The Assumption - Lifting Up the Lowly

    Reflections on the Feast of the Assumption - August 15, 2022        

        Can you imagine what the world was like in 1950? Very few of us were alive then, and even fewer would be old enough to remember. This was five years after the Second World War with its terrible destruction of human life, property and virtue. Millions had died, and many more millions were displaced from their homes, seeking refuge and a new beginning. It was 5 years after the unleashing of not one but two atomic bombs that killed and maimed hundreds of thousands of civilians. In 1950 the malevolent grip of soviet-style communism was tightening over various countries, removing the rights of millions to lead dignified lives. Against this background of violence, oppression and dehumanization, Pope Pius XII, after asking the question of ALL the world’s bishops, infallibly asserted our Christian hope: Mary our Mother is in heaven.

        On November 1 of 1950 – the feast of All Saints – he issued his Apostolic Constitution that declared the Assumption of Mary into heaven body and soul to be Catholic dogma and was called Munificentissimus Deus – “Our Most Incredibly Generous God” - and right at the beginning he laid out the underlying reason for the timing of this declaration:

o   Now, just like the present age, our pontificate is weighed down by ever so many cares, anxieties, and troubles, by reason of very severe calamities that have taken place and by reason of the fact that many have strayed away from truth and virtue. (2)

                 Further on in the document, Pope Pius says this about his own wish for how this declaration would have an effect on Catholics:

o   And so we may hope that those who meditate upon the glorious example Mary offers us may be more and more convinced of the value of a human life entirely devoted to carrying out the heavenly Father's will and to bringing good to others. (42)

                 “Bringing good to others”. After all of the destruction, pain, and deprivation of the previous years, Pope Pius wanted to encourage Catholics – then and now – that because Mary has been assumed into heaven – not just her soul, but her human body – because of that, not only do we have hope of the same fate at the end of time, but that we would see the value of all human life today, in the here and now.

        And isn’t that a message that we so desperately need to hear today?

        As if the lasting effects of a worldwide pandemic weren’t bad enough, we’re also experiencing a global increase in racism, nationalism and an almost worldwide sense of selfishness or corruption which so many people hoped would decrease as a result of Covid 19, but appears to have had the opposite effect. Humility and tenderness seem sometimes to be in short supply – wealthier nations were sinfully slow in sharing their vaccine resources with poorer countries, and now the current economic struggles are reinforcing the "me first" and certainly the "America first" attitude.

                We know that this suffering is not a new phenomenon. War, violence, famine, and sickness have constantly ravaged the bodies of God’s people. In 1950 these effects were all too present and the memories were raw for so many people. In the declaration of the Assumption, the Church affirmed - then, and now - the importance of not just human souls, but human bodies. Caring for the sick, feeding the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, sheltering the homeless were a big part of life then. These corporal acts of mercy toward the marginalized should distinguish us now as Christian people just as it has in past ages.

        How we regard people on the margins was brought home to me again just this past Wednesday, on August 10, when we celebrated the feast of St Lawrence – one of the early deacons of the Church in Rome. During a persecution of Christians, after Pope Sixtus and the 6 other deacons had been taken away and martyred, the Roman Prefect insisted that Lawrence bring him the treasures of the Church since Lawrence was responsible for administering them. Lawrence quickly gave away any and all of the material wealth of the Church, and then appeared before the Prefect of Rome together with the diseased and malnourished poor, the orphans, cripples, and widows, those socially excluded by the powerful hierarchies of the time– everyone on the fringes of society and declared, “these are the treasures of the Church”.

                 This feast of the Assumption is not just Mary’s story, but it’s our story as well. It’s a story of hope – based in the hope that we, too, like Mary, will someday - after our earthly journey - be reunited body and soul. But it is also, as Pope Pius said, an occasion for us to meditate on the value of human life and seize the opportunity to bring good to others. Mary had hope in a God that would

"...cast down the mighty from their thrones,
        and lift up the lowly.
    Who would fill the hungry with good things,
        and send the rich away empty..."         (Luke 1:52-53)

             The Good News is that as we do the will of our Most Incredibly Generous God, ministering to the least, the last and the lost, we can sing that Magnificat along with Mary, and proclaim the greatness of the Lord. 

Racism Is a Sin - Homily for 6th Sunday of Easter 2022

 

 “Racism is a sin: a sin that divides the human family, blots out the image of God among specific members of that family, and violates the fundamental human dignity of those called to be children of the same Father. Racism is the sin that says that some human beings are inherently superior and others essentially inferior because of race. It is a sin that makes racial characteristics the determining factor for the exercise of human rights.”

Those are the words of the U.S. bishops from a document titled “Brothers and Sisters to Us” written in 1979 – 43 years ago. They wrote that document about 15 years after the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act because they believed that although the legislation was in place for a more racially just society, the reality had not yet caught up. It's a document that every U.S. Catholic should read.

The Church has been very clear about its teaching on racism. “Brothers and Sisters to Us” identified racism as not just one sin among many, but as “a radical evil that divides the human family and denies the new creation of a redeemed world”.

Faithful Citizenship, the Bishops’ document on political responsibility, reminds us that racism is an intrinsic evil - like abortion and torture.

And most recently the Bishops issued still another Pastoral Letter against racism called “Open Wide Our Hearts” just 3 ½ years ago in 2018.

The unfortunate truth is that racism is not a thing of the past – and actually, it’s all too real, especially when we have a brutal reminder like we did last Saturday. But it seems like incidents of racism come at us in disconnected stories – like the murder of George Floyd two years ago this Wednesday, and the number of other incidents of the killings of black men, and the “racially-motivated killing spree” as Bishop Fisher called last Saturday’s shooting – and you can read his statement in today’s bulletin. All of this can sometimes lead us to believe that they are just isolated incidents, and not part of a larger pattern.

But racism is not just individual, it’s also institutional, and is embedded in many of our country’s structures and laws. Part of the problem is that in the post-civil rights era, we have been taught that racists are mean people who intentionally dislike others because of their race. And if we define racism that way, it’s easy for us to say, “I’m not mean, I don’t wish harm on anyone. So, I don’t have any racism in me.”

But I’m not sure we’re looking at racism honestly if that’s how we define it. Especially since the Church calls us to conversion to help eradicate this plague of racism from our country. The Bishops remind us that "Each of us as Catholics must acknowledge a share in the mistakes and sins of the past. Many of us have been prisoners of fear and prejudice. We have preached the Gospel while closing our eyes to the racism it condemns. We have allowed conformity to social pressures to replace compliance with social justice."

Some might object to thinking that we have a “share in the mistakes and sins of the past” since we didn’t own slaves, or personally keep Blacks from moving into the neighborhood. But we weren’t in the Garden of Eden, but share in the human character that story teaches – and just the same, being born in this society we are affected by the “original sin” of racism in America.

They say we have been “prisoners of fear and prejudice”. Have we allowed ourselves to be prisoners to fear and prejudice? Do we permit talk from our family or co-workers that demeans black people, or how white people are being replaced by minorities, or other negative stereotypes without objecting?

The Bishops also say that “We have preached the Gospel while closing our eyes to the racism it condemns.” They are saying that we don’t see the racism around us because we’re not looking hard enough.

Maybe a good analogy is to remember those “Magic Eye” pictures. Do you remember those? They were a combination of colors and patterns but there was another picture that was in there if you looked at it the right way. And then, once you saw it, you could see it every time.

Racism is a lot like that - Those who have been the object of racism are able to see it immediately and recognize it easily. Those of us who have not been the victims of racism can still train ourselves to see it – but it requires us to look honestly at events and situations in a different way and be willing to have a conversion of heart.

The Bishops point out that “We have allowed conformity to social pressures to replace compliance with social justice." Pope Benedict has said that the Church “cannot and must not sit on the sidelines in the struggle for justice” and that we must hunger for justice as we hunger for the Eucharist. But do we? What is keeping us from feeling that hunger for racial justice?

In just a short time we will approach the altar to receive “Communion”. But maybe part of the conversion that the Church is calling us to is to realize that until we are in full “communion” with all of our brothers and sisters – regardless of their color, race, or country they come from – that our communion will somehow be at least somewhat diminished.

Jesus tells us today that whoever loves him will keep his word, keep his commandment, the commandment that we heard him give us last week – love one another. That command to love one another has to extend not just to those next to us in the pew, or next to us on the street, but to everyone in the human family. Because as the Bishops remind us, “the brother and sister of our Brother Jesus Christ are brother and sister to us.”

The Urgent Call for Catholics to Address Gun Violence

 

(A note upfront: This is an updated version of an article that I wrote in July 2021 after a shooting across the street from St. Columba-Brigid Parish. In the wake of the racist attack on the East Side earlier this month, and now the mass murder of schoolchildren in Uvalde, Texas, we need to address the issue of gun violence once again.)

This past Monday I attended “Let Not Your Hearts Be Troubled”, the interfaith prayer service remembering and grieving for the ten Black sisters and brothers who were slain by a young racist using an assault-style weapon. Then just a few days ago nineteen children and two teachers were gunned down by a young man using an assault-style weapon. The two attacks are not outliers. Mass shootings happen in the U.S. with depressing regularity.

The truth is that unless there are high-profile events like those two, gun violence and mass shootings have become so much a part of our culture that they almost don’t even make headlines anymore. In the US this year there have been over 215 mass shootings, and this is only the 145^th day of the year.

In the wake of this increase in gun violence, there are groups that are working to help victims and their families with counseling and support. Many organizations have gathered food to deliver to those who can no longer shop at Tops on the East Side. There is an outpouring of “thoughts and prayers” for the families who lost children in Uvalde, Texas. But there still does not seem to be enough effort at the root of the problem: the preponderance and easy availability of guns.

This level of gun violence does not appear in other developed countries – and the one factor that sets the US apart is the number of guns and the lack of any regulation or registration. Current estimates are that there are over 400 million guns in the US – more than two times as many per person as any other country. And only one quarter of one percent of those guns are registered.

It is perplexing to see that there is no organized effort on the part of Catholics to oppose the continued deaths and assaults on human dignity that guns have perpetrated on our country and our Diocese. There is no Catholic parish that has an organized effort to advocate for gun control, and it is rare to hear any priest or deacon preach about gun control or the scourge of guns in our society.

Our US Bishops have repeatedly – at least since 1975 – called for reasonable regulations and controls for guns, especially handguns, and for a ban on assault weapons. Just a few years ago, after another tragic shooting, the Bishops sent testimony to the US Congress to push for better gun controls with a specific goal to build a culture of life and confront the culture of violence. Congress took no action for tighter controls.

After another mass shooting two years ago, the Bishops said that these shootings “…are an epidemic against life that we must, in justice, face.” We need action and advocacy from the parish level to push Congress for much tighter gun regulations, banning of assault weapons, and serious reduction in the number of guns in our society.

As I was driving past our parish school yesterday, I was reminded of Martin Luther King’s comment about the parable of the Good Samaritan. The priest and the Levite, King said, wondered, “If I help that man in the road, what will happen to me?”. The Good Samaritan, on the other hand, thought, “If I don’t help that man in the road, what will happen to him?” I watched those kids leaving school and I wondered, “If we don’t do something to control guns, what will happen to them?”

Deacon Don Weigel can be contacted at deacondon@gmail.com.

Death Through the Lens of Faith - Funeral Homily for Don Weigel, Sr.

 Funeral Homily for my Dad, Don Weigel, Sr.

Readings:

Wisdom 3:1-3, 9

1 Thessalonians 4:13-18

John 11:17-27

    92 years. Can you believe it? 92 years. Just to put that in perspective, Dad was born a year before the stock market crash of 1929 and grew up during the depression. And throughout those 92 years, he had a range of accomplishments and life experiences that are pretty amazing – even if they might seem “ordinary” to so many folks.

    He was a corporal in the military police of the army during the Korean War, and was lucky enough to be stationed in Germany. He married my Mom 67 and a half years ago, and raised us three kids who ended up blessing him with 9 grandkids and 8 great-grandkids. And along the way he had a bunch of interests and loved family parties, and hunting when he was younger, and fishing – even had his own boat for awhile – and his orchard of trees at his PA house, and made a ton of friends and acquaintances – the folks gathered for a wing fest at Camp Strauss, or the guys sitting around the bar at Top Hill and the men playing pinochle at Queen of Martyrs Holy Name.

     But it seems to me that the thing that really helped define him the most was his love and talent for photography. It was photography that allowed him to find a career even though he didn’t go much further than the 6^th grade. It was photography that got him out of the factory and into the darkroom – turning a hobby and an avocation into a profession. It was photography that enabled him to build a life for his family, to put food on the table and a roof over our heads, and eventually to build a second home in PA that was always his favorite place to be.

     I was lucky enough to work with him in his own photography business for a short time while I was in college, and even though we had a few father/son squabbles, I learned a lot. One of the things I learned that has stayed with me is the importance of how things look through the lens of the camera. When he was setting up a shot of some new pizza product, or even an American Optical non-contact tonometer (I love saying that) he taught me that the only thing that was important was how it looked through the lens. We would set up all these lights and paper and backgrounds and reflectors and stuff hanging from the ceiling, and if you were in the studio, you could look at this whole set-up and see all the “tricks” we were using to make the picture look good – but all that mattered was how it looked through the lens.

     I think that each of us will remember Dad in his life through our own lenses – whether we shared 67+ years with him like my Mom; or whether we share his name like I and my son Donnie do; or whether we share his birthday like my brother Keith does or Dad’s grandson Brian does; or whether we shared photography like Lynn did when she worked with him, or like his granddaughter Ashley does now in her own profession. When we think of his life, nothing will matter except how we see him through our own lenses.

     But what lens do we use now to see him in his death? The only lens that makes sense for us, the reason we are gathered here in this church and around the table of the Lord, is to see his passing through the lens of our faith. The reading from Wisdom was clear – he now rests in the hand of God. The foolish only see his death, but those who are wise, those of us who have faith, know that he is at peace.

     It is not always a simple or easy perspective. There may be times when we wonder where God is – we might call out to Jesus like Martha did – “Where were you? if you had been here, things would have been different!” But then our faith brings us around again to answer Jesus’ question, “Do you believe?” And we say– “yes, Lord, I believe you are the Messiah, the Son of God” – and that makes all the difference. Our faith gives us the lens to see that Dad’s death is not the end, but the transition to another life, to a more complete and total life in the Lord, a transition to a final rest, at home with Christ Jesus.

     St Paul echoes much the same thought – “We do not want you to be unaware about those who have fallen asleep, so that you may not grieve like the rest, who have no hope.” That is the lens of our faith, that is the only lens that matters. And it is our faith that gives us hope in eternal life, hope in the Resurrection, and hope in the share of immortality that Jesus has won for us.

     So, as we grieve our loss, and as we deal with the reality of losing him from our lives here on earth, and as we remember all that he was for us, and all of our times together – in both joy and difficulties – we recognize how much we will miss him. But our faith gives us the lens of hope that helps us to see that our separation is only temporary until we are joined again for all time around the eternal table of the Lord.

So What Do We Do Now? - A homily for the 32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time - November 8, 2020

 Readings:

Wisdom 6:12-16
Psalm 63:2, 3-4, 5-6, 7-8
1 Thessalonians 4:13-18
Matthew 25:1-13

 

So what do we do now? The good news is that the commercials, the robocalls, the slick mailers, the speeches and the debates are gone for now. The bad news is that what remains isn’t necessarily all that pretty.

Because what remains is a country that seems horribly divided. What remains is half a country feeling vindicated, or victorious, or gloating, or relieved, and half a country that feels angry, or sorrowful, or despairing, or anxious. And what remains is probably this church is divided that way too. And there, I think, is our challenge.

Because we’re not supposed to be like everybody else. We’re not supposed to follow what the general population does. We’re supposed to be different. We’re supposed to be the ones who let the light shine through us as Fr. Ron said last week. We’re supposed to be the ones to lead the way in forgiveness, and in mercy and healing. And boy, there’s going to need to be a lot of healing after this election cycle. And that’s where Wisdom comes in.

We hear a lot today about Wisdom – about how just seeking Wisdom is the beginning of gaining it.  But the wisdom that Scripture is talking about is not the conventional wisdom of the world. Rather it’s the divine Wisdom – and that Wisdom is embodied perfectly in what Jesus taught and lived.

That Wisdom is not just the foresight to have a full reserve of oil – but it’s the oil itself that keeps our lamps burning so that we can see the bridegroom even in the darkness of the night. Because tt’s all about the oil. All through this year we’ve been challenged with dealing with the covid-19 pandemic, tension caused by racial inequality, and a contentious election year. But all through the year we have also heard from Matthew’s gospel about what that oil is that keeps our light shining. All the way back in the spring we heard Jesus tell us that we are the light of the world. What good will that light be without oil? How will we shine without enough oil to keep bringing light to the rest of the world in times when darkness comes?

It’s all about the oil.

And as we heard so much from Matthew’s gospel, we were offered more oil when we heard Jesus tell about building our house on rock, not on sand; about turning the other cheek, going the extra mile, loving one’s enemies, investing one's talents fully – and taking up one’s cross.

Then two weeks ago there was more oil when we heard that loving our neighbor is on a par with loving God, and that the two are essentially inseparable.

And just last week we heard again the outline for living a life of a missionary disciple when we heard the Beatitudes. More oil. We are to be poor in spirit, meek, merciful, pure of heart – and peacemakers. Peacemakers. These are the qualities we’re supposed to bring to the world, to be the light Jesus says we are, really to let his light shine through us.

And in just two weeks we will hear the other end of Matthew’s gospel – the climax of Jesus’ teaching: the corporal works of mercy. When did we see you hungry and feed you? When did we see you naked and clothe you? When did we see you as a prisoner and visit you, or stranger and welcome you?

The Beatitudes and the corporal works of mercy are the bookends in Jesus’ teaching according to Matthew. And they are the oil for our lamps.  And it’s all about the oil.

And so our prayer is in the words of that great gospel hymn: Give me oil in my lamp, keep me burning, give me oil in my lamp – I pray, give me oil in my lamp keep me burning – keep me burning to the break of day.

So what do we do now? Maybe what we do is to be who we are called to be – maybe we should be the voices of mercy and healing and peace and reconciliation. And maybe we should be the ones who bring hope and calm to everyone around us – maybe we should be the peacemakers. And maybe if we do our lamps will shine brightly enough for Jesus to recognize us and welcome us into his party. And we can only do that if we remember that it’s all about the oil.

Forgiveness - A Homily

24th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year A

Sirach 27:30 - 28:7

Psalm 103: 1-2, 3-4, 9-10, 11-12

Romans 14:7-9

Matthew 18:21-35

Think of someone – friend, neighbor, loved one, co-worker – whom you need to forgive but have not yet really forgiven.

Last week we heard about the value of reconciliation – about how to repair relationships if they have gone off the tracks and Jesus even laid out a whole process to bring people back together in the community.

But reconciliation takes two parties – forgiveness only takes one. Reconciliation is not always possible. But forgiveness is.

And what is it that we mean when we talk about “forgiveness”? The Greek verb used in Peter’s question, and in the parable, and in the Our Father for “forgive” aphiemi, means simply to “let go, to set aside, to cancel, to leave behind”. Forgiveness is, like love, not a feeling, but an action involving our will rather than our emotions. But this kind of action never comes easy – even for so great an Apostle as Peter. “Lord, how many times?” Peter seems to be saying there must be a limit. Wouldn’t seven times be enough? Even the rabbis suggested that THREE times is a lot. No, Jesus says, not seven – seventy seven!

Nothing is more fundamental to Jesus’ teaching than his call to forgiveness and mercy: giving up debts, letting go of grievances, pardoning those who have harmed us. It’s an element of the one prayer that Jesus taught his disciples. And every time we say the Lord’s Prayer, we remind God that we ask to be forgiven only insofar as we ourselves have extended forgiveness to others: "Forgive us our debts as we forgive those of our debtors". Because forgiving others teaches us to see how much we too are in need of forgiveness.

I think maybe God does not withhold forgiveness if we haven’t forgiven others – I think it might be that if we don’t know how to forgive, we don’t know how to accept forgiveness either!

Think of that person again – the one whom you need to forgive. And think about how angry they made you, think about how whatever they did caused you pain. Think about even how you might have wanted to see them hurt as well.

We’re not supposed to be vengeful; we’re called to forgive. The Psalm reminds us, “The Lord is kind and merciful”, and so we are to be forgiving people. But we’re not. Instead, as Sirach says, we take our wrath and our anger and we “hug it tight”. We take comfort in our indignation and we refuse to release our anger and reach out in forgiveness to those who have wronged us. 

Because forgiveness is hard. Sure, it’s somewhat easy to forgive the little things – like leaving dishes in the sink, or clothes on the floor, or when someone is late for an appointment with us or forgets our birthday. It is harder to forgive the close friend who talks behind our back or the co-worker who betrays us or the family member who doesn’t approve of us and our lifestyle or our politics. And if those are hard, how do we ever get the point of forgiving the murderer on death row, or the terrorists who flew into the World Trade Center 19 years ago?

Think of that person again – and think about why you have not yet forgiven them. Have they not asked for forgiveness? Have they not said they were sorry or tried to repair whatever it is that wrong you?

The uncomfortable truth is that real forgiveness doesn’t depend on the action of the other. What we are frequently looking for is not forgiveness and mercy, but what we think is justice.

Forgiveness is so central to Jesus’ message that he gives us the parable as a warning for what happens when we don’t forgive. When we’re unforgiving, what we’re left with is our concept of justice. Who can blame the unforgiving servant for demanding his money? Isn’t it just? Who can blame us when we’ll have nothing to do with those people who have hurt us? Isn’t it only fair? Who can blame us when we refuse to admit Muslims into our country and to wage war against them to avenge the terrorist attacks nineteen years ago? Isn’t it only what our honor and security demands?

The problem is, as Jesus points out, that when we withhold forgiveness from all except those who have “earned” it or “deserve” it, our attitude keeps us in deep and abiding bondage to our fear, our conflicts, and our insecurities, and prevents us from ever being open to the limitless forgiveness that God offers us.

Think now of someone – friend, co-worker, relative, neighbor – that you need forgiveness from but have not yet asked for it or received it.

I know very few people for whom forgiveness – being merciful – isn’t a day by day challenge. We’ve been wounded, and the wounds often last a lifetime and sometimes even spill over across generations.

But we’re not only victims with a cause to be angry. Our own experiences should tie us, should bind us to the suffering of others around the block and around the world. We are linked not only to our sisters and brothers by injuries that we all suffer, but also because the truth is that we cause some of those injuries – by what we have done and what we have failed to do. Sometimes we are that close friend who talks behind another’s back or the co-worker who betrays another or the family member who doesn’t approve of another family member and their lifestyle or their politics.

And yes, sometimes we can cause pain for others whom we don’t even know personally – "by tolerating or turning a blind eye to racism or exclusion in any form", as Pope Francis says, or voting for policies that harm the least among us, or trying to solve diplomatic problems with military might.

But there is another way. The good news is that God’s grace is there for our own forgiveness, and to strengthen us to forgive others. This eternal gift of the forgiveness that we celebrate in the Eucharist can help us to find the courage  and the strength to embrace Jesus’ words, to take up the cross, and to live differently. And when we do, starting now, starting today, and a little more each day, the power of violence, and retribution and inequity is truly broken.

We are called to forgive. We need to seek forgiveness, offer forgiveness, and accept forgiveness. We are followers of Jesus who taught us forgiveness – even when his hands were nailed to the wood of the cross: “Father forgive them, they know not what they do”

 

 

 

 

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.