When haste will make things even worse...

There is a lot of bantering back and forth about the President's comments today about opening churches this weekend. I'm going to avoid the political implications and motives here, and instead tell you a personal story.

Almost six weeks ago, my Dad began a difficult medical journey that took him to the VA Hospital for about 5 days, then to subacute care at Elderwood for three weeks, and now he has been in a memory care unit at a facility in Cheektowaga for the past 2 weeks. When he entered the VA, I dropped him off at the Emergency Room, and I have not been able to see him in person since. Neither, of course, has my Mom, who has now been without the love of her life for six weeks - the man to whom she has been married for 66 years. She will be celebrating her birthday next week, and their anniversary is in June, and she will likely not be able to see my Dad for either of them.

And my Dad, who suffers from dementia, has a hard time understanding where exactly he is and why we can't be there with him. Each day my Mom and one of my siblings or I has to tell him again that we can't be there "because of the virus" and how we have to keep him safe.

These are the real consequences of having our community shut down to prevent infecting people with this deadly, vicious virus called COVID-19. What are the consequences of opening things too early? They are simply this - that when it is realized that we rushed to open up, and we moved sooner than we should have, new sanctions will have to be put in place, and we will lock down again, and instead of "opening up", we will prolong this horrid agony even longer than necessary.

So when you want to scream about your "rights", and when you insist that we open churches for "religious freedom", and when you want to go to church because you're missing it, I'd like you to think about my Dad - and think about how much he is missing his family and how much we are torn apart not being with him.

We, of course, are not alone - this is a story that is told about all sorts of folks across the country. We all are the Body of Christ. Can you not have enough respect for the dignity and pain of other parts of the Body to sacrifice for another few weeks, or a couple of months, or whatever it takes to ensure the safety for enough of the Body as practical? Can you not put yourself out for the sake of the common good? Can you not actually live Christ's law of love? For my Dad's sake, I hope that you can.

"Houses of Worship the Last to Reopen"

That's the headline that appeared in today's Buffalo News. I know that this might be discouraging news to many, but I would like to offer a few brief reflections on why we need to continue to be patient and be absolutely sure that it is safe before we reopen our churches to large gatherings. These reflections are not "practical" - they are theological, which is how we are called to address issues as Catholics. Once we have the theology correct we can talk about practical ways to implement it.
1. Just this past weekend we heard Jesus, in the Gospel of John, remind us that if we love him we will keep his commandments. And just earlier in that same "farewell discourse", Jesus told his disciples that he has given us a "new commandment - love one another as I have loved you". That kind of love that we are commanded to is self-sacrificing. And a self-sacrificing love means that we must remove the "I" from what we need to have happen. If any of us are insistent that we reopen churches because "I" need to go back, or "I" need to receive Communion, we are not participating in the self-sacrificing love that Jesus calls us to.
2. Another aspect of the love commandment is that of the core teaching of the Church of the "common good". Following Vatican II and Pope John XXIII's Mater et Magister, the Catechism notes three essential
elements of the common good: respect for the individual, the social well-being and development of the group, and peace. If we reopen too soon and have to turn people away, or find ourselves closing again as a result of a spike in COVID-19 cases, or - worse yet! - if our opening causes the sickness or death of any one person, how are we living the call to the common good. The elderly, who are some of the most vulnerable, includes so many of our faithful parishioners. How can we expose them to this risk, or tell them to stay away while others who are "safer" can return to church?
3. Finally, it seems to me that gathering too soon is an exact counter-sign to what the Eucharist is to be about. When he established the Eucharist, Jesus said, "Do this in memory of me" and he was not just talking about breaking bread. The "this" he asks us to remember is also to be a community of disciples who puts each other and the welfare of the entire community first, just as he did. In that same reading from this past Sunday, Jesus promised to send us the Advocate, the Spirit of Truth. Jesus is with us - always and everywhere. We gather not to make Jesus *appear*, but to celebrate his presence among us and within us. He is already here. He is already present. If we cannot celebrate that reality sacramentally for a little while, perhaps we should be recognizing and celebrating all the other and varied ways that he is, in fact, with us. We are the Body of Christ even when we are unable to receive it sacramentally - let's be the Body of Christ for each other in the meantime.
I can certainly understand the desire to return to our celebration of the Eucharist. (And, by the way, this experience of the longing for the Eucharist should give us compassion and empathy for those who live this separation from the sacrament on a regular basis - many in Latin America, and the Amazonian region, for example.) But each time we have to wait until another time to celebrate sacramentally, let's rejoice for all the ways that Jesus is with us. Let's celebrate the goodness and mercy of our God. Let's recognize our hunger for wholeness and for community - and then when we return, let's be a people of compassion and oneness, and love - and greet each other with a renewed dedication to being the self-sacrificing, other-centered disciples we are called to be.

Solidarity in a Time of Pandemic

(Originally published in Western New York Catholic, May 2020)

Every crisis not only tests the faith and resolve of those who experience it, but it also creates opportunities for both compassion and reflection. This pandemic is no different. In the midst of so many concerns about business, the economy, eating out, and “normal” life, we are called to acknowledge that, as in so many other situations, Covid-19 will disproportionately affect the poor.

One especially hard-hit group will be low-paid and low-benefit workers who cannot work from home, and typically had the lowest levels of protection like paid sick leave, and they are frequently uninsured or under-insured for medical care. 

And while we have (rightly) closed schools and instituted quarantines, not every kid has the ability to take advantage of “virtual learning”, and so many poor children rely on school breakfasts and lunches as a necessary part of their nutrition.

The elderly, too, are among the most vulnerable not only because of their tenuous health situations, but also because they are among our nation’s poorest. And in many cases they rely on home health aides or others for so much of their food and hygiene needs.

In a joint statement between Catholic Charities USA and Catholic Health USA, these organizations offered a pledge for their continuing ministry: “to promote and defend human dignity for all in our care while advancing the common good; to attend to the whole person, recognizing that this pandemic affects not only our bodies, but also our minds, emotions, and spirits; to advocate and serve those who are vulnerable or living on the margins of society; and to work to ensure that in this moment of darkness nobody is forgotten.”

And the situation around the world is even worse in many cases. There are  nearly 50 countries who fall under the UN’s Least-Developed Country (LDC) status, home to nearly 900 million people worldwide. Many of these countries lack the economic resources and medical infrastructure to be able to respond to the medical needs of their people during this pandemic.

Catholic Relief Services has been on the front lines in these countries teams across the world continue to expand their programming to prevent the spread and reduce the risk of COVID-19 in some of the world’s most vulnerable communities.

CRS is adapting much of its programming to incorporate activities that help to prevent the spread of the virus. This includes targeted information campaigns and the provision of hygiene materials for communities, as well as investment in strengthening the capacity of local partners to respond. 

During this time of crisis, we are called to embrace and act on the principle of Solidarity in Catholic Social Teaching: We are one human family: we are our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers, wherever they may be -whether around the block or around the world.  It will be important for us to support the efforts of Catholic Charities and Catholic Relief Services as they help our brothers and sisters to cope with this pandemic.

And let us embrace the insights of this excerpt from an anonymous “Prayer in Times of Pandemic”:

May we who are merely inconvenienced

remember those whose lives are at stake.

May we who have no risk factors

remember those most vulnerable.

May we who settle in for a quarantine at home

remember those who have no home.

As fear grips our country,

let us choose love.

During this time when we cannot

physically wrap our arms around each other,

let us yet find ways to be the loving embrace

of God to our neighbors.

Amen.

Christ Has No Body Now But Yours - A homily for the 5th Sunday of Easter 2020

Readings: http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/051020.cfm

Acts of the Apostles 6:1-7

Psalm 33:1-2, 4-5, 18-19

1 Peter 2:4-9

John 14:1-12

Happy Mother’s Day to all of the mothers out there – especially to my Mom Sandy, my wife Kathy, and my daughters Christie and Kathie – and all of you mothers who have shared your love and care for all of us throughout our lives. Allow me to share this special prayer with you:

“Good and Gentle God, we pray in gratitude for our mothers who have joined with you in the wonder of bringing forth new life.

You who became human through a woman, grant to all mothers the courage they need to face the uncertain future that life with children always brings.

Give them the strength to live and to be loved in return, not perfectly, but humanly.

Give them the faithful support of family and friends as they care for the physical and spiritual growth of their children.

Give them joy and delight in their children to sustain them through the trials of motherhood, as they watch them grow from infants to adults.

Most of all, give them the wisdom to turn to you for help when they need it most. Amen”

----

Boy, it didn’t take long for tensions to arise in the early Christian community, did it? In the last couple of weeks, we heard from the Acts of the Apostles how the community was “of one mind and heart” and “shared everything in common”. At least, that was true until the community expanded to include others who were different. The Hellenists in the first reading were Jews who spoke Greek instead of Aramaic, had their Scriptures read in Greek in the Synagogue instead of Hebrew, and who probably came from somewhere other than Palestine, Judea.

And apparently their widows - these women who had no means of support because they were without a husband, or a grown son to provide for them – these widows were being neglected in the daily distribution that was supporting all the needy of the community. What was recognized by the community was the injustice that was underlying the problem – there was a disproportionate treatment being given to one group over another. There was, in fact, an unequal distribution of the necessities of life in the community.

And so the Apostles asked the community to recommend seven men to oversee the distribution – to address the injustice that had become a part of the early church.

It’s really not surprising why this reading from the Acts of the Apostles has traditionally been considered to be a story about the first deacons. In the first verse, the second verse, and the fourth verse, this reading uses the Greek word diakonia, where we get our English word Deacon from.

That's why this reading is used at all ordinations of deacons. More recently, scholars have debated whether this episode really represents the first deacons – but if we get wrapped up in that debate today we would be missing the point of this Scripture – especially in the context of the other readings.

Because the point is that injustice must be rooted out – whether it exists within our Christian community or outside of it. Notice the words of today’s psalm – “Upright is the word of the LORD, and all God’s works are trustworthy. God loves justice and right; of the kindness of the LORD the earth is full.”

Our God is a God of justice, and right; of mercy and lovingkindness. And when those characteristics are missing, or damaged, when right relationships have been broken or wounded, then, just as in the first reading, someone must be sent to repair them and to lead the way back to justice and mercy.

This is the specific call of the Deacon – to have a ministry to Word, to Sacrament and to Justice and Charity. And for us deacons, the ministry of justice is what informs, invigorates, and gives real meaning to our other ministries of Word and Liturgy. Because we are ministering to all those in need and on the margins, our “job description” is contained in the corporal and spiritual works of mercy – to feed the hungry, to welcome the stranger, to comfort the afflicted, to visit the sick and imprisoned…to engage in life-giving activities rather than death-dealing ones…to put meaning into life rather than suck it out.

Our experiences in ministering to those who are oppressed and poor, who are lonely or sick, who are unborn or forgotten…those experiences are what we bring back to our communities to put the Scriptures in the context of the life of suffering humanity, and to bring the needs of the table of the world to the table of the Eucharist.

But it’s not just the role of the deacon…because, just as the Church teaches that there cannot be an ordained priesthood without a priesthood of the faithful, I don’t think there can be an ordained diaconate without a diaconate of the faithful. All of us, and each of us, because of our baptism, are to have the works of mercy as our guide and our blueprint. It’s like the song John Wilde sang this past Thursday, “We are called to act with justice, we are called to love tenderly, we are called to serve one another, and to walk humbly with God.”

This is what the letter of Peter means when it says that we are to “let ourselves be built into living stones” – to be shaped into the image of Christ, the ultimate living stone, the one who has given us a model and footprints to follow, the one who has assured Thomas and all of us that we do “know the way” because he has not only shown us the way, but IS our Way, our Truth, and our Life.

The community in the early church found itself in the midst of injustice and a lack of mercy – and took steps to correct it. Today, we too, find ourselves frequently facing injustice, a lack of compassion, we encounter bias and prejudice, and we see so many turning their backs on the least, the last, and the lost. But it is our call to be Christ to all those on the margins, to show mercy and work for justice for all our brothers and sisters.

If you listened to John Wilde Thursday – he sang a beautiful song based on the inspiring and challenging words of St. Theresa of Avila’s reflection:

“Christ has no body now but yours. No hands, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes through which he looks compassion on this world. Yours are the feet with which he walks around doing good. Yours are the hands through which he blesses all the world. Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, yours are the eyes, you are his body. Christ has no body now on earth but yours.”

Normal Circumstances - An Easter Homily in a Pandemic

Under normal circumstances, right after this Mass my wife Kathy and I would be getting the house ready for our family to come over and celebrate a traditional Polish Easter dinner.

Under normal circumstances, most of you would have been preparing to host friends and family, or to go out for Easter brunch, or to visit with friends and relatives.

Under normal circumstances, I would be speaking to a church filled with people, with standing room only, with old and young, couples and singles, Moms and Dads, and kids and family from out of town, most of whom would be dressed up for this great holiday.

But these are anything but normal circumstances. Our experiences over the last month are anything but “normal”, anything but what we expected, anything but what we are used to and anything but comfortable.

In a recent interview, Pope Francis said that this is a “time of great uncertainty” – and that may seem like an understatement, but think about how disruptive and disconcerting uncertainty is. We don’t know when this will end, or how it will end, or where we will come out on the other side.

But here is the good news that we celebrate today – that our God is NOT a God of “normal circumstances”!

Because under normal circumstances, our lives of selfishness and self-centeredness that began in the Garden would have continued without ever having a Savior to rescue us from sin and death.

Under normal circumstances the Israelites would have continued to be oppressed by the Egyptians and would never have passed dry shod through the Red Sea to freedom.

Under normal circumstances, a radical preacher who “went about doing good and healing all those oppressed by the devil” would have been crucified and nobody witnessing his humiliating death on a lonely hillside, with his followers absent, would have predicted that this would be the most remembered death in history.

No, our God is not a God of normal circumstances but rather a God of extraordinary awe and wonder.

St. Paul reminds us we have no need to fear because we have already died with Christ and been raised up with him in our baptism – that what we celebrate today and every Sunday is precisely our awe and wonder as we participate in the Paschal Mystery of Christ – raised up from the dead, focused on “what is above”, people of a new existence in our Lord Jesus.

Ours is an Easter faith. We don’t deny or turn away from the evils that surround us: the wars that have killed some 100 million people; the poverty that grips more than half of the human race; the hunger that kills millions every year and ruins the lives of millions more; the discrimination that divides the human family into warring tribes, the virus that is killing so many. We don’t deny these miseries, but we do refuse to surrender to their power because of our faith in the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

What we are saying when we celebrate the Resurrection is that God is ultimately still in charge of this universe, despite any indications to the contrary; that at the end of the day violence, injustice, and sin will be silenced and overcome; that graciousness and gentleness, as manifested in Jesus, are ultimately what lies at the root of all reality; and that death, like Jesus’, is redemptive precisely because in the face of helplessness before the worst brutality the world could perpetrate, we can still hear the words of our God of extraordinary awe and wonder: ” Be not afraid”.

Suffering will be vindicated; death will be overcome; a new life will arise: that is the Easter message of the paschal mystery. And so there is no room for despair: our Easter faith tells us that God will “raise us up and renew our lives.”   As our Gospel Acclamation proclaimed, “Let us feast with joy in the Lord.” Just as Christ passed through death to resurrection, so too will the world pass through its suffering to the glory of a new life.

The resurrection of Jesus enables us to let our God of extraordinary awe and wonder reign in our ordinary lives in ways that demonstrate we are part of a new creation—not complete, but we are evidence that the kingdom is built up wherever communities allow the spirit of the risen Lord to have its way.

Easter is our celebration of the belief that our God is not a God of normal circumstances, but a God of extraordinary awe and wonder.  And so, as St. Augustine reminds us, we are an Easter people, and Alleluia is our song!

"Do Not Be Afraid - Just Have Faith"

Homily for Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time – B

One way to engage with Scripture is to put yourself into the story– to be one of the characters, to see what they are seeing, to feel what they are feeling. Today’s Gospel gives us a wide variety of characters to help us do just that, but I want to focus on the two main characters – Jairus and the woman with a hemorrhage.

On one level, these two characters couldn’t be more dissimilar: Jairus is a man, he is prominent in the community, he is ritually pure since he is a synagogue official, and for the same reason, he is also well off. The woman, on the other hand, is, first, a woman – who were second-class people at best – she was also ritually impure because of her affliction, she was broke from paying all the doctors that didn’t help, and she was an outcast because of her disease.

But even though they are so dissimilar, when I put myself in their place, and I try to picture what they are feeling, the same one word comes to mind – desperation! Both Jairus and the woman are desperate, and to a great extent they share a desperation for something similar – their children. For the woman, it is the desperation for the children that the hemorrhage is preventing her from having, and so keeping her as an outcast. For Jairus, it is a desperation for his daughter’s very life.

Think of what lengths you would go to protect your children. Would you even perhaps break the rules if you had to? That’s what the woman did – she broke social norms and religious prohibitions – she broke the rules in order to get to Jesus, in order to be healed. Jairus, too, this prominent synagogue official, falls down at Jesus’ feet, embarrasses himself and begs Jesus to help – for the sake of his daughter. Their desperation for their children emboldens them to break the rules, to break with norms in order to save their children.

I’ve witnessed that kind of desperation first-hand. I’ve spoken to Syrian refugee fathers who have scooped up their children and taken them to a foreign land –with no plan, no guarantees, no direction – all they know is that they are doing what they have to do to save their children.

I’ve spoken to mothers in El Salvador who have sent their children north, sent them with people they hoped they could trust, just to get them away from the gangs and the violence and the threats to their lives.  “It is sad”, one mother said, “that our children might become our most valuable export”. Other mothers expressed hesitation of ever being able to send their kids on their own, but were convinced that if the threats continued, they would not hesitate to take their children and to head north to save their lives.

These desperate folks land on our borders sometimes. And how do we respond? Do we approve when children are separated from their parents at the border? Do we cheer when children are sent to immigration court alone? Do we applaud when people are turned around and sent away or locked up because they were asking us to protect them from violence and gangs and abuse?  And then we have the audacity to sing our opening song, “All Are Welcome”?

How should we respond? I would ask you to consider three articles that appear in this month’s issue of the WNY Catholic. The first is by Bishop Malone that talks about why we must build bridges instead of walls. The second article is one about our US Bishops’ reaction to the Administration’s “zero tolerance” policy at the border. The third is my column that talks about what the Church teaches about migration.

I think that it’s important that you listen to what the Church has to say about these issues because there are other voices out there – voices that want you to be afraid. They want you to be afraid that these desperate people are going to take your jobs or use up your resources. They want you to be afraid that these people will come and bring murder and rape and drugs and violence. They want you to be afraid that somehow what we give to them will mean less for you – as if we don’t have enough to go around. They want you to be afraid.

Maybe the words that Jesus spoke to Jairus he is speaking to us: “Don’t be afraid. Just have faith”.

WHEN? A Homily for the First Sunday of Lent - February 18, 2018

Moment of silence for the 17 lives lost in the tragic and senseless violence in Parkland Florida last Wednesday.

The irony is not lost on us, I am sure, that Valentine’s Day, the day when we celebrate love, will now only be remembered as a day of hate and violence to those who lost someone they loved.  And the coincidence of this massacre occurring on Ash Wednesday compels us to reflect on how we spend this Lent, this year.

Just about the time that many of us were gathering right here on Wednesday afternoon for our Word Service, the shooter was entering Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. And shortly after that, a teacher, two coaches and 14 students had been taken from this life. And while panicked students texted their parents, or fled in terror from the school, I was signing foreheads with ashes and saying, “Repent and believe in the Good News”.

Could our need for repentance be any clearer to us? As long as we see all of the evil in the world as something that happens “over there” or is perpetrated by “others” we will not see our role in it, we will avoid having to ask for forgiveness, we will refuse to see our need to repent.

Jesus’ call to repent means that we have to have a “change of mind”, we have to re-think what we have assumed that we know, we have to earnestly plead to God like the psalmist says, “Teach me your ways, O Lord!”

We need to repent and re-turn to God’s ways and God’s direction. We need to repent of our habit of not paying attention and only seeing what concerns us directly. We need to confront the evil we see and not be afraid – to rely on God’s strength to deal with what we see before us.

Pope Francis once said that, “No evil is infinite, no night is without end, no hatred is stronger than love.” Jesus faced the wilderness and the wild beasts, and came out declaring the time of fulfillment. He heard about JBap’s arrest and knew the consequences for himself, and still declared the reign of God. He faced being tested by Satan, and called for belief in the Good News!

Rabbi Abraham Heschel wrote a book on the prophets, and he pointed out that when the prophets spoke of the need for repentance, they spoke to everyone, from the king on down to the lowliest peasant. As Rabbi Heschel pointed out, when the covenant is broken, “few are guilty, but all are responsible”.

We are responsible when we see a tragedy like Parkland and say that it is too complicated to really do anything about it. We are responsible when we shrug our shoulders and chalk it up to how things are in the world. We are responsible when we don’t raise our voices in pain, and in frustration, and even in anger.

The “Good News” is that Christ has won the battle; as the letter from Peter says, he has suffered for sins once…the righteous for the sake of the unrighteous, that he might lead you to God..

Lent is the beginning of a change in the rest of our lives – to make a difference in ourselves that will last way beyond Easter Sunday. Our opportunity to repent this Lent is to open ourselves up to God’s work within us, to stand in Jesus’ name against the power of evil, and to challenge ourselves by asking: WHEN?

When will we not be so indifferent to suffering?

When will we be uncompromisingly impatient with cruelty and falsehood?

When will be adamantly concerned for the dignity of every person?

When will we choose love over fear?

When will we choose the common good over our own self-interest?

When will we choose life over death?