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May 2008 Sanchez Commentaries & Sample Homilies

Commentaries for both Ascension and Seventh Sunday of Easter

ASCENSION Thursday, May 1, 2008 or Sunday, May 4, 2008 “The Gift of an Agenda” Patricia Datchuck Sánchez

ACTS 1:1-11 EPHESIANS 1:17-23 MATTHEW 28:16-20

Do you remember Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I’ve Been to the Mountain Top” speech? Delivered at the Mason Temple in Memphis, Tennessee, on April 3, 1968, the day before he was assassinated, King’s speech resonated with hope and conviction that a new day was about to dawn and, with it, new assurances of civil rights for African Americans. “I’ve been to the mountain top”, declared King, “and I just want to do God’s will. God’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land . . . and I’m happy tonight. I’m not worried about anything . . . Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.” Five years earlier and in another of his memorable and moving speeches, King had described what he had envisioned on the mountain top. “I have a dream”, shared King, “that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character . . . I have a dream that . . . we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nations into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood” . . . wherein “we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together” (Speech delivered on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, Washington, D.C., 28 August 1963). King’s dream and his mountain top vision would have remained just that except for the fact that he came down from the mountain and marched on the streets of Selma, Atlanta, Washington, D.C., etc. in order that his visions and dreams be realized. Today’s feast of Jesus’ ascension challenges believers to do likewise. Although the disciples of Jesus may have been tempted to remain in the relative safety and rarified atmosphere of the mountain in order to preserve the experience of the nearness of Jesus, that was not to be. As Jesus instructed, they were to be his witnesses in Jerusalem, throughout Judea and Samaria and even to the ends of the earth (Acts, first reading). With Jesus’ own authority, they were to make disciples of all the nations, baptizing and teaching them, all the while assured of the presence of Jesus (Matthew, gospel) . . . all the while compelled by hope and inspired by God’s wisdom and insight (Ephesians, second reading). Nowhere did Jesus say that his disciples should stand off at a safe distance and critique the world. On the contrary and following his lead, Jesus’ followers were directed to immerse themselves in the world, making its burdens their own, its suffering theirs to alleviate. Today, no less than then, Jesus’ disciples are to do likewise. Mountain top experiences are necessary, of course. Mountain tops are places where visions are born and fed. Mountain tops, both real and virtual are places where discussions take place . . . where committees are formed, where agendas are made . . . But all of these and the best laid plans are of no avail unless believers are willing to go down from the mountain and realize their visions and dreams by translating words into works, decisions into deeds and proposed goals into achievements. On the mountain top, talk is easy and even cheap, but going down from the mountain in order to “put up or shut up” – therein is the challenge. Today, as we continue to live in the interim between Jesus’ two advents, that challenge remains our own. Karl Barth (Karl Barth, Theologian of Freedom, Clifford Green, editor, Fortress Press, Minneapolis, MN: 1991) once referred to this interim as a “significant pause” between the mighty acts of God. During this pause, it is the Church’s task to wait, to pray, to witness, ever mindful of the question asked in today’s first reading: “Why do you stand here looking up at the skies?” This question implies that there is a mission to accomplish and that the Church should be adamant in its intent to accomplish Jesus’ agenda, secure in the promise of his presence. In the opening verses of Acts (verses that constitute today’s first reading and the theme of today’s liturgy) Luke has managed, explains William Willimon (Acts, John Knox Press, Atlanta, GA: 1988) to reprove both the enthusiasm and speculation of uninformed apocalypticism as well as the despair and stodginess of a Church without apocalyptic hope. There is also reproof for any Church which wistfully longs for some departed leader as if that Church existed simply as a memorial society for a dead Jesus. In the meantime, there is the promise that the same power that equipped Jesus for service and for suffering shall be bestowed upon those who follow him in faith. Although the response to Jesus’ gift of an agenda for the Church is not included in any of today’s readings, a glance backward through history will attest that many have sought to make his agenda their own. What Luke does tell us is that after receiving their agenda from Jesus, the disciples, together with some women and Mary, the mother of Jesus and his brothers, gathered together in the upper room and devoted themselves with one accord to prayer (Acts 1:13-14). Prayer, prayer alone and prayer together would support and sustain them during the “significant pause” between the mighty acts of God. Prayer, prayer alone and prayer together continues to support and sustain each and all of us who are trying to be faithful to the gift of Jesus’ agenda.

ACTS 1:1-11 Calling the feast of Jesus’ ascension an “endlessly problematic” one that “admits of no simple or single explanation”, Walter Brueggemann (Texts for Preaching, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, KY: 1995) suggests that the presenting problem consists in explaining what happened to Jesus’ body after the resurrection. More acute an issue, however, is how the Church would continue when Jesus is no longer present. Luke deals with both issues in this ascension narrative. Brueggemann also insists that the ascension narrative reveals the early Church’s struggle to voice a reality that lay far beyond all of its explanatory categories. Struggles and problems notwithstanding, at the heart of the ascension story is the fact that the community, that fearful, bewildered, waiting and praying community, had no power of its own. It possessed none and could not generate any for itself. It had no claim and no cause for self-congratulation. Yet, power was given that caused that fragile, little community to have energy, courage, perseverance, imagination and untold resources, completely disproportionate to its size. That power was given as a result of Jesus’ resurrection and return to God. With the gift of an agenda that would take them to the ends of the earth, Jesus also shared the power of the Spirit. Twice in today’s first reading, the gift of the Spirit is announced (vv. 5, 8) as a power that will infuse the Church, fire its energies and help in realizing the agenda Jesus gave. That agenda will include being Jesus’ witnesses throughout the world. As William Barclay (“The Acts of the Apostles the Apostles”, The Daily Study Bible, The Saint Andrew Press, Edinburgh, UK: 1976) has suggested, a really authentic witness does not consist of words but deeds. Barclay recalls the reaction of reporter Henry Stanley upon meeting missionary and explorer David Livingston in Central Africa. After spending some time with Livingston, Stanley wrote, “If I had been with him any longer, I would have been compelled to be a Christian and he never spoke to me about it at all.” The witness of the man’s life was eloquent and irresistible. Also included in the act of witnessing to Jesus is the possibility of dying for the faith. Recall that in Greek, the word for witness and the word for martyr is the same (martus). To be a witness means to be loyal in giving living testimony to Christ, despite the cost. One of many such witnesses, who have blessed the Church simply by their being, was Dietrich Bonhoeffer. While in prison for opposing the Third Reich, Bonhoeffer, a Lutheran pastor and professor wrote the following: “To be a Christian does not mean to be religious in a particular way . . . on the basis of some method or other, but to be a man –not a type of man, but the man that Christ creates in us” (Letters and Papers From Prison, Macmillan, New York: 1972). That Bonheoffer was such a man was evidenced in his life and in his death. Truly a martyr, truly a witness of Jesus, when Bonhoeffer was condemned to die by hanging on April 9, 1945, a doctor at the Flossenbürg extermination camp wrote of him: “Through the half-open door . . . I saw Pastor Bonhoeffer . . . kneeling on the floor praying fervently to his God. I was most deeply moved by the way this lovable man prayed, so devout and so certain that God heard his prayer. At the place of execution, he again prayed . . . in the almost 50 years that I have worked as a doctor, I have hardly ever seen a man die so entirely submissive to the will of God.” Bonhoeffer’s wordless witness spoke volumes to those who knew him; our witness to Jesus should be no less powerful, for the same Spirit that moved Jesus and Bonhoeffer and so many others continues to move and empower you and me.

EPHESIANS 1:17-23 What Luke narrated so poignantly in the first reading from Acts and the psalmist has celebrated liturgically in today’s responsorial, is also reaffirmed by the author of Ephesians in today’s second reading, viz., that the risen Jesus ascended to heaven and is now enthroned in a position of sovereign authority above all and over all creation. As Walter Brueggemann (Texts For Preaching, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, KY: 1995) has explained, both the psalmist and the epistolary writer invite believers to understand the festival of Ascension anew. This feast is not about getting the body of Jesus off the earth; therefore it is not marginal and/or incidental to the life of the Church. This festival is a dramatic moment whereby the presence of Jesus is the Church is converted into a large, cosmic rule. Rooted in liturgical language, this claim for God and for Jesus envisions significant political repercussions. All earthly rulers are indeed under God’s feet (Ephesians 1:22). God’s agenda, as we know, is characterized by mercy, compassion, forgiveness and caring. Enthroned over all, God and Jesus change the political climate and the modes of power previously enjoyed by princes, kings and queens. The sovereign kingship of God necessarily revamps all other forms of governance. Couched in the form of a prayer for its intended recipients, this Ephesians text requests a deeper knowledge of God that will enable believers to fully appreciate the gift of their election by God (v. 18). By reason of their baptism, affirms Roland Faley (Footprints on the Mountain, Paulist Press, New York, NY: 1994) those whom God calls are destined to become part of the heavenly community. This is described as “a glorious heritage . . . distributed among the members of the Church.” This immortal destiny is guaranteed because it is effected by God’s power and strength (v. 19). The fact that God’s power has effected the resurrection of Jesus gives assurances to those who have been promised the same (v. 20). Also affirmed in today’s second reading is God’s sovereignty and, with it, that of Jesus over those entities that were thought by some to wield power on earth or in heaven. Principalities, powers, virtues and dominations (v. 21) were heavenly or angelic powers whose origins are to be sought in the pagan mystery cults, where they are venerated as deified agents, directing human affairs. Even these, insists the author of Ephesians (and Colossians 1:16) are subject to and subordinate to Christ. With a nod to 1 Corinthians 12, the ancient writer concludes this prayer with a reference to Christ who is the head of the Church which is his body. William Barclay (The Letter to the Ephesians”, The Daily Study Bible, The Saint Andrew Press, Edinburgh, UK: 1976) has suggested that “body of Christ” is the Church’s greatest title. Perhaps this title could also be called the Church’s most pressing agenda for if we are truly Christ’s body, then, by virtue of our union with him and in him, the Church is quite literally the hands that do Christ’s work, the feet that serve his purposes, the voice that speaks his words and the heart that loves, gives and forgives as he loves, gives and forgives. Today’s Matthean gospel will feature Christ, the head of the Church, sending forth his hands and feet and heart and voice into all the world. That agenda is still in the process of being realized; it is our responsibility to see it through.

MATTHEW 28:16-20 Called the Great Commission by scholars, these verses that conclude the Matthean gospel offer not only a clear mandate but also an endearing and encouraging promise. Paired with the agenda that the disciples of Jesus are to go and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing and teaching the good news without discrimination and without stinting is the pledge of Jesus, “know that I am with you always.” What greater comfort could there be than in knowing and believing in the constant presence of Jesus. What greater guarantee that the work we are given to undertake can, indeed, be accomplished because of and by virtue of that presence. No doubt, Matthew’s Jewish readers would have appreciated the power and resonance of Jesus’ promise for it had been God’s own promise to the chosen people from the beginning. These words of encouragement were extended to all whom God called to service. To Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, to David, to Isaiah, Jeremiah and all the prophets, the same words, “I am with you”, translated into courage, tenacity and strength for the task at hand. Spoken by the risen Jesus, this promise of presence brings readers of the Matthean gospel full circle to its initial proclamation of good news in Matthew 1:23: “And they shall call him Emmanuel, a name which means ‘God with us.’.” It would be a mistake, insists Douglas R. A. Hare (Matthew, John Knox Press, Louisville, KY: 1993) to regard the promised presence of Jesus as a gift restricted to the first disciples or solely to missionaries. This promise is surely made to the Church as a whole, i.e., not only to clergy but to all the people of God. Earlier in the gospel, Jesus’ presence was promised for times of judgment and discipline in the Church (18:20). Here the promised presence is for empowerment. As in 8:23-27, the little ship of the Church, battered by life’s storms and unforeseen calamities knows that it is never left to depend entirely on its own resources. The Lord Jesus, the risen, ascended, enthroned and gloriously powerful Lord remains with the Church. Literally, Matthew described Jesus abiding authoritative presence as with us “all the days, right up to the consummation of the age.” Contemporary translators have rendered this qualifier simply as “always”; but says Hare, that adverb does not preserve Matthew’s intent. “All the days” emphasizes the daily nature of the presence of Christ –each day, every day, day by day. Surely the continued existence of the Church, despite its history of conflict, infidelity, corruption and sin provides the surest evidence that Jesus’ promise has been kept. That same promise continues to be kept even today and all the while assures the possibility of realizing the agenda of Jesus.

Sample Homily May 8, 2005 “Breaking the Boundaries” Fr. James Smith

When Jesus ascended to heaven he broke the boundary separating heaven from earth. Just as when he was born he broke the boundary separating earth from heaven. The crossing of boundaries is a recurrent theme in history: Israelites crossing the Red Sea, slaves crossing the Ohio River, Caesar crossing the Rubicon. And when Caesar decided to do that, he said: "The die is cast" -- meaning that he had entered a whole new space from which there was no returning. That is one aspect of boundaries: separation. Another aspect of boundaries is exclusion. The 48th parallel keeps North Koreans north; the scrimmage line keeps teams out of a neutral zone while the halo protects punt returners; no-fly zones protect national air space while personal space is protected by an unspoken, unmeasured rule -- about 2 feet for Americans. Closer than that without invitation we call "in your face." Boundaries have the useful function of separating things and people that need to be separated. Robert Frost said that before he built a wall he wanted to know what he was walling in and out. But build it he did, saying "good fences make good neighbors." The same seems true on all levels of existence. Humankind has always felt the need for a special boundary between itself and God. We Christians don't feel this separation much because of Jesus; but it was the primary fact of ancient religions. The Greek myth tells it best. The gods led a wonderful life on Mount Olympus separate from mortals on earth --they were imitating rich mortals in mansions who led a wonderful life separate from their slaves in hovels. But one young god felt sorry for mortals, so he stole fire from the gods to make earthly life bearable. The other gods got angry at Prometheus for breaking the impassable boundary between them and mere mortals. They chained him eternally on a lonely mountain. We recognize that as merely a story to negotiate the impasse between God and humans. But we have more than a myth -- we have the historical event God breaking the boundary by sending the divine Son to become one of us. There is now free access between God and humans; and the traffic runs both ways. But just because this is a true story, it had to follow historical reality, so Jesus finally had to die. The visible bridge spanning heaven and earth disappeared. But to show that it still existed, Jesus appeared a few times to his old friends after his death. And then no more. The appearances are described in different ways, to express the fact that Jesus had really died but was now really alive. He appears to them differently on the shore, in the Upper Room, at Emmaus. It seems as though Jesus drops in on their world from his own world. But the fact that at first they don't recognize him and then suddenly do suggests that he was there all along but they couldn't see him. To enjoy the company of Jesus is a good thing no matter how it happens. But how it happens makes a big difference the rest of the time. Because if Jesus just pops in on us now and then from his own world, that means that he lives apart from us; and we have no control over his visits. But if Jesus lives among us invisibly, then he is our constant companion; and we can recognize him by focusing on him. Jesus appears to us on his own terms; but it matters how we imagine it to happen. Think about it sometime -- how do you imagine Jesus in your life? Do you recognize him only in times of crisis or do you see him in everyday happenings? And at Mass, do you imagine Jesus dropping, suddenly magically from heaven into the bread and wine or do you imagine Jesus gathering his personal presence in all us into his real presence in the bread and wine? It's worth spending some time thinking about how Jesus is present in our life. Because it comes down to this: Jesus is either an occasional sacred visitor in our otherwise secular life or he is our constant companion in whom we "live and move and have our being."

SEVENTH SUNDAY OF EASTER (A) May 4, 2008 “Gathered up to God” Patricia Datchuck Sánchez

ACTS 1:12-14 1 PETER 4:13-16 JOHN 17:1-11

“Pray for me, please.” “I will pray for you.” Exchanges like these are commonplace among believers who rely not only on their own physical or emotional resources but also on the spiritual support that is extended through prayer. In praying for other people, we gather them into our own experience of the presence of God and speak their names and their needs before God in trust and in hope. Quaker theologian Thomas R. Kelly has suggested that the one who prays for another brings all of that person’s affairs and interests into God’s light and holds them there in God’s presence, re-seeing them and the whole of the world in a new way (A Testament of Devotion, Harper and Brothers, New York: 1941). Facts remain facts and sorrows remain sorrows, but when brought into the divine presence, their value and their significance are wholly realigned. Much that appears to be wheat is proven to be chaff, and some chaff becomes wheat. Imposing powers crumble. Lost causes are turned over to God, who is already there, tending, caring, listening, loving. Believers can be at peace, confident that God hears and heeds prayer even in the silences and in the waiting. If we can communicate something of this peace to those for whom we pray, then our gift to them becomes all the more significant. Such is the gift that the Johannine Jesus extended to the first disciples and continues to extend to each of us. Jesus’ promise to remember his disciples to God was and is an expression of his deep love for his own. Richard Foster, who serves as professor of spiritual formation at Azusa Pacific University in Southern California, has suggested that loving is the syntax of prayer and that to be effective pray-ers, we need to be effective lovers (Prayer: Finding the Heart’s True Home, HarperCollins Publishers, San Francisco: 1992). Foster relates the story of a father and his 2-year-old son making their way through a crowded mall. The cantankerous child fussed and fumed, but his frustrated father could not calm him. Suddenly, the father scooped up his son and began to sing an impromptu song. His words didn’t rhyme; he sang off-key; but his love was evident in every word. Gradually, the child relaxed and listened intently to his father’s love song. Finished with their errands, they made their way to the car. When the father buckled his son in his car seat, the child said, “Sing it to me again, Daddy! Sing it again.” Prayer is a little like that. With all our needs, fears and desires, we allow ourselves to be gathered up into the presence of God and listen as God sings to us a song of reassurance and love. After Jesus’ resurrection, the disciples gathered together regularly and allowed God to sing among them the love song that continues to inspire the church. Luke attests to this practice in today’s first reading from Acts. Prayer together became a source of strength and mutual support among Jesus’ first followers. Their time together in prayer not only sustained their faith and their ministerial efforts; praying as one also witnessed to the world that they had “connections.” Their connectedness to God enabled them to deal with the mundane duties of everyday life and with the difficulties and struggles that became an inherent part of their lives because of their belonging to Christ. Believers who prayed to Jesus (Acts) and were prayed for by Jesus (John) were thereby empowered to suffer with Jesus and for Jesus when necessary. In today’s second reading, the author of 1 Peter intimates that suffering for one’s belonging to God and to Jesus can become a means whereby God is glorified (v. 16). This being so, then suffering can become an integral aspect of all our praying. Ever responsive to us, our God will scoop us up and gather us into the divine presence, where we will hear God’s love song. Like a parent who kisses away the “boo- boos” of a child, God will kiss away our hurts, both big and small, and bless us so that we might live and love and serve, and pray for yet another day.

ACTS 1:12-14 A Sabbath day’s journey separated Jerusalem from the mount where the Lucan Jesus returned to God and to glory. This distance is defined as 2,000 cubits in Tannaitic law (the interpretation of the law by rabbinic scholars, ca. 70–200 C.E., which resulted in the Mishnah). A cubit is the distance from the elbow to the tip of the middle finger and varies from 17.5 inches to 20 inches. If a cubit is approximated at 18 inches, then the distance the disciples traveled would have been about 1,000 yards, or about a half-mile. Though it was not a great distance, their journey was nevertheless long enough for the disciples to decide that the first thing they would do together before continuing the mission of Jesus was to pray. Perhaps they remembered Jesus’ promise to be present wherever two or three gathered in his name. Perhaps they recalled that Jesus prefaced all of his important actions with prayer and that he had taught his followers to rely on God as a Parent who loved them unconditionally. “Ask,” Jesus had said, “and you will receive, seek and you will find. Knock and the door shall be opened for you.” What lay ahead of the disciples just outside the closed door of the upper room was a future of faithful service, courageous witness and a process of evangelization that would carry them from Jerusalem into the rest of the then-known world. What would see them through to the end would be the abiding presence of the risen Jesus in the person of his Holy Spirit. William Willimon has suggested that contemporary Christians may regard the early disciples’ “watch and wait and pray” posture as something less than useful or proactive (Acts, John Knox Press, Atlanta: 1988). But gathering to wait and to pray are two of the primary activities of a faithful community. Although waiting can prove to be an unwanted burden for impatient modern people who have grown accustomed to expecting instantaneous results, waiting and praying together constitute an affirmation that what the world needs is beyond our ability to accomplish on our own. The world needs empowerment, and because of this the church waits together and prays, and just as the Spirit came upon Jesus’ first disciples, so also does the Spirit come to us with presence, with power, with grace. We who continue to live in the interim between Jesus’ ascension to God and his return to take us home are promised that we shall never be without the Spirit. Therefore we gather together to wait, to pray and to be gathered up to God.

1 PETER 4:13-16 Old Testament scholar and prolific author Walter Wangerin Jr. has repeatedly insisted that people pray most poignantly and sincerely when they are pressed by suffering and struggle (Whole Prayer, Zondervan, 1998). In those times when believers feel overwhelmed and nearly destroyed, prayer pours forth and they cling to God as if to a life raft on a stormy sea. Brueggemann further suggests that the most authentic prayers are expressed by those who are living at the edge of their lives, sensitive to their raw hurts, their primal passions and their naïve elations. Aware that his readers were in precisely such a place, the author of 1 Peter encouraged them to rejoice in that fact, because there in their suffering they were closest to Jesus Christ. Beverly Gaventa has explained (Texts For Preaching, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1995) that believers may rejoice not just in spite of their suffering but in their suffering because the Spirit of glory and of God rests upon them (v. 14). In due time, as the author of 1 Peter will soon point out (5:6), God will step in to restore, support and strengthen (5:7). Some may criticize this advice as promoting an attitude that says “grin and bear it now, for there will be pie in the sky when you die.” Such an attitude does persist among some believers, and it is a problem when people regard the present as a meaningless threshold to a forever future with God. This attitude would also tend to tolerate those things in life that can and should be transformed so that salvation is a present and not only a future experience. The author of 1 Peter advises a proactive approach rather than asking believers merely to put up with life’s struggles and wait for eternity. He invited those who were being made to suffer for their faith in Jesus Christ to unite their sufferings with his; in so doing, believers can become participants in the evolving plan of salvation. The author encouraged this and called his readers “blessed” (v. 14). The Lucan Jesus pronounced a similar blessedness in the Great Sermon. In Luke 6:22-23, Jesus declared: “Blessed are you when people hate you and when they exclude and insult you and denounce your name as evil … rejoice and leap for joy on that day! Behold, your reward will be great in heaven.” Evidently, the recipients of 1 Peter were experiencing or were about to experience what it meant to live out this beatitude with all its burdens and blessings. The author of 1 Peter, their friend and mentor, wanted his early readers to keep from losing heart and losing faith. He would have them — and us, those who remember his wisdom today — be strong in Christ, whose strength has become our own in the Spirit.

JOHN 17:1-11 In this, the first part of the Johannine Jesus’ prayer for his own, there are several references to giving and belonging. God gave Jesus to sinful humankind; God gave Jesus authority and work to accomplish: to give eternal life to all those whom God had given to Jesus. In all that Jesus did and said, he gave glory to God. All those whom God gave to Jesus belong properly to him as his own special possession. Therefore, Jesus never ceased being concerned for his own. He gave them the words that God had given to him. He gave his life that they might live. But before that ultimate act of giving, Jesus prayed for all who had been given him by God. That prayer of Jesus continues to be spoken and gives the well-being of us all over to God’s care. Gathered up to God by Jesus, his disciples continue to be mentored, empowered and protected until he comes again. Often described as his farewell discourse, the Johannine Jesus’ lengthy speech at his final supper with his own concluded, as did many farewell speeches in antiquity, with a prayer — this prayer. Charles Talbert cites Jubilees 22:28-30 as a Jewish example of this custom, where Abraham’s farewell ends with a prayer for Jacob that God “might protect him and bless him and sanctify him for a people who belong to your heritage” (Reading John: A Literary and Theological Commentary on the Fourth Gospel and the Johannine Epistles, The Crossroad Pub. Co., New York: 1994). An example from Christian circles can be found in Luke 22:14-38, a farewell speech wherein Jesus prayed for Peter “that your faith may not fail.” Following this convention, the Johannine Jesus petitioned God for unity, strength and protection for those to whom he would soon entrust his ministry. Initially, Jesus prayed for himself, that he might be glorified in his hour so as to glorify God — two complex Johannine concepts. Jesus’ hour referred to his reason for coming into the world: to die and to rise again so as to bring forgiveness to sinners. Glory, on the other hand, was the byproduct of Jesus’ hour. In his dying and rising and reconciling of sinners to God, Jesus revealed the divine presence or radiance, and God was uniquely and profoundly honored in Jesus’ action. As Charles Cousar has explained, something earth-shaking and life-changing is at stake in Jesus’ actions of glorifying God (Texts For Preaching, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1995). More sharply than any other New Testament writer, the fourth evangelist saw in the saving work of Jesus a change in the eons, a movement in the world’s clock, the dawning of a new day so that the life of eternity can be experienced here and now. This experience of what scholars have called realized eschatology is described by the Johannine author as “knowing God and the one whom God sent, Jesus Christ.” We glory in knowing Jesus, and when we are finally gathered up to God and to glory, we will know and be known fully and forever.

May 4, 2008 Sample Homily 7th Sunday of Easter “Waiting to be Ready” Pat Marrin

As the theological and doctrinal linchpin of our Christian lives, Easter is afforded 50 days in the liturgical year to give us the chance to absorb its challenges and implications. By his cross and resurrection, Jesus has completed the journey we are now on. His paschal pattern is shaping and directing our baptismal growth to full stature as we become people who can love unselfishly, work for justice and promote peace. By living this way, the baptized demonstrate the purpose of human existence as full human development (holiness) toward life with God in the Trinity. When we become beloved communities, we witness the universal inbuilt call of human destiny and the goal of salvation history — life with God. On this final Sunday of the Easter season, we become those disciples Jesus is praying over and instructing as he prepares to depart. A crucial handoff is taking place. His work of giving us a model of full human development is complete. The question is, can we take it and run with it? Are we ready to be the body of Christ in the world, imbued with the Spirit and empowered to heal, forgive, teach and transform the world? If we are honest, we will answer, “No.” We are not ready to take up the mission of Jesus, nor can we even imagine ourselves living as he did, doing what the Gospels describe him as doing. But, in fact, this feeling of total inadequacy is what informs our prayer as we await Pentecost. The work of saving the world is God-work, and only God can accomplish it. Our faith is not in ourselves, our skills and determination, but in God’s promise to take our human abilities and even our weaknesses and engage them in the unfolding grace of transformation that alone will save the world. The disciples exhibit all of the fears and ambiguities we harbor. They are anxious about Jesus’ talk of departure. For us, Jesus may seem long departed, and even baptism, confirmation and Eucharist have not reassured us that we can take on the complex world outside our churches. We look around at one another and feel even less confident, knowing how ordinary we are, barely able to pay attention during Mass or hold a meeting to plan some parish activity. Our leaders may be capable, even charismatic, but do we seriously expect them to guide us into the unknown future? They are people just like us. This reality check is the same threshold of faith every generation of believers has faced since the first disciples huddled in the upper room asking: When and how does empowerment come? What sign should we look for that we are ready? What should we pray for? The real miracle of the church is that it is still here at all. The remarkable truth is that in each generation, baptized men and women have crossed the threshold of faith and used their gifts in ordinary and obvious ways. Their efforts have been multiplied and blessed. In their daily dying to self and rising to the needs of the community, they came to know the crucified and risen Christ. In their friendships, marriages and commitments, they wove tapestries of creativity and renewal that advanced their beliefs and values for the good of all. We are invited to do the same, neither more nor less. Pentecost is less likely to give us miracles and heroes than to fit our many ordinary talents to make us together into energetic beloved communities who pray regularly and practice the beatitudes. If we do this much, God will do the rest.

PENTECOST (A) May 11, 2008 “Creative Fire” Patricia Datchuck Sánchez

ACTS 2:1-11 1 COR 12:3-7, 12-13 JOHN 20:19-23

“Love and sharing will grow in you, as will the creative fire to find the means of expressing them. Fire melts and tempers; let the fire of love do the same with you.” These are the worlds of Malidoma Patrice Somé. A native of Burkina Faso, West Africa, Somé is a medicine man of the Dagara tribe who holds three master’s degrees and two doctorates from the Sorbonne and Brandeis University, near Boston. In his book The Healing Wisdom of Africa (Penguin Putnam, Inc., New York: 1999), Somé shares his experiences with the rituals of his people. In his explanation of the fire ritual, Christians can gain a sense of the experience we call Pentecost and how it engenders the fire of loving and sharing in those who offer it welcome. To communicate his sense of the Spirit, Luke described the experience of the disciples as one of wind and fire. Somé similarly used the experience of fire to explain how passion begins to rise in a person. Fire, said Somé, kindles and sustains an animating and pervasive energy in all that lives. Fire is in the water that runs, in the trees, the rocks, the earth and most of all in ourselves. Somé believes that fire mediates between this world and that of the ancestors and spirits. Luke understood that the “fire” that is the Holy Spirit mediates between God and humankind. Fire, insists Somé, is the force that makes us do, feel, see and love. Fire drives us to perform our respective duties and to fulfill our life’s purpose. By participating in the fire ritual, a person allows herself to be consumed and changed. In Somé’s native Dagara language, the same word, di, means “to burn” as well as “to consume” and “to eat.” However, these words are not about destruction, but about transformation. Any person who goes through a fire ritual involves himself in this process of transformation. While Luke did not call Pentecost a fire ritual, the fire of the Spirit brought about many of the same results within the followers of Jesus. Through the Spirit’s fire, what had been muddled began to live with new clarity. Before the experience of the Spirit they had doubts as to who Jesus was and confusion about the manner of his messiahship. After their experience of the Spirit’s fire, they began to understand and were able to set aside disappointed expectations so they could accept the surprising ways and will of God. Before the Spirit’s fire and light, they were eager for power, prestige and good places at the victory table. After the transforming Spirit, they began to put others first, especially the poor, and to exercise their power as service. They cared compassionately for victims of injustice and made their plight their agenda. They began to share at one table, in one communion. Before the Spirit came upon them, the followers of Jesus cast a suspicious eye on foreigners and their customs, dismissing these as beyond God’s concern and, because of that, unworthy of their attention or care. With the fiery transformation brought by the Spirit, their horizons began to broaden; their service became all-inclusive. Their caring for the differences of others became a truer reflection of the God who created every complexion and listened intently to every language. Prior to the Spirit’s enlightening and warming fire, Jewish women had been little more than cooks and housekeepers, children had no voice, slaves were counted as lesser than free persons and gentiles were discounted altogether. But with the Spirit, the disciples began to question gaps between genders and generations; they scrutinized the discrimination that had formerly compartmentalized people and their position in the world. In the Spirit, women, men and children were newly valued. Together, they formed a praying, believing, serving community wherein political status had little bearing. Without exception, all belonged to Christ; all were to be loved and cherished; all were to be regarded as worthy witnesses of the Gospel in word and deed. Before the Spirit’s flame engulfed and empowered them, they thought forgiveness of sin was the proper prerogative of God alone for those deemed worthy. With the Spirit, the followers of Jesus began to realize that he had come with healing in his hands and forgiveness in his heart, and through his saving death had made these gifts available to every sinner. With the breath of the Spirit, breathed into them by Jesus, the disciples also realized their responsibility for extending that healing and forgiveness. Ambassadors of Jesus in this world, we too must remember that we are fired by his Spirit to continue the work of kindling the world with his love.

ACTS 2:1-11 In her book on the importance of correct punctuation, Lynne Truss, a former BBC radio host, includes the following anecdote from which she took her title: A panda walks into a café. He orders a sandwich, eats it, then draws a gun and proceeds to fire it at the other patrons. “Why?” asks the confused surviving waiter as he stands amid the carnage. Before making his way toward the exit, the panda produces a poorly punctuated wildlife manual and tosses it over his shoulder. “Well, I’m a panda,” he says at the door. “Look it up.” The writer turns to the relevant entry in the manual and, sure enough, finds an explanation. “Panda. Large black-and-white bear-like mammal, native to China. Eats, shoots and leaves” (Eats, Shoots and Leaves, Profile Books, London: 2003). Truss’ point was well made. Her anecdote hung upon the importance of one small comma that turned what should have been a reasonable definition into a bizarre story. In a certain sense, the Holy Spirit is like that comma. The Holy Spirit, appreciated correctly and interpreted authentically, generates light and insight into the mysteries of God and humankind. But when the light and insight of the Holy Spirit is distorted or ignored or misused, the consequences can be disastrous. This was so from the very beginning. Jesus acted under the influence of the Spirit and he was accused of being possessed by demons. When the disciples responded enthusiastically to the overtures of the Spirit, some dismissed them as being intoxicated. Yet others who were open to the movement of the Spirit welcomed its manifestations, and as a result they understood, each in their own language, the good news of salvation. Clarity and not confusion, and insight rather than misunderstanding belonged properly to the church because of the people’s willingness to welcome God’s own Spirit into their hearts and minds. As William Willimon has pointed out, the story of Pentecost day is an authoritative one for the church; it is a story that believers can return to again and again as a guide for the life of the faith community (Acts, John Knox Press, Atlanta: 1988). In this story, the community recounts and affirms its origin in a powerful work of the Spirit. Sometimes, this story has offered the church much-needed hope and encouragement. At other times, this story, with its truth, has judged the church and found it wanting. At all times, this story challenges the church to be its truest self by responding fully and faithfully to the Spirit, who is always available to those who ask.

1 COR 12:3-7, 12-13 Greek Orthodox pastor and author Anthony Coniaris tells the story of a Russian peasant who traveled from village to village and monastery to monastery, trying to find someone to teach him to pray unceasingly, as per Paul’s advice in 1 Thessalonians 5:17. Finally, he encountered a monk who shared with him the words of St. Symeon the New Theologian: “Sit down alone and in silence. Lower your head, shut your eyes, breathe out gently and imagine yourself looking into your own heart. Carry your thoughts from your head to your heart. As you breathe out, say: ‘Lord Jesus, have mercy on me’ … Be calm, be patient and repeat the process very frequently” (Introducing the Orthodox Church, Light and Life Publications, Minneapolis: 1982). Commenting on the importance of what has come to be called the Jesus prayer, St. Nicodemus the Hagiorite insisted: “When this prayer remains in our heart, it cleanses us … with a wondrous strange fire … it burns away the temptation of evil … it sweetens the inner person and enlightens the mind.” Paul advised the Corinthians with similar Eastern insight. Allow the Spirit, attend the Spirit, he counseled, so as to do and be and speak and serve and pray in accord with the Spirit’s wise bidding. Paul’s words are sound advice. They retain their relevancy for the contemporary church and remind believers that the Spirit is the source of our unity as well as our differences, and all these coalesce if we focus on the Spirit rather than ourselves. Like many of us, the Corinthians placed inordinate emphasis on certain manifestations of the Spirit, and like many of us, they tended to credit themselves rather than the Spirit for their charisms. Paul set forth theological categories for evaluating these different gifts in order to counteract whatever confusion or errors might arise within the community due to the people’s misappropriation or misunderstanding of them. These categories have been identified by Richard B. Hays as follows: (1) the Spirit empowers all Christian confession, vv. 1-3; (2) Manifestations of the Spirit have a common source and a common purpose, vv. 4-11; (3) There is both diversity and interdependence among the members of the body of Christ, vv. 12-26 (First Corinthians, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1997). Some Christians emphasize the individual, or an individual, over and above all others in the community; Hays has called this kind of stance “Lone Ranger” Christianity. But Paul did not want the followers of Christ to be this way. He was clear in his insistence that the Spirit promotes collegiality and, yes, even codependence. Believers are dependent upon the Spirit and also depend on one another to allow the Spirit to move among each and all in the community. These codependent persons are also mutually respectful and willing to welcome manifestations of the Spirit, even when these come through unlikely people and in unexpected ways.

JOHN 20:19-23 To understand what Jesus breathed upon his disciples on that long-ago Sunday evening, believers are to go back to the Hebrew scriptures. There, Spirit is described as ruah, which is translated as breath or wind. A decisive agent of creation (Gen 1:2; Pss 32:6; 104:29-30), the Spirit of God also empowered God’s servants to bring forth justice (Isa 42:1-4) and to transform social policy (Isa 61:1-4). A life-giving force (Ps 51:11), the Spirit is also a gift of vision and freedom that liberates and enables those who welcome it so they can move beyond human failure into light and peace. Spirit, explains Walter Brueggemann, is the name we give to the conviction that the world is God’s arena of governance, which is beyond human explanation or control (Reverberations of Faith, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 2002). Dynamic, alive and totally free, the Spirit enables the improbable and effects what seems impossible. As proof of these claims, we need only consider the mission that the risen Jesus entrusted to the disciples that night. One might expect that Jesus, fresh from torture and the tomb, might be hatching a plan of retaliation with his disciples for the injustices perpetrated against him. But his breath carried no hint of anger or resentment. Rather, he breathed a Spirit of peace that prompted a ministry of forgiveness. His death was not to be avenged, but celebrated, and the Spirit would give the disciples the strength and courage to do so. Strength from the Spirit would also enable and empower their future mission. Just as God had sent Jesus into the world to be what Stanley Marrow has called “the bearer of revelation,” so did Jesus send his disciples forth for the same purpose (The Gospel of John, Paulist Press, New York: 1995). Either life or sin becomes operative in the response to their proclamation. Rejection of the message is what constitutes sin; acceptance of the message brings life. This text, insists Charles Cousar, reminds the contemporary church that it is rooted in and responsible for the continued ministry of Jesus (Texts For Preaching, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1995). Despite the very real pressures and struggles facing the church (attracting new members, retaining old ones, motivating members to participate in all aspects of liturgy, service and witness), the church must retain its uniqueness. The Church has a divine origin. It is not simply another social organization. As such, it discovers its raison d’être not in its apparent successes or in its growth or influence, but in the call and commission of Jesus Christ. This we remember; this we celebrate; this we believe.

May 11, 2008 Sample Homily Pentecost “Gifts of the Spirit” Fr. James Smith

Pentecost celebrates the descent of the Holy Spirit on Mary and the disciples. God’s Spirit arrives as a violent wind and crackling tongues of fire, encouraging fearful people to boldly proclaim their belief in the risen Christ. The most basic and best gift of the Holy Spirit is the Spirit herself. She is God’s own freedom: untrammeled, unfettered, uncontrollable goodness in a prison of sinful slavery. But the Spirit also brings with her the traditional seven gifts. Wisdom frees us from being superficial and blasé about evil. It broadens our view so we realize that our position in this world is not the same as anyone else’s situation. Nor is our opinion necessarily the best angle on the whole truth. Wisdom helps us see the world the way God sees it. The wisdom of the Christian often appears as foolishness to the worldly wise. Our wisdom is not always practical, but it is always aware of the divine possibilities hidden everywhere. The gift of understanding frees us from confusion and dissension. It puts us in contact with God — we “stand under,” we are turned upside down so we can see from God’s point of view. If we understand or stand under someone, we think what she thinks and feel what she feels. The gift of understanding helps diverse people share belief in the same God while having different experiences of that God. The gift of knowledge frees us from ignorance and narrowmindedness, which make us slaves to our own needs and wishes. It strengthens us so that we do not automatically jump to the easiest conclusion, but instead stretch our minds and spirits. This gift is most obvious when people get together in church to work consciously at becoming more like the knowledgeable Christ. The gift of counsel frees us from the loneliness of personal decisions. It enables us to give hope, comfort and direction to other people. The gift of counsel can occur in confession, in listening to our next-door neighbor, our children or spouse. Counsel is holy, wholesome advice. The gift of fortitude frees us from living erratically. Its other name is steadfastness. You always know if you are faithful by asking yourself if you are consistent in what you do and why you do it. In the face of loneliness, despair, suffering and discouragement, the gift of fortitude helps us to choose the good no matter what. The gift of piety frees us from the inability to pray. It allows us to come into contact with all that is holy; it develops our power to meet God in unexpected people and times and places. It helps us to contemplate, which is simply taking a long, loving look at reality. The gift of wonder frees us from childishness and naiveté. It makes us wholesomely afraid of separating ourselves from our Father or our community. Wonder makes us wonder if God experiences us as faithful, loving and good as we experience God. The gift of wonder pushes us to be more like the God who continually amazes us. We received all of these gifts in the sacrament of confirmation. Each one of us may judge for ourselves how well we have used them. But we should not be too analytical or judgmental in our spiritual life. Because we could double the number of gifts and triple the number of virtues and still not come any closer to God. The goal of the Christian life is not to be gifted or virtuous or obedient or holy or anything else. No matter how sophisticated we become, our goal has not changed: We were created to love God and our neighbor, however we can.

MOST HOLY TRINITY (A) May 18, 2008 “Do Come Along” Patricia Datchuck Sánchez

EXOD 34:4-6, 8-9 2 COR 13:11-13 JOHN 3:16-18

The words attributed to Moses by the author of Exodus (first reading) provide one of several keys that help to open finite minds and hearts to the infinite mystery of the Trinity. Sensing himself very near to God on Mount Sinai, and fully aware of the powerful presence of God in that place and in his life, Moses invited, “If I find favor with you, O Lord, do come along in our company.” Admitting the wickedness and sinfulness of Israel, of himself and all of humankind, Moses also asked for forgiveness and begged God “receive us as your own.” Truly, this is the essence of what God is as Trinity — a God who has chosen to relate and be related to human beings, to go along in our company as loving Parent, protective older Brother and supportive, sisterly Spirit. Despite the fact that we are often a “stiff-necked people,” and perhaps even because of that, God chooses to move among us and to welcome us into the fellowship that is Trinity. That fellowship is to form the basis from which all our other relationships will develop and grow. Celebrating the relationships that are rooted in Trinity, Paul, in today’s second reading, exhorts his readers to live in peace. Each one should mend his or her own ways and encourage others, says Paul Then the mystery of the Trinity will be revealed among us. Then will the grace of Jesus, the love of God and the fellowship of the Spirit be evidenced in our lives. Rounding out the insights of Paul and Moses, the Johannine evangelist (Gospel) reminds those who would be numbered among Jesus’ followers and welcomed into the company of the Trinity that they need muster but one response. This is the response of believing in God as Father, Mother, Brother, Sister, Friend and Spirit. As the Johannine Jesus emphasizes yet again in our hearing, this communion is open to whoever believes. For some, the notion of believing may at this point lean toward the cerebral. Believing may be associated solely with dogma, and dogma may be perceived as an intellectual assent to a revealed truth. Although it is true that our human intellect is indeed a significant aspect of our responsiveness to God, there is more than the mind at issue here. Today, our celebration of the Trinity summons forth, from deep within each of us, a quality of believing that integrates mind and heart, hands and voice, feet and willpower. Our faith response to the mystery who is our God becomes spiritual and physical, emotional, psychological and even philosophical so that faith professed becomes faith lived. Love expressed in words becomes love expressed in deeds. Hope that wells up within cannot remain there, but rather it becomes a hope that reaches out to embrace others with its contagion. Believing in the Trinity means welcoming all God’s faces and persons in faith, hope and love and responding to God as our steady companion on each leg of our life’s journey. “Do come along in our company” is an invitation to God that challenges us to relinquish our personal GPS (Global Positioning System). Going where God leads, doing what God wills, seeing as God sees, hearing as God hears, loving as God loves, parenting as God parents and reaching out to all others as brothers and sisters who share the same spiritual genes … this is belief in God. Believing in God as Trinity also means accepting that God is fully invested and engaged in every large and small aspect of the human experience. There is no place that God is not; there is no person in whom God does not wish to live; there is nothing that is not sanctified and made holy by God’s perpetual, personal presence. Many of us may be content to punctuate our lives with occasional glimpses of God or “God moments,” as Jeremy Langford has called them in his book by the same name (Orbis Books, Maryknoll, N.Y.: 2001). These God moments enable us to find God right where we’d expect — in long talks with friends, at the family dinner table, at baptisms, at funerals. But today’s feast also invites us to find God, as Flannery O’Connor once did, “flitting from tree to tree in the back of our minds,” calling us by name to look deeper into who we are so as to be able to see God and others more clearly. Today’s feast also calls us to allow God to find us when we least expect it, to be loved when we feel undeserving and to begin again after we have given up. This very moment is a God moment; take hold of it, don’t let go and rest assured that God is always ready to “come along in our company.”

EXOD 34:4-6, 8-9 Jeremy Langford (op. cit.) admits that he never really appreciated the poem “Footprints.” In the poem, an anonymous author portrays a person walking along the beach of life with God, and both are leaving footprints on the sand. Near the end of his life, the person looks back and sees that, at certain difficult times, only one set of footprints is visible. He wrongly assumes that God abandoned him then, but is assured that during those rough times God was carrying him, hence the one set of prints in the sand. Although this thought is a nice one, says Langford, it is a little unrealistic. Instead of seeing a lonely set of footprints from when God carried us through tough times, it is more likely that we would see God’s footprints followed by drag marks as we went kicking and screaming, being pulled along by God down the beach of our salvation. Forensic experts investigating the scene would conclude, “There’s been quite a struggle here.” Such was the quality of Israel’s journey with God. Although they were eager to be in God’s presence, as is reflected in Moses’ words “Do come along in our company,” the Israelites were also stiff-necked, and this resulted in frequent bouts of foot-dragging as they journeyed with God. Contextually, today’s first reading represents the second attempt of God to reveal the Ten Commandments to Moses and company. Moses’ first trip to Sinai is narrated in Exodus 24. In close communion with God, Moses remained on Sinai for an extended period of time. When he descended, he found that the people, left to their own devices, had begun to fashion a god of their own choosing (see Exodus 32). Distraught at what he saw, Moses broke the stone tablets and, according to the narrative, held an angry God at bay only with great difficulty. After making atonement for the people having strayed from the path that God had struck for them, Moses made a second visit to Sinai. There he interceded for Israel, and God, who is good and forgiving, reinstated the law and agreed to continue to carry the people in loving arms until they could find their way once again. Walter Brueggemann suggests that the incidents narrated in Exodus 32.32 represent a template for the life of Israel with God; the covenant made in 34:10 (not included in today’s pericope) is the very same covenant of Exodus 24:3-8 (An Introduction to the Old Testament, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 2003). Nevertheless, it is also a different and altogether new covenant because it is freshly grounded in God’s compassion and forgiveness. This is the pattern of the long-term drama of faith in the Hebrew scriptures; this is also the path that each of us travels with God, leaving beyond the footprints that speak of our struggle and our joy on the journey.

2 COR 13:11-13 If fellowship is characteristic of the Trinity of persons whom we call God, and if our experience of God is one of being drawn into the mutual loving and caring of that fellowship, it follows then that our fellowship with one another bears eloquent and authentic witness to God. Paul understood this, and for that reason he advised those whom he brought to the faith to maintain and protect the quality of their relationships with one another. In this, the conclusion of his second letter to the Corinthians, Paul remains true to his purpose. Prior to this exhortation and blessing, Paul had taken a harsh tone with the believers in Corinth. Scholars suggest that Paul had written what has been called a severe and/or fearful letter, portions of which have survived in Chapters 10 and 13 of 2 Corinthians. These chapters, as William Barclay has pointed out, are the most heartbroken cry Paul ever uttered (“The Letters to the Corinthians,” The Daily Study Bible, The Saint Andrew Press, Edinburgh, U.K.: 1978). They show that he has been hurt and insulted. His appearance, his manner of speaking, his right to be called an apostle, his authority, his teaching and his honesty have all been under attack. As Kim Quast has noted, it would seem that fractiousness had plagued the Corinthians for decades (Reading the Corinthian Correspondence, Paulist Press, New York: 1994). Forty years after Paul wrote, Clement of Rome followed up with his own letter, instructing the Corinthians to restore the faith and unity of that church which had splintered under the influence of “a few rash and self-willed individuals” (1 Clement 1:1). Paul’s struggles with the Corinthians have proven to be a blessing of sorts for subsequent believers in Jesus. His responses to so many pastoral challenges have continued to offer wise counsel to those who would lead others on the journey toward God. In the Corinthians we might see a little of ourselves; in Paul’s words, we recognize the challenge to be better, truer followers of Christ. Despite his difficulties with the Corinthians, Paul remained their faithful shepherd, bearing their problems and their sorrows in his heart. He planned to return for a third visit (Acts 18 records only one) to Corinth (2 Cor 13:1) in order to set straight what had become distorted and to make right what had gone wrong. He was well aware that administering discipline was a necessary aspect of his calling as pastor, but he also desired that his harsh words would “build up” and “not destroy” (2 Cor 13:10) his beloved readers. That desire to build up is reflected in the kind words and blessing with which Paul concluded his correspondence with them. In his blessing, Paul invoked God, Christ and the Spirit, and as his words are repeated in our hearing, his blessing also extends to each of us.

JOHN 3:16-18 Four times in the course of these three verses, the author of the fourth Gospel emphasizes the importance of believing and the close association between believing and salvation. The verses come from the conclusion of the encounter between Jesus and Nicodemus. As a “leader of the Jews” (John 3:1) and a “teacher of Israel” (3:10), Nicodemus is a representative figure; when he and Jesus meet and talk, it is as if “old” meets “new” or the “status quo” comes face to face with the one who will lead it into a new light and a fuller truth. The importance of this encounter is dramatized by the Johannine evangelist’s note that Nicodemus came by night to Jesus, who would later be revealed as the light of the world. Nicodemus came to Jesus because he had seen the signs Jesus had done and had concluded that “no one can do these signs … unless God is with him” (v. 2). Building upon the openness of Nicodemus, Jesus began to speak to him of being born again of water and Spirit, and of the Son of Man being lifted up so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life. It is at this point in their exchange that the words of today’s Gospel are pronounced. Even if Jesus had said nothing more than these words to Nicodemus and to his followers through the centuries, we would still have sufficient basis on which to found our faith and hang our hope. In these short verses, God’s intentions are clear. God gave Jesus, first to be born as a human being and then to be given over to death. Salvation is not a reward for those who merit it by scrupulous observance of the law; rather, salvation is God’s gift to sinners. This gift is to be appropriated in faith. Hence, faith or believing becomes the proper response to God and the key to accessing the graces that have become available to sinners in Jesus. As for the motivating factor that prompted the God’s gifts to sinners, that factor is love — pure, altruistic, unconditional love. That great love of God, as William Barclay has pointed out, was directed toward the world (“The Gospel of John,” The Daily Study Bible, The Saint Andrew Press, Edinburgh, U.K.: 1975). It was not for one nation only; it was not just for the good people or the people who would love God in return; it was and is for the world. This world is comprised of the unlovable and the un-lonely, the lonely and the lovely. God loves those who love God, as well as those who never think of God. God loves even those who deny God and those who make life difficult for others. All are loved; all are redeemed by Jesus’ saving cross; all share in the one Holy Spirit; all are invited to that belief that will evolve unto eternal life. This was the message that caused Nicodemus to come seeking Jesus during the night; this is the message that will bring both light and life to all our nights and days.

May 18, 2008 Sample Homily Most Holy Trinity “God and I equal one” Fr. James Smith

Human conversation is hard enough, even when we speak the same language. We have a mathematical language to talk about numerical relationships and a chemical language to talk about molecular relationships. But we have no God language. Of course, we have to talk about God, the most important reality there is. And since God is personal, we naturally want to give God personal names. But we finally have to realize that every name we give God is just an analogy. If we ever take it literally, it is literally idolatry. We must not put anything between God and ourselves. It is very tempting to do that, because God is so far from us, so totally different, so unimaginably awesome. That is why the Israelites pleaded with Moses: “You speak to us; let not God speak to us or we shall die!” If it is hard to talk about God, it is infinitely more difficult to talk with God. Yet that is what we presume to do when we pray — we even call prayer “conversation with God.” That’s OK, as long as we remember that this is just an analogy, too. If we have a conversation with a friend and the friend leaves, then the conversation is over. Before, there were two people; now there is only one. But we have to think of conversation with God differently. There are not two of us in prayer. I can never be separate from God, because God is the ground, the source of my being. Apart from God I could not exist. God and I equal one. If we think about that further, we come to a shattering realization. If I plus God equal one, then I minus God equal zero. Since I cannot exist without God, then if I do exist, I exist in God! Where I am, God is. This means that I never have to place myself in the presence of God. I am already there. I do not have to work to contact God. We are always connected. I do not have to find a special place to talk with God. God is wherever I am. But what can I say to God? Anything I like. Even though we have no God language, God does understand human language. As scripture says, God’s own Spirit interprets our sighs, our faltering attempts at divine conversation, and says what we meant to say. God does not have to chatter to feel alive; God needs no repartee to make a point. God is self-evident. It is we who need to use words to express our essence, to bring our substance to the surface, to explain our existence, to demonstrate our understanding, to prove our love. And we keep doing that all our lives because we can never fully put ourselves into words. Until we find a soul-partner, someone who knows us better than we know ourselves. After we wrestle long enough with words, wear ourselves out trying to make ourselves perfectly clear to God, we suddenly realize that we don’t have to talk. Like familiar friends who know what the other is thinking, who can complete each other’s sentences, so we become comfortable enough with God just to be with God. The silence between us becomes palpable, personal. That is the function of the Holy Spirit within the Trinity: the personal expression of the conversation, the relationship between Father and Son. Father, Son and Spirit have no existence apart from each other — they are not three, but one. Like God and us in prayer. By analogy!

MOST HOLY BODY AND BLOOD OF THE LORD (A) May 25, 2008 “Making Groceries” Patricia Datchuck Sánchez

DEUT 8:2-3, 14-16 1 COR 10:16-17 JOHN 6:51-58

“Making groceries,” an old New Orleans expression, is the phrase used by that city’s residents to describe food shopping. Derived from the French faire son marché, “to do one’s marketing,” making groceries usually meant traveling to the old French Market in the Quarter by the river. As Lafcadio Hearn once wrote, “A man might here study the world. Every race that the world boasts is here and a good many races that are nowhere else” (quoted by historian Sally Reeves on http://www.frenchquarter.com). There also could be found fresh-picked fruit in countless colors, ice-cradled seafood of every type, heady-scented beef cuts hanging, feathered fowl, coffees and spices from dozens of countries and hot peppers representing every level of the Scoville scale. Amid all the food and fuss and tangled aromas were people from every walk of life making groceries for their own, providing food for their health, happiness and well-being. Believers celebrating today’s feast could readily compare it to the divine desire to make groceries for all of hungry, needy humankind. At God’s table, every accent is welcome, every shade of skin and every person from the very young to the very old to those yet unborn. All are invited, all are fed, all are to be satisfied. God had similarly provided for the Israelites traveling from Egypt’s slavery to a new beginning in the land of God’s promise. En route, they were neither hunters nor gatherers; they did not sow or reap. Rather, God was their sole provider and God “made groceries,” as it were, in the form of manna for their physical hungers and by speaking the living word to all their spiritual needs. God gave water, too, in order to quench the thirsts of those willing to follow in faith wherever God would lead. To later Israelites, the scriptures held out this journey through the desert as an idyllic time, a time when the people depended utterly on God for their sustenance and their very survival. There, they had enjoyed an intimacy with God that would become more challenging to duplicate once they began to fend for and feed themselves. Independence is a good and necessary aspect of growth and development, but with independence, intimacy is somehow surrendered or compromised. Was this the reason Jesus fed people so freely — not only with loaves and fish multiplied for many, but also with his words and his wisdom and ultimately with his very self, given in the bread and in the cup? Didn’t Jesus “make groceries” in order to restore an intimacy with God that had become threatened by human self-sufficiency? Today’s second reading from Paul’s Corinthian correspondence reflects the idea that those who avail themselves of Jesus’ gift of himself in bread and cup are thereby united in profound communion, not only with Jesus, but also with one another. Paul’s words celebrate this union while reminding the church of its responsibilities for safeguarding and fostering our communion. Our union with God and with one another should be of such quality as to witness to the world and not testify against us. The gift of Jesus’ sacred self will bring about the unity it was intended to create and sustain only when it begins to be reverenced and welcomed and shared without people equivocating how the gift should be interpreted. This unity will take hold and become more practical when we take to heart the words of the Johannine Jesus in today’s Gospel: “I am the living bread come down from heaven … whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life … whoever eats remains in me and I in him … so the one who feeds on me will have life because of me.” Augustine of Hippo understood Jesus’ gift and affirmed, “God is all to you; if you are hungry, God is bread; if thirsty, God is water; if darkness, God is light.” John Chrysostom also understood, and proclaimed, “What is the bread actually? The Body of Christ. What do communicants become? The Body of Christ. In fact, just as the bread is the result of many grains, and although remaining themselves are not distinguished from one another because they are united, so we, too, are mutually united with Christ. We are not nourished, some from one body, others from another, but all from the same Body.” Today, we stand with the golden-mouthed John, with Augustine and all those others for whom Jesus died and rose and gave himself as real food and real drink so that we may share one life together in him.

DEUT 8:2-3, 14-16 Have you ever been on welfare? Have you ever had to wait in line for the money or coupons that would feed you and your family for the next few weeks? If you haven’t been on welfare, then perhaps the experience of living on a fixed income is more familiar. How many have had to watch the mailbox for the check that would see them through to the next month? Experiences like these can help contemporary believers to appreciate the level of trust in and dependence on God that was required of the Israelites as they made their way through the desert. Referencing that period in their history, the author of Deuteronomy invited his fellow believers to remember their past, to learn from it and to be grateful. As Michael D. Coogan has noted, Deuteronomy has a message that continues to inspire: God’s love of the faithful, expressed in covenants and proven through history, will continue as long as the people remain true to the will of God as expressed in the law (The Old Testament: A Historical and Literary Introduction to the Hebrew Scriptures, Oxford University Press, New York: 2006). The Book of Deuteronomy, which dates from the eighth century B.C.E., was created as a farewell address placed on the lips of Moses and spoken before the Israelites crossed the Jordan into the land of Canaan. “Discovered” in the temple (2 Kings 22:8) and used by Josiah in his religious reform (2 Kings 23:2-3), Deuteronomy represents an adaptation of the principles of the law for a growing community in ever-evolving circumstances. Today’s excerpted text belongs to a longer section (Ch. 6-11) of what Walter Brueggemann has called a series of homiletical appeals (An Introduction to the Old Testament, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 2003). Through these appeals, the ancient writer reviewed God’s goodness and generosity to Israel and urged Israel to keep the law and thus reflect its true identity as the people of God. In recalling the gifts of manna, water and their survival in the wilderness, the people were also to remember the caring God who gave those gifts and be renewed in their fidelity and trust. Perhaps the Deuteronomic author’s appeal to recall God’s love and mighty acts on behalf of Israel might lead contemporary believers to a similar act of remembering. At each eucharistic gathering, all these remembrances of God’s gifts come together and form an integral part of our worship together. But it is not only the manna we recall. Although that food fed the travelers in the desert, there is another bread from heaven that feeds and nourishes us on our way. This bread is the very body and blood of Jesus, blessed, broken and given over to death so that we might have life in him.

1 COR 10:16-17 Sharing in the one cup of blessing and the one loaf of bread at Eucharist constitutes what Jeremy Langford would call a God moment (God Moments: Why Faith Really Matters to a New Generation, Orbis Books, Maryknoll, N.Y.: 2001); Langford was quoting Paul Tillich (The Courage to Be, Yale University Press, New Haven, Conn.: 1980). Believers experience a God moment when they have the courage to affirm their essential nature and their inner aim, in spite of everything that works to prevent them from affirming themselves. This power of self- affirmation is the power of faith, the state of being grasped by God and of accepting God’s acceptance of us. Believers at Eucharist affirm their essential nature as a community called forth and sustained by God to witness to the power of communion in a fractured world. Fully aware of all that had the potential to divide his converts in Corinth, Paul reminded them that the source of their unity was Jesus Christ and the food that enabled and empowered them to sustain that unity was the one cup and one loaf. To share in the Lord’s Supper or to break bread together without allowing that sacrament to be reflected in their daily lives and mutual interaction would result in what Paul called eating and drinking “unworthily.” Moreover, Paul insisted, those who do so will have “to answer for the body and blood of the Lord” (1 Cor 11:27). In his classical commentary Paul (Harper and Row Publishers, New York: 1971), Gunther Bornkamm, insisted that readers be careful to interpret verse 17 correctly. Here, the word “bread” is used in two different senses. Corresponding to Jesus’ words about the bread, “this is my body for you,” Paul first means Jesus’ body in the bread offered, mediating salvation to those who ate it and received it as such. But by receiving, they are, and show themselves to be, the body of Christ, though now in a new but not less real sense. This is not mere metaphor, said Bornkamm: The “real” statement in the words of institution, “this is my body,” and the “reality” of the others, “we, though many, are one body,” correspond. In Paul’s conception of the Lord’s Supper, therefore, both realities, the believer’s saving reception into the sphere of Christ’s lordship and their unity with one another, together with its obligations, are conjoined. It cannot be otherwise. Paul’s words challenged the Corinthians and have continued to resonate with believers through the centuries, reminding us to be true to what we do together at worship. This truth must, in turn, be translated into who we are as we go forth from worship — the one body of Christ. United and fed by Jesus, we are also to be united with one another and willing to feed and be fed so as to build up the unity that best witnesses to Christ.

JOHN 6:51-58 In 1990, Raymond E. Brown compiled a book of answers to those questions that had been posed to him most often (101 Questions and Answers on the Bible, Paulist Press, New York). Among those were several on the Eucharist and its importance in the life of Jesus and his followers. When asked about the unusual Johannine context for the Eucharist, Brown pointed out that John’s omission of the eucharistic action during the Last Supper and his placement of it in John 6 may represent a deliberate choice to relate the Eucharist to another period of Jesus’ ministry. This does not deny the relationship to the Last Supper but sees it as something more than what Jesus did just before he died. Unlike Paul and the Synoptics, the fourth evangelist associated the Eucharist with the multiplication of the loaves, a sign whereby Jesus nourished the crowds with his teaching and with bread. Brown explains that food, though physical, had more than a primarily physical implication. Jesus’ gift of bread was the sign of a spiritual food that nourished the divine life given at baptism. In John 6, after affirming the nourishing quality of his teaching, which he called “bread from heaven” (John 6:34-50), Jesus also affirmed the nourishing quality of his flesh and blood, which is John’s eucharistic language. Therefore, it is primarily to John that we owe the emphasis on the Eucharist as food, the food of eternal life. Nowhere is this emphasis clearer than in today’s Gospel. John P. Meier (A Marginal Jew, Vol. II, Doubleday, New York: 1994) admits that there have been scholarly attempts to deny that John 6:51-58 refers to the Eucharist (see Helmut Koester’s History and Literature of Early Christianity, Fortress Press, Philadelphia: 1983). However, the majority of scholars see it as a eucharistic statement either by the evangelist himself or by the final redactor of the Johannine Gospel. One cannot help but notice the abrupt change of vocabulary and ideas beginning with verses 52-53. Moreover, these verses exhibit connections with eucharistic traditions both within and outside of the New Testament. Ignatius of Antioch, for example, used “flesh” rather than “body” to communicate his eucharistic teachings. As this Gospel is proclaimed among us today, no one can deny that Jesus intended to give himself fully and in every way so that sinners might believe and thereby enjoy eternal life. He gave himself through his teaching; he gave himself through the surrender of his will to God’s will. Jesus gave himself to the ministry of healing and making whole those broken by poverty, disease and the apathy of others. He gave himself, ultimately, in death on the cross, and to enable his followers to remember and enter into the mystery of his saving death, he gave himself as real food, real drink. We who are privileged to share what Jesus gives have life because of him.

May 25, 2008 Sample Homily Body and Blood of Christ “We are the Body” Fr. James Smith

Paul wrote that because the one bread becomes the one body of Christ, then those who eat that one loaf become the body of Christ. And they did, those first communicants of Christ. They shared their money, their houses, their faith. They were the solitary, spiritual hope in a disintegrating secular society; they were the amazing witness of extravagant compassion in a barbarous world. People kept saying, “I simply can’t believe how they love each other!” Such is the innate power of the Eucharist. Such is the transformative energy of those who eat the body and blood of Christ. Or so it was in the beginning. Let’s take a brief survey of what those who share the Eucharist have done through the centuries. In the Middle Ages, Christians who ate the same body of Christ fought over how Christ was present in the bread. They destroyed the unity of Christ’s body over the spoils of war. They actually murdered each other until the church, an experienced mother, said, “Shut up and eat!” In modern times, men who commanded concentration camps for a living received the body of Christ in the morning, herded fellow humans into gas chambers all afternoon and then relaxed with a Beethoven concert in the evening. A Christian nation that was one-fourth Catholic, most of them weekly communicants, incinerated two Japanese cities crowded with innocent women, men and children. To prevent greater bloodshed, it was said. Catholics and Protestants in Ireland killed each other for generations over politics instead of the Eucharist. Still today, people who share the Eucharist maintain apartheid in Africa and support death squads and dictators in Latin America. Devout communicants among us rigidly maintain our narrow worldview, continue to abuse our children, ignore the underprivileged and habitually lie, steal and hurt each other. What happened to the power of the Eucharist? Liturgy happened. The power of the Eucharist has been dissipated through years of misuse. Until the 12th century, the body of Christ meant the congregation, while the mystical body meant the Eucharist. Now, the mystical body is the church, while the host is the body of Christ — and even that is misunderstood. Christians reduced the original holy meal into a sacred food at Communion and then a blessed sacrament in a tabernacle. The basic food of life became a snack between Sundays, and then a sacred species to adore. We will continue to profane the body and blood of Christ until we regain some semblance of the true meaning of Mass. The Mass is first of all the self-understanding of Jesus. And Jesus sees himself not as a plate of bread and a chalice of wine; Jesus feels himself as a bruised and broken body, as spilled and splattered blood. Body and blood are not just physical parts of his life. They are his life. The Mass is not just a remembrance of Cavalry, not just a replay of the crucifixion, not just a reminder of Christ’s agonizing death. Jesus is not a spectator at Mass. He participates in Mass just as intensely, as personally as he did at the first Mass. His wounds have never healed. His body is still battered, his blood is still splattered all over the world in his sisters and brothers. The crucifixion is ongoing. It is easy for God to convince bread to become Christ’s body; it is nearly impossible for God to convince us to become Christ’s body. And yet if we don’t, Mass is just a meaningless miracle for our entertainment.

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