25 November 2018

Homily - 22 November 2018 - Thanksgiving Day


Thanksgiving Day



Dear brothers and sisters,



We Americans like our holidays, and we have distinctly American ways of observing them. Like most other peoples, our holiday celebrations often center around food, but, of course, we give our own flair even to this. As but one example, most non-Americans are baffled by our near religious custom of the cook-out on Memorial Day; they do not understand what it has to do with remembering our fallen dead. To be fair, most of us cannot explain the connection, either, and this shows something of a certain American disconnect in the observance of our holidays.



Nearly all of our American holidays are civic affairs: Independence Day, President’s Day, Labor Day, etc. Today, though, Thanksgiving Day, is different; it is our most religious holiday. Now, I know that some may object, asking, “What about Christmas and Easter, Father?” This is a fair objection, but, strictly speaking, these are not so much American holidays as much as they are universal holidays.



It is a curious thing that this most religious of American holidays has now become – against all reason and logic – almost devoid of religion, as if it were possible to give some form of generic thanks to the universe. Simply consider this statement written to me yesterday: “I like the point that Thanksgiving isn't a religious holiday (other than a possible prayer before the meal).” It is a comment that demonstrates both a historical ignorance and a complete lack of understanding of what it means to be grateful.



As Americans, we lost the religiousness of Sunday when, some decades ago, we abandoned the divinely revealed purpose of the Lord’s Day in favor of sports, shopping, and profits. How many Americans purposefully arrange their Sundays around these events and fit prayer in only as an afterthought instead of making the worship of God the center of Sunday? We likewise largely gave up the focus on the Resurrection of the Lord Jesus as the centrality of Easter in favor of new outfits to impress others and we tossed aside the poverty of the Child Jesus at Christmas in favor of a growing materialistic greed. To anyone then paying attention, these were distressing signs of a declining culture. Today, a recovery seems all but impossible.



Up until a few years ago, it seemed the simple purity of Thanksgiving Day had been preserved and kept safe from the heavy-footed encroachment of a cruel secularism. Eight years ago, the owner of a bed and breakfast in Pennsylvania said, “Thanksgiving is fairly quiet in the consumer-driven market of ghouls, glitz, and over-the-top commercialism.”[1] Today, it is clear that the same can no longer be said. How quickly we have abandoned even gratitude itself! Is this not why Jesus asks today, “Ten were cleansed, were they not? Where are the other nine” (Luke 17:17)? Still, we are not without hope.



When Mr. Lincoln issued his Proclamation of Thanksgiving on October 3, 1863, he did so in the midst of the Civil War.  He knew, the traumatic destruction of life and property wrought by the war, but he also saw the bounty of the harvest and the prosperity of the nation, which led him to say, in part,



The year that is drawing towards its close, has been filled with the blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies. To these bounties, which are so constantly enjoyed that we are prone to forget the source from which they come, others have been added, which are of so extraordinary a nature, that they cannot fail to penetrate and soften even the heart which is habitually insensible to the ever watchful providence of Almighty God. … They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility and Union.[2]



Historically, then, it is quite false to say this quintessential American holiday of Thanksgiving is not a religious occasion; it has, as its foundation, a communal act of gratitude to God which is, by its very nature, religious.



Nor is it possible to give thanks simply to one another on this day on which we gather around our tables to share a feast. We may have purchased the food prepared, but we did not create it, this nation, or even ourselves. There is no one on earth whom we can thank for these gifts, because no one on earth has given them; nor is it possible to give thanks to no one; such an act would be senseless and devoid of meaning. The fundamental act of gratitude must above all be ascribed to God, the Creator of all that exists, “who fosters people’s growth from their mother’s womb” (Sirach 50:22).



While a great many Americans fail to grasp the essential quality of Thanksgiving Day, we ought not only give thanks for God’s many mercies toward us, but we ought also do penance as President Lincoln urged us to do. Our country remains greatly divided and a profound healing is needed in our land, both between fellow citizens and between citizens and the Lord. Such a healing can come about through acts of gratitude, through acts which recognize that I deserve nothing, but that everything is a gift from God.



Before we gather around our family tables, we have gathered at the altar of the Lord where the



Mass invites us to discern what, in ourselves, is obedient to the Spirit of God and what, in ourselves, is attuned to the spirit of evil. In the Mass, we want to belong only to Christ and we take up with gratitude – with thanksgiving – the cry of the psalmist: ‘How shall I repay the Lord for his goodness to me’ (Ps 116:12)?[3]



For whatever within us is attuned to the Spirit of God, let us give humble thanks; for whatever within us is not attuned to God, let us give thanks for the gift of his mercy that can heal this discord within us and bring us into “fellowship with his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord” (I Corinthians 1:9). Amen.



[1]Thanksgiving – The Last Pure andSimple Holiday in America,” The Artist’s Inn & Gallery, 18 November 2010.
[2] Abraham Lincoln, Proclamation of Thanksgiving, 3 October 1863.
[3] Pope Benedict XVI, Homily, 13 September 2008.

16 November 2018

Islamic State Ongoing Updates - November 2018



6 November 2018
5 November 2018

06 November 2018

Homily - 4 November 2018 - The Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time


The Thirty-first Sunday of the Year (B)

Dear brothers and sisters,

This month of November has long been given to the remembrance of the dead, and not simply to their memory, but to the offering of prayers and sacrifices on their behalf. As we feel the temperatures fall and plummet, as the leaves turn fallow and fall to the ground, as the grass brown and the darkness lengthens, we see the slow death of nature and it is only fitting that we consider now our own death.

Saint John of the Cross reminds us that “at the evening of life, we shall be judged on our love.”[1] This Jesus makes very clear today with his response to the question of the scribe: “You shall the love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength … You shall love your neighbor as yourself. There is no other commandment greater than these” (Mark 12:29-32). Truly, love is the measure of all things.

When, at long last, the dust from which we were made “returns to the earth as it once was, and the life breath returns to God who gave it,” we will indeed be judged on our love (Ecclesiastes 12:7). We will not be judged so much by what we have done or what we have failed to do, although these things will, of course, matter; what matters most is the depth of our love because love “is worth more than all burnt offerings and sacrifices.” (Mark 12:33). To put it plainly, we will be judged according to our imitation of Christ Jesus.

When we stand before the throne of God and render to him an account of our life, “perfect love will make possible entrance into heaven, imperfect love will require purification, and a total lack of love will mean eternal separation from God.”[2] The angels and saints will escort those who have loved with the perfect love of Christ into the glories of heaven; those who have loved, although imperfectly, will begin their purgation to be purged and cleansed of the effects of their sins; and those who have not loved will enter the gates of hell because they have rejected love itself.

Given this criterion of judgment, we might well ask what it means to love. It has been said that, “in the end, in fact, love alone enables us to live, and love is always also suffering: it matures in suffering and provides the strength to suffer for good without taking oneself into account at the actual moment.”[3] The Apostle Saint John reminds us that “in this is love: not that we have loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as expiation for our sins” (I John 4:10). Indeed, in Jesus Christ, “no longer is [love] self-seeking, a sinking in the intoxication of happiness; instead it seeks the good of the beloved: it becomes renunciation, and it is ready, and even willing, for sacrifice.”[4]

How very easy – almost too easy - it is for us to praise Jesus with the scribe and say to him: 
Well said, teacher.  You are right in saying ‘He is One and there is no other than he.’  And ‘to love him with all your heart, with all your understanding, with all your strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself’ is worth more than all burnt offerings and sacrifices (Mark 12:32-33). 
This man gives the correct answer and in so doing justifies himself; he knows he is to love God and his neighbor, but he does not do so fully; he will not let himself be vulnerable to love. If he did make himself vulnerable to love, he would have recognized Jesus not as a “teacher,” but as the “high priest: holy, innocent, undefiled, separated from sinners, higher than the heavens” (Hebrews 7:26).

Jesus knows the scribe’s lack of love - just as he knows our own - and so he says to him and to us, “You are not far from the kingdom of God” (Mark 12:34). A high compliment, maybe, but if it was, why, then, did “no one [dare] to ask him any more questions” (Mark 12:34)? The scribe felt a gentle rebuke in Jesus’ words, because “to say ‘you are not far from’ suggests that the scribe was still at some distance from the reign of God.”[5]

Inasmuch as we fail to love, we are far from the kingdom of God because love is the measure to the Kingdom of God. How readily do we humble ourselves to accept the love of God that we do not deserve? How readily do we return his love? How readily do we show to others the love that Jesus lavishes upon us? 
Sad to say, not all of us understand these spiritual values as well as we should, nor do we give them a proper place in our lives. Many of us, in fact, strongly attracted by sin, may look upon these values as of little moment, even something of a nuisance, or we ignore them altogether.[6] 
Now, then, we return to our initial thought from Saint John of the Cross: “At the evening of life, we shall be judged on our love.” 

We know that we have not always loved perfectly as the Lord commands us. We grow jealous, we lie, steal, and cheat; we grow angry and irritated at one another; we judge and condemn those who are one with us in Christ. In short, we fail to keep the supreme command of love and we fall into sin. And when we come to the end of our earthly life and suffer death, we will stand before him who is Love itself.

We can be sure of this, that “all who die in God’s grace and friendship, but still imperfectly purified, are indeed assured of their eternal salvation; but after death they undergo purification, so as to achieve the holiness necessary to enter the joy of heaven.”[7]

We know, too, as we read in Sacred Scripture, that “it is a holy and wholesome thought to pray for the dead that they may be loosed from their sins” (II Maccabees 12:46). This is why we visit the graves of our loved ones in November and why we continue to pray for them, confident in the power of intercessory prayer. The Church has always commended “almsgiving, indulgences, and works of penance undertaken on behalf of the dead” because, as Saint John Chrysostom asks, “If Job’s sons were purified by their father’s sacrifice, why would we doubt that our offerings for the dead bring them some consolation?  Let us not hesitate to help those who have died and to offer our prayers for them.”[8]

Said Saint Ambrose so many centuries ago: “We have loved [them] in life. Let us not forget [them] in death.” Let us, then, continue our love for our beloved dead – and for all the dead. Let us continue to offering our sufferings out of love for them, asking the Lord to make them “perfect forever” (Hebrews 7:28) and welcome them swiftly into his Kingdom of “refreshment, light, and peace” (Roman Canon). Then, together with them around the throne of God, we will cry out with the angels and all the saints: “I love you, Lord, my strength” (Psalm 18:2)! Amen.


[1] Saint John of the Cross, Dichos, no. 64.
[2] United States Catechism for Adults, 153.
[3] Pope Benedict XVI, Address to the Clergy of Aosta, 25 July 2005.
[4] Ibid., Deus caritas est, 6.
[5] Pseudo-Jerome, Commentary on Mark.
[6] Pope Saint John XXIII, Homily at the Canonization of Saint Martin de Porres.
[7] Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1030.
[8] Ibid., 1032. Saint John Chrysostom, Homily in I Corinthians 41:5.

Homily - 1 November 2018 - The Solemnity of All Saints


The Solemnity of All Saints

Dear brothers and sisters,

Within the celebration of the Holy Mass, after the offering of the bread and wine mixed with a little water and before the celebrant washes his hands, the rubric for the Priest reads as follows: “After this, the Priest, bowing profoundly, says quietly: With humble spirit and contrite heart may we be accepted by you, O Lord, and may our sacrifice in your sight this day be pleasing to you, Lord God.”[1] Consequently, these are not words many people ever hear, but they are nonetheless worthy of our consideration today.

The first aspect to consider is the pronoun. The priest does not say “may I be accepted by you,” not even if he offers the Mass with no server or congregation; he says “we.” He does not speak in the royal we, meaning only himself, but meaning the entire people gathered at the altar, those who have come to render praise to God. “The true congregation is a gathering of those who belong to Christ, the holy people of God, united by faith and love… This we is not spontaneous, but the carefully nurtured fruit of genuine congregation.”[2] The priest, then, speaking on behalf of the congregation, asks the Lord to accept not only the gifts of bread and wine, which will soon be changed into the very Body and Blood of Christ, but also each person, so as to incorporate us into the Body of Christ.

The second aspect to consider is the word humble. In an age in which self-confidence is seen as an important virtue and something greatly to be desired, the virtue of humility often strikes us as something quite foreign. The humble, we think, are weak, and the self-confident strong and independent, two American characteristics which – if we are honest - do not sit comfortably in the Christian life because, as Saint Thomas Aquinas tells us, “humility suppresses hope or confidence in self more than it uses it; wherefore excessive self-confidence is more opposed to humility than lack of confidence is.”[3] The Saints are not those who trusted in themselves; rather, they are those who acknowledged their weaknesses and very dependence on the mercy of God.

In The Etymologies, Saint Isidore of Seville tells us the word humility is closely related to the Latin homo acclines humus, meaning “the man bent to the ground.”[4] The one who is humble bends toward the earth because he keeps in mind and heart the truth of his own existence. He or she remembers what we hear on Ash Wednesday: “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.” This is why humility “is the foundation of prayer,” and why the priest bows profoundly as he makes this prayer; he knows the proper posture before God is one of submission and humble adoration.[5]

The third aspect of this quiet prayer of the priest is the phrase “contrite heart.” It is a phrase taken from the lips of King David who sang, “My sacrifice, O God, is a contrite spirit; a contrite, humbled heart, O God, you will not scorn” (Psalm 51:17). David was very much aware of the depth of his sinfulness and that he could not trust in own strength; he entrusted himself instead to the mercy of God and offered himself to the Lord. Would that we all followed his example, acknowledging our sinfulness and offering ourselves to the Lord, keeping in mind the warning of Saint James that “God resists the proud, but gives grace to the humble” (James 4:6).

The fourth and final aspect to consider is the petition that we be “accepted by you.” It is worth noting that this is not in the active voice, but in the passive. We cannot simply walk into God’s presence on our own initiative; rather, we must be received by him. What we do here in the Lord’s sanctuary is not our own action, but his; it is for his honor and glory and the praise of name; we are participants in the worship of heaven. He summons us into his presence; we give him what is right and just; and he gives us himself. All of this is pure gift.

The great multitude of Saints whom we honor today and for whom we give grateful praise are those who humbled themselves before God and, trusting not in themselves but in God’s merciful love, acknowledged their sinfulness. They are those who offered themselves to God and who have been received into his presence and united to himself because their lives of faith, hope, and love were pleasing to God.

So it is that we have gathered this evening at the altar of the Lord to heed these words of our heavenly patron, Saint Augustine of Hippo:

…let us celebrate their feasts, as indeed we are doing, with the utmost devotion, soberly cheerful, gathered in a holy assembly, thinking faithful thoughts, confidently proclaiming their sanctity. It is no small part of imitation to rejoice together in the virtues of those who are better than we are. They are great, we are little; but “the Lord has blessed the little with the great.” They have gone ahead of us, they tower over us like giants. If we are not capable of following them in action, let us follow in affection; if not in glory, then certainly in joy and gladness; if not in merit, then in desire; if not in suffering, then in fellow feeling; if not in excellence, then in our close relationship with them.[6]

Because friends become like friends, may we, through ever-deepening friendship with the Saints, become like them and be found pleasing to God, that we, too, may be accepted by him and received into so great a company. Amen.


[1] “The Order of Mass,” Roman Missal, 26.
[2] Romano Guardini, Meditations Before Mass, (Manchester, New Hampshire: Sophia Institute Press, 1993), 100.
[3] Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, III, q. 161, art. 2, ad. 2.
[4] Cf. Saint Isidore of Seville, The Etymologies, X.
[5] Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2559.
[6] Saint Augustine of Hippo, Sermon 280.6.

01 November 2018

Homily - 28 October 2018 - The Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time


The Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Dear brothers and sisters,

It is perhaps a curious thing that we sing with the Psalmist today, “The Lord has done great things for us; we are filled with joy” (Psalm 126:3). Taken from the third verse of Psalm 126, this verse comes just before the Psalmist prays, “Restore our fortunes, O Lord, like the torrents in the southern desert” (Psalm 126:4). Clearly this Psalm is not simply about gladness of heart, but also about deep loss and sorrow. This seeming emotional contradiction is also seen in the final verse of this Psalm: “Although they go forth weeping, carrying the seed to be sown, they shall come back rejoicing, carrying their sheaves” (Psalm 126:6). In the Christian life, the two – sorrow and joy - seem to go hand in hand.

When he thought about the meaning of this verse, of going forth weeping and coming back rejoicing, Saint Augustine recognized that it applies to every Christian; we all go forth weeping and we all return rejoicing. To clarify his meaning, he asked,

Is there anyone, after all, who stands still? Is there anyone who, from the moment he enters life, is not forced to get moving? An infant is born; it gets moving by growing. Death is the end. We have still got to come to the end – but with merrymaking.[1]

This is the reality of human life that far too many people try to ignore. And so, when the approach of death at last seems certain and we can run from it no longer, many people come to the end not with merrymaking, but with deep sorrow and regret. This, my friends, is not how a Christian - who has lived a life worthy of his or her Lord - approaches death.

Together with so many of the Saints, Saint Francis of Assisi looked toward death with great longing. This is why he could sing in his Canticle of Brother Sun,

Praised be You, my Lord, through our Sister Bodily Death,
from whom no living man can escape.
Woe to those who die in mortal sin.
Blessed are those whom death will find in Your most holy will,
for the second death shall do them no harm.
Praise and bless my Lord and give Him thanks
and serve Him with great humility.[2]

The great troubadour of the Lord speaks of bodily death as “the second death” because he knows that those joined to the Lord Jesus in the waters of baptism have already died and so the second death, bodily death, was no great concern for him because he trusted in the words of Saint Paul:

Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life (Romans 6:3-4).

Saint Paul wrote these words to the Christians in Rome because he trusted in Jesus’ own words: “I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this” (John 11:25-26)? Jesus asked this question to Martha, but he also asks it to each of us.

The man in the Gospel, Bartimaeus, likewise trusted in the words of the Lord Jesus and in his power. This is why, despite the attempts of the crowd to silence and humiliate him, he kept calling out, “Jesus, son of David, have pity on me” (Mark 10:48). In his blindness, Bartimaeus saw more of who Jesus is than the seeing crowd around him. “Those following Jesus [had] not yet learned to bring people to him instead of sending them away.”[3] Who do we try to keep from Jesus? Who is it we should instead bring to Jesus?

Nevertheless, Bartimaeus would not be silenced and kept calling out to Jesus in humble trust, unafraid to disturb the crowd or make them uncomfortable, because he was confident in the Lord’s merciful love. What do we allow to silence us from calling out to Jesus in humble trust? Are we as persistent in our prayer as Bartimaeus, or do we yield to obstacles on the way to him?

Hearing the blind man’s pleas, Jesus had him brought before him. The crowd, who just a moment before tried to keep Bartimaues from Jesus, now attempts to encourage him even though he was not the one who needed encouragement. “The decisive moment was the direct, personal encounter between the Lord and that suffering man. They found each other face to face:  God with his desire to heal and the man with his desire to be healed; two freedoms, two converging desires.”[4]

Standing before the eyes of love, though unable to yet see them, the blind man said simply to Jesus, “Master, I want to see” (Mark 10:51).

With these words, the miracle was worked: God's joy and the man's joy. And Bartimaeus, who had come into the light, as the Gospel narrates, "followed him on the way"; that is, he became a disciple of the Lord and went up to Jerusalem with the Master to take part with him in the great mystery of salvation [Mark 10:52]. This account, in the essentiality of its passages, recalls the catechumen's journey towards the Sacrament of Baptism, which in the ancient Church was also known as "Illumination".

Faith is a journey of illumination: it starts with the humility of recognizing oneself as needy of salvation and arrives at the personal encounter with Christ, who calls one to follow him on the way of love.[5]

Bartimaeus looked into the eyes of Love and followed closely after Jesus. How closely are you are I willing to follow Jesus? Will we allow ourselves to lose our feet along his way and be identified with him, or will we seek to stay indistinct from the crowd?

To live as an authentic disciple of Jesus requires that we place his will before our own; it means that we cast off our self-absorption and take up the mantle of his selflessness; it means that we live not according to our own person rules, thoughts, and whims, but that adhere to his commandments and to his logic of love. All of this requires a daily dying to self, which can be difficult and painful and sometimes produces weeping. This is why Saint Augustine encourages us with these words:

He suffered for us, let us suffer for him; he died for us, let us die for him, in order to live forever with him. But perhaps you are hesitant to die, O mortal creature, though you are bound to die sometime or other, precisely because you are mortal. Would you like not to fear death? Die for God.[6]

Having gone forward in this life weeping, may the Lord unite us so closely to himself that, seeing the beauteous glory of his Face, we may come to end rejoicing. Amen.


[1] Saint Augustine of Hippo, Sermon 31.3.4.
[2] Saint Francis of Assisi, The Canticle of Brother Sun, 12-14.
[3] Mary Healing, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture: The Gospel of Mark (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker Academic, 2008), 217.
[4] Pope Benedict XVI, Angelus Address, 29 October 2006.
[5] Ibid.
[6] Saint Augustine of Hippo, Sermon 313D.3.