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.

"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?

The Insidiousness of Bigotry

This is the day after Doug Jones narrowly defeated Roy Moore for the remaining term of the Senate seat of Curtis Strange. I make it a habit to switch around from CNN to FOX to MSNBC to see what these outlets are saying in reaction to the headlines. I find it to be interesting and enlightening to hear views from across the political spectrum.

But today was a day that made me shout out loud at the TV (am I turning into THAT GUY?) when I was watching FOX and Friends. They had this great little story about two runners in a marathon in Dallas over the weekend - the woman who was going to take the women's title was collapsing just yards from the finish line, and a high-school relay runner stopped and helped her get across. A great story of compassion over competition and human kindness.

Now, it wasn't that FOX and Friends were the only ones who covered the story. As you can imagine, news outlets everywhere had this as part of their shows, with interviews of the two women, and praise from whatever news commentators were covering the story. But Steve Doocy, never one to waste an opportunity to say something inappropriate, commented that it was a good thing that it happened in the South, because if it had happened "in New York City or a lot of other places" no one would have stopped to help.

And there it is. An offhand comment that implies that "big cities" (even though this happened in Dallas), and people on the two coasts (even though the runner who had been helped was a psychiatric doctor in NYC!) are not compassionate or kind. This is the kind of insidious nature of bigotry that creeps into our brains if we are not constantly vigilant to reject it. It is like the comments that folks make about "those people" or when we see posts on Facebook and other places that show blacks, Hispanics, Muslims, and others in unflattering light.

Sometimes there are outright statements and opinions that show a person's bigotry - right after this story about the marathon, FOX and Friends had a short interview with Michele Malkin (another FOX commentator) who was screaming - and I am not really exaggerating - about how we can only prevent terror actions like the one the other day in NYC if we don't let in anyone who can't prove that they will help make America great. At least with those "in your face" arguments others can respond, but the offhand comment, the wink and nod of racist jokes and "humor", the bigotry by implication and innuendo is insidious and eats at our psyche and gets stuck in our subconscious.

If we want to begin to drive out racism, to help people see "the other" with compassion and human decency, to guard ourselves against this insidious bigotry, then maybe we have to raise our own awareness of when it is happening, and reject it from our thinking - and maybe it starts with shouting at the TV.

Stand in Support of Dreamers

Stand in Support of DREAMERS

Justice Perspective – September 2017

Deacon Don Weigel

Parents will do just about anything for their children.  Sacrifice is a quality that seems built in to being a parent, and protecting your children from danger, suffering, or threats to their life and well-being is both natural and expected.

Is it any wonder, then, why parents who were escaping dangerous conditions in their own land would bring their children with them? Or is it beyond belief that things could be so bad in some places that parents would send their children away – even alone – to find safety or a better life in another land?

Over the past few years, I have had the opportunity to travel to places like El Salvador and Guatemala, and I have witnessed the poverty, crime, and gang culture that pervades those places and many of their neighboring countries as well. As beautiful as those countries are, and as genuine as their people are, the conditions under which they live can sometimes be so extremely dangerous or unlivable that they choose to flee their country in hopes for a better life in ours.

Put aside for the moment the actions of the parents who entered the U. S. without going through the proper procedures, and think about the children that they brought with them. For their children, brought into our country sometimes at a very young age, the U. S. is the only country they have really known; they have attended school, played with their classmates and neighbors, and as they have grown up they have worked and paid taxes, served in the military, or become leaders in their parishes or communities.

These children have been called DREAMERS, and in 2012, the Obama administration began a program called DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals), which gave protection to these undocumented immigrants who came here as children, have lived here since 2007, and met other requirements. There are nearly 800,000 young people who have registered for this program and it has allowed them to work and study in the U.S.

For various political reasons, that program is now in jeopardy, and the DREAMERS now may face deportation – even if they have committed no crime, and have been contributing members of our society.

In order to protect them, a bipartisan bill has been introduced in both houses of Congress. It is called The Dream Act of 2017 (S.1615 in the Senate and H.R.3440 in the House of Representatives). The bill would provide young undocumented immigrants - who were brought to the United States as children and have lived in the U.S. at least four years - protection from deportation and an opportunity to obtain legal status if they meet certain requirements.

The US Bishops support this bill, and have always supported the DREAMERS  because as Catholics we believe in protecting the dignity of every human being, especially that of our children.

You can lend your support to the effort to pass this bill by going to www.justiceforimmigrants.org, the Bishops’ site for immigration issues, and tell your Senator and Representative to sponsor and support this bill that will ensure the dignity and security of DREAMERS. 

Our God Allows U-Turns!

Homily for 3rd Sunday of Easter - Year A 2017

As you drive around, I’m sure you have seen how a lot of churches use their signs out front to come up with catchy slogans or funny anecdotes. Maybe you’ve seen some like this:

·      “There are some questions that can’t be answered by Google”

·      “Honk if you love Jesus. Text while driving if you want to meet him”

·         Sometimes they have an unintended meaning like this one: “Don’t let stress kill you – let the Church help!”

One church on French Road near my parents' house once had this one: “Our God allows U-turns. “

I was reminded of that sign when I was reflecting on the experience of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. They had just witnessed the execution of the “one that they had hoped would redeem Israel”, and they were leaving Jerusalem – maybe even fleeing Jerusalem – certainly confused, perhaps in fear. But then they encountered Jesus – and their encounter of the Lord caused them to make a U-turn, to go back to Jerusalem, to face whatever it was that was waiting for them there.

I see this U-turn in my ministry at Collins Correctional Facility. Just last Friday night I was once again visiting with some of the men inside who have decided to turn their lives over to Jesus. Some of them have done some pretty awful things – but because of their encounter with the risen Lord, they too have made this U-turn, to turn their lives around and face the difficult choice of walking as a disciple instead of their previous way of life. The conversions I have seen in that facility have amazed me, encouraged me, and touched my heart.

Some inmates in our country, however, are deprived of this opportunity for conversion because their lives are taken by capital punishment. Thankfully, we have suspended capital punishment in NY, but if you have been following the news you know that there have been 4 inmates executed in the past week in Arkansas – the first executions in 12 years. Ledell Lee, Marcel Williams, Jack H. Jones Jr., and Kenneth Williams, were all executed by lethal injection in Arkansas – and the hurried pace was the result of the fact that one of the drugs that they use in the procedure was due to expire at the end of this month.

Our US bishops have called for an end to the death penalty since at least 1980 – most prominently in a document from 2005 called “The Culture of Life and the Penalty of Death”.  They remind us that, in their words, we need to “abandon the illusion that we can protect life by taking life”. They go on to say that we must promote “a culture of life in which our nation will no longer try to teach that killing is wrong by killing those who kill. This cycle of violence diminishes all of us.”

Pope Francis said this a couple of years ago: “Today the death penalty is inadmissible, no matter how serious the crime committed. It is an offense against the inviolability of life and the dignity of the human person…It does not render justice to the victims, but rather fosters vengeance”.

But in spite of the teaching of our Bishops, in spite of the strong opposition to the death penalty of the last three Popes, and in spite of the fact that Jesus was the victim of capital punishment, half of the Catholics in the US still support the death penalty.  Half!! We need to make a U-turn of our own, away from the path of fear or revenge, or a misunderstanding of justice, or whatever causes us to support capital punishment.

Our bishops have called us to conversion and have suggested that we do four things:

1.    Pray for victims of crime, those facing execution, and those working in the criminal justice system;

2.    Reach out to the families of those affected by violent crime by bringing Christ’s love and compassion;

3.     Learn about the Church’s teaching on capital punishment and educate others;

4.    Advocate for better public policies to protect society and end the use of the death penalty.

Our God does, indeed, allow U-turns; and we who have encountered the Risen Jesus are called to turn away from capital punishment and to turn instead to embrace mercy, to embrace forgiveness, to embrace life.