Saved

Most mornings, my friend Dave stops by his neighborhood McDonalds.

He joins some other retired friends for a cup of coffee and a little conversation.

Another fellow, Larry, often joined the group.

After being absent for a couple weeks, Larry stopped by their table one morning.

He said he’d been in the hospital.

And added, You won’t be seeing me much anymore, I’m going away soon.

Dave was pretty sure he meant he was dying.

But he asked anyway, Where you going Larry?

Larry said, I’m going to Hell.

He didn’t say it like he was trying to make some kind of a joke.

He said it like he meant it.

And he turned and left.

All that day, Dave was haunted by those words.

So that evening he called Larry.

He asked him if he was serious.

Larry said he was.

Dave told him how sad he felt to hear him say that.

And assured him that no one has to go to Hell.

Larry said that he really did.

He’d done some awful things in his life and it was too late to make up for them now.

He was resigned to his fate.

They talked for quite a while, and Dave finally convinced him that it wasn’t too late.

He told Larry that Jesus saved us all, and that he wants us to join him in Heaven.

And he led Larry in reciting the Sinner’s Prayer.

A prayer where you ask Jesus to forgive you and you promise to follow him in the future.

As it turned out, Larry’s future in this life was only a few more weeks.

But he spent them in reconciliation and thanksgiving and peace.

As you might have guessed from that unfamiliar Sinner’s Prayer,

Dave’s not a Catholic, he’s an Evangelical Christian.

And as he told me this story over breakfast one day, I had to think,

You’re a better disciple than I am.

Or at least a better evangelist.

In our Gospel today, Matthew tells of the terrifying storm at sea.

The disciples in the boat with Jesus were sure they were going to die.

In Mark's Gospel he tells us that other boats were with them too.

All were caught in the sudden storm, all were sure they were doomed.

And Jesus saved them all.

Some disciples were privileged enough to be in that same boat with Jesus.

And when he calmed the sea they were right there to see him do it.

They knew that it was Jesus who saved them.

Those in the other boats didn’t know precisely what had happened.

They knew they were being tossed about in a deadly storm.

And that it suddenly ended.

But they didn’t know how that came to pass.

All storms eventually come to an end.

Perhaps this ending was just unusually sudden.

Perhaps it was just a lull, and they would soon be tossed about again.

Maybe some were close enough that those on Jesus’ boat could shout to them.

And tell them that they were indeed now safe, and that it was Jesus who had saved them.

Maybe word passed from boat to boat.

But most likely, some didn’t get the word until they reached the very end of the voyage.

These different boats are not unlike the different groups among the People of God.

There’s a Vatican II document, Lumen Gentium, The Light of the World.

It describes the People of God and speaks of their salvation. (Ch II, 14-16)

It says that,

At all times and in every race

God welcomes all who fear Him and do what is right.

But He wants to bring men together as one people.

A people that acknowledges Him and serves Him.

All are called to be part of this unity – this People of God.

And all who strive to live a good life are part of it.

This doesn’t mean that all Churches are equal.

They’re not.

Catholics are fully incorporated into the People of God.

We’re the privileged disciples right there in the boat with Jesus.

Baptized Christians are described as closely linked.

Their boat is right beside his.

Others are described as related in various ways.

Jews still have their covenant with God.

Their boat is nearby.

Mohamedans adore the one true God, the God of Abraham.

Their boat is not far off.

More distant, but still within the voyager group are the boats of

Those who acknowledge the Creator,

Those who seek an unknown God in shadows and images,

And even those who have no explicit knowledge of God.

Lumen Gentium goes on to address the good news of salvation.

It says that salvation is available to everyone in any of those groups.

So long as they do strive to live a good life –

In accordance with their conscience and what has been revealed to them.

It also highlights that one most reassuring, most hope-building truth –

God wills that everyone be saved.

We all have some concerns or fears regarding salvation.

If not for ourselves, then for some family member or friend.

Or even for people we don’t personally know.

But so long as they’re onboard one of the boats, they’re not in the most grave danger.

Those in the gravest danger are those who have fallen overboard.

Those who aren’t striving to live a good life.

We want to help them, but we’re not always sure how to go about it.

We’re not sure we’re up to the task.

But, our privileged position in Jesus’ own boat

Gives us the solid base we need.

We can reach out and help them.

Maybe by just providing a good example for them.

Or by praying for them.

Or maybe by taking some more direct action.

Like Dave did for Larry.

It’s important that we do our part.

But it’s also important to remember –

Especially when we’re lacking the confidence to act –

That ultimately, it’s Jesus who saves us all.

Tuesday, 13th Week of  Ordinary Time

Mt 8:23-27          Read this Scripture @usccb.org

Great Expectations

What then will this child be?

Today we celebrate a rare type of Feast.

The Feast of the Nativity, the birth, of a saint.

We usually celebrate the day of a saint's entry into heaven—their death.

The only Nativities we celebrate are those of Jesus and Mary.

And this one other special saint, John the Baptist.

There are particularly wondrous circumstances surrounding John’s birth.

It's a time of new beginnings.

A time of Great Expecations.

And John's life measures up to those expectations.

Jesus himself would say, no man on earth was greater than John.

That question raised at John's birth is a good one to contemplate.

It’s a question we raise when each child is born.

It’s a question that was raised when each of us were born.

What then will this child be?

We may think that question’s already been answered

With regard to ourselves.

We’ve been around for quite some time.

We're pretty set in our ways.

But no matter how many decades we’ve logged.

We’re still God’s children.

We're still works in progress.

None of us here have yet finished our journey.

We can always find a few things to improve.

A few things to draw ourselves closer to God.

And we still have time.

We all have a constant opportunity to make a new beginning.

And today is a good time to ask ourselves,

About ourselves,

What then will this child be?

Nativity of John the Baptist

Lk 1:57-66          Read this Scripture @usccb.org

A Tale of Two Cities

This morning I’d like to talk a bit about history and geography and literature - A Tale of Two Cities—Corpus Christi and Sacramento. With names like those, you might think the U.S. was a very religious country indeed. But those names were given when the cities were part of Mexico, when the Spanish missionaries and explorers were “discovering" the West. All those great religious Spanish city names are now part of our secular culture and when we hear them we don’t often think of their roots—Corpus Christi, Sacramento, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Santa Monica.

That doesn’t mean that we’ve fully forgotten those religious roots—it’s just to note that those names have taken on a new, more common and familiar usage. And unless the context clearly points us in some other direction, they merely raise in our minds the image of a place. This is equally true of other city names with meaningful secular roots, like Washington or Cincinnati. Once something becomes very familiar we don’t often think about it too deeply.

And, the Spanish and the West had no monopoly on religious names for U.S. places. Heading back east we have name like St. Paul, St. Louis, and Santa Monica’s Floridian son, St. Augustine, and even the state, Maryland.

Today is the Feast of Corpus Christi. And many people might assume that means they’re having a big parade in Texas – a special celebration of their city. Actually, the city got its name from this Feast. One day in the 1500’s a Spanish explorer sailed into a great bay off the coast of what we now call Texas. And, being one of those holy Spaniards, he was aware that it was the day of the Feast of Corpus Christi, and he named the bay after that Feast. A few hundred years later, another holy Spanish sailor was exploring the inland waterways of California. He came upon a new river, or one that was at least new to him, and, following precedent, he pulled out his liturgical calendar and noted that it was the Day of the Holy Sacrament, or as his Spanish calendar said, Sacramento. He named the river the Sacramento River (and that name stuck, even though another Spanish explorer had discovered it many years earlier and, evidently finding himself without a liturgical calendar, had named it simply the Jesu Maria.)

Eventually, a city sprang up by each of those waterways, and each of those two cities took the name of its nearby water. Actually, the Day of the Holy Sacrament and the Feast of Corpus Christi are the very same Feast. So, we have two major US cities named after this holy day.

Whatever they may be doing on the secular front in Corpus Christi and Sacramento today, we are having a special celebration here on Capitol Hill. We’re in the midst of it right now. It’s a celebration we have right here every week; actually every day, and actually more than once on most days. And today, along with all the Catholics at all the Masses around the world, we draw a special focus to this particular Feast as we observe it in our every-day but always-special celebration.

What is this Feast all about, what does the term Corpus Christi mean? We’ll, I’m old enough to remember the Latin Mass. We would kneel here, all along this bottom step where the communion rail used to be. The priest (and no one but the priest) would carry the ciborium and work his way along the inside of the rail placing a host on each outstretched tongue, with the alter boy poised each time to catch that host on the paten if there should be a fumble. And each time the priest presented the host he would say – “Corpus Christi”.

Of course, we do the same thing today. We just do it a little differently. The trappings of the sacrament can change so long as the essential elements remain intact. Now, we’ve abandoned the Communion rail, we can receive the host in our hand, and the priest (or other minister) speaks to us in English and he (or she) says “The Body of Christ.” So, at a simple level, and as all you Latin speakers already knew, “Corpus Christi” just means the “Body of Christ.” And what we’re celebrating today is that we have this special sacrament; the Holy Sacrament, as they might say along the Sacramento Valley.

Our readings today give us more background regarding this most holy sacrament. In our first reading, Moses tells the Jews that the reason God tested them in the desert for 40 years was to see if they would continue to follow Him and His commandments. He let them be afflicted with hunger, but then he gave them manna from heaven – food that was unknown to their fathers. And this was to show them that man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes forth from the mouth of God. In our next reading, Paul tells the Corinthians, and us, that the bread and the wine are our participation in the body and blood of Christ.

And finally in John’s Gospel, Jesus, the fulfillment of the Old Testament, tells the Jews that he is the unknown food, “I am the living bread that came down from heaven ... Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life ... For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in him.” Jesus was talking to a large crowd, many were already his followers and some had been disciples for a long time. But they were shocked by his words.

It was blasphemy; and maybe even a call to cannibalism — gruesome and sinful. Cannibalism is always shocking and notorious (though not necessarily depraved.) Remember the Argentine air crash a few decades ago when young athletes lost in the frozen Andes resorted to cannibalism? Remember the stories of the Donner Party, trapped in the frozen storms of the Sierra Nevadas over a century ago?—they had almost made it to Sacramento.

As shocking as those events were to our more modern world, Jesus’ words were even more shocking to his followers. It was too much for many of them to bear. Despite all the miracles they had seen or heard about, despite all his other brilliant teachings. This was more than they could accept. So, they left him. They didn’t have sufficient faith or trust to follow him, to be confident that he was not leading them astray. If this was a test, like the one with Moses in the desert, they failed.

But others had stronger faith in Jesus and they trusted him and continued to follow him. Of course, we know now that Jesus didn’t mean that they should literally devour his human body. Jesus had a much more palatable plan in mind for how we could eat his flesh and drink his blood. He would make it available in a most basic, familiar, pleasing and universal form—bread and wine.

At the last supper he took the bread and said “This is my body” and the wine and said “This is my blood”. He showed the apostles how it was that his body and blood could be available to them and consumed by them in a very proper and tasteful way. It was at this point that Jesus instituted the Sacrament of the Eucharist.

Now, I’d like to explain to you exactly how this works. How, while retaining the appearance and all the physical characteristics of bread and wine, the substance of those foods is changed into the body and blood of Christ. I really would like to. But unfortunately, I can’t explain it. It’s a mystery, and it’s one that has been debated through the centuries. Most Protestants reject the belief that this change in substance, this transubstantiation, really occurs. And unfortunately, many Catholics, if pressed, will say they have some doubts as well. But that’s how it is with mysteries, you can’t fully understand, or prove, or demonstrate their truth. Some can accept it on faith, others cannot.

It’s not hard to understand how some people would have difficulty believing that the bread and wine are changed in substance and that, though they still appear to be bread and wine, they become in true fact the body and blood of Christ. That’s a pretty bold belief. But the Catholic Church is clear in its teaching that the change in substance truly does occur.

Part of the proper disposition for receiving Communion, besides being in the state of grace, is believing in the true presence of Christ in the Sacrament – presence in Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity. We don’t have to understand it, but we do have to believe it. When the minister says “The Body of Christ”, we have to say “Amen”, meaning “so be it” or “I believe it.” How fully do we need to believe it? How strong does our faith have to be? None of us has perfect faith. We all have our times of doubt regarding one aspect or another of our faith. And the mystery of the Eucharist is surely one that can raise doubt.

The last thing I’d want to do is to discourage anyone from receiving Communion. But we really should think about, and appreciate, what we’re receiving. If we feel some question and some doubt, think about that, pray about that – that is talk to God about that. But in that questioning and praying, we need to be patient, we can’t be too hard on ourselves. We need to understand that we’ll never understand. We don’t want to put ourselves in the Catch-22 situation of thinking that we shouldn’t receive Communion because our faith is too weak, while what we need most is the grace of that Sacrament to increase our faith.

In just a few minutes, we’re going to start that part of the Mass called the Liturgy of the Eucharist. A few of our congregation will bring up a gift offering—bread and wine, “which earth has given and human hands have made,” part of our human participation in the great mystery we’re about to enter. I’ll mix a few drops of water, representing us, into the wine and ask God that we be able to share in the divinity of Christ as he humbled himself to share in our humanity. Father Charles will lead us in calling down the Holy Spirit on those gifts and changing their substance to the body and blood of Christ, and asking God to accept our offering. God, who is not bound by time, will then open up a window through time, and He’ll see us all present with each other and with Jesus at that point in eternity when he sacrifices himself to the Father for us. And we’ll all offer ourselves along with him as part of that sacrifice.

Most of us have done this a thousand times before. And maybe we’ve let it become a bit automatic, a bit reflexive, too common, too familiar; like hearing “Los Angeles” and having no thought of angels. Maybe we haven’t been participating at our peak. Today, on this Feast of the Holy Sacrament, Corpus Christi, let’s remember the awe of our first communion, let's be very deliberate, let's be fully appreciative of this greatest of gifts that God has given us.

Are you ready?

Let’s do it!

The Feast of Corpus Christi

Jn 6: 51-58          Read this Scripture @usccb.org

You Are What You Eat

The human race is obsessed with food.

From our earliest existence, it’s been our most fundamental need and focus.

As a species and as individuals.

Without it, we wouldn’t live long enough to reach any other basic needs.

So it’s not surprising that much of our art and culture and language revolve around food.

The earliest known records from our ancient ancestors are about food.

The hunt scenes, painted on cave walls.

Those early ancestors spent most of their day looking for food.

And when they couldn’t find it—whole communities starved to death.

Some still do today.

But most of us, today, take our food for granted.

In our greatly blessed society, it’s plentiful, it’s readily available.

We may not always get our favorite dishes.

But few of us have ever faced any real danger of starvation.

Even with our abundance,

Our modern American language still reflects our age-old, universal preoccupation.

Food-and-eating terminology serves as the basis for hundreds of common expressions

Expressions that have no literal connection with physical food.

They’re figures of speech, metaphors.

They often deal with our taking something into ourselves.

Internalizing something intellectually or emotionally rather than physically.

We devour great books; we have an appetite for adventure.

We hunger for knowledge; we thirst for freedom.

When we have an easy decision to make or problem to solve, it’s a piece of cake.

If it’s a difficult one, we can chew on that for a while.

After we ruminate a bit we might be able to digest it.

Those Jews of 2000 years ago had fewer food sources.

And they faced a much higher risk of starvation than we do today.

They had to be even more focused on food than we are.

So, it’s not surprising that they were already accustomed to food and eating metaphors.

Like that in today’s Old Testament reading, where wisdom is offered as food and drink.

But then we come to Jesus and his claim that he is the living bread.

And that they must eat his flesh and drink his blood.

His listeners could have easily assumed a purely figurative meaning.

Yet we’re told they didn’t; they quarreled among themselves.

They seemed to sense that he meant something more.

Jesus evidently intended his words to be a bit shocking, a bit graphic.

The word he chose to use for “eat” wasn’t a gentler word like “take in” or “consume”.

But a much harsher word like “crunch” or “gnaw”.

Even with the gentler terms, the flesh-eating blood-drinking language is a bit off-putting.

Even as a metaphor, it seems too intimate, almost cannibalistic, a little creepy.

But when the crowd balked at his words, Jesus didn’t back off.

He got even more insistent and more graphic.

My flesh is true food, my blood is true drink.

The crowd may have found Jesus’ graphic language less shocking than we would today.

They had more hands-on dealings with flesh and blood than we do.

They were probably more put off by his audacity.

Who does this guy think he is!

We know he’s the son of Mary and Joseph.

How can he claim he’s bread come down from heaven!

That’s what many found to be just too hard to swallow.

But, of course, Jesus meant what he said.

And he meant it on at least three different levels.

First, as a metaphor describing how we should receive and accept him.

How we should internalize his message, take in his spirit, make it part of ourselves.

His words were also a metaphor describing his fate.

Maybe that's why he was thinking in terms of crunch and gnaw.

He wasn’t going to be literally devoured.

But he was going to be literally sacrificed.

His body would soon be wracked by the scourging and the crucifixion.

His blood would be spilled out.

And at the final level, his words were not a metaphor at all.

But the literal truth.

His flesh, that human body, held the spirit of God himself.

The Son of God himself.

And he would, literally, give us his body and blood to eat and drink.

The crowd couldn’t begin to image how that would be possible.

They had to assume Jesus was going too far with some over-the-top metaphor.

They had to ask How can this man give us his flesh to eat?
Jesus didn’t answer them directly, but we now know the answer.

He gives his body and blood not in some shocking, cannibalistic, repulsive form.

But through a miraculous transformation.

A miracle using most palatable and universal foods—bread and wine.

A miracle that leaves the appearance and taste of that bread and wine.

But transforms their actual substance into his body and blood.

We now know that we can go even beyond internalizing Jesus’ Spirit and his teachings.

We can internalize Jesus himself—not figuratively, but literally and physically.

And just as that bread and wine is miraculously transformed,

We too will be transformed.

Because, as we all know,

You are what you eat.

The Feast of Corpus Christi

Jn 6: 51-58          Read this Scripture @usccb.org

Rechargables

Jesus has gone back to Heaven.

But before leaving, he established his Church.

And charged it with the task of spreading the Good News.

Then he sent his replacement to dwell with us forever—
The Holy Spirit, His Spirit, the Spirit of Christ.

We've remembered and celebrated all that during the past two weeks.

As we tracked our liturgical year through the Ascension and Pentecost.

Today's Gospel fits right in with the message Jesus was giving at his departure.

Directing his Church, defining its mission.

But actually, he gave today's message much earlier, at the Sermon on the Mount.

It's a description of how Jesus sees his disciples.

And what he expects of them.

His disciples gathered there on the Mount.

And also all his disciples for all time.

They are the salt of the earth.

Like salt, they preserve and purify—and even spice-up the world.

They are the light of the world.

In a world troubled by darkness and evil and uncertainty,

Their good deeds light the way for others.

Their good deeds draw others to the glory of God.

Today, we are those disciples.

And we are also the Church.

Jesus is counting on us to be the salt of the earth and the light of the world.

There's no one else to do the job.

Where can we find the help we need to meet Jesus's expectations?

We might say as Peter said at the transfiguration: It's good that we are here.

Attending Mass is a tremendous aid in enabling us to carry out our mission.

We grow in knowledge and wisdom through the Scriptures.

We grow in community through the gathering.

We grow in grace and peace and all virtue through the Eucharist.

We get doubly recharged.

Recharged in the sense of an energy boost.

And recharged in the sense of being charged again with our mission:

Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life.

Tuesday, 10th Week of  Ordinary Time

Mt 5:13-16          Read this Scripture @usccb.org

Mission Accomplished (Truly)

The scene for today's Gospel is the Last Supper.

Jesus and the apostles are gathered around the table, and Jesus is praying aloud to the Father.

He says he's going to his glory.

We know where he's going, he's going to his crucifixion.

How can he call that his glory?

It's his glory because it marks his successful completion of his mission.

It marks his absolute obedience to God's will.

In the reading from the Acts of the Apostles, Paul is summarizing his mission.

Those reflections on mission and obedience are very appropriate for today,

As the Church remembers St Charles Lwanga and his young companions.

They were martyred nearly a hundred and thirty years ago.

Charles was a member of King Mwanga's royal court in Uganda.

He was only 25, but had recently become the leader of a group of about 200 Christians.

He had also recently been placed in charge of all the king's young pages.

Both promotions were due to the king having killed Charles' predecessor.

The king became increasingly leery of Christians and foreign missionaries.

And ordered Charles and the Christian pages to renounce their faith.

When they refused he condemned them all to death—by burning at the stake.

The group included a twenty two Catholics and Anglicans, all 13 to 25 years old.

Despite the torture and death awaiting them, Charles and his companions held to their faith

They were all recent converts to Christianity, but they understood.

They could glorify God and themselves by remaining true to that faith.

And their martyrdom would draw others and guide others to glorify God.

This had suddenly become their mission.

And we're still talking about them today.

We still marvel at their courage to burn at the stake rather than deny their faith.

There's little chance that we'll ever find ourselves faced with martyrdom.

But others still are today.

Like Miriam Ibrihim, sentenced to death under Shaira law in Sudan.

For refusing to denounce her Christian faith.

The Sudanese government is under pressure from world leaders to set her free.

But, so far, both she and the government remain on a path to her martyrdom.

We all have our missions.

They include much joy, but they also include some trials and difficulties.

We all have our crosses to carry.

They're real, they're painful, but they become lighter when we compare them to Jesus's cross.

And when we look at the examples given us by the martyrs, we're encouraged.

If they could endure all that to follow the will of God,

Surely I can do the things he's calling me to do.

Our burdens become lighter still when we balance them against the reward of our mission.

Eternal life.

Tuesday, 7th Week of  Easter

Jn 17:1-11          Read this Scripture @usccb.org