Homily - The Funeral of John Jones - 22 November 2024

The Funeral Mass for John Robert Jones

Dear brothers and sisters,

The words we have heard from Saint Paul are as a mine into which we must delve, and in which we must work to discover great gems through which the light of the Christian life is refracted. Central to his words is the idea of adoption into the family of God. We have gathered here today, having brought John with us into this church he loved so much, because he is a child of God (cf. Romans 8:14). But we know who John’s parents are; how did he become a child of God?

Saint Augustine tells us that “by spiritual regeneration we therefore become sons and are adopted into the kingdom of God, not as aliens but as his creatures and offspring.”[1] This regeneration happens to a Christian through Baptism. The Lord Jesus himself says, “Amen, Amen, I say to you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and the spirit. What is born of flesh is flesh and what is born of spirit is spirit” (John3:5-6). Saint Paul describes Baptism as a participation in Christ, which is why he asks,

Or are you unaware that we who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were indeed buried with him through baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might live in newness of life. For if we have grown into union with him through a death like his, we shall also be united with him in the resurrection (Romans6:3-5).

It is a great mystery to say a person dies in the waters of Baptism, just as so many died in the waters of the flood, yet this reality is at the heart of the Christian faith (cf. Genesis 7:23). The very waters that bring about a participation in the death Christ, however, also bring about a participation – at this very moment and as a promise of future glory – in the Resurrection of Christ Jesus from the dead. This is why Saint Peter says the ark of Noah “prefigured baptism, which saves you now. It is not a removal of dirt from the body but an appeal to God for a clear conscience, through the resurrection of Jesus Christ” (I Peter 3:21).

We have placed John’s mortal remains here at the foot of the sanctuary near the Paschal Candle, the symbol of the Risen Lord, triumphant over sin and death. This candle was lit on the day of John’s baptism in Christ and from it John was entrusted with the light of Christ. Before bringing John here, we sprinkled his body with Holy Water, a reminder of those waters that saved him, and clothed him the funeral pall, the final baptismal garment because, as Saint Paul says, “For all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ” (Galatians 3:27).

All of this is to say that through Baptism we share in the sonship of Christ and with him are able to call upon God as Father, frail and finite as we are. “This is a mystery we can only marvel at, just as [Saint] John did when he wrote, ‘See what love the Father has bestowed on us that we may be called children of God. Yet so we are’ (I John 3:1).”[2]

To call God “Father” was all but unheard of in the ancient world. The pagans did not do so; the Jews did, though only rarely (cf. Isaiah 63:16; Wisdom 14:3; Sirach 23:1).

What was an occasional in Israel became habitual with the Messiah. Invoking God as Father was Jesus’ normal way, the most prominent and distinctive feature of his prayer and speech. Now Christians indwelt with the Spirit have the privilege of making Christ’s prayer their own.[3]

Consequently, all those who have received the grace of Baptism “now carry this Spirit within them and can speak like Jesus and with Jesus as true children to their Father; they can say ‘Abba’ because they have become sons in the Son.”[4]

If all of this is true, what are we to make of Saint Paul’s reference to “the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear” (Romans 8:15)? This is what Saint Augustine said: “The fear, then, of which we speak is slavish; and therefore, even though there be in it a belief in the Lord, yet righteousness is not loved by it, but condemnation is feared. God's children, however, exclaim, Abba, Father…”[5] Those baptized into Christ Jesus call out to God with loving trust, confident they are in the gentle “hand of God, and no torment shall touch them” (Wisdom 3:1).

We have brought John’s body here because the Spirit of God once dwelt within it. Soon we will honor this temple with incense, even as ask God to purify John and grant him a place of peace (cf. I Corinthians 6:19; Wisdom 3:3). We will do so in the knowledge that

Adoption is already guaranteed for those who believe, but it has been accomplished only spiritually, not physically. The body has not yet received its heavenly transformation, although the spirit, which has turned from its errors to God, has already been changed by the reconciliation of faith. Therefore even believers still await the revelation which will come with the resurrection of the body. This is the fourth state, when everything will be in perfect peace at eternal rest, completely free of malignant corruption or nagging torment.[6]

This heavenly transformation of the body was promised to John in Baptism, as it was promised to each of us, provided we live a life in keeping with the spirit of adoption we have received. Together, then, let us cry out to the Father that John, who shared in the sonship of the Son, may be with the Lord Jesus to know the fullness of the love of the Triune God, now and forever. Amen.

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[1] Saint Augustine of Hippo, Sermon on the Mount, 23.78.

[2] Scott W. Hahn, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture: Romans (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker Academic, 2017), 134.

[3] Ibid., 135-136.

[4] Pope Benedict XVI, General Audience Address, 8 October 2008.

[5] Saint Augustine of Hippo, The Spirit and the Letter, 56.

[6] Ibid., On Romans, 53.

Homily - The Wedding of Brittany Twidwell and Kolby Vandenbergh - 16 November 2024

The Wedding of Kolby Vandenbergh and Brittany Twidwell

Dear brothers and sisters,

We have come together this afternoon, in this church dedicated to the honor of God and of Saint Augustine of Hippo, to witness the exchange of consent of Kolby and Brittany, and to celebrate with them as they “establish between themselves a partnership of their whole life.” By its very nature, this union “is ordered to the well-being of the spouses and to the procreation and upbringing of children” (canon 1055).

On behalf of the couple, I greet you, their family and friends, with affection and I welcome you in the name of Christ. I thank you for the love, support, and encouragement you show them by your presence with us today; I trust they will be able to count on your continued encouragement, support, and love in the days, weeks, and years ahead. Now, my friends, before we witness the exchange of their promises to live in committed love until death, I ask you to allow me to speak directly to the couple; you, of course, may listen in.

Kolby and Brittany, we, your family and friends, and I, the Church’s minister, are truly happy to share in your joy and in your love for each other. It is fitting that we gather here in this sacred place where the most important moments in life are held to remind us again and again that “the love of the Lord is everlasting” (Psalm 103:17).

You have chosen for us to hear the scriptural account of – to use the literal word - the building of Eve from Adam, of woman from man. It is, of course, fitting to consider this mystery in relation to the mystery of marriage; we will soon see that the use of the word building hints at another mystery to come many centuries later.

In his commentary on this passage, Saint Augustine asked an intriguing question: he wanted to know why God took one of Adam’s ribs to make Eve when he could have used Adam’s flesh, and why God did not replace Adam’s rib with another rib but with flesh instead.

His answer to this question is equally intriguing, even if perhaps not very palatable in today’s society. Augustine says Eve was made strong by Adam’s bone and that Adam “was weakened on her account.”[1] It was this mutual strengthening and weakening, he suggests, that brought about the wedding – the union - of our first parents.

What does it mean for the woman to be strengthened by the man if not that she is upheld by him, comforted by him, calmed by his reassuring presence? It is no bad thing for a woman to be strengthened by a man.

What does it mean for the man to be weakened by the woman if not that she makes him gentler, less rash and foolhardy, more caring? She makes him less brutish and makes him no noble. We often see this when a young man grows weak in the knees when he first meets the woman with whom he wants to build his future. It is no bad thing for a man to be weakened by a woman.

Augustine, however, not does end his reflections here; he also explains why Eve was built up from Adam’s rib and not from the dust of the earth as Adam was: Some have said “God used a rib because it was close to Adam’s heart. The rib from the chest near the heart of man helps explain the intimacy – a rib from his side is appropriate for one who will walk by his side and be his partner and companion.”[2]

If we consider that rib of Adam again for just another moment, we find an early indication of God’s plan for the salvation of all humanity.

Even in the beginning, when woman was made from a rib in the side of the sleeping man, that had no less a purpose than to symbolize prophetically the union of Christ and his Church. Adam’s sleep was a mystical foreshadowing of Christ’s death, and when his dead body hanging from the cross was pierced by the lance, it was from his side that there issued forth that blood and water that, as we know, signifies the sacraments by which the Church is built up. “Built” is the very word the Scripture uses in connection with Eve: “He built the rib into a woman.” … So too Saint Paul speaks of “building up the body of Christ,” which is the Church (cf. Ephesians 4:12). Therefore woman is as much the creation of God as man is. If she was made from the man, this was to show her oneness with him; and if she was made in the way she was, this was prefigure the oneness of Christ and the Church.[3]

Just as Eve was built from the rib of Adam, so the Church is built from the side of Christ Jesus.

This brings us to a key consideration: Whether it is recognized as such or not, the love that unites a man and woman together is the same love that drove the only Son of God to abandon the glory of heaven and take our frail humanity upon himself; the same love that led the Son of God to take the sins of the world upon himself and lovingly accept crucifixion for our salvation; the same love that raised the only Son of God from the dead; the same love that sent the Holy Spirit to be with us always. God’s love for us is very much a nuptial love and it is what unites a man and woman together in marriage. It is the core, the center, the very foundation, of the married life that you, Kolby and Brittany, seek to enter today.

There is a temptation to over-romanticize marriage, to think it will somehow automatically bring about a life of bliss without any difficulties whatever. The reality, however, as any honest couple will tell you, is not quite so picture perfect. Marriage is difficult and requires compromise, patience, and gentleness; and when these are embraced, marriage is also beautiful, perhaps because of its difficulties. Marriage is quite simple, but it is not easy. It is simple because, at its core, marriage involves only one thing, namely, that every day each spouse must desire the good of the other above his or her own and labor to obtain that good for the beloved. In this, marriage daily requires self-denial, and, for this very reason, it is far from easy.

The great J.R.R. Tolkien, author of The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings, reflected on the reality of marriage in a letter he wrote to his son Michael in 1941. Then, after twenty-five of his fifty-five years of marriage to his beloved wife Edith, the elder Tolkien wrote these words:

No man, however truly he loved his betrothed and bride as a young man, has lived faithful to her as a wife in mind and body without deliberate conscious exercise of the will, without self-denial. Too few are told that – even those brought up ‘in the Church.’[4]

Tolkien here speaks of a danger for the groom in marriage, but lest some think marriage brings no danger for the bride, we might note the temptation of the wife to always imagine herself to be right. Marriage, for her, too, requires deliberate conscious exercise of the will, that is, self-denial. I do not want the two of you to be unaware of this.

In just a few moments you will be joined until death as husband and wife. For your part, Brittany, allow Kolby to strengthen you and help you grow in holiness. For your part, Kolby, allow Brittany to weaken you and help you grow in holiness. Strive always to imitate for each other the selfless love of Jesus Christ. Live always in his love and build your life together upon that solid foundation. Be united, bound, joined in your love for each other, yes, but above all in that love that pours forth from the heart of Crucified Love. Amen.

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[1] Saint Augustine of Hippo, On Genesis, IX.18.34.

[2] Steve Ray, Genesis: A Bible Study Guide and Commentary (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2023), 58.

[3] Saint Augustine of Hippo, The City of God, 22.17.

[4] J.R.R. Tolkien, Letter to Michael Tolkien, 6-8 March 1941. In The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien. Humphrey Carpenter, ed. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 2000), 51.

Homily - The Solemnity of All Saints - 1 November 2024

The Solemnity of All Saints

Dear brothers and sisters,

What keeps each of us from becoming a saint, from hastening after them, from imitating their example of loving God and neighbor? The answer, I suspect, is a false understanding of who the saints are.

Those unfamiliar with them tend to think the Saints are those who lived perfect lives, who never grew angry or impatient, who always acted with wisdom and dignity, and who rarely sinned. Those who think of the Saints in this way see them either as impossible guides to follow or as personifications of boredom or obnoxiousness. If this is how we view the Saints, it is no wonder we do not strive to join their ranks.

But those who read the accounts of their lives know this assumption about them to be quite false. Rather, the saints are, as J.R.R. Tolkien – the author of The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings - once described them, "those who have for all their imperfections never finally bowed heart and will to the world or the evil spirit."[1]

The choice of words the Professor employs is simply another way of saying what we hear every year at this time, but seldom believe: the Saints are like you and like me. They were tempted and struggled and sinned - and repented. What, then, is the difference between us and them?

The Saints, we might say, kept the end goal, the final victory, always before them. They knew they would struggle and sin, yet they never lost sight of the merciful love of God because they knew his hand would always catch their repentant hearts and gently place them back on the narrow way that leads to the Father's house. This is what Tolkien means when he says they never finally bowed heart and will to the world or the evil spirit; they did not, in the end, keep their focus on themselves, but kept it instead on God.

Having died in the service of God and in his friendship, the Saints received "the crown of life," as Saint John described in an earlier part of the Book of Revelation (Revelation 2:10). We see the bestowing of these crowns depicted in one of my favorite medieval manuscript images. The illumination shows Jesus enthroned in the center of the image, handing out small crowns to men and women on either side of him.

The circle of Johannes von Valenburg, ca. 1299

What I especially like about this image is the littleness of those receiving their crowns from the hands of the Lord as the Blessed Virgin Mary and (presumably) Saint John the Evangelist look on; the ones being crowned are, at most, half the size of Jesus, almost Hobbitlike, if you will. Through his eyes, Jesus even seems to confer with Saint John as to which of the little ones is worthy of a crown.

The size of the figures awaiting their crowns, some already halo-ed, reminds me of some of my favorite words Tolkien wrote in his essay "On Fairy Stories," namely, that "in God's kingdom the presence of the greatest does not depress the small. Redeemed man is still man."

Here on earth, we tend to be intimidated by the presence of the greatest – Saints, though they be. We see how fully the Saints entrusted themselves to God and it that trust cost them. We see their complete trust in God, at least at the end of their lives, and we see our failures to trust and love God. But, my brothers and sisters, we need not be afraid to fully entrust ourselves into the hand of God. If the saints, with their multi-faceted personalities and, yes, with their imperfections, could do so, so can we!

The only thing standing in the way of my growth in holiness is me; the only thing standing in the way of your growth in holiness is you. Let us, then, like trusting children, stretch out our little hands to the strong hand of the Lord Jesus so he might lead us along the way of his Saints. Let us allow him to do so either gently or with some prodding, so that we, small as we are by comparison to him, might stand among the company of the Saints and wear the same crown them. Amen.

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[1] J.R.R. Tolkien, Letter 93 To Christopher Tolkien, 30 January 1945. In The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, Revised and Expanded Edition. Humphrey Carpenter, ed. (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2023), 159.

Homily - 13 October 2024 - The Twenty-eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Dear brothers and sisters,

After Jesus looked at him in love, the rich young man in today’s Gospel “went away sad” (Mark 10:22). When Jesus looked at Peter, he “went out and began to weep bitterly” (Luke 22:62; cf. Luke 22:61). Those who look upon his Holy Face in the Veil of Manoppello also feel a certain sadness when they look into his eyes. Perhaps you, too, have felt sad in the presence of the Lord Jesus. Why is this?

Jesus looked upon the rich young man with love (cf. Mark 10:21), as he also surely looked upon Peter. He looks upon you and me with love, as well, but if this is so, what is it about the look of Jesus that elicits sadness within those upon whom he turns his eyes?

When Jesus looked at Peter, they were within the courtyard of the high priest; Peter had just three times denied knowing Jesus (cf. Luke 22:60). Jesus’ look of love revealed Peter’s sinfulness to him and so Peter wept bitterly on account of his failure to love God and neighbor perfectly; he was not yet ready to abandon his own plans and devices.

Christ and the rich young man by the Master of Delpf

The rich young man knew what is needed for growth in holiness; he kept the commandments, but he was not yet willing to surrender himself to what the commandments point: he needed to take “a leap in quality” and give his life “completely, without calculation or personal interest, with unreserved trust in God” (cf. Mark 10:20).[1] In short, he was not yet willing to follow the commandments without compromise. Jesus’ look of love revealed his sinfulness to him; he went away sad on account of his failure to love God and neighbor perfectly. He went away sad on account of what he was not yet willing to leave behind.

He must have been a person of some importance, that rich young man. Why, then, does he remain anonymous? Why do we not know his name? It seems probable that “if he had responded positively to the invitation of Jesus, he would have become his disciple and probably the Evangelist would have recorded his name.”[2] It is also possible he is not named because – in some mystical fashion – he represents you and me. Do we not also become sad on account of our sins, because of our failure to love both God and neighbor? Do we not also become sad because of what we are not yet willing to leave behind?

Here we learn a great secret of the human person and of our fallen nature:

We are used to thinking that our sadness depends on something we lack: we deceive ourselves by thinking that if we have enough of what we desire, we will be happy.

This is precisely the serpent’s deceit described in the story of original sin (cf. Genesis 3).

The serpent deceived Eve and Adam by making them believe that for them to be happy and truly be alive, they must possess everything without any limits; there can be nothing that is forbidden to them, and they must not lack.

The serpent's cunning lies precisely in making what we lack seem essential and irreplaceable for our happiness and fulfillment in life.[3]

Thus, we think gaining perishable things is happiness and sadness is losing things that fade and decay. How do we overcome this sadness?

Blessed Carlo Acutis once sad, “Sadness is looking at oneself, happiness is looking at God. Conversion is nothing but a movement of the eyes.” Happiness comes when I allow Jesus’ eyes to meet mine; happiness is found when I do not turn my eyes away from Jesus’ look of love. If I am to allow my eyes to be held by his, I must cast aside everything that hinders me from loving fully; I must cast aside those things which distract me from him. You must do the same. We must accept what Jesus offers: “a relationship in which he feels looked upon and loved not because of what one does, nor possesses, but because of an original gift that is given to us before any possible response.”[4] We must accept that he sees us and loves us not because of what we have or because of what we have done, but because we are.

If we are to allow our eyes to be held by his, we must surrender ourselves to him; we must yield to the power of his love. We must take a leap in quality and strive after “heroism in holiness.”[5] Doing so is not easy and requires great courage, for

Before his gaze all falsehood melts away. This encounter with him, as it burns us, transforms and frees us, allowing us to become truly ourselves. All that we build during our lives can prove to be mere straw, pure bluster, and it collapses. Yet in the pain of this encounter, when the impurity and sickness of our lives become evident to us, there lies salvation. His gaze, the touch of his heart heals us through an undeniably painful transformation “as through fire”. But it is a blessed pain, in which the holy power of his love sears through us like a flame, enabling us to become totally ourselves and thus totally of God.[6]

His look of love reminds us that “no creature is concealed from him, but everything is naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must render an account” (Hebrews 4:13). What is more, his look of love allows us to fulfill the goal of the commandments: to attain a true and mystical union with God.

Dear brothers and sisters, in only a few moments the Lord Jesus will look upon you and me with love. What do I mean? Saint John Vianney noticed that one of his parishioners daily entered the church and appeared to simply sit in the pew day after day. When asked what he did in the church everything, the man answered simply, intriguingly, and beautifully: “I look at [Jesus] and he looks at me.”[7]

That man understood the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist and did with Jesus what a husband and wife do to each other after decades of marriage. This is what you and I must also do with Jesus; we must allow him to look upon us with love and we must look upon him with love. The continual look of his love will purify us and, by slowly severing our attachments to the things of this world, his look of love will remove our sadness – provided we do not turn away. Then, in the end, “the gracious care of the Lord our God [will] be ours” and we will “shout for joy and gladness all our days” (Psalm 90:16, 14). Amen.

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[1] Pope Benedict XVI, Homily, 11 October 2009.

[2] Ibid., 15 October 2006.

[3] Pierbattista Cardinal Pizzaballa, O.F.M., Homily, 13 October 2024.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Pope Benedict XVI, Homily, 11 October 2009.

[6] Pope Benedict XVI, Spe salvi, 47.

[7] In Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2715.