommended that I visit a Baptist Church right near here – Cedar Street Baptist.  So, I would go to Mass at St. Peter’s (the original Cathedral for our diocese) near the state capital, and then I’d go to Cedar Street Baptist, and there I experienced my introduction into this brilliant black culture, where the whole idea of witnessing is very important.  The gospel choir and the preaching are very important, and they would say that it’s not even a prayer until you break a sweat.  There’s an energy to it; ours is beautiful but much more modest.  There are so many beautiful ways to pray.  So, we’d be singing and then there was a quiet, beautiful ritual to it.  As it warmed up, you’d hear the Amen Corner.

We have our own Amen Corner; we have the back and forth which is a core of our worship.  “The Lord be with you.”  “And with your spirit.”  “Lift up your hearts.”  “We lift them up unto the Lord.”  We do that throughout the whole liturgy.  The antiphon is the back-and-forth prayer.  In the black churches, there was a time when the church was the only place they could legally meet.  The church was where everyone was at home, and as the preacher would warm up, people would say, “Come on now, preach!” to encourage.  At some point, he would ask, “Can I get a witness?”  They recognized the depth.  Of course, this is a witness that’s gone through things that you can’t imagine.  This is a witness that goes back how many generations?  A witness where the only one was God; the only one was Christ.

What a lesson.  You know, the centrality of the witness that would tell the story and break out into a testimony.  I had an event this past week in Lexington where there were a lot of college kids.  There was free pizza – what’s not to love?  The program was on loss and joy and included a bunch of kids from W&L and VMI and also parishioners.  I told them that I look at them differently than their professors do, because I look at you and I say, I want you to be ready to be able to your 3-year-old seven years from now, to be able to give a witness to your 10-year-old, to your 16-year-old, to put the story of your faith on your own lips, and learn how to do it with great confidence.  I want to say that you want to have children, that you are not afraid, and I have the big story of our Faith to tell them, and the personal stories that go with it – the personal stories that illumine the big story.  And I said that’s what I like to see.  Of course, giving a witness is a little bit like dancing – you’re scared stiff because you move one foot and you don’t know what the other is going to do yet.

But what a beautiful gift to give – it’s how the faith gets spread to the corners of the earth.  Our way of looking at things, telling the big story, as those women are doing on their Cursillo this weekend, telling their stories as well.  It becomes an enormous gift, because I know that whatever happens to my child, in success or in moments of difficulties, Christ will be there.  I’ll have words on my lips to say that we don’t have to run from anyone.

God’s Infinite Mercy

Second Sunday of Easter
Sunday of Divine Mercy
April 7, 2024 — Year B
Readings: Acts 4:32-35 / Ps 118 / 1 Jn 5:1-6 / Jn 20:19-31
by Rev. Jay Biber, Guest Celebrant

Ancient baptismal fonts would be octagons in shape.  You’d walk in one side with moving water, a river flowing through, built separate from the church. You’d be received, and you’d have your old crummy clothes on, and those would be taken. Those would be left behind, and you’d walk through the water, you’d be baptized in the water, and then you’d be given all new garments. You’d be a new creation, a new person. And you’d walk out a different door than the one you came in, on a different side. You can see that still on the coast of France, the ancient churches from the fourth and fifth centuries, where you still see the octagonal baptismal font.

The whole idea of the octagon is that you have the week as seven days, but the eighth is the first day of the new creation. If you’re in France, they don’t say “I’ll see you in a week;” they say “On se voit dans huit jours,” we’ll see each other in eight days. That notion of the octave makes its way into the ordinary daily language.

Pope John Paul II and St. Faustina Kowalska had a vision of the glorified Christ; that’s what is described here, the glorified Christ. This is not the same as being resuscitated, as when a person “dies” during an operation and is brought back. In that situation, the person who comes back is the same one as the one who left, as in the case of Lazarus. Christ was able to resuscitate, to revive Lazarus, even though he was clearly dead for four days.

But the Resurrection is what we pray for when we say, “I believe in the resurrection of the body” in the Apostles’ Creed. Our bodies are so important that Christ took on a body in the Incarnation. We look forward to that Resurrection in our glorified body. The glorified body, what will it look like? Will it be an old one or a young one? God brought us into being from nothing, that’s how important our bodies are. That’s where a lot of our moral code comes from, the significance of the human body. And so, do you want your body to be a playground or a temple?

This great week of Easter is largely a story of mercy. St. Faustina Kowalska developed the Divine Mercy devotion. And for those of you not familiar with it, it’s a devotion that’s prayed on your rosary. Just like you pray your rosary, you work the same beads. You do the same beads with different prayers, and super focused on the Passion, the suffering that Christ went through for us.

What does mercy look like? The community of believers was of one heart and mind. No one claimed that any of his possessions were his. Think of it like this, if you eliminated the word “mine” from your vocabulary. They had everything in common, no needy person among them. Those who had property or houses would sell them and put the proceeds at the feet of the apostles, and they would distribute them to each according to need.

Now this is not the same as Das Kapital by Karl Marx; this is not some communistic thing at all, because it’s not taking the aristocracy and eliminating it and replacing it with the state with a lot of force. No, I think this is that, from having experienced mercy, having known what mercy was like, what mercy does to set us free. We have the instinct to protect and mark our territory; that’s evolutionary, that makes sense. There’s also that other competing instinct within us to go outside of ourselves.

I sensed it in that early community that when mercy has touched you, fear leaves you. And the stuff that you can’t do when you’re afraid, you can now do, when you not only believe in God, but when you can say with St. Faustina, “Jesus, I trust in you,” and entrust Him with the details of your life.

Can you imagine if you place yourself in that upper room? You’re one of the apostles who have made all the promises to Jesus, and the last He saw of you was your back. Peter, of course, collapsed once he heard the cock crow, for that exposed him, exposed all the shame of having dropped the ball in the one great moment that he had. Judas sold him out. The others had fled, and here they are gathered in fear when the Resurrected One joins them. Walks through the locked door. And what does He say now?

If I had like eleven friends abandon me like that, I’m thinking I might have some salty language for them. But no, Christ says, “Peace be with you,” of all things. And then it says the disciples rejoiced. We can rejoice in the gift that Thomas the doubting one, a scant twenty years after his own moment of doubt, brought his faith to India and proudly died a martyr, as did eleven of the twelve apostles, pouring out their blood joyfully for the sake of being able to bring the scriptures.

Can we really believe that God is that merciful? Are there chances that you can show mercy? I suspect that you will begin to feel that freedom and deep joy, because now you’re beginning to see through the eyes of Christ.

Kings and Angels

The Epiphany of the Lord
January 7, 2024 — Year B
Readings: Is 60:1-6 / Ps 72 / Eph 3:2-3a, 5-6 / Mt 2:1-12
by Rev. Dan Kelly, Guest Celebrant

In the first reading that we heard today, we heard Isaiah say “Rise up in splendor, Jerusalem.  Your light has come.”  This is really important to us on this feast of Epiphany.  “See, darkness covers the earth, and thick clouds cover the peoples.”   We can also see that too, in the turmoil we find on earth today:  the wars, the sadness, the destruction, even in our own country where there is intolerance and all kinds of violence, breaking into stores and wreaking all kinds of havoc.  But we find in that first reading, “Nations shall walk by your light, and kings by your shining radiance. Raise your eyes,” Isaiah tells us, “And look about; they all gather and come to you.”

This first reading is a sign of hope for us, and there are other signs of hope that we have.  I’m going to remind you of some things that I don’t think the children have ever heard.

When I was a youngster, growing up in a certain town, there was a planetarium.  This particular planetarium was in a science museum, called the Franklin Institute, and that was the Fels Planetarium.  My mom and dad took all five of us sons (we had no sisters) when I was just a young lad.

The first thing that we saw when we went into the Franklin Institute was a huge ball, hanging from a cable rising five stories high to the dome at the top.  That ball was slowly moving back and forth in slow circles.  It was a pendulum.  There were little pegs all around a circle set up at the bottom of this huge ball, which probably weighed close to a ton.  At the bottom of the ball there was a little peg, like a little spike, hanging down, and that ball would swing over and knock down the pegs.  It would knock down a peg twenty-four times; every hour it would strike down another one until twenty-four hours had gone by.  Early in the morning, workmen had to come out there where all the pegs had been knocked down.  They had to stop that ball – Maybe it took four men to grab hold of it and slowly stop it.  They would set up new pegs, and then let it go.  Thus it marked the hours of the day and the rotation of our earth on its axis.  It was a wonderful visual sight to see, and as a child, I was utterly amazed.

Now I’m going to move you on in that same Franklin Institute to another place.  There was a huge theater, and this theater was domelike, larger than our church, and it had seating all around it, with a projector.  That projector would shine onto the ceiling above, and form sights in the sky.  The astronomers and technicians could display anything that they wanted to show.  So, you went in there and took your seats, and everyone was chatting, just like we do coming into the church, chatting in the foyer.  And then we get into church, and then we’re quiet because we’re meditating.  And then the lights start to go dim.  The lights in the enormous dome would continue to get dimmer until it got so black you couldn’t see the hand in front of your face.  Those experiences were meant to draw attention to something special.  One of the announcers would say, “You can’t see your hands.  It’s like nothingness.”  So, you might wonder what the universe was like.

We were visiting the planetarium in that season between Christmas and the Epiphany.  They had decided to put up the sky as it might have appeared when those first pilgrims from other countries – the three Magi – were following a star.  They began to explain that, and then you would see the stars appear within this dome, with one star moving very slowly.  They would recount the events as described in the Bible, and it brought home to us, not only the enormity of the universe, but also a fact of our own faith that we are living by.

We know who those three pilgrims, those Magi or kings or philosophers were.  They might have been studying all kinds of things.  They came from other countries; we don’t know where they came from, as the Bible doesn’t tell us that.  But sometimes our Nativity scenes may show one from Ethiopia, another from Persia, and another from Arabia.  We don’t know all that, but they did not work together until they met on a similar type of pilgrimage.  They were all seeing this star moving that they had not seen before.  After all, they were astronomers; they were philosophers, and they knew what they were looking for.

Later on (not found in the Bible), names were given to them: Balthazar, Melchior, and Casper. They went to King Herod, who was in charge of that whole area, because they wanted to find out if he knew anything.   They had heard that there was a new king to be born, and they were following his star.  As we read in Holy Scripture today, they were overjoyed at seeing the star and stopped at the place where the child was.  Herod said, “Oh, this is wonderful news.  Go and find out where he is and come back and report to me so that I may go and worship him, too.”

King Herod was not a good man; he was a very evil king.  He was jealous, he was threatened that there was another child to be born who might be king of all this land.  Why are we celebrating the feast of the Epiphany?  You might think that, next to Christmas, it couldn’t be too important.  Epiphany is like we heard from Isaiah in the first reading today:  The light will shine down upon you.

They went and found the child, and it is said they prostrated themselves before the child.  Now, if we look at our manger scene, we see the three kings. We see the scene there, but we don’t see them prostrated.  We know what “prostration” is. Prostration is when you lie down flat on your stomach, head down, feet down.  The only time we see a prostration in our liturgy in the Catholic Church is on Good Friday, when the Passion is being read.  The priest comes in, and, if there’s a deacon with him, the deacon will join him.  And the priest will prostrate, lay flat down, on Good Friday before the Passion is read, and meditate for a few moments.  It’s quite a dramatic, silent scene.

So, we have this story and the image that we have from today. They arrived in Jerusalem, but then were warned in a dream, as we heard in the gospel, not to return to Herod.  What did Herod do?  You know, after Christmas, we have two feast days, days of martyrs.  The first day after Christmas is the martyrdom of Saint Stephen, the first martyr.  And then the next is the Feast of the Holy Innocents.  Because what Herod did was, when the Three Magi didn’t return to him, he ordered his soldiers to go and kill (terrible thought!) every baby boy two years of age or younger.  I don’t want to bring horror to you.  I want you to know what evil is; what the killing of the innocents is.  The Church even helps us to meditate upon that, and we read about that in Scripture.  There must have been a wailing throughout that area of mothers and fathers as soldiers went through, taking these baby boys.  Why?  Because Herod did not want a king to come in his place.

We celebrate that the infant king Jesus survived.  God sent the archangel Gabriel to help with this.  We have four archangels.  You remember three of them:  Raphael, Gabriel, Michael, and the fourth one, who didn’t turn out so well:  Lucifer.  It is Lucifer who was driving the madness of King Herod.

Gabriel is the one who appeared to Mary many months before the birth of her child and said, “You are going to have a child.”  Mary is only engaged. She’s planning on her marriage to Joseph.  She says, “How can this be, because I don’t yet have a husband?” Joseph was going to quietly divorce her, so that there wouldn’t be any scandal.  But then, during his sleep, the angel Gabriel, a very busy archangel, woke up Joseph and said, “Joseph, do not be afraid to take this child into your home to be your wife, because the child is a gift of God, a creation of God, the Holy Spirit.”

Later on, a child is born, and then Herod is letting out the order to kill all these baby boys less than two years of age.  The angel Gabriel comes to Joseph again, the father of that family – foster father – and says, “Quick, take the baby and his mother and go to Egypt, a distant country. Go to Egypt and stay there until I tell you to come back.”

We know approximately when Joseph, Mary and the child Jesus left Egypt and returned on this long, long trek back to Nazareth.  They had left Nazareth, gone to Bethlehem so that Joseph could register and pay his tax, and that’s where the baby was born.  Then they went further away from Nazareth and Bethlehem to Egypt.  Do you know when they came back?  It was seven years.  How do we know that?  A lot of research was done many years ago, and it was seven years simply because that’s when the threat was gone:  Herod died.

We know, unfortunately, that Herod’s death is not the end of the evil that happens, but it’s the starting of a new life.  Joseph, Mary and their young son now about seven years of age, started their long trek all the way back from Egypt, trekking back through Bethlehem, passing by Jerusalem, and the other sixty-five or seventy miles more to get up to Nazareth, to live out their lives, where Jesus would learn by going to synagogue.

When I was young, my father and mother took us to that planetarium.  Later on, I became interested in joining the Boy Scouts, but there was no scouting in the parish where I lived in the city.  My good friend, says, “You could come and join the Sea Scouts.”  Well, I knew very well there were Sea Scouts around.  They were not as plentiful as the Boy Scouts.  But after all, at that time my brother was in the Navy, my father had been in the Navy in the First World War, and so, I said, “Yeah, that’s a good idea!”  I went up there and, on the Delaware River, there were about thirteen – we called them “ships,” and they were the bunkhouses for each group of boys who were in the Sea Scouts.  We learned all kinds of things nautical.  Once a month Rabbi came and gave us wonderful readings from the Scriptures, from the Bible, and gave us animated talks that young boys would really need growing up:  how to behave, how to have fun, how to be good sons to your parents and good brothers to your brothers and sisters.

So, those were some experiences that I had growing up, and it all started with a memory of a father and mother who wanted to take their children to this particular museum, years ago when I was still a little pup, amazed at the pendulum, and amazed at the sky shown in that theater on a feast of the Epiphany.

The Word Became Flesh

The Nativity of the Lord (Christmas)
December 25, 2023 — Year B
Readings: Is 52:7-10 / Ps 98 / Heb 1:1-6 / Jn 1:1-18
by Rev. Jay Biber, Guest Celebrant

I love John’s gospel this morning. Of course, I love Luke’s gospel at the night Masses. Luke’s gospel, which goes into all the detail about the manger, then the trip of Mary and Joseph, and no room at the inn. All of those specifics of going for enrollment in the Roman census. All the details, very specific details.

John’s gospel was the product of what would seem to be a later reflection, a later gospel. John, of course, was the one apostle who did not pour out his blood for the faith. The other eleven all gave themselves as martyrs, except John. John was the youngest apostle at the time of Christ and would live to be the oldest. The writings attributed to John in the New Testament come from a period of more mature reflection, just like we can look back on our lives. When you look back, you understand it with a different eye. You can look at it differently, because enough life has happened to you.

John talks about the Incarnation in these famous words of “Et verbum caro factum est, et habitavit in nobis.” The Word, the second Person of the Trinity, co-eternal with the Father and the Holy Spirit. When God speaks, it’s that Word that goes out and takes on flesh, caro. Et habitavit in nobis – and lived among us. It’s that first great mystery that God has chosen, and it’s so great a mystery. God has chosen to take on flesh while still being God at the same time.

And not only that, but He has depended on the “yes” of Mary to do it. She wasn’t forced. She wasn’t a robot. She chose to take Him within her womb. We see human dignity in God’s taking on flesh. That must mean something really enormous about our flesh, about the human dignity of it. It’s from the beginning, willed by God.

And then, dwelt among us. But the way He does it: in all humility, coming through the womb, so the womb itself becomes a place of great mystery, the touch of the divine in it, capable of bearing divinity. Mary bore divinity, because Christ was who He was: He was the Word. He was the second Person. He is the Word.

Why? Because our flesh had lost its brilliance through the original sin of self-sufficiency: “We can do it on our own. We’re not meant to need anybody.” Oh yes, it’s disobedience, but I suspect it was that spirit of self-sufficiency that preceded the actual disobedience. “I don’t have to have a God; I can be one. Oh that sounds good: I can be one.”

One of the customs of the Church, to emphasize the Incarnation, is to bow during the Creed, when we say “and He became Man.” We’re meant to physically bring the body into worship. But today we genuflect at those words.

In the fifth century the Church began making a proclamation at Christmas, maybe because they said, this is so great, this is so unimaginable, when you really think of it. It was sung last night. It announces the Incarnation. “When God in the beginning created heaven and earth,” it goes back. “Century upon century had passed.” “In the twenty-first century since Abraham, our father in faith,” so we’re beginning with the Old Testament. “The thirteenth century since the people of Israel were led by Moses in the Exodus.” “Around the thousandth year since David was anointed king,” so we’re squarely in the tradition of Israel here. “In the sixty-fifth week of the prophecy of Daniel.”

It’s locating this moment, and of course that’s how we measure time. That’s our calendar. Christ enters – God enters – history. Not some sort of crystal, new age thing, but tangible, physical, material.

But then it leaves the Old Testament. “In the one hundred and ninety-fourth Olympiad.” Obviously that has nothing to do with Israel. It’s got to do with Athens, the great capital of the Greek empire, before Rome. And so now it’s situated in the secular world. This gives meaning to the secular world as well as the specifically religious. It touches everything. This is when the Incarnation happened: in the one hundred and ninety-fourth Olympiad.

And then, let’s take it to the next empire: to Rome. “In the year seven hundred and fifty-two since the foundation of the city of Rome.” And then more; you see the portal narrows. “In the forty-second year of the reign of that particular Roman emperor, Caesar Octavian Augustus, the whole world being at peace.”  The stage is set now.

“Jesus Christ, eternal God and Son of the eternal Father, desiring to consecrate the world by His most loving presence, was conceived by the Holy Spirit.” That’s what we call the Annunciation, on March 25, really our first celebration of the Incarnation, because Christ was who He was in Mary’s womb, just like you were, from the first moment of your conception. You were who you were. “And was born of the Virgin Mary in Bethlehem of Judah and was made man.”

We often look to redemption as the passion of Christ, but this is the first of the two great pillars of our redemption: the Incarnation, because He takes flesh, because God’s plan has always been that we would be spirit and matter, spirit and flesh. That’s how we’re saved. Not in spite of that, but in that structure.

Why did God do it this way? He could have made it so nice and clean, so nice and tidy. He could have made it so we couldn’t sin, and so our sin wouldn’t affect others. But He didn’t make it that way. I prefer to think that that’s because of our greatness, because of that potential greatness that’s there, if we turn everything over to Him. If we make that real surrender, then life begins to pop.

Think of the details of Mary’s life. First of all, the Annunciation. You’re going to have a baby, from the Holy Spirit. And there’s Mary’s first yes, followed by a series of yesses all the way through, at each moment. A series of yesses, none of which she would have scripted, none of which situations she would have scripted herself, I don’t think. But she keeps saying yes, she keeps saying I trust, let it be done to me according to your word.

Part of me says I wish I could really celebrate Christmas, but there are so many distractions, so many things that get into my head and mess with my head, whether it’s stuff in the Church right now, stuff in the world, in our culture, and on and on and on.  If only I weren’t so distracted by these things, if I weren’t giving them rent-free space in my head, then I could really focus on the beauty of God.

Well, think of Mary.  Talk about distractions! Everything. Are they talking a little bit and whispering in town? And then the census is announced, and Joseph, the father of the family, would historically go and sign up like he’s supposed to within the Roman empire. But Mary goes with him. She didn’t have to go. You wouldn’t expect the mother and the children to go for those things. She went.

And then, it comes time to give birth, no room at the inn. She still says yes, and she gives birth in the manger. If anybody’s ever had an Italian grandmother, trying to make you eat, she’ll say “Mangia, mangia.” That’s our word manger. Manger is the French, same spelling, meaning to eat.

So He who will provide – think of the mystery — in His body, that Body and Blood of Christ that many of us will receive later this morning, He who will feed the world and strengthen the world until it comes time for God’s project to finally wind up in the final judgment. He who feeds the world is born in the place where the animals feed, the trough. And Mary continues to say yes.

So don’t ever expect your Christmas day or your Christmas season to be without distractions. For some reason God has chosen the Incarnation as His way, and that’s messy. Birth, children, that’s messy. But somehow, for those eyes of faith that can look into that reality, there is a divine beauty as well. And so, through the grace of God, I’ll expect distractions every Christmas.

There’ll always be something wrong, easy to find, but if I can keep my eyes on Mary and her Son who lived among us, then those distractions can be very, very significantly reduced. Then we can, in all situations, come to this great feast thankful and hopeful.

God, Neighbor, Self

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time
October 29, 2023 — Year A
Readings: Ex 22:20-26 / Ps 18 / 1 Thes 1:5c-10 / Mt 22:34-40
by Rev. Jay Biber, Guest Celebrant

We have this great commandment to love from Jesus.  At first it seems that there’s two commandments here, but in reality, there are three.  The second one has two parts. The first says to love the Lord with your whole heart and soul, and the second says to love your neighbor as yourself.  So, there’s the commandment to love the neighbor but also a commandment to love yourself.

These three commandments are very much interdependent with one another.   They’re like a tripod.  A tripod has three legs; if you remove one of the legs then the other two fall.   That’s the way it is with these commandments; they are interdependent.  They’re all intertwined with one another.

Think about the commandment for loving yourself, having a healthy self-love: Why shouldn’t you?   God created you in love, and you were conceived in love.   A healthy self-love is very important, because if you don’t have a healthy self-love, and you’re looking down on yourself, how can you really have a good relationship with other people?   If you don’t love others, you can’t very well love God.  Saint John, in his first letter, asks, how can say you love the God you can’t see if you don’t love the neighbor you can see?   And of course, if we don’t love others, we probably have a dim image of ourselves without the proper image of love of God.

Those are very important and of course, the love of God is all encompassing.   In the love of God there is a commandment to love God and all of God’s creation and all of God’s people. That’s important, because if we don’t have that overarching love of God, then our love of ourselves and our neighbors is too exclusive.  It’s not broad enough if we don’t have that love of God.

Seeing God reflected in all of creation, in all people, leaving none of them out, and realizing also that the love is not always easy.  It’s not always easy to love your neighbor – some of them aren’t very lovable, let’s be honest.  Of course, there are things to get in the way, like grudges that last for generations. Yes, it’s not always easy to love our neighbors, but it is our call to do that.   The overarching love of all creation calls us to love everyone and everybody – we don’t leave anyone or any groups of people out.

For love to be love it has to be active.  When there’s no activity, there is no love, and so our love has to be very active and involved.  If we don’t take time to treasure love ourselves, then everything’s going to falter.  Loving others meets an active love, going out of our way to love them.

Who’s the neighbor?  The neighbor is anyone God puts in your path.  That’s the neighbor, whether it’s your immediate family, your extended family, your workplace, your neighborhood, your church, people you meet in the street, anyone God puts in your path is your neighbor.  The thing is that God makes the choice – we don’t always have a choice about who our neighbor is.  We probably wish we did, but that’s whoever God manages to put in our path.  Sometimes that can be very difficult if you’ve got other agendas going and this person steps into your life and is demanding your attention right now, it’s not always easy.   But it’s a call to love your neighbor as yourself, whoever that neighbor may be.

Then this is really big today – loving God and all of God’s creation and all of God’s people.  We cannot exclude any groups of people, and there’s too much of that in the world today, and too much of that in our history.  We’ve excluded the Blacks and the Native Americans.  In the love of all creation, we’re not doing too good a job of loving all creation. We are destroying creation, and this is important as to whether or not we’re going to live, and not just for us but for the generations that come after us.

Loving God and all people and all creation – the Church is really calling us to this.  Eight years ago, Pope Francis put out an encyclical on the environment, calling us to honesty and calling us to respect the environment as God’s precious creation.  And in the last couple months he added an addendum to that where he’s bringing the process even further along.  I’d like to say this is important; this is whether or not we’re going to survive.

Love God with your whole heart and soul, and see God reflected in all people and in all creation.  That’s a pretty serious obligation.  One thing that I thought of being connected with this was an American Indian way of ending a prayer.  We say “amen,” but many of them say “all my relations.”  That doesn’t mean all their relatives; it means a relationship with all people and all creation –  all my relations.  And the significance of that is that if you’re not in all creation, there’s something dishonest about your prayer.   That’s pretty profound; that you can’t pray worthily unless you’re a in a relationship with all people and all creation. All my relations – could we honestly say that at the end of a prayer instead of amen?

Soldiers of Christ

Fifth Sunday of Easter
May 7, 2023 – Year A
Readings: Acts 6:1-7 / Ps 33 / 1 Pt 2:4-9 / Jn 14:1-12
by Rev. Dan Kelly, Guest Celebrant

“Amen, amen, I say to you.” Why do we hear this repetitiveness? It’s kind of Jewish prose, if you will. A way of speaking, a way of writing even.

As a youngster, attending Holy Mass when it was celebrated in Latin. Maybe I was only in fourth grade or so. I was captivated by some of the repetitions that I would hear. When the priest would read the gospel, it would be read in Latin, and then it would be read in English. And the priest would say, “Amen, amen, dico vobis.” So when I came home from Mass, I would say to Dad, “Amen, amen, dico vobis.” It was such a familiar thing to me, I actually knew what I was saying, because he gave it to us in English too. But that sort of rhythm was something that captivated me. It was also part of the Hebrew heritage of the repetitiveness, for calling attention: “Amen, amen I say to you.”

The other thing I want to call your attention to is the fact that we have in the reading from the Acts of the Apostles the naming and the calling of the first deacons. They chose seven men filled with the Holy Spirit. The first deacons: Stephen, filled with faith and the Holy Spirit, Philip, Prochorus, Timon, Parmenas, Nicanor, Nicholas of Antioch, a convert. They presented these men to the apostles.

We’re anticipating, coming in just a few weeks, the Feast of Pentecost, the coming of the Holy Spirit. And I’m wondering when’s the first time that I ever thought seriously about the Holy Spirit. It was when I was to receive the sacrament of Confirmation. You’re going to receive the Holy Spirit when the bishop comes in. He’ll be wearing that tall hat called a mitre, and he will walk down the aisle and then he will face you. You will come forward, and he will anoint you and put hands on your head and confirm you in the Faith. And you will be Soldiers of Christ. It meant you had the courage and the strength to defend your faith in Jesus Christ.

Now what about those men selected to be deacons? What is this role of deacon about? They don’t collect any salary. What they do is serve in their parishes. There you have a little summary of the diaconate, much of which you may have already known.

I’m going to turn now to the gospel. It’s the Last Supper, and the apostle John is remembering all this. Jesus is talking to the apostles, if you remember. They ask Him, “Where are You going?” And He has to explain. Jesus knows that He’s about to die. He also knows that He will be spending the night in agony in the garden. So He’s trying to explain to His apostles at the Last Supper how they must have strength and must have courage.

Soon we will have the feast of Pentecost in which the Holy Spirit comes down upon the apostles. Not only the apostles, but others too, including the Blessed Virgin Mary. But He knows that they need to have strength. He will be arrested. And the next day He will be on trial. They’re going to see some terrible things happening to their leader, and they’ll remember His healings, His raising of the dead, Lazarus and others, and His driving the devil out and of those who were possessed by the devil.

On that night, He also gives His commandment to love one another. As Jesus washed the feet of His apostles what did Peter say? Oh, you’re not going to wash my feet. And Jesus answered, Peter, if you don’t let me wash your feet how can you enter into the Kingdom with me then? What else did Peter say? Wash my head. Wash me all over, if that’s what it takes.

So why did Jesus wash the apostles’ feet? Because the washing of feet was done in a household by the lowest slave. And Jesus Himself takes that role of a lowest servant in a household and puts on an apron and washes the feet of His disciples. By doing so, He reminds them that that’s what they need to be doing.

The path to death does not end with death. And that is what we can recall too. Whenever illness, great illness affects us or loved ones in this life we have this great confidence and hope in life eternal. God bless us all in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Shepherding Children

Fourth Sunday of Easter
April 30, 2023 – Year A
Readings: Acts 2:14a, 36-41 / Ps 23 / 1 Pt 2:20b-25 / Jn 10:1-10
by Rev. Jay Biber, Guest Celebrant

The theme of the Good Shepherd often refers to the shepherds of the Church, and there have been some times of suffering they’ve had in that regard.  But I’ve gotten a pretty good sense over the years that Catholics (and I don’t think it’s just Catholics, either) want a shepherd’s voice.  They want a voice they can trust.

To me, the most important shepherds are parents.  There are those who would like to take children and put them in the care of the state.  We’re beginning to see that more and more clearly.  But in our experience – and I speak for two or three thousand years of experience — in every corner of the world, and every conceivable government, Mom, Dad, and the kids is the way to go.  That’s the core of a society; the state cannot replace that.  Whatever the state or the empire offers in our vision needs to be a partnership with Mom and Dad, and part of the challenge is restoring Mom and Dad.  It is not giving up on marriage but redoubling our prayer and our efforts.

This is the central mystery of how we socialize one another, how we become human. I see a lot of kids today – I know you see them in school – they’re not evil but they are feral.  There’s a feral quality to them.  They’re supposed to be socializing, but they haven’t been given the benefit of learning how to socialize.

I used to spend a lot of time in prisons.  The parishioners said about the prisoners, “They’re all trying to con you.” They said, “But they need to be rehabbed.” And I said, “No, they need to be habbed, because they were never habbed to start with.” So, for us, the way that takes place is the shepherding; the shepherding of the mother and father.

Think of that voice – that voice of God.  I know many people were praying the Divine Mercy Chaplet before 8:00 Mass this morning.  They were praying the Rosary at Resurrection in Smith Mountain Lake yesterday afternoon.  We had a devotion at Lexington to the Eucharistic Miracles, and that devotion to Christ in the Eucharist.  How many have heard in those moments of still and quiet, not the focus on each Hail Mary, but letting the beads slip through the fingers, creating a spirit of tranquility, a spirit of quiet order, a spirit where life is restored and recentered, and that, I suspect, is that voice, the voice of the shepherd that the sheep hear?

It’s helpful to begin with the assumption that all of us are sheep and shepherd.  Because I’m the sheep, too.  I’m the one who gets lost and is stubborn and doesn’t want to hear it.  And so, I’m that, too.  It’s helpful to not think of yourself as one or the other.  We’re all both.

When a baby’s been around Mom since the beginning, it knows that voice.  Think of it, kids, and I think Mothers can probably tell you.  Sometimes Dad, too, but I think Mom has a special place here for many.

Maybe the first time after you were born that Mom and Dad went out on a date – finally got out a little bit – but as far as you were concerned, you couldn’t put it into words as we often can’t.  You couldn’t put it into words, but your world as you knew it was coming to an end.  Total disorder; total chaos; now what?  Where do I go from here?  Then, maybe the babysitter had some nice sweets and cooing, and some music.  But at some point, that began to wear off, and your cry started to rise.  It may well have been that only when you heard your mother’s voice again did the world begin to be a friendly place again, a place where you could count on a certain order, where you could count on a certain tranquility, because you knew you were in a safe place.  There was a place you were protected.

The image of Christ as the Good Shepherd has a second element.  Did you hear that part of the gospel that said, “I am the gate for the sheep”?  Well, you say, how could you be the shepherd and the gate?  How can you be both?

I learned about a sheepfold, as they called it in those days.  Imagine a stone wall in the shape of a circle, with one entrance.  They would put thorns and bristles and shrubs and bushes on top of the wall, so that basically no predator could jump over and attack the flock.  Where did the shepherd sleep?  Right in the doorway – the one entrance.  So, I suppose the way we would put it, the shepherd’s making a statement.  “If you’re coming in here, you’re coming in over my dead body.”

When I sort-of retired, I wanted to go to a campus town.  Many of you know I live in Lexington with Washington & Lee and VMI.  Part of my reason was that I’d seen a lot of kids in college begin to lose faith.  And I began to ask myself the question, “What’s going on here?”  It seems to happen sort of quietly, drip by drip by drip.  And all of a sudden, what was there isn’t there anymore.  So, what’s going on here?  What’s wrong with this picture?

Part of me said, I don’t want them to lose the gift that’s most precious.  This gift is most precious of all:  the work of Christ, and how it touches us; our vision of the human person; our vision of who we were from the moment of our conception, and our great human dignity from the moment of our conception and all through life.  I don’t want them losing that.  So, I was focusing on college.  I want to give them the words so they know how to recognize when something’s wrong with the picture, and they know what words to use.  They know what to say.

Of course, as Covid came on, many of us have had sort of a rude awakening:  That it isn’t just college kids.  It drips on down, in multiple respects, and it’s fair enough if there are those who think the state does a better job than parents.  They have a right to think that.  I don’t have an obligation to believe it:  I think it’s dead wrong.  It’s incumbent upon us to be that protector, to be that voice of the shepherd, to learn the words ourselves.  It can’t just be a feeling.  We have to learn the words and say, “This is why it’s wrong.”  So my kids can go to school and, when they hear things, they have a response.

Looking back, I feel that we haven’t protected them, largely out of ignorance, maybe some laziness.  Because to learn the words of the Faith, to learn the depth of it, takes work.   To develop that vocabulary, to be able to challenge the vocabulary that they get, that takes work.

But it’s a protection, I believe, worth offering.  Ours is the greatest story.  We need not fear other stories, but we have to take the time to study them, and then to respond to them and to say, “No, we’ve got something better.”

As we contemplate – Moms and Dads, and certainly priests and religious –It’s a tough place to begin for most of you, I think, maybe saying to yourself, “I wouldn’t know where to begin putting the words to this thing; I’m clueless.”  Well, I say some of the same words.  But you know something?  I think clueless is the best place to start.  Because God – we need Him.  Because now it’s not just a pleasant thing on a Sunday – now we need Him.

And then we offer ourselves and just say, “Do with me what You want and, just, Lord, one thing:  Don’t let me get in Your way.  Don’t let me get in Your way.  I give You permission to do what you want with me.  And to sit and see how You, like in every generation, have set things right.”