THE LITURGICAL YEAR

Sermons, hymns, meditations and other musings to guide our annual pilgrim's progress through the liturgical year.

Sunday, December 27, 2020

THE THINGS OF GOD

 A SERMON FOR THE FEAST OF ST. JOHN THE DIVINE


Just two days after Christmas we celebrate the feast of Christ’s most beloved Apostle St. John.  He is known to us not only as an Apostle, but also as the Evangelist who wrote the last of the four Gospels.  How fitting therefore that the Last Gospel at Mass should be the beginning of the Gospel he wrote.  The words of the Last Gospel take us to the heights of heaven, where we soar, as though on the wings of an eagle, in the sublime presence of the Word of God, who was in the beginning with God, who was that God.  And how fitting too then, that the symbol of the Evangelist St. John is an eagle.  St. John was not only an Apostle and an Evangelist—he was also a Prophet.  He is the only Prophet whose message exclusively concerns the things that are still to come.  The Book of the Apocalypse was written by St. John, and in that book we find the mystical roadmap that directs us through the future of this world.

 

In the Apocalypse, there are warnings there, to be sure, of seven seals being broken and catastrophes befalling mankind at the end of time.  Of four horsemen who will bring war and famine and pestilence and death.  But ultimately the Book of Apocalypse is a story of hope, and a description of what is to take place, when heaven and earth shall pass away but the Word of God shall not pass away.  The Word of God whom we met at the beginning of St. John’s writings, who was in fact “in the beginning with God,” we see again in the Apocalypse in the last words of St. John’s writings and indeed in the very last pages of our Bible.  Because the Word of God who was in the beginning with God will also be in the end with God.  He was God and he is God and he always will be God.  “As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be.”  “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last.”

 

This sublime and eternal message that pervades the writings of St. John has earned him the title of St. John the Divine.  We don’t hear that title mentioned very often in the Catholic Church these days, but as you know, there is a cathedral in New York City dedicated to St. John under this title of Divine.  He is called Divine not because he is God, obviously.  He has earned this title by his comprehension of the divine nature of Our Lord Jesus Christ, of the things of God, and his ability to convey that understanding in his writings.

 

To know God is to love him.  St. John had a profound knowledge of God, and because of that great knowledge he had great love. His love for Our Lord gave him the courage to stand with Our Lady at the foot of the Cross, the only Apostle who did not flee.  And as he loved God, so too did Our Lord love this Apostle—he was Our Lord’s favorite Apostle.  While Christ gave St. Peter the keys of the kingdom, the whole Church to look after, he gave to St. John his Blessed Mother.  “Mother, behold thy son.  Son, behold thy Mother.”  The Fathers of the Church all agree that it was St. John who received the greater gift.

 

He is the only one of the Apostles who did not die a martyr.  Our vestments today are white, and not red for the blood of the martyrs.  But he was certainly prepared to die for Christ.  After Our Lady was assumed into heaven, St. John ended up in Rome where he was soon captured and sentenced to death by the emperor.  He was ordered to be placed in a huge cauldron of boiling oil.  However, the oil had no effect on him, and when he came out he was healthier than before he was put in.  We celebrate this on May 6 with a second feastday in his honour called St. John Before the Latin Gate.

 

Another miracle in the life of St. John occurred when he was given a glass of poisoned wine to drink.  Like the boiling oil the poison had no effect on him.  This is why on today’s feast of St. John we have the ceremony after Mass for the blessing of wine. 

 

This blessing is an example of the different way we Catholics see the things of this world as opposed to some of our protestant friends.  The more puritanical among them have a tendency to see the world as evil.  They refuse to see any beauty in it, believing that all material things are tools of the devil to distract us from the spiritual.  It’s what made the puritans such unpleasant people, bitter and intolerant, and who saw any sign of joy or happiness as unseemly and improper.  There has always existed this unfortunate tendency in human nature:  the old Albigensian heresy that St. Dominic fought so hard against, the Puritans in England who rebelled against what they perceived to be the Romish decadence of that land, the Jansenists in France whom the Church condemned for their narrow-minded bigotry.  Today we see the same tendency rising up again amongst traditional Catholics who, for example, see immodesty where none was intended, and who will express unease and even outright criticism at any enjoyment whatsoever of the good things of this world—we even know of a priest who claimed that riding a roller coaster is a mortal sin!

 

Catholics are not like this.  Our world view is not seen through a prism of hatred, envy, obsession, bigotry and just plain misery.  We view the world as God’s creation, beautiful in every aspect.  We view the things in the world in the same way, put there by God as gifts to man, gifts to use (or abuse…) according to man’s free will.  No material object is evil in itself.  Only man has the free will to use that object in an evil way, a way for which it was never intended, thereby turning it into a tool of evil.  A pen can be used in this way, to destroy someone’s reputation.  A computer or a television can be used to watch things that we shouldn’t be looking at.  But it is not the pen or the computer or the TV set that is evil.  The people who abuse them certainly may be, but not the things themselves.  Many liberals look at guns as evil things.  Of course, they are not.  Good people, law enforcement officers or our military, for example, use guns to protect us.  To anyone with a brain it is obvious that guns are not the problem.  The problem is man himself, and only man has that unfortunate ability, thanks to Original Sin, of turning something good into a tool for evil.

 

To get back to the subject of wine, we have exactly the same situation.  All good things come from above and are gifts of God, and the fruit of the vine is no exception.  If wine were so evil, why else would Our Lord choose to appear under the species of bread and wine at the Mass?  But of course, wine has been so often abused, like guns, that there’s a large number of people out there, modern-day puritans, who view it with suspicion.  Here in the United States, these descendants of the puritans even managed to have wine and all alcohol prohibited less than a hundred years ago, with an amendment in the constitution to enforce the Prohibition.  This is not the way to look at wine.  It is a gift of God like any other.  You may use it properly as God intended it to be used.  Or you may abuse it.  It is your choice.  You have free will, and it is not the job of government to take that free will away from you by prohibiting things that are not in themselves evil.  That goes for wine, for guns, for drones, for oversized Slurpees even! Today we ask God’s blessing on the wine we drink, and at the same time ask his pardon for our faults in the past, and for his guidance in the good and wise use of wine, and alcohol in general, in the future.  We are not puritans, and neither is God—in the great psalm of creation, Psalm 103, we read that “the earth is filled with the fruit of thy works.  He bringeth forth grass for the cattle, and green herb for the service of men, that he may bring food out of the earth, and wine that maketh glad the heart of man.”

 

Today then, commend yourselves to the protection of St. John the Divine, to him who, perhaps more than any other person except the Blessed Mother, saw Our Lord as he truly is.  Ask his guidance that he may show you the things of the world as they truly are, that knowing this, and using them for their true purpose, you may soar like an eagle, above them, to the things of God.


IN THE BLEAK MIDWINTER

 A HYMN FOR THE SUNDAY WITHIN THE OCTAVE OF CHRISTMAS


by Christina Rossetti, 1872

 

1 In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,

earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;

snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,

in the bleak midwinter, long ago.

 

2 Our God, heaven cannot hold him, nor earth sustain;

heaven and earth shall flee away when he comes to reign.

In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed

the Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

 

3 Angels and archangels may have gathered there,

cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;

but his mother only, in her maiden bliss,

worshiped the beloved with a kiss.

 

4 What can I give him, poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;

if I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;

yet what I can I give him: give my heart.


HOPES AND FEARS OF ALL THE YEARS

A REFLECTION FOR THE SUNDAY WITHIN THE OCTAVE OF CHRISTMAS


As the last few days of 2020 slip away into the darkness of the past, we’re left wondering about what comes next.  There seems to be no end in sight to the worries we feel about things medical and political, social and religious, all of which seem to be sinking ever-faster into an abyss from which we fear there may be no turning back.  And yet we can’t help that twinge of hope that comes around every year at this time—the anticipation that comes from a new beginning, that perhaps the New Year will bring with it some unexpectedly pleasant surprises, and that our lives may, even now, start to become just a little bit better.

 

Some of it has to do with the movement of the stars and planets.  As our northern hemisphere begins its annual tilt towards the sun, that great source of light and heat, our days are destined to become that bit brighter and warmer, and we can look forward to the slowly approaching summer.   Distant though it may be, it’s something in this cold and miserable winter that we can think of as we sip our hot chocolate by the roaring fire, and cheer ourselves up a bit!

 

It’s the way of things, the way God made it.  And like all else, God made it with a purpose.  Our lives follow the same pattern as the passing seasons: they move from darkness to light, from joys to sorrows and back again, much as the natural cycle of our planet.  In the midst of our joys, we fear their loss.  In the midst of our sufferings, we look forward to better times.  But we never seem to become irretrievably locked into one or the other, we are never without our hopes and fears that things will change.

 

In our Christmas carol about the little town of Bethlehem, we sing to the Christ Child that “the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight”.  The arrival of our Saviour at Christmas joins together the joys and sorrows of our life into one brief glimpse of the glory beyond, which he brings with him at his birth.  This tiny, simple yet divine Baby is set to replace our present joys and sufferings, as well as our hopes and fears concerning the future, with the light of faith that something truly wonderful awaits us; that no matter how things change during these short days we have on earth, a glorious and permanent destiny awaits those who stay the course.

 

So let’s ride the wave into our uncertain future, and, with heads held high and hearts of courage, go forth into the New Year with the firm resolve to grow in love for this little Christ Child who leads us, never losing sight of the star of wonder that guides us infallibly to the harbor of salvation.   

Sunday, December 20, 2020

BON VOYAGE!

 A SERMON FOR THE 4TH SUNDAY IN ADVENT


On this last Sunday in Advent, as we count down the days to the anniversary of the birth of our Blessed Lord, our thoughts go back to his mother and foster father as they prepare for his coming.  Parents will be very familiar with the mixture of excitement, anticipation and anxiety as they get closer to their new child’s birth.  They make sure that everything is ready, that a little bed has been prepared in the nursery, that they have a supply of diapers and formula, and everything else a baby needs for its first few days back home.  The very last thing they’re thinking about doing in the days leading up to the “due date” is going on vacation, taking a trip.

And so, when that decree went out from Caesar Augustus that fateful winter month over two thousand years ago, that every man must go to his own town to be registered and pay his taxes, it could not have come as a pleasant surprise to poor St. Joseph and his espoused wife Mary, who, Scripture tells us, was “great with child.”  They had no choice but to pack their bags and leave the comparative comfort of their home, setting off on the long trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem, hoping the birth of their baby would somehow work out okay. 

Because of Mary’s imminent delivery, they probably wouldn’t have made very good time.  Given the other adverse conditions, it’s estimated that they wouldn’t have traveled much more than ten miles a day.  So to cover the ninety miles from Nazareth to Bethlehem, we figure it would have been about a nine-day journey.  With Christmas Day still five days away, they would still be less than half-way there today.

No cars in those days of course, no trains, no airlines.  St. Joseph had to make do with just a donkey on which to put his wife, while he walked alongside through the rainy winter weather of winter, freezing cold at night, across steep hills and on unpaved trails.  More dangerous yet were the forests along the Jordan River Valley through which they would have to pass.  Lions and bears were common here, and travelers were often attacked by wild boars and other animals.  Archaelogists have discovered documents from that time, warning travelers of the dangers of this area.  And then, of course, there were the bandits and robbers who lay in wait for unarmed solitary travelers as they passed through.  You can imagine the fears of our Lady and St. Joseph as they trudged on, step by step, with the world’s most precious cargo. This was not an easy journey, certainly not a “bon voyage”.

I hate to think what we would have made of such a trip.  We, who are uncomfortable even just going past the front door in the winter, who start feeling awkward when the next rest stop is more than ten minutes away, who rely on the constant stream of gas stations, fast food restaurants and public restrooms whenever we venture further than the local grocery store.  We have no conception of what travel used to be like in those days, and why people just didn’t make trips unless they absolutely had to.  The thought of having to walk ninety miles with our pregnant wife on the back of a donkey, just so we could pay our taxes, would give us a nervous breakdown.

So spare a thought today for our Blessed Lady and St. Joseph, as they make that trip to Bethlehem.  Don’t even think of complaining that Urbana is such a long drive from the comforts of home.  Instead, when you pray your third Joyful Mystery of the Rosary today, instead of your usual warm, fuzzy thoughts about that nice little stable in Bethlehem with is wooly lambs and babies wrapped in swaddling clothes, think of what it took to get there.  Offer up to God your own minor inconveniences of traveling to Mass, of having to wear a mask when you pick up your breakfast at McDonald’s, all life’s little bothers, and turn them into some small reparation for our sins.  After all, it was ultimately not the decree of Caesar Augustus that forced the Holy Family into making that trip from their home in Nazareth.  It was our sins that brought the Christ Child to that little town of Bethlehem, and for those sins we deserve a great deal worse than the mere annoyances and inconveniences that happen inevitably in our own lives.  

Let’s remember too, that it is by those very lives we live, that we reflect the Holy Family’s journey.  For these lives are indeed quite a trip!  We do at times suffer a great deal on our journey along its often treacherous path.  Little by little we progress through the pouring rain of daily drudgery, the robbers who would steal us of our sanctifying grace, the wild animals who attack our nation, our homes, our very families and way of life.  We literally face death every day, the deaths of those we love and ultimately our own.  And yet we labor on, trudging every day towards our final goal.  It is this goal of eternal life that makes sense of it all, that gives us the strength to go forward, to put one foot in front of the other, time after time, until we eventually get there.  That goal is our very own Bethlehem, where we finally enter into the peace and eternal joy of that midnight stable, to contemplate forever the beauty of the newborn Child, adoring, for all eternity, him who was born of God and his blessed Mother on that Christmas Day so many years ago, and again in our hearts this week.


LO, IN THE WILDERNESS A VOICE

 A HYMN FOR THE 4TH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST


by Percy Dearmer, 1867-1936

 

1 Lo, in the wilderness a voice

'Make straight the way' is crying:

When men are turning from the light,

And hope and love seem dying,

The prophet comes to make us clean:

'There standeth one you have not seen,

Whose voice you are denying.'

2 God give us grace to hearken now

To those who come to warn us,

Give sight and strength, that we may kill

The vices that have torn us,

Lest love professed should disappear

In creeds of hate, contempt, and fear,

That crush and overturn us.

 

3 When from the vineyard cruel men

Cast out the heavenly powers

And Christendom denies its Lord,

The world in ruin cowers.

Now come, O God, in thy great might!

Unchanged, unchanging is thy right,

Unswayed thy justice towers.


JOY TO THE WORLD

 A REFLECTION FOR THE 4TH SUNDAY IN ADVENT

We all began our existence at the moment of conception, when God infused life into a tiny embryo in the womb of our mother.  Our parents produced that little embryo through the Sacrament of Marriage, while our loving God provided it with a living soul that would continue to exist forever.  This beginning of life is a miracle that happens thousands of times daily across the world, and is a cause of joy wherever the hand of God so animates the souls of his little creatures.  Another child is conceived, another human life is formed, already redeemed by Christ’s Passion and Death, prepared now in the womb of its mother to be saved by the waters of baptism and a life led according to the love of God. 

The infinitely greater significance of the conception of the Son of God gives rise to a correspondingly greater joy.  “Joy to the world, the Lord is come… let heaven and nature sing… repeat, repeat the sounding joy!”  It is the heartfelt joy of a world that has been groaning in the darkness of sin for four thousand years, the joy of a people that has been walking in darkness and now have seen a great light.  It is the joy of both shepherds and kings, the joy of a simple old man holding the Christ Child in his arms, finally ready to be freed from the confines of this earthly life to be united forever with God “for mine eyes have seen thy salvation which thou hast prepared before the face of all people.”  It is the song of a maiden, who rejoices that he who “hath put down the mighty from their seat hath exalted the humble and meek.”

It is, in short, the joy that only the presence of God can bring.  In the joyful mysteries of the Rosary, we rejoice in that presence, from the moment of Christ’s Incarnation to his Nativity in Bethlehem, and then onwards through his entire life.  Although the joyful mysteries appear to end with the finding of the Christ Child in the temple, our rejoicing extends beyond that event and ends only at the Last Supper.  The twelve-year-old boy speaking with the elders in the temple would grow into a man, spreading his teaching to the multitudes, revealing God’s great truths, healing the sick by his miracles, and instituting the seven sacraments so that man could be healed from his sins.  We rejoice this week in the beginning of the Life of Christ, but our joy shall continue…


Sunday, December 13, 2020

CRYING IN THE WILDERNESS

 A SERMON FOR THE 3RD SUNDAY IN ADVENT


We have just read the record of John—John the Baptist.  We find out first of all who he isn’t, “Who art thou?” “I am not the Christ.”  “What art thou then?  Art thou Elias?”  “I am not.”  “Art thou the prophet?” And he answered, “No.”  The Jews who questioned him have been sent by the Pharisees to find out who John is and report back to them.  Frustrated by all his negative answers, and fearing to return to their masters without any information of value, they finally resort to begging John for some hint of who he really is.  “What art thou? That we may give an answer to them that sent us.  What sayest thou of thyself?”

His answer is familiar to all of us.  “I am the voice of him that crieth in the wilderness.  Make straight the way of the Lord.”  This is a man with a mission.  He has been sent by God to prepare the way of the Lord, to make straight his coming, so that when the Christ finally appears, the people will be ready and will recognize their Messiah.  This is a mission beyond important.  Without the preaching of St. John the Baptist, without his signal of identification “Behold the Lamb of God!”, how was anyone to know that Christ was indeed he who was to come and redeem Israel from all his iniquities?

So why, why, why on earth, then, did St. John go out into the wilderness?  Put yourself in his shoes.  What if you had been given the mission to get the world ready for the coming of the Messiah.  Where would you have gone?  Surely to the high priests of the temple, Annas and Caiaphas, or to King Herod in his royal palace, or to the Roman governor of Judea with his legions of soldiers and messengers.  But John the Baptist chose instead to go out into the desert.  “I am the voice of him that crieth in the wilderness.”

There’s a very simple explanation why St. John did this.  He wanted to avoid the priests and kings and governors because, quite simply, he knew God’s will and intuitively recognized what God wanted of him.  God knew, and St. John Baptist knew too, that the priests would be jealous and suspicious of anyone claiming to be the Christ, that the king would fear the coming of a new king in his land, that the Romans would ruthlessly put down anyone who might be a danger to the stability of the land they occupied.  So God inspired John to go out into the desert where he could preach in relative peace and obscurity.

That’s one reason he went so far out into the desert.  But there’s another reason too why it was better for John to be so inaccessible.  If you think about it, it was a way of dividing the sheep from the goats.  When it comes to choosing the wide path that leadeth to destruction or the narrow road to salvation, there are two types of people.  There are those who stay in the comfort of their own homes and make no attempt to disturb their routine by venturing into the desert on the off-chance that the Messiah may have come.  And then there are those who diligently seek the truth whatever the cost.  God doesn’t want to give us salvation on a silver platter, without any effort on our part.  Easy come, easy go.  We don’t appreciate things that come too easily.  The harder we have to work for something, the more we realize its importance.  So God created the opportunity for the Jews to work for their salvation.

It is likewise incumbent on each of us to do our Sunday duty by “going to Mass.”  We do not sit on our sofas and wait for the priest to come and bring us Communion in our homes.  Only in urgent situations when we are sick or otherwise homebound should we expect the Church to come to us.  It’s our duty to go to the church.  And so here we are this morning, doing our duty.  In church where we belong, joining in prayer with the voice crying in the wilderness.  We’re all crying in the wilderness, and there seem to be very few of us.  We try to convince our family members, our friends, co-workers, people we meet, that they should come here too and find the real presence of Christ, him who standeth here among us, but whom they know not.  But unfortunately, most people fall into that second category, unwilling to make the long trip to Urbana, to inconvenience themselves for the sake of truth, obedience, grace and even salvation.  Instead they prefer to stay home, spending their Sunday relaxing with not a thought of Almighty God in their heads.  If they venture out, it’s only to go to breakfast at Bob Evans, or visit grandma, maybe do some Christmas shopping at the mall—anything and anywhere except where God wants them to be.  We cry out in the wilderness for them to come and join us.  But they don’t come.

We who did heed the commandment of God commandment to come to church this morning are now invited, on this third Sunday in Advent, to rejoice.  “Gaudete!”  Rejoice.  The non-church goers receive no such invitation, and yet many of them take it upon themselves to rejoice anyway.  But their rejoicing is, generally speaking, not for the same reasons we rejoice today.  They seek, often desperately seek, to be joyful during this holiday season.  They want to relive the joys of their childhood by putting up Christmas trees, exchanging gifts, partying, making sure all the usual happy holiday traditions are observed.  Many of them will even put up a nativity set on their front lawn.  But alas, it’s usually not to venerate the Christ Child and the holy family that they do this.  It’s just another tradition, another version of Santa’s grotto at the mall. 

And this is why these otherwise good souls never attain to the true joy of Christmas.  Their joys are transitory, mere distractions from the awful things going on around us, not to mention the fears of what may be yet to come.  Our joy on the other hand is the true joy that comes from God and makes sense of all these terrible times.  It is the coming of our Saviour that instills us with that true inner joy, that “peace of God, which passeth all understanding.”

Today, we have another reason for rejoicing as several of our children here will be receiving the Sacrament of Confirmation.  Please pray for them as God the Holy Ghost enters into their souls and they join the rest of us as warriors of Christ, bringing with him his sevenfold gifts and inspiring them with his joy and peace.  From this time forth, these children will join their own pure voices to the rest of us crying in the wilderness, and be ready to fight with us, like St. John Baptist, for what is true and right, preparing and making straight the way of the Lord.


HARK! A HERALD VOICE IS CALLING

 A HYMN FOR THE 3RD SUNDAY IN ADVENT


Translated from the Latin by Fr. E. Caswall, 1695

 

 

1. Hark! A herald voice is calling:

‘Christ is nigh’ it seems to say;

‘cast away the dreams of darkness,

O ye children of the day!’

 

2. Startled at the solemn warning,

let the earth-bound soul arise;

Christ, her sun, all sloth dispelling,

shines upon the morning skies.

 

3. Lo! The Lamb, so long expected,

comes with pardon down from heaven;

let us haste, with tears of sorrow,

one and all to be forgiven.

 

4. So when next he comes with glory,

wrapping all the earth in fear,

may he then as our defender

on the clouds of heaven appear.

 

5. Honour, glory, virtue, merit,

to the Father and the Son,

with the co-eternal Spirit,

while unending ages run.

A FESTIVAL OF LIGHT

 A REFLECTION FOR THE FEAST OF ST. LUCY


In Scandinavia, in the days of the old Julian calendar, the night of December 13 was the longest night of the year.  Because of this, the feastday of St. Lucy on this same date had become associated with the ancient Festival of Light, on which the sun was born again in the heavens to bring its light once more to the world.  As the sun returned, the nights became shorter, the earth’s vegetation sprung gradually back to life, and the dark days of winter gave way to the brilliance of the Scandinavian spring and summer seasons.

 

It is surely divine Providence that established the death of the Virgin Martyr St. Lucy on this day.  Lucia of Syracuse lived in the early 4th century during the persecutions of the Roman Emperor Diocletian.  According to legend, she brought food and aid to Christians hiding in the Roman catacombs, wearing a candle-lit wreath on her head to light her way and leave her hands free to carry as much food as possible.  For this reason, young girls in Sweden continue to this day the tradition of wearing on their heads a tall crown of lights, four lit candles, as they walk in procession through the churches on the feast of Sankta Lucia, handing out pepparkakor, gingernut cookies to the children. 

 

How fitting it is then, that the sacrament of Confirmation should be presented to our children on this day.  The crowns they wear are not mere candles, but the invisible tongues of fire of the Holy Ghost, bringing light, grace and his heavenly gifts to their souls.  From now on, these children will walk confidently forward in the ranks of God’s earthly army, their way lighted by these tongues of fire.  As soldiers of Christ, they will henceforth bear a spiritual medal of honor, the indelible mark of the sacrament that confirms them as true warriors, standing in battle array behind the Queen of Heaven, ready to do battle for the King of kings.

 

From youngest to oldest, we welcome to the ranks of the confirmed: Payton Dillon, whose confirmation name is to be Agnes; Ava Ream, who will be called Bernadette; Michael Upchurch, with his new name of Thomas; Alizabeth Upchurch who will add Anne to her name; and Ava Poeppelman, who will take the name Philomena.  Together with some of our adult converts, they begin today to carry those tongues of fire on their heads, a burning fire of love for God that will forever enlighten their souls and light their way to heaven. 

 

St. Lucy carried her crown of lights on her head too, and like her, our confirmands will also wear their tongues of fire, their crown of lights from the Holy Ghost, on their heads too.  In doing so, they will always remember this day when they read the words of our Lord: “Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.  Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”  St. Lucy wore her crown of lights on her head so that her hands would be free to perform more effectively her works of charity.  May our new confirmands have the same intention, as they follow the example of the sun in the heavens today, and begin to shine their own light of charity on a dark and troubled world.

 

The wicked tormentors of St. Lucy plucked out her eyes, but God miraculously intervened and restored her eyesight.  May the light of the Holy Ghost enlighten all men in their blindness, that they may all see the goodness of God, especially in the good works shining forth from those confirmed with the light of the Holy Ghost this day.


Sunday, December 6, 2020

ONE MIND AND ONE MOUTH

 A SERMON FOR THE SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT


One of the most unpleasant aspects of life today, one that I don’t ever remember experiencing to this degree, is the horrible degradation of everyday etiquette between people who happen to disagree with each other.  There was a time when people could have arguments, whether political, religious, or any other subject, without resorting to a screaming match and vying as to who can come up with the nastiest name to call their opponent.  But those times are past.

It happened gradually, but quickly.  I think that much of the blame can be attributed to the folks on TV.  When we first noticed it, we may have experienced some inappropriate exhilaration, as we heard “our guys” putting “their guys” in their place.  But then, as similar responses were returned, they spawned a whirlwind of invective that rapidly spun out of control.  Today, there are very few venues left that allow for the polite exchange of ideas and viewpoints.  It’s the nature of the media with its lust for ratings, coupled with the out-of-control career ambitions of its individual talking heads, that continue to propel the standards ever downward.  How long will it be before every news program becomes a Jerry Springer Show, with people throwing chairs and wrestling each other to the ground?  And should we expect the same thing in the hallowed halls of Congress?  We’re not far from it.

Today’s Epistle from St. Paul would seem to have the antidote for all this disgraceful behavior.  The Apostle points to the things that were written aforetime for our learning, the Holy Scriptures.  If only people would follow the advice they contain, we could all “with one mind and one mouth glorify God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.”  If we read the Gospels and act, as St. Paul says, “according to Christ Jesus,” then we may expect that “the God of patience and consolation grant us to be likeminded one toward another.”

Our Lord, after all, did condemn name-calling.  He told us that those who call others “Raca” or “Fool” would be guilty of the judgment, and that there is no place for such talk in the mouths of his followers.  While we should certainly follow his example, and exhort others to the truth—and that includes all moral truths—we should do so with all patience, forbearance and tolerance, and above all with charity.  Patience isn’t easy when we’re dealing with…—how shall I put it without calling them names?—let’s call them the inadequately educated.  Tempting though it may be to describe them with an array of well-chosen adjectives, we must always remember that this is not the most productive way to put across an argument.  If we go on the offensive too quickly, and what’s worse, if we actually are offensive, the debate is over and lost already.  The whole point of discussing opposing points of view is to persuade the opponent that yours is the correct one.  And calling people names, shouting at them, making snide remarks, none of that will effectively persuade.

We can fairly quickly determine, when we’re discussing things with someone, whether they are of good will not, whether they’re really interested in knowing what the truth is.  That doesn’t mean they already agree with us.  On the contrary, we find them attached to something that isn’t true.  But they’re willing to offer cogent arguments to support what they believe.  It’s up to us, then, to come back at them with even better arguments to persuade them that what we believe is true.  If it’s a religious argument, we may even know it to be true.  But that absolute knowledge of faith should not make us arrogant in our speech.  We must adjust our methods according to many factors—the receptivity of the person we’re speaking to, his intelligence, his personality, how much time we have, whether we’re standing in the pouring rain, and so on.  But never with bitterness, sarcasm, or violent words.  They just don’t work.  In fact, they’re counter-productive, pushing the opponent to entrench himself all the more firmly in his own false convictions.  So remember the God of patience St. Paul talks about.

When it comes to disputing with those who are not of the faith, the better we know that faith, the more chance we have of convincing others to join it.  Our faith will provide us with the demonstrable facts we need to back up and prove our arguments.  This is one reason we should never stop learning about our faith, reading about the true history of the Church, analyzing her dogmas and beliefs, particularly the most controversial.  It’s all part of our ammunition as we “confess God among the Gentiles,” as St. Paul puts it.

But what about those who don’t have good will, who just don’t want to know the truth.  These are the ones who cut us off constantly as we’re trying to make a point, who obviously think they know better than we do and just don’t care to listen to any other point of view other than their own.  They’re all set to accuse those who don’t agree with them of hate speech, who want to take away your first amendment rights to have an opinion of your own.  With folks like this, it’s better simply to walk away.  After all, what’s the point?  If you can’t find any common ground on which to build an argument, then don’t waste your time.  You’ll just end up getting drawn into a screaming match.  No point in that.

Without faith, there can be no oneness of mind and mouth.  It’s our faith that unites us with other people.  To be Catholic is to accept the universal truths of the Catholic Church, to be of one mind with other Catholics who accept the same truths.  These truths and principles provide us with a prism through which we may see all other aspects of life, moral, political, social, whatever.  We can look at controversial issues like illegal immigration, sexual orientation, gender mutation, taxation—anything— through the eyes of our faith, which, if they see straight, will be the same as the eyes of God.  This is what enables us to be “likeminded one toward another.”

We may still have minor differences of opinion but as Catholics we should be likeminded when it comes to the important things.  We should be.  If all the world were truly Catholic, there should be no more fighting, no more wars, no more crime even.  But alas, we’re human, with a fallen nature that constantly draws us away what should be.  But that’s our own internal battle, the one we should fight with ourselves, not with our neighbor.  Whether we’re Catholic or not, disagreements are bound to arise.  Being a good Catholic, however, enables us to deal with these disputes in the right way, that is charitably and effectively.

To sum up, it’s time to try and enter into the Christmas spirit, with its message of peace to men of good will.  No matter what others believe or how badly they act, we can work with them and discuss things profitably, providing they do have that good will.  And that makes it all the more important we preserve the same good will in ourselves.  Advent is a time of preparation, and this is one of the most important ways we can get our souls ready for the coming of the Christ Child and the peace on earth that he brings to men of good will.


HILLS OF THE NORTH, REJOICE!

 A HYMN FOR THE 2ND SUNDAY IN ADVENT


By Charles E. Oakley, 1870

 

1 Hills of the North, rejoice, river and mountain-spring,

hark to the advent voice; valley and lowland, sing.

Christ comes in righteousness and love, he brings salvation from above.

 

2 Isles of the Southern seas, sing to the listening earth,

 carry on every breeze hope of a world's new birth:

In Christ shall all be made anew, his word is sure, his promise true.

 

3 Lands of the East, arise, he is your brightest morn,

greet him with joyous eyes, praise shall his path adorn:

your seers have longed to know their Lord; to you he comes, the final word.

 

4 Shores of the utmost West, lands of the setting sun,

welcome the heavenly guest in whom the dawn has come:

he brings a never-ending light who triumphed o'er our darkest night.

 

5 Shout, as you journey home, songs be in every mouth,

lo, from the North they come, from East and West and South:

in Jesus all shall find their rest, in him the universe be blest.


THAT YE MAY ABOUND IN HOPE

 A REFLECTION FOR THE SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT


Before we’re drawn too far into the festive spirit, let’s take a moment on this second Sunday in Advent to spare a thought for those who have very little reason to feel festive.  For many people, the Christmas season does not bring happy thoughts of sleigh bells, roasting chestnuts, and crackling log fires.  Not even the stable of Bethlehem and the Child in the manger are able to lift their spirits.  For these poor souls, Christmas represents sad memories of days gone by, loved ones long departed, perhaps even bitter thoughts of wasted years, squandered opportunities and hopes now lost forever.  The holidays can be a very sad time for some.

 

This year, we’ve been told the suicide rate has risen dramatically because of Covid-19.  While the virus itself was bad enough, the side-effects were far worse.  We have been isolated from our loved ones, even the sick and elderly who need us most.  We have been prevented from traveling, socializing and dining out.  Sports games and other pastimes have been banned.  Even our churches have for the most part been closed, with services restricted.  It is impossible to go through such constraints on our lives without severe psychological consequences, particularly among those most vulnerable.

 

As Catholics, we have always been taught to consider suicide as a grave sin deserving of eternal hellfire.  The Church’s teaching on this is correct, but we must remember that it is based solely on a judgment of the action itself.  The Church may withdraw the privilege of Christian burial from those who take their own lives, but she has never categorically stated that any one of them has been condemned to hell.  To do so would be to judge the internal motivation of the soul, and this is something only God can do.  The Church wisely leaves these things up to him, while condemning only the act itself.

 

We have all been told that the person who commits suicide may have had the opportunity to repent his act, even in the split second between pulling the trigger and meeting his Maker.  This is no doubt true, but we must also remember the requirements for a sin to be mortal—we must be in our right mind and fully cognizant of what we’re doing.  Surely, many people who take their own lives are far from being in their right mind when they consider such an extreme measure.  For a Catholic, or anyone who believes in God for that matter, no one could consciously and rationally think that an eternity of pain, torment and despair would be preferable to their present condition, no matter how bad it may be.

 

Suicide is a very desperate act, and we can’t help feeling sorrow for those who commit it.  They may be denied the comforts of the funeral rituals, but they should not be denied our most fervent prayers that God will take pity on their poor, confused souls.  More importantly, let’s pray for all those who may be tempted to despair, especially during this holiest of seasons.  May God provide them with the graces and consolations they need to see all the good things they have to be thankful for, and to have the courage to follow our blessed Lord in his propitiatory sufferings.  They can do so much real good by suffering with him, and we must pray that their eyes may be opened to the wonderful benefits, graces and blessings they may merit if only they would follow in his footsteps and join their own sacrifice with his.  The peace and joy of the Christmas season be upon them!