17 March 2024

Homily - 17 March 2024 - The Fifth Sunday of Lent - On the Glory of Saint Patrick

The Fifth Sunday of Lent (B)

On Saint Patrick

Dear brothers and sisters,

Were today not Sunday we would be celebrating the memorial of Saint Patrick, whose image is enshrined in this sanctuary. Given that many of you have Irish ancestry, it is fitting for us to give thanks to God for the bright light shining through the example of Saint Patrick’s life.


People have put on their green, drunk their beer, and will likely dine on corned beef and cabbage for dinner (though the Irish do not eat this). Many Americans will do this to celebrate a fabricated Irish heritage more so than Patrick himself. An authentic heritage of Ireland, given to the Irish people by illustrious saint, is a well-lived Catholic faith.

The Church celebrates the lives of the Saints because in them we see the light of Christ refracted in a great array of colors showing us the many paths on which we may walk in our daily life to follow in the footsteps of Christ Jesus. In Saint Patrick, we see one in whom God created a clean heart and one who, by his teaching of the faith, led many sinners to God (cf. Psalm 51:12, 15).

Much of the life of Saint Patrick remains shrouded in legend. He seems to have been born around a.d. 385 in Britain. We do not know when he was ordained a priest, a bishop, or even when he died, but we do know – because he told us - his father, Calpornius, was a deacon and Roman official with an estate worked by slaves; his grandfather, Potitus, was a priest.

Despite the clerical orders of his father and grandfather, Patrick was not raised in an especially religious family and when he was captured by Irish pirates before his sixteenth birthday he “was indeed ignorant of the true God.”[1] He was taken captive to Ireland as a slave and worked tending sheep for six years.

It is both curious and enlightening to ponder what Patrick must have experienced during these years of enslavement.

To the son of a decurion conscious of his Romanitas and position in society, the status of a slave was deeply humiliating. He may not have been aware of it during his captivity, but for the rest of his life Patrick grieved for the education he had not had. Barely articulate in his own tongue, he was forced to adopt another. Nostalgia for his own country, people, and kin, plus loneliness and poverty and exposure to the harshness of the climate brought him that degree of denudation where God alone is to be the sole, inalienable treasure of the spirit.

 

Prayer became Patrick’s sustenance. He declares that the call to prayer was so insistent and such a source of joy that he would willingly face frost, snow, or rain to pasture the animals while he gave himself up to it.[2]

“More and more,” he says, “the love of God and fear of him came to me and my faith was being increased, and the spirit was being moved.”[3]

Here is one lesson of the Christian life we can take from Saint Patrick: it is in solitude and times of difficulty that, if we are open to the Lord and humble enough to seek him, his Spirit will stir in our hearts. Is this not why the Psalmist prays, “Give me back the joy of your salvation, and a willing spirit sustain in me” (Psalm 51:14)?

After six years as a slave, Patrick heard a voice in a dream say to him, “It is well that you are fasting, soon you will go to your own country.” A short time later the same voice said to him, “Look, your ship is ready.”[4] Patrick ran away and some 188 miles later found a pagan ship anchored and ready to depart. Patrick again prayed and boarded the vessel, hoping to introduce the pagans to Christ Jesus.

They sailed for three days and landed in a deserted area. Patrick walked for twenty-eight days and at last found himself among his own people; the dream of his heart had been answered. His people begged him never to leave them again, but his time with them was not to last.

In another dream, a man by the name of Victoricius came to Patrick bringing letters from Ireland.

The voice of the people who had first enslaved him invited him to walk among them once more; this time, though, he would consciously and freely enter a different form of “slavery” — the self-imposed exile of Christian mission. He notes: “Now, in Christ, I am a slave of a foreign people, for the sake of the indescribable glory of eternal life, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”[5]

In giving his life in service to the spread of the Gospel among his captors, Saint Patrick followed the words of the Lord, who said, "unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will preserve it for eternal life" (John 12:24-25). Patrick went so far as to call himself “a slave in Christ for that remote pagan people.”[6]

Saint Patrick gave himself entirely for the people of Ireland so they might know “the gift so great, so salutary, to know or to love God wholeheartedly, but at the loss of country and kindred.”[7] Here is a second lesson we can learn from Patrick: something must be given up, laid aside, or left behind to help others encounter the Lord. What are you and I willing to part with to lead others to Christ Jesus? Our time, money, career, sports, the esteem of others, family, even everything we know?

A third lesson to learn from Patrick is a simple one, but one always in need of repeating: “What remains constant is the truth exemplified by St Patrick’s career: one lamp lights another. That should encourage us in our own efforts to spread the faith by using whatever gifts we have.”[8] They example of a faith well-lived, with joy and serenity, is attractive. A simple, personal invitation is often all it takes to bring someone to Jesus, to help the Church and the parish grow. Do not be afraid to let the light of your faith be seen by others. This is what made Saint Patrick’s missionary efforts among his former captors so successful; this is what can make our efforts to spread the Gospel successful, as well.

Today, then, in honor of Saint Patrick, rededicate your family to living the Catholic faith well and to invite others to do the same. If you do, then what Saint Patrick wrote to his readers may come true in us: “Would that you, too, would strive for greater things and perform more excellent deeds. This will be my glory.”[9] Amen.



[1] Saint Patrick, Confessio, 1. In Patrick the Pilgrim Apostle of Ireland: An Analysis of St Patrick’s Confessio and Epistola, Ed. and trans. Maire B. de Paor (Dublin: Veritas Publications, 1998), 221.

[2] Teresa Rodriguez, Butler’s Lives of the Saints, New Full Edition: March (Collegeville: The Liturgical Press, 1999),169

[3] Saint Patrick, Confessio, 16.

[4] Ibid., 17.

[5] Salvador Ryan, “Remembering the Historical Patrick,” National Catholic Register, 17 March 2018. Accessed 16 March 2024. Available at https://www.ncregister.com/commentaries/remembering-the-historical-patrick.

[6] Saint Patrick, Letter to the Soldiers of Corocticus, 3. In Patrick the Pilgrim Apostle of Ireland.

[7] Ibid., 23.

[8] Aidan Nichols, Year of the Lord’s Favour: A Homiliary for the Roman Liturgy: Vol. I: The Sanctoral Cycle (Leominster: Gracewing, 2012), 42.

[9] Saint Patrick, Confessio, 47.

09 March 2024

Homily - 10 March 2024 - The Fourth Sunday of Lent

The Fourth Sunday of Lent (B)

Laetare Sunday

Dear brothers and sisters,

It has become such a commonplace in our minds and hearts that Jesus was “lifted up” on the Cross that his having been lifted up no longer gives us pause for thought (John 3:14). Why was it that the only Savior of mankind had to be lifted up? And not simply lifted up, but lifted up and suspended upon a Cross?      

Many preachers have rightly pointed out that crucifixion was considered the most ignoble of deaths in the ancient world, and that the Romans had perfected this gruesome and excruciating method of execution. Condemned as a traitor to Caesar, this form of death was appropriate under Roman law and also fittingly demonstrated the extent of Jesus’ love for us.

This is all true, but I cannot help but wonder if the answer to why the Son of God had to be lifted up is that simple. Consider this: “When you want something to be seen well, to be seen by all, even those who are far away, you put it on high. So it is with Jesus.”[1] He allowed himself to be nailed to the Cross, to be lifted up on the Mount of Golgotha, suspended between heaven and earth, to show to all the fullness of his love; his love was not to be hidden.

This is why we hang crucifixes, whether in our churches or in our homes, high upon the wall or even suspended from the ceiling; we do so to let everyone see what love looks like. We even mount a crucifix to a pole and carry it in procession so all can see. And yet, how often do we look upon the crucifix? I do not mean to ask how often we glance upon the crucifix, but how often do we actually spend time contemplating the crucifix and what it says?

Christ on the Cross, c. 1380/1390, by Andrea di Bartolo

We lift Jesus up to glorify him, to exalt him, to praise him, yet

Jesus does not put himself on high as one who has power, as one who wants to demonstrate his superiority. Jesus sets himself on high so that everyone can see Him and His love for every man. The cross is what Jesus wants to grab our attention with: we cannot know him except by looking at him, raised on it.[2]

Perhaps the crucifix no longer grabs our attention because we have seen it so often. Perhaps the crucifix no longer grabs our attention because we have lost a real awareness of the reality of sin and its devastating effects. Perhaps the crucifix no longer grabs our attention because we have made it safe, an image that no longer shows the tortured agony of the martyred body of the Son of God.

We need to look anew upon the crucifix and see it for what it is: the image of “the culmination of that turning of God against himself in which he gives himself in order to raise man up and save him. This is love in its most radical form.”[3]

Reflecting on this passage of Saint John’s Gospel, Saint Augustine asked what it is we see when we look on the image of the Lord’s death. This was his answer:

A death is gazed on, that death may have no power. But whose death? The death of life: if it may be said, the death of life; yes, for it may be said, but said wonderfully. But should it not be spoken, seeing it was a thing to be done? Shall I hesitate to utter that which the Lord has deigned to do for me? Is not Christ the life? And yet Christ hung on the cross. Is not Christ life? And yet Christ was dead. But in Christ's death, death died. Life dead slew death; the fullness of life swallowed up death; death was absorbed in the body of Christ. So also shall we say in the resurrection, when now triumphant we shall sing, “Where, O death, is your contest? Where, O death, is your sting” (I Corinthians 15:54)?[4]

This is the great wonder of the paradox of the Cross: sorrow and joy are mingled together. There is sadness in the Cross because we see the death of the Lord, yet joy streams forth from this sadness because we see death give way to unconquerable life. How can joy not come from looking upon crucified Love?

This mingled sorrow and joy, which marks the heart of the faithful Christian, can be yours, too, if you follow the spiritual guidance of Saint Bonaventure, who advises us to

Turn, O soul, Christ on the cross with head bowed waits to kiss you, his arms are extended to embrace you, his hands open with gifts for you, his body extended to cover you, his feet affixed to stay with you, his side open to let you enter.[5]

This is why Christ Jesus allowed himself to be lifted up upon the wood of the Cross.

In these remaining days of Lent, dear brothers and sisters, look upon the crucifix each day and say to Jesus:

Tell me, I pray, my beloved Lord, tell me, since once one drop of your most sacred blood would have sufficed to redeem the whole world, why did you suffer so much blood to flow from your body? I know, Lord, I really know: you did this for no other reason than to show me how much you love me.[6]

Amen.



[1] Pierbattista Cardinal Pizzaballa, Meditation for the Fourth Sunday of Lent, 10 March 2024.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Pope Benedict XVI, Deus caritas est, 12.

[4] Saint Augustine of Hippo, Tractates on the Gospel of John, 12.11.

[5] Saint Bonaventure, Soliloquium, I.39.

[6] Ibid., On the Perfection of Life, VI.6.

25 February 2024

Homily - 25 February 2024 - Announcement of a New Assignment

The Second Sunday of Lent (B)

Announcement of the Appointment as

Director of Campus Ministry at Quincy University

Dear brothers and sisters,

Because the Lenten journey can be a difficult one if it is lived with intentionality, the liturgy today offers us something of a reprieve from our penances. I say something of a reprieve because it is very brief; we are invited to pause for a moment to behold the luminous Face of Christ Jesus with Saints Peter, James, and John and then to return with them to the ordinariness of daily life (cf. Mark 9:2).

We have all heard preachers say Jesus converses with Moses because he represents the Law, and with Elijah because he represents the prophets. Moses does something more, though: he, the great lawgiver, stands in for the Law, which was given to the Hebrews to teach them how to love God and neighbor in minute technical detail. Elijah likewise stands in place of all the prophets, who continually reminded the Hebrews of the consequences of not properly loving God and neighbor. Jesus stands in between Moses and Elijah in his own divine person, united to his divine and human natures, because he is the summation and fulfillment of the law and the prophets.

The Transfiguration, attributed to Peter Paul Reubens, c. 1600

Living as we do in the midst of the flatlands, we might miss the importance of going up to the summit of the mountain, as Jesus did with those three chosen Apostles; he did not do so simply because he wanted to admire the Galilean landscape, breathtaking as it is. No, there is something more about mountains for those in regular contact with the spiritual realm, as both Moses and Elijah knew very well.

In salvation history Moses and Elijah are the two greatest witnesses that God revealed Himself through. They, too, went up a mountain one day and came to know God more closely (cf. Exodus 19:33-34; I Kings 19); and they began to understand precisely something that has a close connection with Jesus' Passover.

 

On the mountain, Moses came to know that God's name is mercy, that he is slow to anger, that he forgives the guilt of his people, that he does not destroy them when the people fall into temptation and turn away from God. Moses has known that God reveals himself basically for one purpose, which is always to save us.

 

On the mountain, Elijah after a long flight, knew that God reveals himself in meekness: not in the great signs of power and force, but in the humble silence of a breeze, a breath.[1]

With Moses, you and I must learn again that God longs to save us. However, as Saint Augustine reminds us, “God who created you without you, will not save you without you.”[2] And with Elijah, you and I must learn again and again that God reveals himself to us in solitary silence and stillness, not in frenzied activity.

Saint Peter had not quite learned both of these lessons when he said to Jesus, “Let us make three tents” (Mark 9:5). The rock wanted to remain suspended in this moment of joyful exuberance, to continually look upon the majestic glory of his friend and Lord. Who can blame him? Yet such is not to be the way of the Christian life this side of eternity, which is why Jesus brought them back down the mountain; he returned to the ordinariness of daily life in order to teach the Apostles that he might be seen there, too.

It was not enough for Peter to simply unite his joys to the joys of the Lord Jesus. No, he had to learn also to unite his sorrows to the sorrows of the Lord Jesus, as well. And just as Peter had to learn this both on and off the mountain, so, too, must we learn to do. This is why Mother Church teaches us to offer ourselves, with our joys and sorrows, on the paten and in the chalice each time the bread and wine are offered to the Father in the Holy Mass; it is not only bread and wine that are to be offered, but you and I, as well. In this way, it might be said we both ascend the summit of the mountain and descend to the plain each time we participate in the Eucharistic banquet.

We also ascend and descend the mountain repeatedly throughout our lives, particularly in moments of change and transition. This weekend, Bishop Paprocki is making a long-planned pastoral visit to the parishes in Arenzville, Beardstown, and Virginia. At a joint meeting last evening with the pastoral and finance councils of those parishes, Bishop Paprocki announced a coming change that will also affect St. Augustine Parish here in Ashland: On July 1st, I will begin serving as Director of Campus Ministry at Quincy University, while continuing with my teaching duties, as well as my responsibilities with the Diocesan Chancery.

I am very excited about my involvement with campus ministry. Already through my classes I have been able to have many deep conversations with some of my students about faith and the spiritual life and the Lord has used me to open eyes and hearts to his merciful love. College students today, in my experience, do not demonstrate an antagonism toward the faith as much as they do a complete ignorance about it. I am looking forward to the opportunities that abound to help the students of Quincy University come to know Jesus as he truly is.

As you have probably guessed or already heard, there is another change to take effect this summer. Probably about August 15th, Father Paul Habing will have the pastoral care of only St. Alexius Parish in Beardstown; this will allow him to more effectively provide for the diverse needs of that bustling parish.

When this change occurs, St. Fidelis Parish in Arenzville, St. Augustine Parish in Ashland, and St. Luke Parish in Virginia will come under the care of a single pastor while remaining distinct parishes. At this time, I will cease to be your pastor. This is, for me, a very bittersweet moment.

Serving as your pastor has been the longest appointment I have had as a priest. I remain profoundly grateful for the kindness you have shown me these past seven years and, as I have tried to do until now, I will do my best to shepherd you well these next several months. My successor here has not yet been determined; let us pray to the Lord that he will be one who will shepherd you after the Lord’s own heart (cf. Jeremiah 3:15). In the past few months, two weddings here at St. Augustine’s have very happily been added to my calendar; I will gladly return to witness these weddings and will do what I can to assist with their preparation.

My time among you has had some sorrows, to be sure, as is the nature of life and all of our relationships; but it has also had many joys, chief of which in my mind was the enshrinement of the Holy Face of Jesus in this beautiful church which you so tenderly love. In the Holy Face, we see both the Lord’s compassionate love for us and his merciful judgment of our sins. In that Face we can contemplate the luminously glorious Face Saint Peter saw on the mountain and so behold another foretaste of heavenly beatitude to which you and I are called, where, we pray, we will all meet merrily again.

Together, then, let us seek to unite ourselves to the Lord and the mystery of his Cross. Let us place ourselves spiritually with the bread upon the paten, so the wheat of our sufferings and sadness may be ground into a pure bread for the Lord. Let us place ourselves spiritually with the wine in the chalice, so the grapes of gratitude and joy may be crushed into wine for the Lord. Then, feasting on his Body and Blood, let us remember his promise to be with us always and to save us, if we remain close to him and live in his love (cf. Matthew 28:20; John 15:10). Amen.



[1] Pierbattista Cardinal Pizzaballa, O.F.M., Meditation on the Second Sunday of Lent, 25 February 2024.

[2] Saint Augustine of Hippo, Sermon 169.13.

13 February 2024

Homily - 14 February 2024 - Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday

Dear brothers and sisters,

Much like Saint Valentine’s Day, we might say Ash Wednesday is a day about love. It might seem strange to say so, given that February 14th has largely become associated with romantic notions of love, and that on Ash Wednesday Mother Church calls us to “take up battle with spiritual evils.”[1] The only way to truly battle against spiritual evils is to do so with the love of God, by growing deeper in his love and spreading his love more authentically. Today, then, is an opportunity for us to consider the nature of love, which is, perhaps, why Saint Paul exhorts us “not to receive the grace of God in vain” (II Corinthians 6:1). There is much to unpack in these few words, much that concerns love.

If we are to heed the Apostle’s warning, we must first know what he means by grace. The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches us that “grace is favor, the free and undeserved help that God gives us to respond to his call to become children of God, adoptive sons, partakers of the divine nature and eternal life.”[2] To put it perhaps more simply,

God’s grace denotes his gift of love, the love made known most dramatically in the sending of his Son (cf. John 3:16) and in the gift of the Spirit in our hearts (cf. Romans 5:5). Grace thus signifies that God holds nothing back in reaching out to us in love.[3]

Yet despite this gift of grace we all too often fail to reach out in love to God.

Saint Valentine, a priest in the city of Rome, realized the tremendous gift we received in Christ and he devoted his life to helping others realize the same; he sought to help them live in grace. When Roman soldiers were forbidden to enter into marriage, he witnessed their marriages anyway, because he wanted to be sure husbands and wives received the grace needed from God to keep the promises of their marriages and so reflect God’s love for the Church. When he refused to stop witnessing the marriages of soldiers, he was beheaded, so it is that the color of Saint Valentine’s Day is red; it calls to mind the blood of this martyr, shed in and for the love of God and neighbor.

Detail, Saint Valentine blesses a couple, 15th cent. woodcut

Valentine heard Saint Paul’s admonition and did not receive the grace of God in vain; he lived in the love of God and helped others to encounter his love. Valentine allowed the grace of God to bear fruit in his life; he fought against spiritual evils and, in the end, saved his life for eternity.

Saint Augustine of Hippo at first resisted God’s gift of grace and so received it in vain, yet one day he yielded to God’s grace. His interior longing for God prevailed and he exposed his heart to grace saying that famously moving prayer: “You stir man to take pleasure in praising you, because you have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.”[4]

Each of us also received this grace of God’s love, a share in the divine life, in the waters of Baptism, but it is a grace to which we must respond again and again if we do not wish to lose it; it is a love we sometimes resist, but must instead surrender to. This is why the Lord says to us through his prophet Joel, “return to me with your whole heart, with fasting, and weeping, and mourning; rend your hearts, not your garments, and return to the Lord, your God” (Joel 2:12-13). In other words, let your repentance be internal and sincere, and not merely external and showy.

By giving his life for the sake of others, Saint Valentine imitated the Lord Jesus and so we see the life of Christ reflected in his martyrdom. By devoting his life to his portion of the Lord’s flock, Saint Augustine imitated the Lord and so we see the life of Christ reflected in his teachings. In a similar way, husbands and wives are to live for each other, not for themselves, and so imitate the selflessness of the love of Christ. “What does it mean,” then, “to receive the grace of God in vain except to be unwilling to perform good works with the help of his grace?”[5] Indeed, we see Saint “Paul’s exhortation not to receive God’s grace in vain is an appeal to deeper conversion, that is, to avoid becoming partners with evil and to continue to purify [ourselves] in mind and body.”[6] This is what today is all about.

We have come before the Lord because we know we have not always kept ourselves pure in mind and body and have not always lived in his love. We have received the grace of God in vain. We have failed to love both God and neighbor and we have not always allowed the Lord to reflect his love through us. We have heard the Lord’s call to “proclaim a fast” and to “call an assembly,” and so we cry out to him, “Be merciful, O Lord, for we have sinned” (Joel 2:15; cf. Psalm 51:3).

The ancient symbol of Saint Augustine is a heart on fire and pierced with arrows. The heart symbolizes his restless longing for God; the fire his burning love for God and neighbor; and the arrows the many times he was pierced by God’s grace, pierced by God’s love. The restlessness of his heart and his encounters with God’s grace taught him, as he said, that “nothing cleanses the heart but the undivided and single-minded striving after eternal life…”[7]

In these coming days of Lent, let each of us follow his example and strive after eternal life with undivided hearts. With Saint Augustine, let us not shield our hearts from the Lord, but hold them up to him. Let us expose our hearts to be pierced by his grace and set afire with the love of God and neighbor. If we do, the Father will reward us and give us back the joy of salvation, the joy of love, the satisfaction of a life lived in imitation of the Lord (Matthew 6:4; Psalm 51:14). Amen.



[1] Collect of the Mass for Ash Wednesday.

[2] Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1996.

[3] Thomas D. Stegman, Catholic Commentary of Sacred Scripture: Second Corinthians (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker Academic, 2009), 191.

[4] Saint Augustine of Hippo, Confessions, 1.1. Henry Chadwick, trans., Oxford World’s Classics: Confessions: A New Translation by Henry Chadwick (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), 3.

[5] Caesarius of Arles, Sermon 126.5. In Thomas C. Oden, et al, eds., 251.

[6] Thomas D. Stegman, Catholic Commentary of Sacred Scripture: Second Corinthians, 148.

[7] Saint Augustine of Hippo, Sermon on the Mount, 2.3.11. In Thomas C. Oden, et al, eds., 128.