Homilies & Reflections - September 2020

Homily of Wednesday, September 23

“My yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:30)

During the canonization Mass of Padre Pio in 2002, referring to that day’s Gospel verse:  “… my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:30), Saint John Paul II said:  “The Gospel image of ‘yoke’ evokes the many trials that the humble Capuchin of San Giovanni Rotondo endured. Today we contemplate in him how sweet is the ‘yoke’ of Christ and indeed how light the burdens are whenever someone carries these with faithful love. The life and mission of Padre Pio testify that difficulties and sorrows, if accepted with love, transform themselves into a privileged journey of holiness, which opens the person toward a greater good, known only to the Lord.” Padre Pio, pray for us.

Homily of the Vigil Mass of September 20, 2020 (25th Week in Ordinary Time)

Everybody wants to go to heaven. Everybody wants to go to heaven, but nobody wants to have to die to get there. That’s not really true – not entirely true, at least. As we see in the second reading from today from Saint Paul: he longs to depart from this life. To die, and to be with Christ. He in fact thinks that far better, to die and to be with Christ. It is far, far better. Another group of people who also want to die for something more, for heaven: those are the martyrs. The martyrs are those who have died for the faith, the Catholic faith, the Christian faith. It comes form the Greek word for witness. By dying for their faith they give a witness publicly, they give a public witness to their belief, their faith. They give their lives, they go to heaven, because they believe in Christ, they believe in God who is revealed, etc. Today is a Sunday (September 20), but normally we celebrate a very different feast – Saint Andrew Kim and his companions, martyrs. Saint Andrew Kim is the patron saint of Korea. He is the first Korean-born Catholic priest. He was trained in China. He died in 1846: he was tortured and beheaded at the age of twenty-five. His companions, at least in a very extended sense, his companions are all of the other, over ten thousand martyrs, Korean Catholics, men and women, rich and poor, from the late 1700’s to the late 1800’s. Over ten thousand in less than a century – it is amazing, over ten thousand. And remember, Korea was not that large a country in those days, nor the number of Catholics that large. It is quite a significant number of people. 

So are these martyrs insane? Is Saint Paul, insane? Are they on drugs, are they lunatics, fanatics? Are they screwed up? We might say so. Who would sacrifice the tangible good of life, being alive, to the possible, the possible good of heaven, we would say to ourselves. Why sacrifice something you know for sure that you have, so that you might not even be existing? You might not ever exist? It seems crazy to us. But Saint Paul, and these over ten thousand Korean martyrs, were no fools. Long before they gave their lives for the faith, Saint Paul a bit later, in the second reading today, in Rome. And these others, many thousands, in the nineteenth and late eighteenth centuries, they had already experienced powerfully, powerfully, the life of heaven; the life of paradise, the joys and the gifts of the Holy Spirit; supernatural, divine power. The presence and light of God in their lives. Even before they died, even before they left this world, they experienced powerfully the supernatural gift, the supernatural life which brought them peace, happiness, and every sort of consolation available. So when they died for the faith, it was painful; it was difficult. Who wants to die? Who wants to be tortured and be beheaded, etc., etc.? It’s painful. But they knew there was something far better, even more extraordinary. As extraordinary as the life in this world’s life of grace is, there is something far bigger, far more fulfilling, far more complete when we finish and depart from this life. 

We find that very hard to understand. These people – these Christians from the early church, like Saint Paul, these Christians from Korea in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, these are very different people then ourselves. Nowadays, for most Christians, for most Catholics, you never know – are they atheists, Zen Buddhists, worshippers of the Sacred Bongo Tree? They could be anything: there is nothing particularly distinctive, impressive about these people – they are kind of average, pathetic, ordinary, not very different from other people, nothing special that would be attractive. The early church, and the early Korean church, very, very different, very extraordinary. The Korean church is the only church I am aware of that was founded by lay people. Scholars who read books from China, Catholic books from China; scholars who went to China to study, and brought back the faith, and spread the faith, and led the faith. And suffered phenomenally because of it. Over ten thousand martyrs: that’s an enormous number. But they could do that because they experienced something powerful, something worth the sacrifice. It was worth every ounce of it, every day of it. It was worth it. And when something is worth it, it is worth it. 

We could be those people. If we try truly to live the life of virtue, the life of holiness; a life of prayer and the sacraments, a life of good works: that power, that life, that consolation of the spirit, that power that they experienced would be our power, our joy, our consolation. We would be happier people, more fulfilled people, and we would be different; we would be very different, in a good sense, I would say, different. Each of us in this church today is called to have that fullness of life, to be transformed by divine grace. We need that. This world is not enough. Even at its best, it’s not enough. We are meant for more. We know this, we feel this, we sense this. And if we live a life of true virtue and holiness, then all of that is ours, and heaven too. Where heaven on earth begins for us, of which eternal life is the conclusion, the fulfillment. Each of us is called to be saints. To be friends of God, to share God’s life, here and now. Not “pie in the sky when you die” – that is the completion of it, but even here and now. And it is worth every sacrifice and every effort. Now it is not easy. You will have failure and defeats and struggles and temptations. Nothing good comes free and cheap and easy. But it’s worth it. It is worth it in the end. It is everything; it is everything. And the lives of the saints prove this; the miracles around us prove this. And you can find out yourself. Just try. Try to give some serious time to prayer and holiness, and you will be surprised, you will be shocked, you will be amazed, and you will be happy. As a famous French author once said, “There is only one sadness, not to be a saint.” 

 

Homily of Wednesday, September 16

In the early church, in the first centuries the practice of daily Mass did not, more or less, exist. Christians took the Blessed Sacrament – they could take it home – and receive communion from themselves, as it were, during the week. It was only on Sunday, or a major feast, that they had Mass. The reason for that, of course, basically was persecution. Any gathering would draw attention to itself and therefore be subject to arrest by the Roman authorities. One place where daily Mass and became the custom was in North Africa, and that can be seen as the doing of Saint Cyprian. He was the bishop of Carthage, and when the persecution in his time broke out and became really strong, he urged the clergy to begin in his diocese to celebrate Mass every day so that the people could be there for prayer and to receive the Blessed Sacrament, to receive Holy Communion in order to strengthen them against the persecution, that they would bear the persecution heroically. And that custom continued after the persecutions died away. We know that Saint Augustine’s mother, Monica, went to Mass every day. She was a daily communicant. This is a saying of Saint Cyprian’s: “Beloved, nourish your soul with the ever flowing waters of everlasting wisdom (that is Christ). Receive the honey-sweet food of the Savior (that is Holy Communion). Eat and drink, having the fish in your hands. Let us arm our right hand with the sword of the Spirit (that is to fight the spiritual warfare) so that it may bravely reject the deadly sacrifice of the pagans, and that the hand which, mindful of the eucharist, receives the body of the Lord, may embrace the Lord Himself obtaining in the life to come the reward of His heavenly crown.” May Saint Cyprian and Saint Cornelius pray for us to be strong in the spiritual warfare.

Homily of Tuesday, September 15, 2020

If I were to create a new religion, it would be very similar to Catholicism. God knows, the Catholic Church is really bad at some things. Accountability, transparency come readily to mind. But still there are very powerful things, very attractive things, these very powerful archetypes, this powerful imagery, these powerful figures – of which the sorrowful mother is certainly a very potent one. The mother who is there for your pain, your suffering, your difficulty, trying to help you out, assisting you as best she can, being there for you. Very powerful image, very powerful archetype. Of course, the great advantage of the Catholic Church is that it is actually true. There is such a person out there – the Virgin Mary. We don’t need pretty symbols. To paraphrase a famous author: if it’s only a pretty symbol, to hell with it. We have better things to do than to waste our time with symbols. We need reality. We do have a mother, the Virgin Mary, who throughout history even now to the present day, appears to her children with ideas of supplication, of coming to her, of praying for her assistance to help us in our difficulties. Mary is real. The Virgin Mary is real. Her appearances are real. Her intercession is real. Her feeling our pain and suffering is real. And we can come to it, and be guided by her, and led to greater heights, to fulfill all the supernatural gifts we have. So your pain or suffering or failure, it’s not just a pretty symbol you can turn to, but a real person, Our Lady. Come to her, and she will help you out. Come to her, and she will lead you higher, to her Son – where all hope, and all peace, and all joy can be found.

Though St. Paul frequently refers to the cross in a figurative and devotional way, the symbol was seldom used during the first three centuries when actual crucifixions were still common and public. But after Constantine’s victory under the sign of the Cross, it rapidly became the favorite and most characteristic Christian symbol. The Eucharist, our greatest means to perfection, is never celebrated without the cross of Christ prominently displayed in close proximity to the altar. It is there to remind us that as we approach the altar we are asking to be raised onto the wood of the cross of Christ.  Our prayer is that in union with him we may share in his redemptive suffering, so that we may die and rise with him. God wants to rediscover the image of his crucified Son in us, longing infinitely to enrich us with his graces.  In the Mass, Christ’s self-sacrifice is inseparable from our sacrifice of him to the Father.  We receive back the life of the Sacrificed One from the Father taking him into ourselves and thereby inviting the Father to accept our self-sacrifice along with his Son.  In this way by affirming the mystery of the one flesh of Holy Communion we show our readiness to hang with him as his very own flesh on the Cross. We exalt Christ’s cross whenever we freely take it up as he did in the hour of his Passion, what he called “his hour”, the hour he longed for with all his heart.  If in our lives when a challenge presents itself to us, then we want to think with him that it is our “hour”, the hour in which we can demonstrate our love for him who, when his final hour had come, loved us to the very end. (John 13:1) 

Homily for the 24th Sunday in Ordinary Time; Opening of School Masses
September 13-14, 2020

First of all, I want to say “Welcome back,” on behalf of all the monks. We are very glad that you are here. These first days of school are very different from others we and you have experienced, and this school year will be different in a year like no other. After six months away, we have reassembled as the PAS community. I hope you all feel you are back with your brothers and sisters. The readings today speak about community - some of the dos and the don’ts. Community is important. It’s true what that second reading said, none of us lives for oneself, and no one dies for oneself. We are miserable all by ourselves. Maybe you discovered some of that this summer. Lots of people have suffered from depression because of the isolation of social distancing. We shine, our talents and gifts are seen and used for the good when we are with other people, in a community, united with others. You know that the fundamental community which got this place together 101 years ago and still holds it together is the monastery. And the monastery is governed and the monks live by the Rule of St Benedict. That Rule emphasizes the message of the readings today: overlook faults; put up with the weaknesses of other members of the community; and above all, forgive. This is a way of living very different from what we see around us in society, and to a certain extent always has been different. 200 years before Christ, Ben Sira, the writer of the first reading, looking at people in his society, was dismayed by the discord and violence that he saw around him: vengeance, anger, and a lack of mercy and forgiveness. Judging from the news we hear every day, not much has changed. An African-American man/woman/teen killed by police officer; a police officer killed; political campaign speeches featuring lots of name-calling; a racist march resulting in bottle and stone throwing and shooting; an anti-racist march resulting in bottle and stone throwing and shooting. Some people get angry and violent if they are asked to wear a mask. You know how it goes and no doubt can add to the list. There is a lot of anger, on all sides and in the middle. Not surprising, there is also a lot of unhappiness because holding on to anger warps us. 

Forgiveness frees us. These days call us to question even the possibility of forgiveness when so many have been attacked and abused verbally and physically. We certainly can’t dismiss all this suffering with platitudes like, “Forgive and forget.” We have to acknowledge and remember the injury others have suffered so we don’t repeat them. These times are a wake-up call. As we get older and life gets more complicated, we discover there is far more to it than bumping into someone else’s car in the parking lot or making an egregious foul in a game. The truth is that life sometimes hurts; not just in general, but in specific, tangible ways that cause us real harm, emotionally, mentally, and even physically. And when we are hurt, or when someone we love is injured, forgiveness is often the farthest thing from our minds. Sure, we hear the countless instructions to forgive, like today, but when it comes down to putting them into practice, we balk. Perhaps because we don’t quite know what forgiveness really looks like, or how exactly we are to go about it.

An example: On October 2, 2006, tragedy struck the Amish community of Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania, as a gunman entered the local school, and killed five schoolgirls and left five others seriously wounded. It was a devastating event that rocked this small, close-knit community to its core. Almost as shocking as the violence, though, was how community and the families of the victims responded. Even as outsiders were responding with compassion for the Amish community, the Amish themselves were doing another kind of work. Subtly, and quietly, they were beginning the difficult task of forgiveness. Within a few hours of the shooting, some Amish people went to find the gunman’s wife, children, and extended family, offering words of sympathy and love and forgiveness. A few days later, the community showed up at the gunman’s funeral, and even reached out with financial support for his family. They continued to connect and be supportive of his family in the weeks that followed. This doesn’t mean that the Amish forgot their pain, their loss. How could they? But it means they did not surrender to their feelings, and let anger and sorrow control them. They could act in accordance to their faith, according to what God expected of them, and to what they hoped for from God. In all of this, the Amish community modeled a genuine and powerful witness of what forgiveness looks like. It almost sounds too good to be true; inconceivable, even to those who consider themselves faithful Christians. 

Think back to the parable in the Gospel where the king forgives the huge debt of the steward who cannot repay it. The amount the debtor owes his master is huge. St Luke’s Gospel says 10,000 talents, which would be $165 million if silver or $14,001,165,700, if gold. He could never repay it, not even by the sale of himself and his family and property. His request to the king is made out of desperation. He says, “Be patient with me and I will repay you in full.” No, he couldn’t. That is the point Jesus is making, but the parable doesn’t end there. The forgiveness of such a vast debt should have touched the servant’s heart and made him different, a changed person. But it did not. It should have been the energy and power in his heart that would have enabled him to also be forgiving. But his heart remained hard and the proof of this is that he did not give to a fellow servant, who owed him “a much smaller amount,” what he himself had received freely from his master: the gift of forgiveness. Jesus could have added to the parable, right after the king’s forgiveness of the servant, “You go and do likewise.” But instead Jesus says that to us. We live in a community and we must be compassionate and forgiving to each other, from our hearts, especially when it hurts. It sounds impossible; it will hurt – and that may make us think we can’t do it and lead us not to try. But if you’re an athlete, you know you didn’t become good without practice. No pain, no gain. Forgiveness and putting up with faults and weaknesses marked the Amish of Nickel Mines as a community. I hope that it marks us too. So this year, let’s all practice and get good at it. One opportunity at a time, then seven, then seventy times seven. May we, little by little, move more into the ways of God’s mercy.

Homily of Thursday, September 10, 2020

Christianity has often been criticized for asking the impossible. Christian institution and organizations have often been criticized for not being particularly Christian. For claiming to be so much, and actually being so little. For being basically no different, in most respects, from other organizations and other institutions. The first criticism has a good deal of truth to it. The second criticism – a lot of truth to it, an enormous amount of truth to it. Both of these difficulties are rooted in one reality, forgotten both by the believer and the unbeliever – that all institutions that are Christian, all Christians, have to be rooted profoundly in Christ and the supernatural power that flows from Him. You cannot love your enemies and do good to those who do evil to you, and so on and so forth, without a supernatural power. I say for the most part, without a supernatural power. There might be some exceptional people out there, but on the whole a supernatural power. It is not human, it is not normal, it is not expected, it is not possible. But, if we have Christ and the power that flows from Him, that supernatural grace, that transforming, transfiguring reality of His divine love, etc., then all these things are doable. So, we are called as Christians and as Christian institutions to be different, radically different. It is not a process done in a single day or in a single week. But we do have to be radically different.  We have to follow Christ, believe in Christ, be transformed by Christ, and be different to the world, as individuals, as organizations, and as institutions. 

Homily of Tuesday, September 8, 2020 (Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary)

These genealogies that we run across in the Bible are kind of long, and seem like an interminable list of funny names to us and everything, but that is simply because we do not take our own faith personally enough. What we have to understand is that in this Marian genealogy, all of these people, that is our genealogy too, if she is our mother. And of all these people, with their lives of blood, sweat and tears, right up to death, in order to bring the faith along to the point that we were born and baptized into it. 

This reminds me that I was an amateur, very serious genealogist for quite a few years a long time ago, before the era of computers, when you developed your genealogical records with microfilms that you got from town recorders in other states, or letters like that. A big breakthrough happened when a friend of mine who happened to be a Mormon, a member of the Church of the Latter Day Saints, introduced me to their genealogy center in Connecticut, which had a very primitive computer like recorder that, if you could plug in a certain name, would give you all of the genealogy of that person that had been recorded by members of their church, who do this for religious purposes. In particular, if you could find someone in your genealogy who was halfway famous or important in history, which isn’t difficult if you go back a few generations, and plug that person’s name in, every one of that person’s forbearers is one of yours as well. I managed to do that with a colonial era forbearer that I had, and came up with literally hundreds of thousands of ancestors on these printed sheets. They just printed out for about 45 minutes. I had coffee with the center director and he tried to convert me to Mormonism. But it was fascinating to come up with that many ancestors, all of whom were direct ancestors of me from one line. They fan out, they do not just go in a single line. I remember taking that stack of pages back home. I was living alone at that time and renting an old farmhouse. I started with my parents in the kitchen and laid out these pages through the dining room and out through the living room, up the stairs and into the bedrooms, and had all these people spread out on the floor of that house. I felt like there wasn’t room for me in the building anymore, there were so many folks in there! They were simply names and dates, but they were real, they were accurate. The Mormons are extremely dependable as genealogists. 

It made me realize – as I got in touch with a friend of mine who is a physician who worked for a drug company who had done a lot of genealogy, biological research – he assured me that every one of those people there has a spot in my personal genome; there was a trace of every one of those people. That’s how complicated it is, the chemistry of life. This certainly points out the hideousness of abortion – we don’t realize what we’re killing, when we even begin to realize that kind of a past. I think the point that I am making is that our spiritual lives have a long history that predates our coming into the world, just as our physical lives do. Like Mary’s, our spiritual genealogy spans countless centuries, reaching all the way back to creation itself, extending down the ages of time, spanning Eden, the Fall, Israel’s election through Abraham, its failure to accept its messiah, His saving life, death and resurrection, the countless victories and losses of our spirit-led forbearers, who formed the church, as its continuing to be born and reborn. And then finally, like Mary, we are born, and we are baptized into something – and it’s so much more than just a bunch of catechism questions and answers that we may have memorized when we were children. If only we could get the next generation to begin to see what a living thing our faith really is, and how it has been lived in so, so, so many people down through the centuries, and handed onto us. I think there’s a lot of work to do catechetically in that direction. At any rate, one day, like the woman in revelation, Mary is going to be carried away to God’s throne, following Her Son, and we will follow her ultimately, along with all those others who are called to the same wonderful destiny.

Homily of Monday, September 7 (U.S. Labor Day)

Historians love to discuss issues, questions. One of the favorite questions they love to discuss is how the west dominated the rest. That is, how western Europe, this poor pathetic bunch of nations in the 15th century came to control the globe, the Earth, within a few centuries. It is a favorite question. They discuss various aspects: geography, technology, weaponry. They all have some degree of plausibility. One of the aspects they also discuss is religion, how aspects of Christianity were influential in tis control, this influence, this domination of the globe. And one part of that view of religion, of Christianity, is its view of work. That in Christianity, work was made not something repulsive, servile, etc., but something ennobling, transformative, a means of holiness, a means of sanctification. That work was not just for slaves and serfs and so on, but for all people as a transforming reality. And there is some degree of truth in that. We have all heard perhaps of Max Weber’s famous “Protestant Work Ethic,” which he made so famous more than a century ago. But the best exemplars of the “Protestant Work Ethic” are not protestants, or particularly the Calvinists he talked about in that book, but the medieval monks, I would like to say the “black monks,” the Benedictines, with their motto of “ora et labora” or “work and prayer,” but unfortunately it is really the Cistercians that are the best exemplars of the “Protestant Work Ethic.” Cistercians, the white monks, reformed Benedictines, who transformed the landscape of Europe, by draining swamps, cutting down forests, planting crops, raising sheep. There is no doubt that historically the best exemplars, and many sociologists will tell us, of the “Protestant Work Ethic” are the medieval monks, particularly the Cistercians. But it is a generally Christian worldview, that work is ennobling, that work is transformative, that it is not something that is totally a punishment, but something that can also be a means of redemption, of transformation, of holiness – that all of us find holiness, our vocation, in fulfilling our jobs in life, whether it something very menial or something very significant, whether it be very physical or very intellectual. On this Labor Day, on which we honor the American worker, let us remember: we ennoble work; Christians ennoble work and make work a means of transformation, of prayer, of holiness. Let us use our daily labors as sacraments of the present moment. The sacraments are channels of grace, we all know this from our catechism. But we can gain grace lots of ways, and in the things we do every day, if offered to God, if given to God, if seen as acts of worship and prayer – those are also a means of grace. So on this day of labor, we honor American labor, the American worker, let us remember work is a means of holiness, a way to God.

Homily of Sunday, September 6 (23rd Sunday in Ordinary TIme)

I was in grade school, this text, “When two or three are gathered in my name, there am I in the midst of them,” that text was used to explain why the church places greater emphasis on communal prayer, that is, prayer such as we have now, in common, one with another, as opposed to individual prayer. That does not mean, of course, that individual prayer is somehow inferior, but it just means the Our Lord is assuredly with us when we come together to pray in His name. And we can’t, in a way, have that same assurance when we are by ourselves. The idea was, for example if you are going to say the rosary, if you can say it with a group, that would be better than to say it by yourself, all things being equal. Of course, as a group, well we won’t go into various deeper explanations. In any case, I think that is one of the reasons that lies behind the church insisting, all things being equal, we come to Mass at least on Sundays and feast days. There are other and deeper reasons for that. Certainly, Jesus is with us if we are saying the rosary together, but He is here, in the Mass, in the mystery of the Mass – Himself, He is here truly present – in the congregation, and when the priest says, “This is My body; this is the chalice of My blood” – He is really present in His divinity and His humanity, and we receive Him then in communion. And this makes present in the Mass His sacrifice, that is, His passion, His crucifixion and death, and resurrection. All of that is embodied in the Mass in a mysterious way. In other words, it is much more than it seems to be. You get more out of the Mass than you think. Wherever we are gathered in the name of Jesus, there he is. In the Mass, He is not just present, but making present His one offering to the Father, on the cross. And He invites us to join Him in making that offering.

Here are some texts from the ancient church. John Chrysostom, 4th-5th century: “It is not man who is responsible for the offering becoming Christ’s body and blood. It is Christ Himself who was crucified for you. The standing figure belongs to the priest who speaks these words. The power and the grace belong to God. “This is my body,” He says. This sentence transforms the offerings.” Then there is Cyril of Alexandria, at the other end of the Mediterranean (4th-5th century): “Jesu used the demonstrative mode of speech, “This is my body,” and “This is my blood,” to prevent you thinking that what is seen is a mere figure or a symbol. On the contrary, what has truly been offered on the cross, the bread is transformed in a hidden way by the all-powerful God, into Christ’s body and blood. When we become partakers of Christ’s body and blood, we receive the life-giving, sanctifying power of Christ.” Pope Saint John XXIII, calling the Mass “The Adorable Sacrifice”: The Mass is the adorable sacrifice in which God himself is at the same time Victim, Priest and the divine Majesty to whom the sacrifice is offered, not merely the symbol of the sacrifice of the Cross but the sacrifice itself, mysteriously renewed and re-enacted forever, without the shedding of blood. It is an infinite sacrifice, the efficacy of which is restricted only by our own lack of fervor and devotion.” – why doesn’t the Mass or communion effect more? Our lack of fervor and devotion – “All Light in this world streams from the sacrifice of the Mass. There is no alleviation of the pains of purgatory that is not distilled, like the balm from the overflowing chalice of the Eucharist. There is no increase of heavenly glory, but through this sacrifice. Moreover, and this is a much greater thing, no newcomer can enter heaven accept through the sacrifice ever present in the Mass It is impossible to find or imagine a closer bond between Man and God.” Dorothy Day called the Mass, “The Awful Sacrifice.” That is, the sacrifice that should fill us with awe. If it doesn’t, we really haven’t grasped what’s going on or what is taking place. She said: “The awful sacrifice should fill us with awe. It is “the adorable sacrifice,” says Pope John, if we really understood what was going on, we would be caught up in adoration of Christ and the Holy Trinity.

Homily of Saturday, September 5, 2020

St. Paul asks the Corinthians in today’s first reading, “Who confers distinction upon you? What do you possess that you have not received? But if you have received it, why are you boasting as if you did not receive it?” St. Paul sees division within the Corinthian Church in many forms: division between groups who say they follow Paul, groups who follow Peter, and groups who follow Apollos; he sees division within how the poor and rich are treated within the Corinthian Church; he sees division created through unacceptable moral practices within the Church. St. Paul’s response to this is probably not what they would expect: “God has exhibited us Apostles as the last of all … We are fools on Christ’s account, but you are wise. We have become like the world’s rubbish, the scum of all, to this very moment.” In this Christ-like emptying of himself, he shows his love for the Church in Corinth, and how he has become a father for them through the Gospel. Today, we celebrate St. Teresa of Calcutta, treated differently than St. Paul in some ways, but ultimately representing the same program. Whereas St. Paul was denounced by the world, St. Teresa won the Nobel Peace Prize in recognition of her work for the poorest and most downtrodden in the world. She was lauded by many, although not all, for her work. She was a Sister of Loreta who experienced a call within her call: a call to serve the most destitute and need. Like St. Paul’s program, hers was the ultimate human program: love your neighbor, especially when they are in greatest need. She became foolish: ministering to those abandoned by everybody else, and put herself into proximity with those who had been thrown away by society, treated as the world’s rubbish in spite of their dignity as Children of God. In doing this, she was personally recognized, although we can look at the world and see that many parts of her message have not fully been taken in. At her speech accepting the Nobel Prize, she famously warned that Abortion was greatest danger to peace currently in the world. She advocated against the Irish referendum that ultimately allowed for divorce, arguing that it was especially damaging for children. Mother Teresa is a model for us to imitate in her intense, personal, human love for those who are considered the least of us, even when it is politically inexpedient. St. Teresa of Calcutta, pray for us.

Homily for the patronal feast of St. Gregory the Great on Thursday, September 3, 2020

Today we celebrate our patron Pope Saint Gregory the Great. So naturally we think he’s great. He’s the first pope from a monastic background. And he sent St Augustine and his companions from his monastery in Rome to convert the pagan Anglo-Saxons in England, thus founding the English Benedictine Congregation of which we are a part. But why do others think he is great? He was a prolific writer, one of the four great Doctors of the western Church. His writings include: The Dialogues, from which we learn most of what we know about Saint Benedict; The Rule for Pastors, a rule for Bishops, much as the Rule of St. Benedict is for monks; Sermons, letters, commentaries on Job and the First Book of Kings. He revised the Roman worship of his day, much to the format of the Mass we use today. He is credited with Gregorian chant. He re-organized the government of city of Rome, and improved the welfare of the people of Rome, especially poor and refugees from the Lombards, who were ravaging Italy then. After his reign, the peoples of Western Europe looked to Rome and the Popes for order, and no longer to the emperors in Constantinople who had ignored the west. Would our religion be what it is today without him? Under Pope St Gregory the barbarian Franks, Lombards, and Visigoths gave up their heretical Arianism and gave their allegiance to Rome and orthodox Catholicism. He was judged great in his time. So he earned by all his works the honor of “Great” that follows his name. We too will be judged by our deeds, so we can follow Pope St Gregory’s example as best as we can. But perhaps most of all by not by trying to directly imitate his greatness but by imitating the title he used for himself…servant of the servants of God. May we serve God well by serving our brothers and sisters well. And to do that these days, we might reflect on the meaning of the parable of the Good Samaritan to understand who our brothers and sisters are.

Homily of Wednesday, September 2, 2020

Power. Sacred power. Everywhere our Lord appears, everywhere he preaches his gospel, He manifests power. Power to heal the sick, power to drive out demons, power of conviction: as we see in the gospels, he spoke with such authenticity, such command. People noticed that he was different from the scribes and Pharisees. He spoke with authority. Wherever he was, there was power, sacred power of every sort, of every possibility. And he gave that power to his disciples. But where is that power today, in our own age, our own time and place? Two centuries ago, the great Russian saint Seraphim of Sarov was asked that very question: Why is it in earlier centuries there were more miracles, God was more present, etc. etc.? His reply was very simple. “Nothing is lacking but a firm resolve.” And if people tried to live faithfully the gospel, gave time to prayer and virtue and good works, and were true disciples of Christ, it all would be different. It would be very, very different. Power and majesty would be abundant for everybody. Power. The same reality we see in the first reading: you have all these people who are believing Christians that Saint Paul talks about, but they are weak, not developed, not really that committed, not transformed. They live not according to the spirit, the power of God, the Holy Spirit, but the flesh, the worldly way of approaching reality. Too many of us, too many modern Christians, are like those people in the first reading. We are Christians, but not too much so. We are not fanatical, we are not very committed, we are not very active – and that’s unfortunate, because without that true commitment, without fulfilling the gospel, the good news that transforms lives, we can’t be happy, we can’t find all of the things we seek. All the things we need, everything we seek, can be found in Christ. In His power, His majesty, His truth, His grace – but we have to commit ourselves to achieve it, to reach it, to be transformed by it. As in the first century, as in the present, when we live the gospel (at least try to, because no one can do it perfectly, to be sure); if we try to live the gospel, the good news that transforms lives, we are made stronger, happier, more blessed. At the very least, we will experience personally the power of God, His healing, and grace, and love. And perhaps even miracles. We don’t seek miracles, but if we can find Christ in this world, it is a miracle enough.