Deacon Dan Wright

The Second Sunday of Advent: The In-Breaking Kingdom of God

The readings for today, the second Sunday of Advent, convey a message of fulfillment, completion, and restoration. We are reminded that God's love for us is such that his kingdom, the completed kingdom of Jesus Christ, breaks forth into the world of our everyday experiences, into the personal here and now of each of us, and has the power to make everything entirely new.

Rather than being a message that serves only as a mere reminder that if we could just somehow believe things would be better, it is a message that goes much further and has real meaning for people who live real lives. The message for today is one that assures us of in-breaking of kingdom of God into our present.

Too often the situations of life can tempt our faith—that the best we can do with life, we may feel, is to be stoic about it. Perhaps we may be tempted to say, "Fine, go ahead and put on all the trappings of the season, but does anything really make a difference? Does anything really change at all?" Today's message is for the realists among us. It is for those whose ability to believe has been tempted by the events of life. Nevertheless, it's also a reminder both of the glory to come and that which has been given to us already.

The first reading today, which is actually the entire fifth chapter of Baruch, is set against the background of Babylonian exile and the fall of Jerusalem. Certainly it was a situation in which a mere admonition—a few words of encouragement—only to believe or to understand that all things are surely serving a purpose, would not have been taken well. The people to whom Baruch was written had lost everything—their enemies had triumphed over them and they were led away in defeat. It's doubtful that they would have been open to being told that all they need is to have a better attitude about that whole thing. It's doubtful that they would have accepted a message of "just believe."

Nevertheless, they do receive a message of God's love—it is a message of the power of God to enter into the world of existence and to transform it in real way. It is a message that speaks to the now of individuals and to now of a nation of people. It points us simultaneously to the time of completion and to the in-breaking of God into our world. Therefore, today's is a message of incarnation: of what is hoped and longed for being made present in a real and substantial way. It's the message of a gift to us and looking forward a little we might see that it's also a message of a sacrifice that frees us from an even greater captivity, which is at the root of all spiritual exile.

We too may look for God's real in-breaking kingdom to be revealed among us in our lives individually and as a whole, as a Church and as a human family whose divisions long—and even cry out—to disappear. The kingdom of God is such that we learn by observation that it comes into our world in every period of human history. The kingdom comes to us from the time of completion of all things to somehow be made present to us in a real way, in a way that has the power to affect our lives and our world. It is the power of a reconciling God making the central event in reconciliation—the coming of Christ and his sacrifice—always present to us.

The message for today is indeed one of the love of God who is able to do all things, and it's also a message filled with hope. The Advent season in itself teaches us to be forward-looking to the day of the Lord's coming, to the last day, but also teaches us to look to the here and now for the kingdom of God. The present itself must hold the seeds of hope, else wise we are left with emptiness and void hope. In a real and concrete way the present must yield to that power that makes every lofty mountain low and fills the deepest age-old depths.

Five hundred years—more or less—had passed from the time of the writing of Baruch to the birth of the Lord. The people were told to put away their misery and to expect the desert to bloom, and to know with certitude that the angels of mercy and justice were leading and lighting the way. Rather than being a given a hope to be long-delayed, the people to whom Baruch wrote experienced the kingdom of God entering their world—their here and now—from the time of final completion. They were given a vision and accompanying hope, but more they were given the ability to realize that God was at work among them in their situation of exile.

While we too look with faith to the future completion of God's work on earth, we must also look to the past, to a time when God broke into the world of human affairs with the birth of the infant Jesus at Bethlehem. We also look, perhaps in a way that some may consider to be more realistic, to our present lives because our everyday lives are where we experience our truest struggles. It is also in the here and now where past and future collide and where we take our beliefs into consideration and make decisions that are ultimately important for us.

The lesson of the in-breaking of the kingdom of God into our world, into all times of human affairs, is that we are not left alone. The power of God is at work always and at all times reconciling, healing, and loving us. He whom we call God, our Lord Jesus, is present before us inviting us to partake in his presence and in the love that has the power to transform us. We keep in mind that he transforms real lives, lives that struggle in the here and now, and perhaps struggle even to begin to believe. His kingdom enters our world and does something so wonderful that it can only be approximated in the language of metaphor.

He comes to us to, to move the mountains and fill the valleys, to populate the seeming wastelands of our lives with forests of fragrant evergreens. He breaks forth into the world of personal longings to bring us his kingdom of peace, mercy, and justice in a real and lasting way.

All Saints Day

If you have ever had the opportunity to attend a retreat at the Cedarbrake Retreat Center of the Diocese of Austin, you may recall that on the grounds there is an area for meditation built on a small elevated mound with a few benches positioned around a metal tree that has ornaments hanging on it, each with one of the beatitudes. Undoubtedly it's meant to inspire thoughts of the Sermon on the Mount, which we heard in the gospel reading today.

For several years I have attended October retreats at Cedarbrake, and when time allowed I took the opportunity to pause for a moment or two and consider the meaning of beatitude or blessedness. It's really the blessedness of the life in Christ that we celebrate on All Saints Day. What truly makes a saint is his or her participation in the holiness of God, but I've found that needs to be unpacked a little—as does All Saints Day.

The celebration of All Saints Day has been a part of the Church's worship for a long time. The date of November 1 was officially adopted as a "day of obligation" in the ninth century. However, there were already other culturally important November 1^st celebrations in place dating from pre-Christian times. As with other Christian celebrations All Saints Day is situated so that it coincides, and offers an alternative, to the pagan harvest festival. Personally I find it interesting that many non-Catholic Christian communities, and perhaps some Catholic churches and schools, have begun to have a harvest festival in place of celebrating the vigil of "All Hallows", or Halloween, in a Christian context.

Where I'm headed with this has to do with the importance of reclaiming and celebrating true Christian holiness in every situation, time, and place—not just All Saints or the preceding evening. There's no better place to look for the true meaning of holiness in life than the words of the Lord in the Sermon on the Mount—the Beatitudes.

As with many previous years, last week I returned to Cedarbrake for the annual deacon's retreat. While this year I didn't venture out to the Beatitudes mound for prayer and meditation, another kind of beatitude or blessing was definitely on my mind, and I think it fits in perfectly with our celebration and our readings for today.

There were actually two great blessings that became clear to me on my retreat this year. The first, and perhaps the most important to consider on All Saints Day, has to do the degree of our solidarity with the poor and marginal people of the world, which I'll say more about momentarily. The second has to do with the profound reconciliation and grace that we experience—that the whole world experiences—through the God's gift to us of his Son, Jesus Christ.

When we look at the list of those who are called blessed in the Lord's sermon it is not rich, the powerful, and the popular who are named as blessed—rather it is the marginal people of the world. The Lord pronounces that hallowed are the poor, the mournful, the meek and the hungry. It is the poor little ones on the outside who stand to receive the greatest blessing. It is they who are blessed out of their need and capacity to receive. Along with them are the merciful, the pure, the peacemakers, and those who suffer on account of making a stand for just such holiness. In other words, those who somehow stand with God to fill the world's needs are also equally blessed.

Being among the saints, then, is all about receiving a blessing and being a blessing. To be a blessing, and to live as a blessing, that is, to be holy and to live as one destined for heaven means taking upon ourselves qualities that may be foreign to we have previously consider as blessedness.

To be holy we must turn to those who cry out for the mercy of God, stepping into their shoes and their lives. True saints take on meekness and gentleness, a spirit of oneness with the poor and the suffering. Saints understand that the essential feature of humanity remains untouched when all other things are laid bare.

Being a holy one takes a commitment to healing and peace in our world today. True peace is not a mere feeling of well being but it is the cessation of the atrocities of conflict. It is the healing of disease, poverty, hunger, and prejudice. It is the eradication of that which puts us in opposition to others. The true victims of that which is opposed to peace are those who have the least power—most typically it is the children. Being among the saints means acting decisively to bring about change in our world. To be holy requires the courage to be merciful and to understand the hunger and fear of those who are least wanted, least accepted, and least loved.

In a big way All Saints Day is a celebration of the true Christian identity—of our identity as partners in the work of God. All Saints is a celebration that we are indeed among the Communion of Saints, surrounded by great cloud of witnesses, and that we share in common calling and a common mission to be radically for every human being. Especially we are to be for those in the greatest need of God's mercy because God sent his Son to those cried out with the greatest need, to those whose hearts longed for justice.

Perhaps the greatest justice to consider is the gift of God's reconciling power. The gift of reconciliation: it's the gift of healing and hope common to the experience of the sanctified. We gather with one another to hear the words of reconciliation and to recall and participate in the central reconciling event in salvation—the gift and sacrifice of the Son of God. Because Eucharist is the re-presentation and memorial of the sacrifice of the cross, it is the central reconciling event for us. It is the source and summit of lives we are taught.

In our failures in being holy or blessed, whatever those failures may be but especially in our failure to live a life that reflects the Beatitudes, in our failure to live a life of solidarity with the poor of God, we find grace. It isn't only the grace of total forgiveness but the gift of total reconciliation that empowers us to be one with the blessed and to participate in this seasonal celebration of sainthood.

 

Homily for Respect Life Sunday

Today both the Old Testament reading and the gospel speak to us of marriage. Genesis speaks of the divine origin of the man and the woman, who are made male and female for one another, made to be one in a lasting union. From the joining together of male and female the generation of human life comes forth, sacred and blessed, instituted by the very will of God.

Our readings on the theme of marriage today are indeed fitting for this Sunday, which is Respect Life Sunday. In our gospel, we are not only reminded of the origin and sacred nature of the joining of man and woman in marriage, we recall also that the Lord invited those who come forth from that sacred union, the little children, to gather around him and pronounced them blessed saying that unless we accept the kingdom of God like a little child, unless we somehow become like them, we cannot enter the kingdom.

Certainly on Respect Life Sunday we are to reflect upon the sacred nature of every human life—we recall the reasons that we are to promote God's gift of life by taking a stand against the evils that belong to the culture of death. We remember that we stand against abominations such as abortion, euthanasia, capital punishment, and unjust war. Indeed to hold a consistent ethic of life we must stand against whatever there is that threatens life, whatever challenges the sacred nature of that which God has made. If our reflection is complete and our logic is sound, if our ethic of life is truly consistent, then there will be many other challenges to the sacred nature of life that we must add to the list.

We may not always consider it, but to be for life—that is to hold that all human life is sacred—means much more than simply being against something. It means that in action and in attitude we must be for those whom the culture of death threatens the most.

Too often in our world it is the children who suffer at the hand of our decisions and attitudes. Is it really being pro-life of us to say that we are against abortion but then take a stand, based perhaps on economic fears or political ideology, to deny children their right to basic things like healthcare, food, clothing, or even education? Are we truly being pro-life when we ignore the innocent victims of guns and bombs? Are we being truly pro-life when we put a claim to personal security in front of well-being of any child on this planet?

To be truly pro-life we must begin to ensure and establish the existence of a pro-human world where poverty, disease, hunger, war, and killing are no longer acceptable in any way whatsoever. We must make the world a welcoming place for the newborn as well as for every person.

Frankly it comes down to something extraordinarily simple. We are asked to love—no less than this really—but true love demands a giving on our part that is such that we empty ourselves heart and soul for others. Love demands that we give not only to our own but that we love the stranger among us and the stranger far away.

Giving of ourselves and loving completely far from being easy tasks—perhaps for many it might be impossible to even fathom the thought. Our truly accepting all human life as sacred demands sacrifice. It may also mean that in some way we learn to embrace suffering, that is, that we learn to be healers by sharing our lives with those who experience pain and agony in life.

Several years ago I was acquainted with a gentleman in his early 80s who would volunteer in special education classrooms for children with mental and physical disabilities. One day he asked me why I thought God would allow children to suffer in this way. I wasn't able to answer really, but I did tell him that I thought it was his opportunity, and mine, to love more perfectly.

The epistle to the Hebrews reminds us that in the suffering of our Lord Jesus perfection came about. In considering the gift that Jesus made of himself to us through his suffering, in considering his perfect giving, we must also consider that he gave himself for all human beings.

Jesus offered himself that we might learn to forgive and to be forgiven. He suffered and died so that suffering and death would no longer mean condemnation, rather that salvation might come about instead. Our call today is to come to Jesus and embrace him as our savior—and to bring the children of the world along with us.

When we approach Jesus we bring with us the unborn and those born in poverty. We bring with us those who are racially and ethnically different from ourselves. We bring the children of our enemies and those of our neighbors. We bring those condemned to die. We bring man and woman, sinner and saint; we never stand alone because we are part of something bigger. We stand at the Cross with the children of the world and we ask to be judged for we have called sacred the life that he created, that he gave to us in creation. We asked to be judged for what we do, in both attitude and action, with his sacred gift.

Sunday Homily: On Justice and Healing

In today's reading from Isaiah we hear the encouraging and hope-filled words of the promises of salvation. They are words that describe an experience of divine justice. God himself comes to us, we are told, with vindication and recompense. God enters the world of human experience in order to make right everything that has gone wrong and to establish fairness, truth, and righteousness throughout the world.

Thus, Isaiah announces the world-shaking change to be brought about through the justice of God being established on earth. However, it can't stop there—God asks more. We must ask where our own blindness lies, where we can't hear and where we are unable to proclaim the good news and justice of God.

I think it does us some good to step back and consider the overall picture because in all of this talk of justice and vindication there is an implicit response demanded on our part. What are we to do, and what should our habitual attitude be concerning life in a world made entirely new by the plans of God? Let's see how the scripture today helps us.

In both the first reading and the gospel, disability plays a pivotal role in illustrating the manifestation of God's justice. It may help us in understanding to bear in mind that for long millennia—for thousands of years—people held a punishment concept of disease. We can see it coming through in both the Isaiah reading and in the gospel. Disease and disability were thought to be the result of sin. If someone had a disability, say blindness, deafness—or perhaps things that weren't understood at all in those days—barely even now—things such as autism or intellectual disability, it was believed that they, or even a parent or ancestor, had sinned and that the disease or disability was a consequence of that sin. Disease and disability were believed to be punishment for sins that had been committed.

I'd like to think that we've moved beyond such ways of thinking, but have we really? It wasn't all that long ago that I remember there being stories in the news media of certain religious groups claiming that the AIDS epidemic was God's punishment against people who engage in intravenous drug use or in homosexual activity—never mind the innocent children born with AIDS. I suppose people with that mindset would say that it was their parents' sin—God forbid! The point is that the punishment concept is, in fact, still with us and it lurks in insidious ways in attitudes, for example, that see health care as a privilege reserved for those with enough money—or the right insurance—to pay for it rather than as a basic human right no different from the right to have food and water. The punishment concept also reveals itself in the way that we tend to set people with disabilities—and other differences—apart.

In a view that sees sin as having been forgiven, in one that sees the price of all sin as having been paid, it becomes somewhat more difficult to continue to understand disease and disability in terms of punishment or as the result of sin. In the justice of God a radical equalization has occurred and from that equalization a new imperative emerges for humanity. It is the "law of love." St. James, who in today's Epistle tells us to show no partiality, goes on to say that if you really fulfill the law you will love your neighbor as yourself.

The real lesson of justice for us doesn't really have as much to do with curing disease, or with the eradication of a particular disability, as it does with God's telling us that we shouldn't let those things matter when it comes to accepting all people as human beings on equal footing with ourselves and everyone else. In the same way that we are not to show partiality to the rich over the poor, we also are not to show partiality based on disease and disability—or anything else that society uses to set people apart. The true healing, the cure, takes place in our own hearts when we reach out to embrace those who are different and accept them as equal human beings to ourselves.

The Gospel story reveals to us where the source of justice lies. In the story the people bring a man to Jesus who can't hear or speak. They beg Jesus to heal the man—to take his differences away—but how is he so different from those who bring him? Jesus puts his finger in the fellow's ear then touches his tongue with a little spit and then everyone is able to see that the man they brought for healing is really not a bit different from anyone else. Where did the greater healing occur? In the deaf man or in those who brought him to be healed? Establishing God's justice on earth does not mean doing away with all diseases and disabilities, all differences, so that we have nothing to be prejudiced against, it means eliminating the prejudice itself so that we truly can love one another.

The passage from Isaiah today concludes with a description of a parched, arid land that suddenly bursts forth with streams, rivers, pools and springs of water. It is a metaphor that we can easily relate to here in our drought stricken central Texas. With every passing shower—no matter how small—we give thanks and see the goodness of God. Justice is like relief from a long drought. It takes the heart of the human race, long dry from the absence of communion with God, and saturates it with the living water of Jesus who makes God available to our world and who levels the field for all humanity regardless of seeming inequalities that we have perpetuated.

Sunday Homily: The Sign of Transformation

In last week's readings we heard of the Lord's abundance toward us in the story of the loaves and fishes. We also considered that in his feeding us he not only gives us all that we need, but he always provides enough for there to be plenty left over. God gives us what we need and more. He not only provides richly for us but he also invites us to feed others in the same manner that he gives to us.

In comparison, the readings this week continue along a similar pathway. They too speak to us of God's feeding the people. We consider the story of the exodus from Egypt. During their wandering in the wilderness of Sinai, the Hebrew people complain from their hunger, "O Lord, did you lead us into this desert just to make us die of starvation!"

Probably all of us are familiar the narrative of Moses leading the Hebrew people from their slavery in the land of Egypt. We know from the account that God didn't abandon them to die in the desert. Rather they received a sign from heaven. God fed them daily on manna, which was a mysterious bread that fell out of the heavens.

I have to admit that I tend to identify the story of the Hebrew people in the desert more as a Lenten narrative than one we would necessarily consider here in the summer, in the midst of Ordinary Time.  However, it really is a message that speaks to us clearly of our everyday journey along the path of ordinary life. It bears a huge relevance to where our lives are spiritually at all times. So at least it's a story that we should consider in terms of what it means for us to be participants in the everyday reality of salvation.

For the Hebrew people, the sojourn in the Sinai was an event of transformation and a journey of conversion. Thus, we may see it as symbolizing our journey and conversion as well.

Personally I love the story we have today because it speaks in terms of signs and symbols, and thereby it sparks our spiritual imagination and invites us to enter the story from where we are in the here and now. It engages us in the spiritual reality of that which for us is the ultimate sign and symbol of transformation. That is, it engages us and invites us to reflect on, and to take hold of, that which is the source of our spiritual nourishment, namely the reality of the Eucharist.

Nineteen years ago, as a catechumen in the RCIA, I recall considering what a great privilege I had of being able to offer thanks for something as simple as a meal. I might not have been able to find all the right words to express it then, but to make the sign of the Cross and give thanks before eating a meal seemed somehow to connect to what was I was doing in becoming a Catholic.

Indeed, Eucharist is an act of thanksgiving. In fact, it is the act of thanksgiving above all others. Our participation in Eucharist immerses us in that which is the source of all goodness and it reaches a place in us where nothing else can reach. It touches us in depths of our being and transforms us into the image of God who, in an elegantly simple truth, is love.

In the gospel today the Lord Jesus speaks about coming to us from heaven. "I am the bread of life," he says, "…the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world." In this we consider God's great gift to us of his Son. We consider the miracle of the incarnation, which the world—even in many of its great religions— says is not possible. However, faith makes it possible for us to confess, and to know, and to give thanks, that God himself came into the world as a savior among us offering the gift of abundant food that lasts to eternal life.

God invites us to his banquet and our partaking in the abundance of Christ sustains us in every situation, but it also has the power to act on us: it moves us from one place to another in a movement that is analogous to the movement of the Hebrews out of Egypt, where although they had the comfort of their fleshpots, they did not have the bread from heaven. Interestingly, we must often experience the desert before we can understand the significance of the feast that comes from God.

Our lives reveal the power of the Eucharist to transform us when we yield to God and allow ourselves to be moved from the spiritual Egypt of life, which symbolizes a place where we may live only as strangers and aliens never to know the sweet goodness of God's abundance but only tasting the paltry bitterness of slavery. Contrariwise, in our experience of conversion we learn to know the power of God and to apprehend or grasp the real presence of Christ among us, which makes true interior renewal possible.

St. Paul's exhortation to the Ephesians is to be transformed and to put away the former way of life and to seek out the way of God. He says to be renewed in the spirit of your minds and to "put on the new self, created in God's way in righteousness and holiness of truth."

The scriptural lessons today involve an invitation for all of us to enter into true relationship with the one who identifies himself as the bread from heaven. It's an invitation to begin a totally new way of living, a way that looks beyond the passing world to that which has a true and lasting reality—a reality of life that is such that we have only begun to glimpse it.

In the gospel Jesus asks only that we believe in the one sent from heaven. He makes it possible for us to believe because we are witnesses of the power of God to provide. Each of us knows the goodness that God gives us—perhaps some are more aware of it than others, but each of us has received a God-given invitation to live a life that reflects what is lasting, real, and abundantly satisfying. No wonder it is called Eucharist for on our part it is indeed the act of thanksgiving for such a great and abundant salvation—so great a presence—that it fills our lives to overflowing and impels us to seek it all the more.

Sunday Homily: The Prophets of Our Time

About 10 years ago when I was finishing up the process of formation for being ordained as a deacon, I recall one class session in which we were asked to identify the prophets of our time. I recall hearing the names, among others, of Pope John Paul II, Mother Theresa of Calcutta, Martin Luther King Jr., Dorothy Day, Gandhi, and Archbishop Oscar Romero. Something I noticed was that, other than two or three notable contemporary names, we tended to select figures from the past 40 years or so of recent history.

It seems a fairly easy task to identify the prophets of the past—say the ancient prophets of the Bible, or perhaps those more recent historical figures who have made an impression in terms of faith on our world or nation. However, it becomes a little more difficult to identify those who are the prophets of our own time. Especially we tend not to see the prophets who live among us, those who in our day and age, and perhaps in our own communities, call out to us and direct our attention to those situations that cry out from God. Perhaps the difficulty is not so much in recognizing the prophets as it is in being able to accept their message.

I'm sure that we can easily think of more than a few situations in our world that could bring about a prophetic warning, and which would either be the cause for decisive action or outright rejection of the bearer of the message. Probably a foremost example in the minds of Catholic Christians is the situation of legalized abortion.

Given that abortion divides our country, it comes to mind easily on this Independence Day weekend when we also consider what is important to us in our identity as a nation of people. Surely, we think, a prophet among us will direct our attention—even more so the attention of our elected leaders—to such an abomination and disregard for human life as abortion. Indeed every instance of disregard for human life is an abomination. Therefore, would a prophet not also direct our attention to reach out in such a way that no one would ever feel compelled to have an abortion in the first place?

Indeed, there are multiple situations in our times that cry out for a prophet to awaken our hearts. Again, as we celebrate Independence Day weekend, many people may be thinking about those who currently defend our country by their military service. We also remember those who served in the past, perhaps they offered the ultimate sacrifice of giving their lives, and we offer thankful prayers on behalf of those who preserved our freedom by their service.

However, as we look toward the future of a world that will be home to our children, grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren, a prophet among us will direct us to pray and work even more fervently for peace in our world and in theirs. A prophet will ask us to question the legitimacy of going to war except where all other possibilities have been utterly exhausted. A prophet will see war as an abomination and will tell us that a just war in our day and age has become increasingly improbable and unlikely. A prophet will demand that we make world peace our priority out of respect for all human life. If we truly believe that God is love, then we will look into the eyes of our enemies and see enemies no longer.

Again, looking toward our future generations, a prophet among us will direct us to be a people of vision in creating a hospitable world in terms of environment, health, sustenance and economy. A prophet will direct us against the destruction of our planet. He or she will urge us to change the way we live by better using renewable resources and to abandon those things of the past that have damaged the quality of our world. A prophet will speak to us of justice and urge that we take responsibility for quality of life for all people in every place. A prophet will ask that we be willing to sacrifice from our vast wealth for betterment of all. A prophet will ask us to be a people of courage, of moral strength, of resolve, but also of love, compassion, and clemency.

However, I think that above all other things a prophet in our day will ask us to reconnect with God spiritually. The voice of the prophet in our world asks us to experience God afresh so that we might be empowered to build a new world on the foundations of justice, righteousness, healing, and peace.

The prophets among us demand that we respect the faith and traditions of others and that we speak of their faith with honor and reverence. They demand that we embrace all with the love that Christ has for the Church. Yet the same prophets demand that we respect and revere our own faith and that we speak up to defend it against those who deem it as a legitimate target of prejudice and derision.

The prophetic voice is one that points us to radical grace of the true life in Jesus Christ in which the guilt and mistakes of the past are no more. The prophet today urges us to reestablish a relationship with God in which we no longer treat others with fear, suspicion, and judgment but where we show willingness to listen, dialogue, and thereby accomplish the works of peace, humility, healing, and hope.

It is truly a difficulty to identify the prophets of our own time—even more those of our own community—but nevertheless they are among us. In all likelihood we may not recognize them: our hearts may be turned against their words. We may have an agenda of our own that takes precedence over other things. It may be that we prefer to be guided by the political voices of our times or by the morality and standards of a world that refuses to consider that a word from God is possible at all.

When we sit down to read the news, and when we read of the woes—of wars, poverty, immorality, disease, and death—we must ask what voice speaks to us today of this world, and what voice of a prophet there is to direct us to a new world, a new life, based on a reality formed in the image of he who came to give us hope for tomorrow.

While the prophets of today may not be easy to identify, and those who are identified are surely to encounter opposition as such, we can nevertheless know that prophetic situations exist among us now as much as, perhaps even more than, at any other time in human history. In a way that we may not have yet considered, the Holy Spirit has given the role of prophet to the Church. Each of us shares by virtue of Baptism in Christ's role as priest, prophet, and king.

While prophets will come and go, and some are surely to be great, we do well to bear in mind that each of us is to share in the voice of the prophet by standing up and acting for what is good, righteous, decent, just, and true. Each of us is to be a defender of the faith in everything it means to live faith by building a world of lasting peace, hope, healing, and restoration.

On Authenticity

In the absence of the parish pastor, I offered a communion service at 7:00 this morning. Late yesterday evening, after the conclusion of my attending a two-day conference for special educators, I had a chance to look at the lectionary readings for today. It was easy to see that I shouldn't need notes for my brief homily because the readings spoke strongly to me of something that I have reflected on plenty, namely, authenticity in the practice of our faith.

We simply never know when we are sowing a seed of some kind that will reach someone somewhere. Nearly 25 years ago—as a slightly older than average college student—I experienced something that I had never really known before. An acquaintance, with whom I had really just begun to become friends, was tragically killed in an auto accident. I've reflected on it a lot, and I believe that this event, among others of course, played an important role in my becoming Catholic and in my turning to the faith in my human need.

Paula was in her early 20s and was the kind of person who had everything going for her. Anyone you asked would have said she was destined for greatness. I didn't know her well at the time except through close friends and mutual acquaintances. My experience was that she always treated me in a kind, warm, and accepting manner, and she accepted me as a friend. Her loss touched me in a deep way that I didn't share with others at the time but kept it to myself.

The news of the Paula's death came as a great shock for everyone who knew her—her funeral was heavily attended by young people. What I learned at the time of her death was that she was a Catholic. I had visited Catholic parishes for Mass on a number of occasions, but for the most part I wasn't aware of too much about Catholicism. I had several friends who were nominally Catholic, and at the time I didn't consider that I had real need to be religious in any way.

There were two things that made a lasting impression on me at Paula's funeral. One was the Rosary, which was said at both the Vigil and at the Committal, and the other was something said at the homily. The priest spoke of Paula having visited with him on a number of occasions. His saying this made it evident that Paula had a relationship with the Church that was such that she was able to go a priest and talk about her life.

As I look back on this particular funeral, I now see it as pivotal in my coming to the faith. Somehow in it I experienced an authentic expression of faith. It reached me and touched me in a deep place in my life, and something was planted that I discovered wouldn't take too long to begin to show.

The fact is that we never know when we are sowing a seed of faith somewhere. The important thing is that our actions be genuine and authentic. There's a certain tension in it all that I experience with blogging about the faith and even more with my public role as a deacon. I know that I am called upon to live my faith in such a way that it is never just for show. Over the years I have come to identify strongly with my role as a deacon and as I glance back over the past 25 or 30 years I never cease to be amazed at the changes.

I continue to understand the authenticity of my expression of faith as growing, but it's not something that I have ever experienced alone. I learned at that funeral long ago to go to the Church, to its appointed ministers, with all the concerns of my life—with my deepest spiritual longings, with my doubts about myself, with my fears, with my failures, and with my faith.

I have become who I am because I allowed a small seed of faith to grow. I don't—and certainly I cannot—claim greatness in this world and in the successes that this world counts. I have become a man of religion, of the Church, and a humble schoolteacher who struggles daily to fulfill that role.  I know that my life is different than it would it would have been otherwise. Probably God has granted me a lot more joy than I would have had under different circumstances.

Of all the things I have placed a value on in this life, love has ranked highest. Interestingly, love is most true when it is authentic. Interesting also is the fact that our faith teaches us that God is love. We can do best to keep our actions authentic by keeping in mind the simple truth that God is indeed love—not much more is really needed.

Bishop Aymond Named Archbishop of New Orleans

This came earlier today.  With Bishop Aymond having been in Austin only since 2000, his move comes as something of a surprise.  The bishop has been a strong supporter of the diaconate in this diocese and he has brought many positive changes overall to the Diocese of Austin.  We have been blessed greatly by his service.  May God bless him in his new appointment.  Here's the story:

Bishop Gregory Aymond, who has led the Austin Diocese since 2000, has been selected by Pope Benedict XVI as the next archbishop of New Orleans, making him the first New Orleans native to hold that position, the diocese announced Friday.

"It's not often that I'm at a loss for words, but today has been one of those days," Aymond, 59, said at a news conference Friday at the Diocese of Austin's Pastoral Center — held about five hours after he wrapped up a news conference in New Orleans.

He said he had mixed emotions when he received the call a week ago about his appointment as archbishop-designate in the city where he was born and raised.

"I felt that my life had been turned upside down, but I do appreciate the pope's trust that I can give the shepherd's care to the Diocese of New Orleans," Aymond said.

Aymond will succeed Archbishop Alfred C. Hughes, who is retiring after seven years in the position. Hughes turned 75 in 2007; according to canon law, bishops submit their resignation to the pope when they turn 75, the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops said in an announcement.

At his news conference in New Orleans, Aymond said his only goal when he returns to the city is "to be among the people, to listen. ... I don't want to assume anything.

"I want to reconnect with people and with the very unique and wonderful culture" of New Orleans, Aymond said.

He said he expects to be installed in his new position Aug. 20.

In a letter to the clerics who serve an estimated 400,000 Catholics in Central Texas, Aymond wrote, "I have been privileged to serve as the Bishop of Austin for the last nine years. Central Texas has become home — I have enjoyed our ministry together and being a part of this vibrant, fast-growing diocese. I am very grateful to God and to each of you."

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Summer Reflections: St. Barnabas et al

It finally came around: the end of the school year arrived and I am now enjoying the seventh day of summer break.  What this means is that I now have more time to blog and pursue other things of interest, which I'll be sharing here at DDW. 

For today's reflection I'm using the Memorial of St. Barnabas as a jumping off point, especially the mid-afternoon reading since I'm posting rather late today.

The fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patient endurance, kindness, generosity, faith, mildness and chastity.  Since we live by the spirit let us follow the spirit's lead. (Galatians 5:22-25)

The other reading that got my attention was the Acts reading from the daily lectionary, which has to do with the sending forth of Barnabas and Saul.  How the lectionary reading speaks to me concerns the calling that Barnabas had from the Lord--along with St. Paul--he was sent.  This speaks to me in that we are all called and we are all sent forth.

It is a great truth that we are not all called to the same thing.  We are aware that we possess various gifts.  I'll be the first to admit that I can't judge myself by looking to someone else as the standard of how I should be.  I am who I am and I must ask the Lord to bless me in that and to use me to the fullest extent possible for the kingdom of God.

However, we are all called to live by the Holy Spirit and to follow the Spirit's lead, as the reading above from Galatians directs us.  In case we're not sure what following the Spirit's lead looks like, we're given a nice checklist as a part of the same reading.

What I've found helpful is when I find a spiritual/scriptural jewel, a sacramental if you prefer, I'll copy it and put it some place where I can see it and be reminded--just a verse in 11 point font taped to file cabinet next to my desk or placed behind my driver's license will do.  This past school year a holy-card-sized picture of San Martin de Porres printed on my desk jet and taped near my monitor, where just I could see it, served the same purpose (a kind co-worker recommended San Martin as a help in my line of work--perhaps in my life overall).

Undoubtedly the Holy Spirit works through the Church, so being open to the lead of the Spirit of God serves to allow the Church be a Sacrament to us.  Interestingly, it is the Church that sends Paul and Barnabas off on their mission when the Holy Spirit speaks and sets them apart for it.  Also interesting is the fact that each time we have Mass we are sent forth.

We live by the Spirit and we are led by the Spirit.  Ours is to trust God in our going forth and in the direction that God chooses to lead us. 

For me, so far, this summer has been taken up with relishing the fact that a challenging school year came to an end, but I'm also looking to the next one that will begin in just a few short weeks--really a couple months is what I get (I know, that's more than what most people get for vacation so I won't complain). 

Monday and Tuesday of next week I will be attending a conference designed for educators who work with individuals who have significant cognitive and intellectual disabilities.  Perhaps I'll be inspired or inclined to share in this area too.  From there I plan to spend time doing a bit of photography.  If any of it is worthwhile I'll post it here.  Also, I'll be writing--early morning works tend to be shorter and less tiresome to the reader, so let's see where the spirit leads.

One last thing to share today, and that's the words printed on a small piece of paper and kept in my wallet this year--I'm sharing it because in my humanity, strong on some days and weak on others, I needed it greatly, and I received it as a word--of direction or as a leading--from the Holy Spirit.  Indeed it was a word by which I chose to be led, empowered, and encouraged:

Behold, God is my salvation: I will be confident, I will not fear; for the Lord is my strength and my joy, he has become my savior. (Isaiah 12:2)

Whenever we encounter authentic humanity--in a way in which the mask of falsehood or pretension is removed--we are sure to encounter difficulty as well.  Especially this is true in situations of life that tend to amplify our common frailties and shortcomings.  Nevertheless, often the encounter of difficult situations, along with difficult people, is exactly where God intends for us to be.  Being sent, and being led, in the sense of Christian purpose, is truly all about bringing the healing and transforming power of God to places that we might not choose ourselves.

More later.

Meditation on the Memorial of St. Ephrem: The Sacraments

Living within a Christian milieu that consists of ideas tempered strongly with evangelicalism, we sometimes miss or overlook our rich heritage of the sacramental understanding of the faith. Having grown up in an evangelical household I can tell you that the word "sacrament" was not mentioned ever. It wasn't until I began exploring Catholicism that I began to consider the Sacraments as the means to grace.

It's not uncommon to find that Protestants, especially Evangelicals—with the exception of the old "mainline" denominations to a degree—reject the idea of sacraments and sacramentality.

Years ago, when I was working toward a theology Masters at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary, I had a conversation with a woman who was in the process of being ordained to the United Methodist Church. She asked me about my theological interests. I mentioned Rahner, though at the time I had only just begun to read his works. My interest in Rahner sprang from what I perceived as his similarity to the European phenomenological philosophers whom I had studied as an undergraduate.

"You know," she told me, "that's good, but he's sacramental." I replied that a sacramental approach was exactly what I wanted. In her "…but he's sacramental" I perceived an implicit rejection of the notion that God works through sacraments as a means to provide the grace needed unto salvation. I suppose this type of rejection is what runs behind ideas such as the evangelical doctrine that baptism is not necessary for salvation, but rather that it is merely a church ordinance. In an evangelical view the same might be said in regard to the Lord's Supper, marriage, etc.

My classmate's objection to Rahner's theology as "sacramental" was ironic given that Rahner's theology might have helped her to see a connection between an individualist or personal view of grace and the certainty of grace available made possible in each of the Sacraments.  Sacraments and sacramentality in general are not such that they should appear as somehow foreign to or not belonging to biblical Christianity, even from a merely biblicist point of reference.

So this morning, as I happened to look at the Office of Readings for the Memorial of St. Ephrem (born 306 A.D.), I was delighted to find rich sacramental language dating from the early days of the Church.

In your sacrament we daily embrace you and receive you into our bodies; make us worthy to experience the resurrection for which we hope. We have had your treasure hidden within us ever since we received baptismal grace; it grows ever richer at your sacramental table.

Indeed it is refreshing to find such early affirmations of the faith we have come to know and depend upon. However, over the years I have noticed that frequently the idea—the truth—of sacramental grace often does not get the attention it deserves.

I have frequently wondered whether the Sacraments are still understood as the primary means of grace, or if we, like our Evangelical neighbors, understand salvation as a purely individual concern, defined only in terms of one's personal relationship with God. A question that concerns me is whether as Catholic Christians we are beginning to embrace a way of believing which is lacking in the communal dimension of the Sacraments as the primary means to receive the grace that leads to eternal life.

I ask this only because I frequently fail to see much attention given to teaching and sharing the understanding of the idea of the Sacraments as the normal means to grace. Perhaps it's a local phenomenon that comes from being literally surrounded by non-denominational churches, bible churches, storefront churches--some less than a mile apart, some back-to-back.  Surely there is influence.  I see it several parishes.  There is undoubtedly a tendency to be less sacramentally-centered and more emphasis put on the personal or individual dimensions of faith. 

It seems as if, in terms of importance, we risk transposing the knowledge of the importance sacramental participation with individual prayer and bible study, which of course in themselves are good.  However, personal prayer for forgiveness of sins is not a substitute for Penance.  Nor is bible study or preaching a substitute for Eucharist.  While we receive grace and forgiveness in personal prayer we do not receive it as a sacrament.  The same might be said for receiving the presence of God in bible study.  Sacraments offer us the certainty of grace beyond the limits of personal doubt.

I suppose it all goes along with shorter lines at confession, which in turn makes me wonder how much understanding accompanies those who are in the long lines for communion. From time to time at Baptism meetings I have caught doubtful glances or confused looks when mentioning that Baptism is something that we do in order to receive grace unto salvation and begin the sacramental life.  Occasionally I have gotten the unintentional negative nodding gesture.  I have heard from couples in mixed faith marriages that their baby will be christened now and then baptized as an adult if he or she chooses to do so.

I would never want to deny that grace is freely available in our world through belief and trust in Jesus Christ. I would never tell a Pentecostal that he or she has not received the Holy Spirit because of not having received Confirmation. However, if we approach the Sacraments without faith, without the belief that they offer us the fullness and certainty of grace, we are no better off—even less so—than those who deny the need for the Sacraments altogether.

Today, especially in the times and world in which we live, we might pray with St. Ephrem, "Teach us to find joy in your favor! Lord we have within us your memorial, received at your spiritual table; let us possess it in its full reality when all things shall be made new."