Homily for Trinity Sunday, Year A
Not too long ago, a famous watch-maker from Switzerland announced the launch of a newly-designed watch that is made partially from metal salvaged from the wreck of the Titanic. The cost: $300,000, and, believe it or not, the initial run of 9 watches sold out in less than 48 hours. But there’s a catch: this luxury watch doesn’t tell time. Instead, there are two dials on the watch that use the latest technology and craftsmanship simply to tell you whether it’s day or night. According to the watchmaker, the watch transcends our typical understanding of time, and, especially if you can afford such a watch, suggests that we don’t need something to tell us what time it is. In the ultimate luxury or foolishness, you can spend over a quarter of a million dollars for a watch that tells you the same thing you can find out by looking out a window for free: whether it’s day or night.
In some ways, this watch can help us understand the most central tenet of our faith, the belief that we celebrate today: the Trinity. Just as this day or night watch can only vaguely tell us what time it is, so too any attempt we make at explaining the Trinity ends up being vague and imprecise and a mere shadow of who God really is. When we look at the watch that doesn’t tell time, we can find out one crucial piece of information – whether it is day or night. But the specifics about what part of day or night it is are shrouded in mystery. The same is true for our understandings of the Trinity. Think of St. Patrick’s famous example of the shamrock, with three leaves on one stem. Or, even better, think of an egg, which is made up of a shell, the white, and the yolk – three distinct realities, none of which is an egg in and of itself, but all of which are necessary to make up an egg. The Trinity is something like this – three distinct persons, none of whom are God in themselves, but all of whom a necessary part of God. That’s definitely part of who God is as a Trinity, but the specifics are shrouded in mystery. To hope to understand everything there is to know about the Trinity would be like being able to give the exact time, down to the millisecond, by looking at the $300,000 day-or-night watch.
But there is an important difference between the Trinity and this timeless watch. With the watch, the whole idea is that people who can afford such a useless timepiece don’t need something to tell them what time it is – they aren’t restrained by the trappings of time. But for us who call ourselves Christian, we can’t just step back and say, “Well, since I’ll never be able to completely understand the Trinity, why even try? If it’s just a mystery, why bother with God at all?” As Christians, we come to know God not by looking at symbols or by theological arguments; as Christians, we come to know God through relationships with people who are made in God’s image, through personal and communal prayer, and by serving one another. The God we meet is not an impersonal God, a vague shadow of a higher being; the God we meet is community of persons, Father, Son, and Spirit; a God of love and relationships. And He truly is a God who transcends time, a God of eternity.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Sunday, May 11, 2008
"Don't Make Me Come Down There!"
Homily for Pentecost, Year A
Several years ago, there was a billboard campaign called God Speaks – perhaps you remember it. All across the county, solid black billboards along the highways had large white words on them, quotes supposedly signed by God, with no other pictures, or logos, or even fine print saying who had put up the billboards. They said things like, “Need Directions?” and “What part of Thou Shalt Not Didn’t You Understand?” and “Loved the wedding, invite me to the marriage.” These billboards certainly made you think, and were a creative way to bring faith right into the middle of our world. One of the billboards read: “Don’t make me come down there! - God” Think about that one … apparently, the thought is that we’re on the verge of being such bad people, of messing things up or getting out of line, that pretty soon, if we’re not careful, God is going to have to step out of heaven and come down to earth, and if that happens, you’d better watch out! It sounds like a parent shouting downstairs to their kids who are making a little too much noise. And if God did indeed come down here … well, we wouldn’t want to think of what he would do.
But wait a minute, there’s something wrong with this picture. God did come down here to earth – he sent his only Son to be born as a man, to live among us, to suffer like us, and to die like us. God came down to earth not to punish us, but because he loves us, because he wants to offer us the gift of forgiveness and show us how to get to heaven. “Don’t make me come down there!” the billboard threatens. But God already has, and his coming down here is the most glorious thing that has ever happened. I, for one, am glad that God loves us so much that he walked among us. But that's not the end of the story.
Today we celebrate Pentecost. The cycle of Christian history has come full circle for us in just the last few months. At Christmas, we celebrated the birth of God as man – God coming down from heaven. During Holy Week, we remembered Christ’s passion and death, and on Easter we celebrated his resurrection. And now, fifty days later, we remember what Jesus told his disciples – that even after he ascended into heaven, they would not be left alone – the Holy Spirit would come to them and remain with them always. From that first Pentecost, the Holy Spirit has been given to the Church continually – we have a Spirit of love and truth, a Spirit of peace and joy, a Spirit that fills us with the presence of God and gives us what we need to become more like Christ. The glory of Pentecost is that God did not just come down to earth once, live here for a few years, and then leave – he promised to stay with us always, to live always among us through his Spirit. God is here – in each person who has been baptized in his name, in each act of love that we show to one another – God is very much here on this earth. And even when we stray away from Him, the Spirit brings us back by offering grace and forgiveness and unconditional love. “Don’t make me come down there!” the billboards say. But on Pentecost, we rejoice that God has come down here, in His only Son, and through His Holy Spirit, and God will never leave us to walk the adventure of life alone.
Several years ago, there was a billboard campaign called God Speaks – perhaps you remember it. All across the county, solid black billboards along the highways had large white words on them, quotes supposedly signed by God, with no other pictures, or logos, or even fine print saying who had put up the billboards. They said things like, “Need Directions?” and “What part of Thou Shalt Not Didn’t You Understand?” and “Loved the wedding, invite me to the marriage.” These billboards certainly made you think, and were a creative way to bring faith right into the middle of our world. One of the billboards read: “Don’t make me come down there! - God” Think about that one … apparently, the thought is that we’re on the verge of being such bad people, of messing things up or getting out of line, that pretty soon, if we’re not careful, God is going to have to step out of heaven and come down to earth, and if that happens, you’d better watch out! It sounds like a parent shouting downstairs to their kids who are making a little too much noise. And if God did indeed come down here … well, we wouldn’t want to think of what he would do.
But wait a minute, there’s something wrong with this picture. God did come down here to earth – he sent his only Son to be born as a man, to live among us, to suffer like us, and to die like us. God came down to earth not to punish us, but because he loves us, because he wants to offer us the gift of forgiveness and show us how to get to heaven. “Don’t make me come down there!” the billboard threatens. But God already has, and his coming down here is the most glorious thing that has ever happened. I, for one, am glad that God loves us so much that he walked among us. But that's not the end of the story.
Today we celebrate Pentecost. The cycle of Christian history has come full circle for us in just the last few months. At Christmas, we celebrated the birth of God as man – God coming down from heaven. During Holy Week, we remembered Christ’s passion and death, and on Easter we celebrated his resurrection. And now, fifty days later, we remember what Jesus told his disciples – that even after he ascended into heaven, they would not be left alone – the Holy Spirit would come to them and remain with them always. From that first Pentecost, the Holy Spirit has been given to the Church continually – we have a Spirit of love and truth, a Spirit of peace and joy, a Spirit that fills us with the presence of God and gives us what we need to become more like Christ. The glory of Pentecost is that God did not just come down to earth once, live here for a few years, and then leave – he promised to stay with us always, to live always among us through his Spirit. God is here – in each person who has been baptized in his name, in each act of love that we show to one another – God is very much here on this earth. And even when we stray away from Him, the Spirit brings us back by offering grace and forgiveness and unconditional love. “Don’t make me come down there!” the billboards say. But on Pentecost, we rejoice that God has come down here, in His only Son, and through His Holy Spirit, and God will never leave us to walk the adventure of life alone.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
The Blank Page
Homily for the Sixth Sunday of Easter, Year A
Note: The following homily was delivered the weekend of April 26 and 27. Because of Confirmations that weekend and being on vacation the following week, I am just now getting a chance to post this homily. I did not preach the weekend of May 3 and 4.
Have you ever had the experience of sitting down to read Scripture, fully intent on being able to find some significant meaning in what you read, but it all falls flat and you get nothing out of it. Take, for example, one of the lines from today’s gospel: “On that day you will realize that I am in my Father and you are in me and I in you.” Everything clear? You are in me and I am in you and you are in him and he is in me and I am in him and we are in each other … Or imagine this scenario, you are a priest who reflects on the Scriptures each week in preparation for preaching on Sunday morning, but during one particular week, no matter how many times you go through the readings, no matter how many commentaries and reflections you look at, no matter how much time you spend in prayer, when it comes time to write that week’s homily, absolutely nothing has grabbed you. Typically, there is a word or phrase in the gospel that sticks out – but this week, nothing. So you start looking at the world around you, to try to find the gospel at work in our world. But, unlike last week, there was no earthquake to work into the homily, and you can’t quite figure out how to connect skyrocketing gas prices with Jesus’ line: “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” This is either going to be a really long week of searching for a homily topic, or else a really bad homily.
So then you do what all good preachers do: if nothing strikes you from the gospel of the day, you start looking at the other readings. And there are great themes in the first two readings we have today – we hear about the giving of the Holy Spirit in the first reading, and we hear a brilliant reflection on the relationship between hope and suffering in the second reading. Yes, that will do just fine – hope and suffering – this weekend would be a great opportunity for a theological exposition on the meaning of Christian hope. Pope Benedict has a relatively new document on hope; you could quote him, and then masterfully weave in some of the reflections of people like St. Augustine of Hippo and St. Hilary of Poitiers, and then wow them with the depth of thought of St. Bernard of Clairvaux, who said, Impassibilis est Deus, sed non incompassibilis. But pretty soon you come to your senses and remember that a homily is not a theological tome, and it is never a good thing if the preacher falls asleep before the people. And so you make a note to write a bulletin letter on the relationship between hope and suffering, and you turn back to a now empty piece of paper that is supposed to be a homily.
But maybe that’s it – right there before your eyes: a blank sheet of paper. Because the message of today’s gospel is not about writing down reflections on the words of Jesus, it’s about living the words of Jesus. The message of today’s gospel is to love God, to keep his commandments, and if you do your best to do that, then God will send the Holy Spirit to help you. It’s a living message, an active message – love God through your actions, not through your writing, preach the gospel at all times, as St. Francis of Assisi said, and only use words if necessary. The faith we profess is a living faith, and there is no number of written homiletical reflections that can surpass the glory of living for Christ. Sometimes a blank page faith is better than an encyclopedia faith.
Note: The following homily was delivered the weekend of April 26 and 27. Because of Confirmations that weekend and being on vacation the following week, I am just now getting a chance to post this homily. I did not preach the weekend of May 3 and 4.
Have you ever had the experience of sitting down to read Scripture, fully intent on being able to find some significant meaning in what you read, but it all falls flat and you get nothing out of it. Take, for example, one of the lines from today’s gospel: “On that day you will realize that I am in my Father and you are in me and I in you.” Everything clear? You are in me and I am in you and you are in him and he is in me and I am in him and we are in each other … Or imagine this scenario, you are a priest who reflects on the Scriptures each week in preparation for preaching on Sunday morning, but during one particular week, no matter how many times you go through the readings, no matter how many commentaries and reflections you look at, no matter how much time you spend in prayer, when it comes time to write that week’s homily, absolutely nothing has grabbed you. Typically, there is a word or phrase in the gospel that sticks out – but this week, nothing. So you start looking at the world around you, to try to find the gospel at work in our world. But, unlike last week, there was no earthquake to work into the homily, and you can’t quite figure out how to connect skyrocketing gas prices with Jesus’ line: “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” This is either going to be a really long week of searching for a homily topic, or else a really bad homily.
So then you do what all good preachers do: if nothing strikes you from the gospel of the day, you start looking at the other readings. And there are great themes in the first two readings we have today – we hear about the giving of the Holy Spirit in the first reading, and we hear a brilliant reflection on the relationship between hope and suffering in the second reading. Yes, that will do just fine – hope and suffering – this weekend would be a great opportunity for a theological exposition on the meaning of Christian hope. Pope Benedict has a relatively new document on hope; you could quote him, and then masterfully weave in some of the reflections of people like St. Augustine of Hippo and St. Hilary of Poitiers, and then wow them with the depth of thought of St. Bernard of Clairvaux, who said, Impassibilis est Deus, sed non incompassibilis. But pretty soon you come to your senses and remember that a homily is not a theological tome, and it is never a good thing if the preacher falls asleep before the people. And so you make a note to write a bulletin letter on the relationship between hope and suffering, and you turn back to a now empty piece of paper that is supposed to be a homily.
But maybe that’s it – right there before your eyes: a blank sheet of paper. Because the message of today’s gospel is not about writing down reflections on the words of Jesus, it’s about living the words of Jesus. The message of today’s gospel is to love God, to keep his commandments, and if you do your best to do that, then God will send the Holy Spirit to help you. It’s a living message, an active message – love God through your actions, not through your writing, preach the gospel at all times, as St. Francis of Assisi said, and only use words if necessary. The faith we profess is a living faith, and there is no number of written homiletical reflections that can surpass the glory of living for Christ. Sometimes a blank page faith is better than an encyclopedia faith.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Common Conversations
Homily for the Fifth Sunday of Easter, Year A
At 5:30 on a normal Friday morning, there usually is not much excitement going on in our community. But this past Friday morning was not normal. On that particular morning, the magnitude 5.2 earthquake that rumbled through the Midwest at 5:37 am marked that day as unique. Some of us were already awake and moving through our regular morning routine, but a lot of people were still sleeping and were jolted awake by the shaking beds or tornado-like sound, or the rattling shower doors. We’re not used to earthquakes here in Indiana, and even though this particular quake did little damage and made little lasting impression, it did become the talk of the day. Virtually every conversation I had on Friday included talk of the earthquake – were you awake yet? What did you hear? Have you ever felt such a thing? Can you believe, an earthquake in Indiana? Friday’s earthquake quickly become a shared experience for everyone who felt it – it was a common link for all people, friends and strangers – and it was the hot topic of conversation for the rest of the day.
Shared experiences can be a powerful thing – they can bring communities and peoples together who might otherwise not interact with one another. They spark conversation where, otherwise, silence might have dominated. For even a brief time, they can bring unity, camaraderie, and mutual support. Of course, most of us will have forgotten this magnitude 5.2 earthquake after a few days – it certainly was a common experience in the short term, but in the long run will probably not have much of a lasting impact. But most of us can remember the great shared experiences of our lifetimes. We all remember where we were on September 11, 2001. For my generation, the first great shared experience was the Challenger explosion in 1986, for others, it was the assassination of President Kennedy. It’s easy to walk up to a stranger and ask, “Where were you on September 11?” These shared experiences are etched into our memories and provide a common ground with friends and strangers alike.
It is this type of shared experience that Jesus was for his disciples, even if they were not always aware of it. After hearing Jesus tell them that they know the way to where he is going, the disciples were confused. Thomas spoke up: Master, we don’t even know where you are going, how can we know the way? And Jesus told them, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” Jesus himself is the way to the Father, the way to eternal life – the only way we can get there is through him. He is the bond – the shared experience, the common link – for all people to touch the divine. If we know him, if we believe in him, if we follow him, then we will have life. The challenge of being Christian is first of all to recognize Jesus as the common ground of our existence and then to share His story, to do all we can to make our experience of Jesus a shared experience, the common link that connects all people with one another and with God.
Long after we have forgotten about this Friday’s earthquake; when memories of President Kennedy or the Challenger Space Shuttle or even September 11 are just stories in a history book, there will still be one common experience that connects all people of all times and places – the personal and communal encounter with Jesus Christ, who is the only way, the complete truth, and the fullness of everlasting life. If only our conversations revolved around him as much as they were consumed by Friday’s earthquake.
At 5:30 on a normal Friday morning, there usually is not much excitement going on in our community. But this past Friday morning was not normal. On that particular morning, the magnitude 5.2 earthquake that rumbled through the Midwest at 5:37 am marked that day as unique. Some of us were already awake and moving through our regular morning routine, but a lot of people were still sleeping and were jolted awake by the shaking beds or tornado-like sound, or the rattling shower doors. We’re not used to earthquakes here in Indiana, and even though this particular quake did little damage and made little lasting impression, it did become the talk of the day. Virtually every conversation I had on Friday included talk of the earthquake – were you awake yet? What did you hear? Have you ever felt such a thing? Can you believe, an earthquake in Indiana? Friday’s earthquake quickly become a shared experience for everyone who felt it – it was a common link for all people, friends and strangers – and it was the hot topic of conversation for the rest of the day.
Shared experiences can be a powerful thing – they can bring communities and peoples together who might otherwise not interact with one another. They spark conversation where, otherwise, silence might have dominated. For even a brief time, they can bring unity, camaraderie, and mutual support. Of course, most of us will have forgotten this magnitude 5.2 earthquake after a few days – it certainly was a common experience in the short term, but in the long run will probably not have much of a lasting impact. But most of us can remember the great shared experiences of our lifetimes. We all remember where we were on September 11, 2001. For my generation, the first great shared experience was the Challenger explosion in 1986, for others, it was the assassination of President Kennedy. It’s easy to walk up to a stranger and ask, “Where were you on September 11?” These shared experiences are etched into our memories and provide a common ground with friends and strangers alike.
It is this type of shared experience that Jesus was for his disciples, even if they were not always aware of it. After hearing Jesus tell them that they know the way to where he is going, the disciples were confused. Thomas spoke up: Master, we don’t even know where you are going, how can we know the way? And Jesus told them, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” Jesus himself is the way to the Father, the way to eternal life – the only way we can get there is through him. He is the bond – the shared experience, the common link – for all people to touch the divine. If we know him, if we believe in him, if we follow him, then we will have life. The challenge of being Christian is first of all to recognize Jesus as the common ground of our existence and then to share His story, to do all we can to make our experience of Jesus a shared experience, the common link that connects all people with one another and with God.
Long after we have forgotten about this Friday’s earthquake; when memories of President Kennedy or the Challenger Space Shuttle or even September 11 are just stories in a history book, there will still be one common experience that connects all people of all times and places – the personal and communal encounter with Jesus Christ, who is the only way, the complete truth, and the fullness of everlasting life. If only our conversations revolved around him as much as they were consumed by Friday’s earthquake.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Bells for Benedict
It may have confused some people, but at 4:00 pm this afternoon, our church bells started ringing, and they rang at full peal for ten minutes. There was no mass to get ready for, but there was a special event. Along with church bells around the country, our bells rang to announce that Pope Benedict XVI had landed in the United States. Yesterday, I received an e-mail from our Vicar General asking all churches to ring there bells at the time of the Pope's scheduled landing in Washington, DC, to welcome him to our country. Papal visits to the United States are rare, and they are certainly something to celebrate. The Catholic Church is alive and well in this country, and this week, we welcome our chief shepherd on his first Pastoral Visit to this land.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
The Pastor as Shepherd
Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter, Year A
The spring is always the season of personnel assignments in the Church. Earlier this week, I received the following letter from Archbishop Daniel:
Dear Father Augenstein:
It has come to my attention that in July you will have completed your one-year assignment as administrator of Our Lady of Perpetual Help Parish. I am pleased to therefore appoint you pastor effective July 2, 2008 with all the rights, duties, and privileges belonging to this office.
While this appointment is for six years, my responsibilities as Archbishop may require me to ask a person to move or change his pastoral assignment prior to the completion of the six years. I ask your cooperation should this possibility arise.
Please be assured of my prayers that God will continually bless your work for the spiritual and temporal interests of His people at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Parish and all your good work.
Sincerely yours in Christ,
Most Rev. Daniel M. Buechlein, OSB
Archbishop of Indianapolis
Notice of this appointment also appeared in this week’s Criterion. You may recall that since my arrival at OLPH last July, my official title has been Administrator. When a priest is named to his first parish on his own, it is the custom in our diocese to be named Administrator for the first year, and then after a year of mentoring and transition, to be named Pastor for a set term, renewable for a second term, while in reality there is little visible difference for you as parishioners between the two titles. But, from my perspective, this letter comes at a perfect time. The title Pastor literally means shepherd – and today we celebrate what is often called Good Shepherd Sunday because of the gospel reading we just heard. And so I’d like to reflect briefly on the role of a pastor as a shepherd in a parish.
A shepherd has two different kinds of responsibilities for the sheep that are in his care: he has a responsibility to each individual sheep, to make sure that they do not wander off and, if they do, to go and bring them back to the flock; and he also has a responsibility to the flock as a whole, to gather them together and lead them where they need to go to find nourishment and shelter. The Good Shepherd – Jesus Christ – has the same to goals: to care for each individual soul entrusted to him, bringing them back if they wander off; and he also has a responsibility to the entire flock, leading all of us to nourishment and eternal shelter. So, too, the pastor of a parish: the pastor has responsibilities toward each individual member of the parish, caring for each individual soul on the journey toward God; and the pastor also has the responsibility of guiding the entire parish community toward a common goal: the nourishment of the Eucharist and the other sacraments, and the shelter of heaven. Any work that a pastor does in a parish is not done in isolation – he works in communion with the Bishop, who is the shepherd of a whole diocese, and at the call of Jesus Christ, the one true shepherd of all the faithful.
Officially, in the charge given to pastors by the Code of Canon Law, we are to make our primary duty to carry out the offices of teaching, sanctifying, and governing (Canon 519). We are to teach – to proclaim the gospel and preach the good news; we are to sanctify, to celebrate the sacraments, especially Baptism, Eucharist, Reconciliation, and Anointing of the Sick; and we are to govern, to provide leadership and oversight for the many ministries and lay ministers within the parish. Of course, we cannot do this alone. We cannot do anything without the grace of God and the guidance of the Holy Spirit, but we also cannot truly shepherd a parish without the support and cooperation of the many lay ministers, volunteers, and parishioners who share in the life of the parish. It truly is a humbling privilege to be called to serve as your pastor, and I look forward to many years of teaching, sanctifying, and governing in this parish. But I do so only to lead all of us to Christ, the Good Shepherd and guardian of our souls, and to lead us individually and as a flock to the nourishment of the sacraments and the shelter of eternal life.
The spring is always the season of personnel assignments in the Church. Earlier this week, I received the following letter from Archbishop Daniel:
Dear Father Augenstein:
It has come to my attention that in July you will have completed your one-year assignment as administrator of Our Lady of Perpetual Help Parish. I am pleased to therefore appoint you pastor effective July 2, 2008 with all the rights, duties, and privileges belonging to this office.
While this appointment is for six years, my responsibilities as Archbishop may require me to ask a person to move or change his pastoral assignment prior to the completion of the six years. I ask your cooperation should this possibility arise.
Please be assured of my prayers that God will continually bless your work for the spiritual and temporal interests of His people at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Parish and all your good work.
Sincerely yours in Christ,
Most Rev. Daniel M. Buechlein, OSB
Archbishop of Indianapolis
Notice of this appointment also appeared in this week’s Criterion. You may recall that since my arrival at OLPH last July, my official title has been Administrator. When a priest is named to his first parish on his own, it is the custom in our diocese to be named Administrator for the first year, and then after a year of mentoring and transition, to be named Pastor for a set term, renewable for a second term, while in reality there is little visible difference for you as parishioners between the two titles. But, from my perspective, this letter comes at a perfect time. The title Pastor literally means shepherd – and today we celebrate what is often called Good Shepherd Sunday because of the gospel reading we just heard. And so I’d like to reflect briefly on the role of a pastor as a shepherd in a parish.
A shepherd has two different kinds of responsibilities for the sheep that are in his care: he has a responsibility to each individual sheep, to make sure that they do not wander off and, if they do, to go and bring them back to the flock; and he also has a responsibility to the flock as a whole, to gather them together and lead them where they need to go to find nourishment and shelter. The Good Shepherd – Jesus Christ – has the same to goals: to care for each individual soul entrusted to him, bringing them back if they wander off; and he also has a responsibility to the entire flock, leading all of us to nourishment and eternal shelter. So, too, the pastor of a parish: the pastor has responsibilities toward each individual member of the parish, caring for each individual soul on the journey toward God; and the pastor also has the responsibility of guiding the entire parish community toward a common goal: the nourishment of the Eucharist and the other sacraments, and the shelter of heaven. Any work that a pastor does in a parish is not done in isolation – he works in communion with the Bishop, who is the shepherd of a whole diocese, and at the call of Jesus Christ, the one true shepherd of all the faithful.
Officially, in the charge given to pastors by the Code of Canon Law, we are to make our primary duty to carry out the offices of teaching, sanctifying, and governing (Canon 519). We are to teach – to proclaim the gospel and preach the good news; we are to sanctify, to celebrate the sacraments, especially Baptism, Eucharist, Reconciliation, and Anointing of the Sick; and we are to govern, to provide leadership and oversight for the many ministries and lay ministers within the parish. Of course, we cannot do this alone. We cannot do anything without the grace of God and the guidance of the Holy Spirit, but we also cannot truly shepherd a parish without the support and cooperation of the many lay ministers, volunteers, and parishioners who share in the life of the parish. It truly is a humbling privilege to be called to serve as your pastor, and I look forward to many years of teaching, sanctifying, and governing in this parish. But I do so only to lead all of us to Christ, the Good Shepherd and guardian of our souls, and to lead us individually and as a flock to the nourishment of the sacraments and the shelter of eternal life.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
The Short Journey from D to E
Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter, Year A
Have you ever noticed that some of the saddest and most negative words in the English language begin with the letter D? Words like doubt, disappointment, disillusioned, despair, discouraged, depression, defeat, death. These d-words can so consume our thoughts and bring us down, that it is difficult to see any way out. I imagine that these d-words could sum up how the two disciples in today’s gospel felt as they walked slowly toward Emmaus – downtrodden in their faith, disappointed in their unfulfilled hopes, defeated by the death of the man they thought was God. The Good Friday experience had left them discouraged and disillusioned as they slowly walked along the road.
But on the short journey from Jerusalem to Emmaus – only seven miles – the depression these two disciples were experiencing was completely transformed by the man who came to walk with them. Jesus met them right where they were – in the midst of their doubt, discouragement, and despair – but he did something with those feelings that completely changed their outlook on life. It only took a short walk for these disciples to be transformed. In the midst of their despondency, they were introduced to a whole new set of words, words like excitement, exuberance, and elation. It was only a short journey from Jerusalem to Emmaus, just as it is only a short journey in our alphabet from the letter D to the letter E – from death to eternity, from disappointment to enthusiasm, from despair to exaltation, from doubt to Eucharist, Easter, and Emmaus.
Just about every day, we let our lives be consumed by d-words – just about every day, we can easily fall into depression, despair, or disappointment. When that happens, a stranger often comes to walk beside us, a stranger who meets us in the midst of our doubt or discouragement and reminds us that there is a new reality right in our midst, a new way of looking at the world that remembers both Easter Sunday and Good Friday, both e-words and d-words. Eternity is placed next to death, excitement next to despair, Eucharist next to doubt. This stranger points us to the scriptures, to God’s word, and to the breaking of the bread as ways to be transformed. And there, in those very human things of books and meals, our lives can be changed, from d-words to e-words, from death to eternal life. All on the short walk from Jerusalem to Emmaus.
Have you ever noticed that some of the saddest and most negative words in the English language begin with the letter D? Words like doubt, disappointment, disillusioned, despair, discouraged, depression, defeat, death. These d-words can so consume our thoughts and bring us down, that it is difficult to see any way out. I imagine that these d-words could sum up how the two disciples in today’s gospel felt as they walked slowly toward Emmaus – downtrodden in their faith, disappointed in their unfulfilled hopes, defeated by the death of the man they thought was God. The Good Friday experience had left them discouraged and disillusioned as they slowly walked along the road.
But on the short journey from Jerusalem to Emmaus – only seven miles – the depression these two disciples were experiencing was completely transformed by the man who came to walk with them. Jesus met them right where they were – in the midst of their doubt, discouragement, and despair – but he did something with those feelings that completely changed their outlook on life. It only took a short walk for these disciples to be transformed. In the midst of their despondency, they were introduced to a whole new set of words, words like excitement, exuberance, and elation. It was only a short journey from Jerusalem to Emmaus, just as it is only a short journey in our alphabet from the letter D to the letter E – from death to eternity, from disappointment to enthusiasm, from despair to exaltation, from doubt to Eucharist, Easter, and Emmaus.
Just about every day, we let our lives be consumed by d-words – just about every day, we can easily fall into depression, despair, or disappointment. When that happens, a stranger often comes to walk beside us, a stranger who meets us in the midst of our doubt or discouragement and reminds us that there is a new reality right in our midst, a new way of looking at the world that remembers both Easter Sunday and Good Friday, both e-words and d-words. Eternity is placed next to death, excitement next to despair, Eucharist next to doubt. This stranger points us to the scriptures, to God’s word, and to the breaking of the bread as ways to be transformed. And there, in those very human things of books and meals, our lives can be changed, from d-words to e-words, from death to eternal life. All on the short walk from Jerusalem to Emmaus.
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