I'm Late

 Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time   C 

Readings

Many here will still remember Sr. Mary Hallahan, the spunky Ursuline Sister who, over the years, served in many parishes across this region before she died at the end of 2012.  Sr. Mary had a nickname for me: “the late Fr. Giroux.”  It’s not that she heard a rumor of my early demise, nor that she wished me dead.  (Heaven forbid!)  It’s that she noticed—especially when I’d arrive for daily Mass—that I was frequently coming in at the very last minute, or very often arriving a little bit late.

Guilty as charged!

Now, some people are chronically late because they’re lazy: they simply can’t get out of bed or out of the chair to go and do what needs to be done.  Others are late because they’re selfish and rude: assuming that their time and schedule are more important than those of the folks they continually keep waiting.  For me, the problem is that I’m always trying to do more than the time at hand will actually allow.  We priests are busy—like everybody else these days—so I try to make the most of whatever time I’ve got.  But when I try to squeeze too much into those last 15 minutes, I consistently end up behind schedule for the next event.

Being “the late Fr. Giroux” helps me to relate to Elisha in our first reading, and those would-be-disciples mentioned in the gospel I just read.  When they hear the call of the Lord, they ask for more time.  “Can’t it wait just a minute?  Or another day?  Or maybe until next year?  There’s so much left to do!”  It’d be easy enough to think the message God’s giving in the scriptures this Sunday is one about good time management—providing helpful hints for organizing your schedule based on spiritual principles.  But God has so much more in mind! 

You see, it’s not enough that God and the things of God regularly make it onto your to-do list, nor that God is the most important item on the list, nor even that he’s at the top of your list.  What God wants is to write your to-do list.  God will never be satisfied with being another part of your life; his place is at the heart of your life, giving direction and purpose to everything else.  That’s because what interests God is not so much what we can do or how much we can accomplish, as it is who we are and whose we are—giving ourselves to him 100%.

So don’t merely include Jesus as one more thing on your very busy agenda.  Instead, let Jesus set your agenda.  And begin doing so now.  Given what’s stake, this is something for which we most certainly don’t want to be even just a little bit late.

   

Why? No... Who?

 Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time   C 

Readings

Why?  That’s the question the whole country has been asking this past week following the horrific shootings in Orlando.  Why?  Why did he do it?  How could he have treated the lives of other people with such contempt?  What were his motives?  

We only have a few small pieces of information to work with, but many theories have already surfaced.  Maybe he was moved by hatred for our country, influenced for foreign terrorists.  Maybe he was motivated by an extremist form of religion.  Maybe he acted out of hate for others whose way of life he couldn’t understand or accept.  Or maybe it was really out of hatred for himself.   The fact of the matter is that we may never know for sure. 

Why?  The unanswered question troubles us in the face of such unspeakable violence.  But while it troubles us, it really shouldn’t surprise us.  I know there are plenty of times when I have more than enough trouble just figuring out myself.  Why did you do that?  What were you thinking?  And I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in this!  St. Paul himself wrestles with the fact that he often fails to do the good he wants, and instead does the evil he hates (cf. Rom 15, 19).  If we can’t get to the bottom of our own motives, what makes us think we’ll get to the bottom of what was going on in someone else’s mind and heart?

2,000 years ago, the crowds were trying to figure out another man.  This Jesus—who is he?  What makes him tick?  Why does he speak the way he speaks?  Why does he do the things he does?  What are his motives?  Who does he think he is?  Jesus himself knew their thoughts, and asks his disciples, “Who do the crowds say that I am?”  Their answers were perfectly reasonable: “He is John the Baptist, or Elijah, or one of the other prophets returned from the grave!”  Their answers are all very reasonable…and all of them are dead wrong.

Who is this Jesus?  Like Peter, we know who he really is…but certainly not because we’ve figured him out on our own.  If we can’t understand ourselves, how could we ever get to the bottom of the Only Begotten Son of God?  We know because God revealed himself to us.  In Jesus, God tells us about himself.   In Jesus, we have a window onto the heart of God.  But Jesus isn’t only true God; he is also true man.  Jesus doesn’t only reveal God to us; he also reveals us to ourselves.  The first chapter of the Bible told us that man, unlike any of the other creatures, was created in the image and likeness of God (cf. Gen 1:26-27).  We see that image most clearly in Christ.  Jesus is the human person as he was originally meant to be.

What Jesus asks his disciples that day is quite possibly the most critical question in all of human history: “Who do you say that I am?”  It’s a question that each one of us must answer for himself—not with answers from the Bible or the Catechism, but with one that comes from our own heart and convictions and experience.  The way we answer that question matters so much because upon it depends our salvation!  And how we look at Jesus makes all the difference in how we see ourselves and how we see one another.  The divine image and likeness that we recognize in Christ is the one we also ought to recognize in the mirror, and ought to recognize in every other person—not just other Catholics, and not just other Christians, but in every man, woman, and child, no matter their race or religion, no matter their way of life.  Seeing in this way changes everything!

Why?  Finding the answer to that question pales when compared to how we must respond to the other: “Who do you say that I am?”

When we see Jesus, let us always see our truest selves.  And when we see our neighbor, let us always see Jesus.

  

Bath Time

 Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time   C 

Readings

When was the last time you bathed?  No, I’m not detecting a particular funk here in church this morning.  Let me rephrase the question: When was the last time you took a bath?  While we all clean up pretty regularly, most of us stop taking baths with any regularity about the time we stop playing with toys in the tub. 

Anther question: When was the last time you gave someone else a bath?  We wash all kinds of things—the dishes, the car, the dog—but bathing another person generally occurs only in two circumstances: with babies, or with the weak and infirm.  Let’s consider giving a baby a bath.  While the soap in the water betrays mom’s or dad’s hope of getting the kid clean, a baby’s bath time is about much more than that.  There’s laughter and splashing, cuddles and kisses.  Bathing another person is a very intimate matter.  It is an act of tenderness, of loving care.   What is apparently about cleanliness is also about togetherness—about bringing two people closer in their relationship with one another.

This Sunday we hear the stirring gospel story of the sinful woman who bathes Jesus’ feet with her tears and washes them with her hair.  But in order to better appreciate this striking gesture, we need to give some thought to the story behind the story.  Why did she do this in the first place?  The translation of the Bible we use at Mass leads us a bit astray today.  It has Jesus say, “Her many sins have been forgiven because she has shown great love.”  It makes it seem that her good deed has earned God’s mercy for her.  It’s actually quite the opposite which is true: “Her many sins have been forgiven, so she has shown great mercy.” 

That makes it clear this woman has encountered Jesus before—and that encountering him radically changed her.  How else could you explain her behavior?  This woman—whose sinful reputation is widely known—barges into the home of a religious leader in the middle of a dinner party and kneels down crying at the feet of the guest of honor.  Her action is not a sudden inspiration, either, because she arrives carrying a container of expensive perfume.   I don’t know about you, but where I come from, this is not normal behavior!  Only something big could cause somebody to act out this way!  Like David and other sinners, great and small, throughout the Bible, this woman recognizes that all sin is a sin against the Lord.  She recognizes, too, that all sin must therefore be confessed before the Lord, for it is the Lord alone who has the power to forgive sin.  And unlike the Pharisee who invited Jesus over for dinner, this woman recognizes that that divine power of forgiveness is at work in Jesus.  Before she bathed his feet with her tears, Jesus had given her a bath—not one of water washing her body, but of mercy purifying her heart.

So, what does all this mean for you and me?

When was the last time you bathed?  Our life in Christ, the life of Christ in us, began with a bath: when we were washed in the waters of Baptism.  But just as in our bodily life, so in our spiritual life: bathing once is not sufficient for a lifetime.  We’re sinners.  We sin.  What parts of your life and mine need to be washed clean by Jesus?  Maybe we have some daily sins—the sort that have been a part of our life so long we just assume we’ll never be rid of them.  Why not ask Jesus to wash them away?  Or maybe we’re bearing guilt for a big sin—recent or long past—that seems too big, of which we’re too ashamed, to seek forgiveness.  Ask Jesus to wash you clean.  Don’t forget what Jesus teaches in the gospel: the greater the sin forgiven, the greater the love.  He wants to cleanse us so he can bring us closer to himself.  We have no reason to be afraid.

And when was the last time you bathed the feet of Jesus?  Some of us haven’t thought to do so because we didn’t even know we could.  Of course, we don't wash Jesus' feet because he needs our forgiveness; we do it to show out love—because we long to get closer to him.  We can wash Jesus’ feet by our devotion.  We literally sit as his feet when we come in adoration before the Blessed Sacrament, but find ourselves there, too, whenever or wherever we pray.  Pour out your heart by “wasting” some time on Jesus.  And we can also wash his feet in our acts of charity toward one another.  Did Jesus not say that whatever we do to the least of his brothers and sisters, we do to him?  Who among our friends and neighbors, among our coworkers or schoolmates, needs to be bathed in mercy?   Reach out to comfort them and you reach out to Christ.

When was the last time you bathed?  Let Jesus wash away your sins in his Divine Mercy.  And when was the last time you gave someone else a bath?  Console the Sacred Heart of Jesus by reaching out to him in devotion and to your neighbor in charity.  Experience Christ's mercy and show him your love.

The Mystery of Faith

  Tenth Sunday in Ordinary Time   C 

Readings

On Friday morning, I found myself at the graveside as a mother buried her only son—a life lost tragically, and much too young.  As things were winding down, she took my hand and said, “I’ve read the readings for Sunday, Father.  Why can’t Jesus do for me what he did for that mother in the gospel?”  It was a hard question to hear, and an even harder question to answer.

Not much more than an hour later, I was visiting the home of a widow in the parish—a mother of four, who had buried two of those children before they turned five.  Years later, she lost her husband.  Her living children moved away, and no longer practiced the Catholic faith she worked so hard to instill in them.  One of them was estranged from her mother—not even speaking to her.   This past winter was a long string of serious illnesses, leaving her pretty much confined to her home.  And yet she spoke to me with such a radiant smile: “Father, I’ve lived long enough and endured enough hardship and heartache to know that whenever I suffer, whenever I face a loss, whenever somebody or something dies, that just means the Lord has some even greater blessing in store for me.”  Here was a woman who understood that in order to get to Easter, one must pass by way of Good Friday.  When she feels the wood of the Cross pressing upon her shoulder, instead of being weighed down by it, her heart is uplifted and her spirit raised.  Her hope is clearly anchored in the core mystery of our faith: “We proclaim your Death, O Lord, and profess your Resurrection, until you come again.”

The four gospels record only three people ever being revived by Jesus during his earthly ministry.  I tend to think of this, not only as the most spectacular, but also the most cruel of his miracles.  Where are any of them now?  The young daughter of Jairus, and the Lord’s dear friend, Lazarus, and this son of the widow of Nain—they were all restored to life, only to die once again.   Yes, Jesus came to rescue us, but not from those things that pose a threat to the life of the body.

The first Christians of the city of Rome were called a most unusual nickname by their pagan neighbors: The Diggers—as in the gravediggers.  Long before Christians could build churches for public worship, they were digging out catacombs outside of town to reverently bury their dead.  This was not the Roman way.  The ancient Romans had a deep fear of death, and a deep distaste for looking upon a dead body.  They were rather unsure about a life after this one, yet dreaded being haunted by the departed.  The human body was seen as little more than a disposable container for the soul, to be discarded as swiftly as possible: into a mass grave for the poor, or by cremation for the rich.  These new Christians, however, were notably different.   They carried the bodies of their dead in procession.  They entombed their remains as something sacred.  They would regularly visit their graves.  They were not afraid of death nor of the dead—which affected not only how they treated their dead, but also how they treated the living.  This distinguishing feature of their lives was rooted in their faith “in the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting.”

The world around us is increasingly like that in which lived the first Christians of Rome.  We need to distinguish ourselves just like they did.  It’s not because, in the face of the hard questions raised by life and death, we have all the answers; it’s because we still know there’s only one source for sure hope: “We proclaim your Death, O Lord, and profess your Resurrection, until you come again.”

  

Well Hidden

You haven't seen any outdoor "adventures" posted here since January--the end of my 25 months run of at least one monthly night spent out in the woods.  I haven't been holding out on you; I just haven't been out.  I've been dealing with some pain in my right hip since mid-December (the cause is still unexplained, but an appointment with a specialist in a couple weeks should help get to the bottom of it), so I've been hesitant to try anything too adventurous.  But the weather has been great, and the woods were calling, so I took my chances Wednesday/Thursday and went camping.

I stayed in the lean to at Hidden Cove on the eastern shore of Long Lake.  The place is aptly named: I'd walked right by there on the Northville-Lake Placid Trail in 2013, and paddled by there during the Adirondack Canoe Classic in 2014 and 2015...but not found it before this past week.

It's only 1.8 miles from the trailhead, so I figured that was a safe distance in my "condition."  I did pay for it a bit...but a peaceful night in the woods was well worth the price.

How Deep?

   Solemnity of the Most Holy Body & Blood of Christ   C 

Readings

It was nearly 20 years ago, when I was a seminarian, that I first learned of a most extraordinary woman.  She was a model member of her Catholic parish: the first to step forward and volunteer, gracious and kind, generous with her time and resources.   There was just one problem: she wasn’t Catholic.  Actually, she’d never even been baptized.  I asked her parish priest why she hadn’t yet “taken the plunge.”  His answer: because of the Eucharist.   She didn’t have any problem with the Church’s doctrine on the Eucharist—far from it.  She was moved by the Church’s faith that God would come to his people in a manner as simple, humble, and accessible as a small host.  Her problem was that she didn’t see much evidence of this faith in the lives of most Catholics.  If Catholics really believe what they say they believe, then how come so many of them miss Mass so often?  How come they behave so casually in church?  How come they aren’t any different on Monday for what they celebrated and received on Sunday?  And why aren’t they stopping in to visit the Blessed Sacrament any time their schedule allows—falling on their knees, or even prostrate on their faces, before the Almighty Lord of heaven and earth who has chosen to dwell right here among them?  She just couldn’t figure it out.  To the best of my knowledge, she’s still not a Catholic to this day.

I would guess that all the Catholics in this room right now would say that, yes, they share the Church’s faith in the Most Holy Eucharist: that the bread and wine soon to be offered on this altar will truly become the Body and Blood—the real presence—of our Lord Jesus Christ.  But how deeply do we believe this?  Are we quicker to make excuses for why we can’t get to Mass than to make sacrifices in order to be here?  Would we walk 10, 20, 25 miles, if that was the only chance we had to go to Mass?  (Our predecessors here did precisely that: the historical record shows that the first Catholics of Malone walked all the way to the church at St. Regis in order to hear Mass at Christmas and Easter.)  Do we ever consider getting up just a little earlier, or giving up part of our lunch break, to come to daily Mass?  Would we willingly let go of our hope of grandchildren if our only child said he felt called by God to be a priest?   Would we risk prison living in China, or death living under ISIS, so we could receive Holy Communion?  These are not hypothetical questions!  Just how deep is our faith in the Holy Eucharist?

We are privileged to witness a miracle here at every Mass—one far greater than that of which we heard in this Sunday’s gospel.  When Jesus takes, blesses, and shares the bread and wine we offer, he does much more then multiply their quantity as he did the loaves and fish long ago; he infinitely multiplies their quality as they become his most sacred Body and most precious Blood.  May our entire lives be a resounding “Amen!” to the Church’s faith in the Most Blessed Sacrament.

With gratitude to One Bread, One Body, for inspiration for this homily

  

He Will Guide You

At the 11:00am Mass today, some of our parish's children will be receiving their first Holy Communion, so I'm preaching without a text (and without time to type one up), thus there's no homily to post for you this Sunday.  Please pray for these young people and their families that they might always hunger for the Bread of Life!

   The Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity   C 

Readings

          Jesus said to his disciples:

          "I have much more to tell you, but you cannot bear it now.

          But when he comes, the Spirit of truth,

          he will guide you to all truth.

          He will not speak on his own,

          but he will speak what he hears,

          and will declare to you the things that are coming.

          He will glorify me,

          because he will take from what is mine and declare it to you.

          Everything that the Father has is mine;

          for this reason I told you that he will take from what is mine

          and declare it to you."  (John 16:12-15)

  

You Will Live

I preached this without a text today, so these are some reconstructed notes...

   Pentecost   C 

Readings

"For if you live according to the flesh, you will die, but if by the spirit...you will live." (Romans 8:13)

What's the difference between someone who's dead and someone who's alive?
It's not that their heart has stopped.  (Many hearts stop and start up again.)
It's not that they have stopped breathing.  (Anybody can hold their breath for awhile.)
It's that their soul has been separated from their body.
We are a union of the two: body and soul.
The soul is the life of the body.
And what is the life of the soul? The Holy Spirit.

Have you noticed the popularity of zombies lately?
Maybe it's because many of us feel like "the living dead."
We're living, but not fully alive.
We're busier than ever, but we're bored.
We've got everything we need, and most of what we want, yet we're still not satisfied.
It feels like our lives are living us, instead of vice versa.
We're basically content, but not really happy.
We're spiritual zombies.

And yet we read the lives of there prophets and Apostles in the Bible, 
we hear about the lives of the Saints, and we think, "Wow!  
They're so full of joy and zeal!  They're so full of life!
They're not zombies at all.
How come my life isn't like that?
How can my live be like theirs?"

What's the secret to having a full, fulfilling life?
Having a deep and true relationship with the Holy Spirit.

Notice what Jesus does on that first Easter night: he breathes on his disciples.
That's not normal behavior!
Generally, we'd consider it quite rude.
He breathes on them and says, "Receive the Holy Spirit."  (John 20:22)
Recall the first chapters of the Bible, when God creates Adam.
The Lord fashions him from the dust of the earth.
How does he bring man to life? God breathes into him. (Genesis 2:7)
In Hebrew, one and the same word means "breath" and "wind" and "spirit."
God put his own Spirit into us; he breathes his own life into us.
What God first did at creation he does anew at our re-creation.
When the world had grown old because of sin, God gave us new life by his Spirit.
The sound the Apostles hear on Pentecost?  It's the wind!  (Acts 2:2)
God's breathing new life into our souls.

On the day of our Baptism, we were given a most amazing gift.
As we were adopted as God's sons and daughters, he put his Spirit within us.
Unfortunately, for many, it's a gift that's remained unopened and unused.
It's still in the pretty packaging, pushed to the back of the closet.
The secret to a full, fulfilling life is releasing this gift of the Holy Spirit.

How can we have this relationship with the Spirit?
How do we stir up not flame the gift we've been given?

(1) Believe.
We must do more than just intellectually affirm that God exists.
(Even the devil does that.)
We must have faith that God came and died and rose.
We must believe in his undying love for us.
We must put all our trust in him.

(2) Repent.
We are all "living in sin" in one way or another.
But the sins to which we cling are roadblocks to the Holy Spirit.
Christ entrusted his gift of forgiveness to his Church and her priests.  (John 20:23)
We must acknowledge our sin for what it is and turn away from it.
We must allow Jesus to remove all barriers to the Spirit's work.

(3) Obey.
This is hard for us Americans as "rugged individualists."
We think we know best for ourselves...even if the evidence is otherwise.
God is not prone to giving us suggestions.
They're not the 10 Helpful Hints, but the 10 Commandments.
God's not looking to be our chief Advisor; he's our Father, and he expects us to obey.
Obeying God may mean losing some independence, but it'll bring you freedom like never before.
The Holy Spirit is given to provide sure direction for our lives.
He'll never force it, but what God wants from us is obedience.

(4) Ask.
This is a gift that is ours simply for the asking.
In the words of the monk, St. Peter Damian (1007-1072), from a homily he gave just after Pentecost:

          As the soul is the life of the body,

          so the Holy Spirit is the life of our souls.

          And as the body collapses if the soul departs,

          so if the life-giving Spirit leaves our souls they too must die….

          Our souls then must seek this Spirit without ceasing;

          by his quickening they live, by his light they see,

          by his teaching they know, by his leadership they come...to their native country.

          Let us then ask of our God,

          not as the poor entreat the rich of this world, for money, or food, or clothing…

          but let us implore him to give us

          that which we need more than anything else,

          and which it most delights him to give

          to those who ask for it.  (Sermon on the Holy Spirit and his Grace)

Sometimes this gift is given swiftly in answer to our prayers.

Sometimes we need to persist in asking—

not because God needs to be worn down, but because we do.

If all we have to do is ask, then what are we waiting for?

But I warn you: if you ask, God will certainly awaken his Spirit in you 

and your life will never be the same again.

"For if you live according to the flesh, you will die, but if by the spirit...you will live." (Romans 8:13)

Do you want to lead a full, fulfilling life?

Let us pray:

          O Holy Spirit, beloved of my soul, I adore you.

          Enlighten me, guide me, strengthen me, console me.

          Tell me what I should do.

          Give me your orders.

          I promise to submit myself to all that you desire of me

          and accept all that you permit to happen to me.

          Let me only know your will. Amen.  (Cardinal Désiré-Joseph Mercier, 1851-1926)

   

Give Me a Sign

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there!

   Seventh Sunday of Easter   C 

Readings

Have you ever noticed the church sign out in front of the Methodist church on Main Street?  I was talking with some folks about it just the other day, and we were wondering where they get all those clever sayings.  Some of them are quite funny, others are thought-provoking, and others downright inspirational.  Have you seen what it says right now?  “God couldn’t be everywhere so he created mothers!”  Isn’t that sweet?  And just in time for Mothers Day!  I looked that saying up to see where it comes from, and a number of different sources were suggested: some say it’s an old Jewish proverb, some say it was written by Rudyard Kipling, and other say it’s from Erma Bombeck.  Regardless of where it comes from, can you guess my first thought on seeing the sign?  “That’s wrong…”  Now, to be clear: I’m not trying to start an ecumenical fight here!  But that saying is flawed on two fronts.

This first is that it sells God short.  One of the things that makes God, God, is that he is everywhere.  God is all-knowing, almighty, and all-present.  He told us so himself.  As we heard in our second reading, from the Book of Revelation, “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.”  God is eternal, and he is everywhere.  The second thing wrong with that saying is that it sells mothers short, too.  It makes moms little more than a replacement, a substitute, for someone who couldn’t be there.  Of course, if you’re going to be an understudy, being God’s understudy isn’t so bad…but still: a mother’s role is clearly so much more than being a second-string player.

In our first reading, from the Acts of the Apostles, we hear a story about St. Stephen—not a mother, but the Church’s first martyr.   We’re told that Stephen has a vision of Jesus, seeing him off in heaven, seated at God’s right hand.  Especially in these days following the Lord’s ascension, that can give the impression that God isn’t actually everywhere: he’s up in heaven while we’re here on our own down on earth.  And then we’re told about Stephen’s martyrdom.  As he’s being stoned to death, we hear him day two things: “Lord, forgive them this sin!” and, “Lord, receive my spirit!”  Those should sound familiar:  they’re things we heard Jesus say from his Cross.  Again, we could get the impression that Stephen is an understudy: just repeating the Lord’s lines.   But what’s happening here runs much deeper than Stephen’s words; he’s doing exactly what Jesus did his whole life long: reaching out to others with mercy, and reaching up to the Father with complete trust.  We can recognize Jesus alive and active in St. Stephen—not distant in heaven, but very close: suffering in him and with him on earth.  God is very present in that moment and in that man dying for his faith.

What’s true of this martyr is also very true of mothers, who also lay down their lives for others.   Yet it’s not only true of mothers, but also of fathers, and of children, and of single people, and of priests, and of religious—of all the Christian faithful.  God is present everywhere, and one of the ways he chooses to make his presence known is in you and me.   We see this in our gospel reading.   Jesus is still at table with the Apostles at the Last Supper, and he’s praying: praying not only for them, but for you and me, too—for all who will come to believe through them.  Jesus makes it clear that just as the Father is in him, so he will be in us.  His disciples recognized the Father’s love and glory in Jesus; he prays that that same love and glory will be apparent in us.   Just as the Father sent the Son, so the Son sends us into the world to make him known: God living in Christ, and Christ living his followers.  That’s so much more than being second-string!  God is, in fact, everywhere, and that’s why he made mothers—and all the rest of us, too: to be present with and in and through us.

 So, if that saying is wrong, what ought we do about it?  I know what you most certainly should not do: do not call the Methodist church and tell them that your pastor said they need to change their sign!  What we need to do is live in such a way that the truth of the matter is abundantly clear; we need to live in a way that fulfills the prayer of Jesus.  We need to be a clear sign for others.  You and I are to live our lives in such a way that people who see us can’t help but say, “I know that God is everywhere.  I know because I’ve seen him: I’ve seen him in them.  Not only have they been sent by Jesus, but Jesus lives in them.”

  

His Will, Our Peace

E'n la sua volontade e le nostra pace.

In his will is our peace.

—Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy, Paradiso, III, 85

   Sixth Sunday of Easter   C 

Readings

This is a season of many birthdays in my family.

Among them, my grandfather Leo turned 92 last Sunday,

and my sister Jen turned 40 on Friday.
(Today is also my mother's birthday...
...but I know better than to give away her age from the pulpit!)

Somehow, we managed to surprise Jen

with a small party on Friday night

which included a little slideshow of family pictures through the years.

It was a fun trip down memory lane.

(It was particularly enjoyable to listen to my nieces and nephew

as they saw old photos from back in the day

of their parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles…)

Of course, the whole thing was approached in good humor.

That’s what you’d expect on such an occasion,

avoiding calling undue attention to hard times in the past

(not to mention that we rarely take pictures

of life’s more challenging moments).

But even when tough stuff was brought up—

like the way my brother and sister

used to constantly fight when they were much younger—

it was done with big smiles and much laughter.

It wasn’t to make light of it all,

but because we’ve gained some needed perspective since then:

we can look back in a way

we weren’t able to when in the thick of it;

we can now see those hard times within the grand scheme of things.

In the gospel, we find Jesus preparing his disciples

for his coming Passion and death,

for his Resurrection and Ascension.

That same perspective which mature souls have when looking back?

Jesus wants his followers to have it when looking forward, too.

Life in general, and the life of faith in particular,

is quite often a rather rocky road.

“Peace I leave with you,” Jesus tells us;

“my peace I give to you.

Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid.

I have told you this before it happens,

so that when it happens you may believe.”

What does the world usually mean by “peace”?

The absence of all our troubles.

But there is no way in this world of woe

to be completely free of problems.

So the best this world can offer us and call it “peace”—

whether its between peoples and nations,

or within the family, or inside of our own hearts—

is a temporary ceasefire or uneasy truce.

Needless to say,

the real difficulties haven’t actually been eliminated;

we’ve just chosen to ignore them…for now.

That’s not the peace that Jesus gives!

Admittedly, in modern America, 
turning 40 hardly makes you “old,”

(despite everything that’s written on balloons and greeting cards).

But it is around 40 that many have to start reckoning—

like it or not—with such signs of mortality

as aching joints and wrinkles and receding hairlines.

You and I both know people who fight hard against such things,

whether it’s with clothing or cosmetics,

with a fast car or a tattoo or reconstructive surgeries.

They don’t want to look their age

(nor frequently to have to act it, either).

Denial, however, only results in a brief respite, at best.

The other, healthier approach is one of acceptance.

That doesn’t mean we like it.

That doesn’t mean we have to pursue it.

Nor does it mean being stoic—

resigned to our fate,

as if the only option were to grit your teeth and bear it.

Acceptance is a matter of perspective,

of seeing the bigger picture—

taking what we can usually do pretty well in hindsight

and applying it to our present and future, as well.

What you’re accepting isn’t difficulty and diminishment;

what you’re accepting is the truth.

And this doesn’t just apply to getting older;

it’s meant to be a guiding principle for all of life.

What I'm talking about is accepting God’s will in all things—

about being convinced

of the truth and beauty and goodness of God’s ways,

rather than trying to convince God of the merits of our own.

(As an article I read recently put it so well:

two essential rules for living are to always remember that

(1) You’re not God, and (2) This is not heaven.)

“Whoever loves me will keep my word,” says Jesus.

“Whoever does not love me does not keep my words;

yet the word you hear is not mine

but that of the Father who sent me.”

An accepting heart is able to look at

whatever circumstances in which it finds itself—
easy or difficult, good or bad—

and say, “I trust that God has put me here

and God has made me this way.

Whatever the Lord’s plan may be in this—
I trust he'll give me the strength to keep his word.”

That, my friends, is the peace only Jesus can give!

On my grandfather’s birthday last Sunday,

sitting around the big table where he and my grandmother

have watched their 10 children and 26 grandchildren grow,

they got to reminiscing about the days

when I was small enough to walk on that same table,

when I was a teller of many tall tales,

and when most of those stories involved my imaginary friend

whom I carried around in my pocket.

(Don’t worry: he moved away years and years ago!)

The peace Jesus came to give 
is one of constant divine companionship.

Yes, Jesus died (as we celebrated on Good Friday),

and, yes, he returned to the Father

(as we’ll soon recall on Ascension Thursday),

but he has never left us—and never will.

Love Jesus, keep his word, accept God's will,

and he and the Father will make their dwelling with you—
not in your pocket, but in the depths of your soul.

The Father has sent the Holy Spirit to be your Advocate,

to teach and encourage you always.

Whatever life may dish out,

there’s deep peace in knowing

that we’re continually in the best of company:

the company of a Friend unseen, 
but not at all imaginary.

“Peace I leave you, my peace I give you.”

Have you ever noticed

how we repeat these words of Jesus at every Mass,

right before Holy Communion?

True peace, you see, is not found 
in the absence of trouble,

but in the real presence of Christ.