Sixth Sunday of Easter A
Two
stories—both from Monday.
Monday
afternoon,
we
began our annual Assembly of Priests in Lake Placid.
Our
speaker, a Dominican friar,
would
be speaking to us about end-of-life issues:
a
very important subject,
but
one which could be—pun intended—rather deadly.
Not
in this case.
In
his very first session,
he
shared some of his life’s story.
He
grew up in the Philippines
and
came to the States for college.
In
1996, he was completing his Ph.D. in molecular biology at MIT.
He
was also rediscovering his Catholic faith.
He’d
grown up Catholic,
but
Catholicism was pretty much something his parents did.
A
group of other Catholic college students
helped
him to learn about the faith, and learn how to pray.
It
was together with them,
right
after successfully defending his doctoral dissertation,
that
he went to Mass.
And
it was then and there that he met the Lord.
At
the words of consecration,
as
the priest held up the Body of Christ,
he
had an incredible experience of grace.
“I
knew he was alive,” he said, “I knew that he was there.”
He
could see his whole life, especially the difficult times,
and
see how the Lord was always there:
how
all those moments were connected
and
the Lord had been leading him all along.
“And
I knew that he did it because he loves me,” he said.
“It
blew my mind that God could love me that much.”
He
had a job lined up as a biologist in London,
and
was planning to be married.
Within
a year, he resigned that position
and
entered the Dominican novitiate.
He
now works as a priest and a scientist—
or,
as he describes it, a “geek for God.”
He
couldn’t tell us this story without crying.
It
clearly affected how we heard the rest of his talks.
It clearly
has affected the rest of life.
Earlier
on Monday,
as
I was driving back to the rectory after Mass,
I
heard another story come over the radio:
the
story of a seventeen-year-old boy from Massena
whose
arm was torn off at the elbow
in an accident at work four weeks ago.
in an accident at work four weeks ago.
He’s
recuperating in a Boston hospital,
where
a team of surgeons reattached his arm.
He’s
had three other surgeries since, and likely has two more to go.
He’s
been through an awful lot,
and
knows this will be life changing.
Yet
he’s remained incredibly positive.
How?
Sitting
up in his hospital bed,
looking
around at his mom, all the flowers and cards,
he
said he never thought much about God before.
“[But]
after this event,” he said, “it
really has shown me
that
God is there and God is real,
because
if it wasn't for God,
I
don't know if I would have been able to get through this."
Two
stories.
Two
young men who’ve met God:
one
on a day of great achievement,
one
in the midst of painful tragedy.
“Always
be ready,” St. Peter tells us in our second reading,
“to
give an explanation to anyone who asks you
for
a reason for your hope.”
Before
we can each give our own explanation,
I
think we each have to honestly answer the question,
“Have I met the Lord?”
No
doubt, some sitting in this church today have.
But
I’m also pretty certain that quite a few folks here this morning,
many
of whom have been faithfully going to Mass all their lives,
haven’t
really—really—met him yet.
How
is that possible?
Well,
for one thing, many of us
didn’t
even know that we could meet the
Lord.
It simply
hasn’t crossed our mind this is an actual possibility.
For
others, we’ve let other things get in the way:
maybe
it’s a sinful habit which we cling to;
or
maybe it’s a life full of distractions;
or
maybe it’s fear—fear that, if I get serious about God,
things
are probably going to have to change.
Of
course, for some people, they haven’t yet met the Lord
because
they feel don't they deserve it.
We
must avoid these stumbling blocks
and
get rid of the excuses.
just
ask to meet him.
Come
to Mass fully engaged.
Get
yourself to confession.
Spend
some time in Eucharistic Adoration.
Read
the Bible or a spiritual book.
Pray—in
your car on the way to work
or
as you’re heading home after practice,
when
you get up or when you go to bed.
You
will meet him.
“I
will not leave you orphans,”
Jesus promises.
“I
will come to you.
The
world will no longer see me,
but you will see me,
because
I live and you will live.”
Yes,
you will meet him!
You’ll
know it when it happens.
And
you’ll never, ever be the same.
That
Dominican priest who spoke to us in Lake Placid
said
that he was attracted to the Catholic group at MIT
because
they were so joyful.
He
envied them for it.
“Why
are you so happy?” he asked them one day.
And
one of the young women simply answered,
“Because
we’ve met Jesus Christ.”
Ask
to meet Jesus.
And
then get ready to explain to anyone who asks you
the
reason for your hope.
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