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“If your foot causes you to sin, cut it off”
One of the best approaches for reading and understanding Scripture is known as lectio divina, an ancient practice which includes multiple readings of the same passage. With the first reading, you simply try to feel the flow of the passage. During the second reading, you note any verses that catch your attention. For the third reading, you imaginatively insert yourself into the scene as you reflect upon it.

That’s how I approached today’s Gospel as I was preparing my homily. After first reading the entire passage, I read through it a second time, and was struck by the verse, “If your foot causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter into life crippled, than with two feet to be thrown into Gehenna.” This verse caught my attention because it wasn’t at all clear to me how a foot could cause you to sin. Now, the verses immediately before and after this one did make sense to me. In those verses, the Lord speaks about sinning with your hands and your eyes. Your hand can rudely gesture, it can steal, and it can do violence. Your eyes can lead to envy, jealousy, and lust. But how can your foot lead you to sin, and what would be the practical consequences of losing your foot?

That second question has significance for me because after my son was shot nine years ago and paralyzed below his chest, he, in a sense, “lost” both his feet. Fortunately, he’s quite mobile and proficient with his wheelchair, and his van has hand controls and wheel-in access, so he doesn’t have to worry about transfers. This past summer, Mike participated in both the National Wheelchair Games in New Orleans and the Wheelchair Softball World Series in Iowa. So, despite his disability, he still has a very active life.

When I placed myself in our Gospel’s scene during my third reading, however, I realized that the life of a crippled person in 1st century Galilee would be very, very different than my son’s life now. For most it would have meant poverty, begging for a living, unable to support yourself, let alone a family. Without two feet, it would have been extraordinarily difficult to make the three annual pilgrimages to Jerusalem or even attend synagogue. Being crippled usually meant that you were wholly dependent upon others for care and charity, and isolated from the social and religious life of your community. Your freedom was radically limited and yet, Jesus said that that condition was better than having both of your feet if your feet led you to sin.

But my first question remains: how can your feet lead you into sin? Given that walking is the most important thing we do with two good feet, there are actually at least three “ways” of walking which are sinful. The first is “walking over” other people. We walk all over people when we seek to demean, dominate, or exploit them. Jesus spoke of this superior attitude in his parable about the Pharisee and the tax collector praying in the temple; when he criticized guests at a banquet for seeking seats of honor; when he denounced the scribes and Pharisees for their hypocrisy and oppression of the people; and when he insisted that his own followers must choose to be last if they wished to be first. In our own day, sex traffickers, loan sharks, arrogant bureaucrats, domineering employers, slave traders and slave owners, even bullies and some popular cliques at school walk all over people who are vulnerable and less powerful. It would be better for such bullies to lose a foot and be crippled than to continue walking all over people on their way to Gehenna—the place of eternal torment.

Another walking sin is to “walk out on” someone. We usually think of such abandonment in terms of a romantic relationship, particularly a marriage. That happened to one of my sisters when her husband walked out on her and their three adolescent daughters. But that’s not the only kind of relationship that people walk out on. People sometimes suddenly abandon friends, even ones they’ve known for decades. We all know folks who’ve walked out on our parishes. Sometimes people selfishly walk out on their team, their clients, or their colleagues.

And Scripture reminds us that we all have experience walking out on God. The Jews walked out on God repeatedly, almost from the moment they made their covenant with Him on Sinai. And the earliest Christians were no better. Many of Jesus’s disciples walked out on him after he told them that he was the Bread of Life, the flesh they must eat. Later, Judas walked out on him and arranged his betrayal. Finally, all of the disciples ran out on him at Gethsemane, and, in a particularly poignant and tragic way, Peter walked out on him in the high priest’s courtyard as the cock crowed. Abandoning loved ones, those we have committed to, those who need us, and even God himself—all of these are ways that our feet can lead us into sin by walking out on someone.

A third walking sin is “walking by” somebody in need. Jesus vividly illustrated this in the parable of the Good Samaritan. Before the Samaritan arrived to rescue the victim, both a priest and a Levite avoided the man and walked by him. How often have we done something similar, passing up an opportunity to help someone in need, avoiding her and passing her by? How often have we had a chance to feed the hungry, provide water for the thirsty, clothe the naked, shelter the homeless, or visit the sick and imprisoned, but then just passed up the opportunity? Jesus makes clear that when we ignore those in need, we are no longer just walking past them on our two good feet. We are also sprinting down the shortest path to hell.

In our culture, independence and personal autonomy are idolized as the ultimate virtues to be promoted in a “free society.” Most people in Western culture define freedom as the ability to do whatever we want—to walk where we choose, when we choose, and with whom we choose. But that is not the Christian definition of freedom. Pope St. John Paul II taught that “freedom consists not in doing what we like, but in having the right to do what we ought.” Indeed, freely choosing to do what is wrong is actually a form of slavery: enslavement to our disordered egos. So, if we wish to do what is right, how should we choose to walk? If we are to avoid walking by, out on and all over people, can we discover a different way to walk?

Yes, we can, and one of the clearest articulations of that good path was provided by Father Pedro Arrupe, the Superior General of the Jesuit order a half century ago. In 1973, Fr. Arrupe gave a talk titled, “Men for Others,” in which he encouraged Jesuit educators to form their students into “men for others.” Over the ensuing decades, that idea has become a central focus of Ignatian education, and has been broadened to become “men and women for and with others.” That description should apply to all of us for all of us are called to walk for and with others. In other words, we are called to accompany our brothers and sisters, our neighbors, our enemies—indeed all of our fellow sinners. Pope Francis has emphasized the theme of accompaniment, this way of walking for and with others. In popular culture, such a commitment was vividly revealed by the hobbit, Samwise Gamgee, in the Lord of the Rings. When Frodo, the ring-bearer was exhausted and unable to continue their quest to destroy the one ring, Sam boldly hoisted Frodo upon his shoulders, and carried him bodily up the rugged slopes of Mt. Doom. Perhaps the best Scriptural example of walking in this way is the Gospel account of the paralytic—a man who could not walk, but who was carried by his loving friends--friends who walked for him and with him, even carrying him up on to a roof before lowering him down to receive the healing mercy of Jesus. That’s how we are to walk—not all over other people, but rather lovingly, walking for and with all our fellow sinners, bringing to Jesus all those who are in desperate need of mercy, friendship, and love.

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In today’s Gospel, Jesus asks what may be the most important question ever, “Who do you say that I am?” As Jesus’ identity and destiny become clearer in this passage, we also come face to face with our own identity and destiny as well.

As the scene opens, Jesus first asks his disciples, “‘Who do people say that I am?’ They said in reply, ‘John the Baptist, others Elijah, still others one of the prophets.’”  Well, the people were both wrong and right.  Jesus wasn’t the Baptist or Elijah, but he was “one of the prophets.”  In fact, he was both the final prophet of God’s coming kingdom and the fulfillment of that prophecy, for God’s kingdom entered human history through the person of Jesus Christ.  Thus, he was the fulfillment of all the Jewish prophets and their prophecies down through the centuries. 

Peter, however, knew that Jesus was more than just a prophet.  When the Lord asked his disciples, “‘But who do you say that I am?’ Peter said to him in reply, ‘You are the Christ.’”  The Christ, of course, is the anointed one, the Messiah.  In ancient Israel, priests and kings were anointed, so in declaring Jesus to be the Messiah, Peter is testifying that Jesus is both priest and king, the one who will deliver Israel from her enemies. Thus, in this passage, Jesus implicitly acknowledges that he is a prophet, as the people sensed, and he is both priest and king, that is, the Christ, as Peter realized.

But then the scene goes sideways.  After Peter’s profession of Jesus’ identity, the Lord describes his destiny as the Messiah, a destiny that apparently none of them had anticipated.  He refers to himself as the Son of Man, a mysterious and powerful messianic figure prophesied in Daniel 7 who will overcome the kingdoms of the world and usher in the kingdom of God during the time of the Roman Empire. But now, listen again to what Jesus said: “…the Son of Man must suffer greatly and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and rise after three days.”  Hearing that terrifying and confusing news, Peter rebuked Jesus, presumably insisting that the Messiah should not and could not experience such a fate.  In response, Jesus harshly rebukes him right back, “Get behind me, Satan!”—in other words, Jesus insists that the Son of Man must fulfill that brutal destiny and not be tempted to avoid it.  

So, Jesus is prophet, priest, and king, but as his Passion reveals, he is also a sacrificial victim, the Paschal Lamb, slain for our redemption. Jesus insists that if we wish to follow him, we must also embrace his identity as victims, as suffering servants, and thereby share his destiny.  And notice that Jesus summons the entire crowd to explain this, emphasizing that all of us are called to share this fate.  Jesus declares, “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and that of the gospel will save it.”  So, through our baptism, we are all, like Jesus, called to be priest, prophet and king, but we are also called to be sacrificial victims, offering ourselves for others in love by carrying our cross just as Jesus did.

Now, let’s be clear about what that destiny means, what it means to carry our cross.  There are actually two crosses that we can carry in life—one that we can choose, and one that we cannot.  The first is the Cross of Christ—that is the one that we have the freedom to pick up or to leave behind.  The other cross, however, comes with just being human, so we can think of it as the “Cross of Adam.”  This cross refers to all the struggle and suffering we endure as fallen descendants of Adam, exiled from Eden, and destined for a worldly life of toil and strife.  Illness, suffering, death, the consequences of sin—all of these are part of the Cross of Adam, a cross that all humanity bears, believer and unbeliever alike.  

Now, as Christians, we can choose to bear this cross with grace, courage, patience, and compassion.   Indeed, the Lord delights when we turn to him in prayer to help us bear the burdens that weigh us down as daughters and sons of Adam, and Jesus invites us to transform our Cross of Adam by joining it to his Cross on Calvary, so that our suffering becomes a redemptive participation in his saving work. 

But that’s not quite what Jesus is talking about in today’s Gospel.  The Cross of Christ includes, but goes beyond, how we deal with the suffering common to all humanity.  Jesus has just described the rejection and suffering he will experience in his Passion and death—rejection and suffering because he witnessed to the Truth about God and remained obedient to his Father’s will even unto death, death on a cross.  We carry the Cross of Christ when we, too, are willing to suffer for proclaiming the Gospel in word and deed—when we are witnesses to Jesus Christ.  The Greek word for “witness” was “martyr.”  So, when we are martyrs for the Lord, when we testify to the truth of our faith, even when it is awkward, inconvenient, costly, or downright dangerous, then we are carrying the Cross of Christ.  When living our faith in Jesus leads to rejection, isolation and persecution, we are carrying the Cross of Christ.  In those challenging moments, Jesus speaks to us a beatitude from the Sermon on the Mount: “Blessed are you when people mock you and persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.  Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven. For in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”

Three weeks ago, Fr. David asked very pointedly, “Whose side are you on?  Whom do you support?” May we all answer, “Jesus Christ!  I’m on his side, first, foremost, and forever!” Or as Joshua put it, “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord!”  In today’s Gospel, we get a clear picture of what it might cost us if we serve the Lord by putting Him first—above everything and everyone else.  In speaking to his disciples, the crowd and to us, Jesus pulls no punches in explaining what it means to carry his Cross, the Cross of Christ.  

In light of that, we return to the Lord’s ultimate question, “Who do you say that I am?”  So, who do you say that he is? Do you declare that Jesus is your Lord and Savior—priest, prophet, king and sacrificial victim?  Are you willing to follow the Savior of the world down the path of suffering?  Are you willing to bear the Cross of Christ and be a witness, a martyr, for the Lord?

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Would that have been us in the synagogue that day saying those exact words?
Would we be among those who had a hard time making sense of Jesus --- the person many of them knew since he was a kid?
In one sense, they could see some pretty good things in him.
He had a certain level of wisdom they didn’t expect.
He did some things they really couldn’t explain.
But then there was that other thing --- his upbringing, his “station” in life.
It was ordinary.
Ordinary family as far as anyone at that time knew.
Ordinary kid that seemed pretty much like the other kids.
Ordinary “job” that many other people did.

But something didn’t fit.
Something was not quite right.
There was a disconnect of sorts --- a “regular” guy and then this other “guy” --- one that at times “astonished” them.
“Is he not the carpenter, the son of Mary . . .?

Could you see yourself wondering about those exact same things?
I know I could ---because I secretly say those same things and wonder those same things about myself.
I look within and see a very “regular” guy.
Nothing special.
Nothing really out of the ordinary.
Nothing other people would take notice of.
But every once in a while I see someone else, I see something in me that gets my attention, gets me to wonder who the “real me” is.
Maybe it’s one of the few times I say the exact right thing when talking with a friend who is going through a rough time. .
Maybe it’s one of the few times I feel compelled to be extra-generous with someone --- even though I had hoped to use that money toward something nice for myself.
Maybe it’s one of the few times I let go of a grudge and truly forgive someone.
Or maybe it’s one of the few times I willingly take on extra work --- saying yes to someone when I would usually say no.

I deliberately chose the word “few” because that is what it feels like.
These experiences feel few and far between.
That’s because it’s easier to not do them, it’s so much easier to find some reason to say no ---
to not give as much
or forgive as much
or show as much compassion
or go the extra mile.
After all, I’m just an ordinary guy.
And ordinary guys do ordinary things.
It’s as if I’m questioning myself . . .

I ask myself the same question that the people at the synagogue asked about Jesus in the gospel story we just heard.

Am I not just the son of Sally and Angelo who grew up in an ordinary home in an ordinary neighborhood?

Do you often feel the same way?
Do you often feel ordinary, nothing special?
Is the “real you” the one that doesn’t love that much,
doesn’t give that much,
doesn’t forgive very often,
doesn’t show too much compassion?

In a certain sense, are you asking yourself . . .
Am I not the accountant?
Am I not the clerk in a retail store?
Am I not the construction worker?
Am I not the server in a restaurant?
Am I not the high school student?
Am I not the stay-at-home parent?
Am I not the salesperson?

Am I not just an ordinary person?

When I do the occasional good thing, the occasional thing that stands out in my mind I begin to wonder about something.
I wonder if I CAN do more, wonder if the “real me” is much more than I’m giving God credit for.
And I’m pretty sure God WANTS more from me, wants me to be a much more loving person than I am.
I don’t doubt that.

But I wonder sometimes if I truly believe that deeply enough,
believe that there is that kind of potential in me waiting for me to be so much more than I am today.
Do I believe that?
Or am I like the people who couldn’t believe Jesus was more than what their eyes could see,
more than what the circumstances of his life predicted,
more than just the Son of Mary?

I guess we could say that sometimes a prophet is not without honor except in his own heart.

Is this (as the Gospel passage implies) because of a lack of faith?
In a certain sense, it might be.

You see, if we believe in God and have faith in God ---
a God who created and loves us ---
then we must try to have a kind of faith in ourselves,
a belief that each of us can be the person God wants us to be, calls us to be and created us to be.

We have all that potential ---
because our God dwells within us --- the Holy Spirit ---
providing us with everything we need to be exactly who God wants and hopes we will be.
And it doesn’t matter how “ordinary” our external lives might be, or even how “ordinary” we might feel on the inside.

The truth is --- there is an incredible person in each of us --- one that God hopes will “astonish” others by showing them love and compassion and understanding and mercy.

Am I not the son of Sally and Angelo?
You bet I am.
But I can be so much more than that if I get out of God’s way and let Him work within me to bring out His best.

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11th Sunday in Ordinary Time — Year B 16 June 2024 “We walk by faith, not by sight” Deacon Brian McCaffery 

In today’s Gospel passage from Mark, Jesus shares two parables about the seeds of the kingdom. The parables reveal that those seeds can grow without our fully understanding how and they can grow into something amazingly productive and beautiful. In my homily today, I’d like to plant a seed as well, a seed of faith to enlighten and inspire us in this season of national Eucharistic celebration. Specifically, I’d like to explain how in the celebration of the Eucharist we go beyond the limits of space and time to receive the intimate love of God. To appreciate this divine miracle, however, we must follow the words of St. Paul in our second reading, to “walk by faith and not by sight.” So, to begin that walk of faith today, let’s start by visiting another place and time. 

In 1944, just a month after D-Day, an American B-17 bomber flying high above the French countryside was hit by flak from German anti-aircraft batteries. The crew bailed out, but after seeing the cockpit shredded by enemy fire, the three crewmen who safely made it back to Allied lines didn’t know whether or not the pilot had escaped. Nearby, a 6-yr old French boy watched as American parachutes and the doomed bomber fell from the sky. 

Blessedly, the entire crew did get out before the crash, but 8 of the 11 men, including the pilot, were captured by the Germans and they spent the rest of the war in a Luftwaffe prison camp before finally coming home in 1945. The pilot went on to marry, raise a family, and have an impressive military career before passing away. Just last month, the son of that pilot, a dear friend and colleague of mine from Alaska, traveled to France with his family to see where his father had been shot down during the war. That 6-year old witness to the crash is now 86 and, along with his entire French village, he welcomed Bob’s family, celebrated their visit, and thanked them for what Bob’s father, and all of the American servicemen in Europe, had done to restore their freedom from the Nazis 80 years ago. 

Bob took that trip out of more than just historical curiosity. By visiting the site of his father’s war-time ordeal, he was striving to somehow connect again with his father, to bridge the gap of space and time that separates all of us from our loved ones who have passed on.  I understand that impulse. Today is Father’s Day, and 67 years ago, June 16, 1957, my dad’s only son was born on Father’s Day. Dad died in 2021 and I wish that I could reconnect with him somehow. Had he survived, he would have turned 100 this year. I would love to spend just a few more hours, a few more moments with him. I’m sure that many of you feel the same way about your dads. 

Many of us may also have a similar yearning to be with our heavenly Father—wishing that we could somehow overcome the limits of space and time and just be with the Lord right now. Fortunately, if we believe St. Paul’s declaration that we walk by faith rather than by sight, then there actually is one place and one time where we can dwell in the Father’s divine presence, where we are set free from the bonds of space and time in a unique and blessed way. That opportunity is right here at Mass. Indeed, at Mass, when we step into church we step outside the space-time continuum in two marvelous ways. 

First, when we come to Mass, we do not just celebrate the Eucharist here in our parish church in northern Wisconsin. We are also actually participating in the eternal heavenly liturgy described in the Book of Revelation, where the Lamb of God presides as both priest and victim in the throne room of His Father. As Scripture says, Jesus intercedes for us at his Father’s right hand, and through his intercession at Mass, we are drawn into the spiritual presence of the Father. At Mass, heaven comes down to meet us—Father, Son, and Spirit; angels and the communion of saints, including our deceased beloved who dwell in heaven—all of them become present to us here and we are lifted up to join them in their heavenly worship. As the Catechism explains, “…by the Eucharistic celebration we already unite ourselves with the heavenly liturgy, and anticipate eternal life.” (CCC 1326). 

But there is more—a second way we enter into the timeless presence of our heavenly Father through the sacrifice of his Son. By the power of the Holy Spirit and our priest’s words of consecration, Jesus Christ becomes truly present on the altar—body, blood, soul and divinity. From the Last Supper to his death on the cross, his entire Paschal sacrifice is made present to us on the altar during Mass. We actually participate in what occurred in the upper room and on the summit of Calvary two thousand years ago. When we are at Mass, Jesus’ sacrifice is re-presented—not just represented, not merely re-enacted and remembered, but made present again. So, what does that actually mean? 

First, the re-presentation of Calvary does not mean that we re-crucify Jesus at every Mass, as some of our Protestant brethren misinterpret what we believe. Recall that the Letter to the Hebrews insists that Jesus’ sacrifice was “once for all.” Based on this passage, some Christians see Jesus’ death on Calvary as just a one-off moment, a “one and done” offering, a singular past event which can never be repeated. We Catholics actually agree that it cannot be repeated, but that’s because the Lord’s sacrificial offering is eternal—it is not over and done with, but rather a living sacrifice that communicates its power through all time. That is exactly what the Catechism teaches when it declares, “The Eucharist…re-presents (makes present again) the sacrifice of the Cross.” (CCC 1366) “At the Last Supper, on the night he was betrayed, our Savior instituted the Eucharistic sacrifice of his Body and Blood. This he did in order to perpetuate the sacrifice of the cross throughout the ages until he should come again.” (CCC 1323). Bishop Robert Barron affirmed this teaching when he wrote, “Those who are gathered around the altar of Christ are not simply recalling Calvary; Calvary has become present to them in all of its spiritual power.” Or, as the late venerable Bishop Fulton Sheen put it, at the Eucharist, the curtain of time is torn. 

So when we celebrate the Mass, Jesus’ “once for all” sacrifice is made present on our altar once again. Jesus continues to eternally offer himself to his Father on our behalf, and when we consciously join ourselves to his self-offering, we are lifted up to both the summit of Calvary and the radiant beauty of the Father’s heavenly throne room. Thus, in the Eucharist offered right here, the limits of space and time dissolve. Just as the curtain of the temple was torn in two at the moment of Jesus’ death, the curtains of space and time are torn in two when His sacrificial death is re-presented upon our altar. Calvary and the halls of heaven, eternity and history, come together as we are invited into the eternal mystery of God’s great love for us. 

So every time we attend Mass, we can receive Jesus’ Real Presence and with him, be drawn into the presence of our divine Father. If you can believe this wondrous marvel, why would you ever want to spend Sunday morning anywhere else? And if you just can’t wrap your head or heart around this mystery right now, I get it; I really do. As our Lord’s parable emphasizes, just like a crop takes time to ripen, so does the seed of faith take time to flourish and grow. Achieving a fuller faith can be a challenge; it takes time. 

So if you don’t yet have the faith to embrace the fullness of the Eucharistic mystery, that’s OK, but don’t just walk out of here today in doubt or unbelief. Rather, accept the challenge, and ask our Lord right now for the seed of faith you need to receive the fullness of his Eucharistic promise, even if you can’t completely understand it yet. Ask for the faith to come to Mass and believe that you can stand in the presence of our heavenly Father—outside the limits of space and time, but always inside his loving embrace. Indeed, every Sunday can become Father’s Day if we surrender to the power of our heavenly Father’s love, walking not by what we can see, but walking in faith as his beloved sons and daughters so that then we can bring his love, his very presence, into the world He longs to save.

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Back in 2016 millions of people witnessed something so shocking, so astounding, and so crazy, that I couldn’t help but think it was some kind of “miracle”.
After 108 long years my mom’s beloved Cubs finally won the World Series.
I say my mom’s Cubs because she is the biggest Cubs fan that I know.
Me. Not so much.
My mom even has a Cub’s room in my parent’s house that is like a museum of Cub’s history.
And you know what the worst part of that room is?
That Cubs room is also their spare bedroom so when we go down to Illinois to visit my parents, guess where we wind up sleeping?
In the same room as a life size cardboard cutout of Sammy Sosa staring at me all night long.

So, unless you were off the planet during the fall of 2016, I’m sure you are well aware of this miracle event.
And even though it was the Cub’s 3rd World Series title in their 140-year history, the other two were in 1907 and 1908 so no one alive today would remember those games.
And in 2016 they didn’t just win it --- they came back from a 3-1 deficit to win the last three games in dramatic fashion (the last one in extra-innings).
It was really something.
Now I know in my heart and mind that God almost certainly has no real preferences one way or another regarding the outcome of sporting events, but I’m still going to cling to the idea that my mom’s prayers had a hand in it somewhere.
They had to have.

That’s the only way it makes sense to me!

For my mom it was her own little miracle.
But that wasn’t the only miracle. There were two.
You see the Cubs winning the World Series after so many years might have been a miracle,
but an even greater miracle is what happened within the hearts and souls of countless fans in Chicago and around the country.
The Cubs winning the World Series brought a level of joy and happiness to so many people that people wept openly.
People reflected and told wonderful stories about their deceased family members who never got to see a Cubs championship.
Cemeteries were soon filled with Cubs gear as families gathered at the gravesites of their loved ones to hug and cry and laugh and remember.
And in one of the most beautiful, spontaneous demonstrations of love and affection, fans began writing messages in chalk to their deceased loved ones on the outside brick walls of Wrigley Field.
Soon every inch was covered in chalk and tears.
People jumped up and down and screamed like little kids until they lost their voices, including my mom.
My mom was 80 years old when this happened and my Dad said he had never in his life witnessed an 80-year-old lady jump out of a chair like she did that day.

I know it’s probably hard to imagine this outpouring of emotion unless you were a part of it or have had a similar experience.
The Cubs winning the World Series didn’t just bring a few people a little bit of fun for a few days.
It actually brought an incredible amount of joy to millions --- a joy which was profoundly expressed in so many beautiful ways.
People actually seemed a little different --- changed,
full of life, full of love, transformed.
And that was the greater miracle.

Today we gather in faith on a holy and special day --- the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ --- “Corpus Christi” as we call it.
And as Catholics, we know that many Christians don’t believe what we believe regarding what happens at this sacred table and others like it all across the world.
In faith, we believe that our God comes to us in a very real and concrete way, through the Body and Blood of Jesus --- our Lord and Savior.
Our God chooses to be real food for us, food that is transformed right before our eyes.
In ways we can’t fully understand, our simple gifts of bread and wine are no longer those things.
They have been changed.
They have been transformed.
Through the words of consecration they have become holy, sacred ---
they become Jesus himself.
And if that’s not a miracle of the highest order, I’m not sure what is.

But that’s not the only miracle. There are two.

And it’s the second miracle that I often forget about.
The first one, however, never escapes me.
Each time I stand at this altar, each time I receive this Sacrament, each time I distribute it to you, the faithful, I am well aware that I am engaged in a holy moment, a sacred moment, a God-moment --- one in which our God comes to us in a physical and intimate way.
Our God is not just “out there” somewhere, disinterested, watching from a distance.
No --- he is right here, in our midst, in his Word, in each other, and in this sacred food we receive into our bodies, our minds, our souls.
And that is incredible to think about.
At times it leaves me speechless.
Deacon Dave DiSera
Corpus Christi – 2 June 2024
But it’s that second miracle that I often fail to remember.
And it is this:
God comes to us in this Holy Sacrament not simply as some sort of blessing, not some sort of passing spiritual “moment”.
Rather, he comes to us as food so that WE can be DIFFERENT, so that we can be changed, so that we can be transformed.
Think about that for a second.
We, the Church, the Body of Christ, gather to receive the Body of Christ, so that we can more perfectly become the Body of Christ.
In faith, I guess you could say that we really do sincerely believe that we are what we eat.
Imagine that.

And so as we gather to give thanks to God, and for the gift of his very self in this holy meal, let’s not forget that the miracle doesn’t end there.
It continues on in the hearts and minds and souls of all who believe --- all who believe that we can be transformed into more than we were yesterday.
Transformed into the Body of Christ in the world today.

That’s not simply our hope.
It’s God’s hope.
And he provides the Eucharist to help make it a reality.

And so we must ask ourselves a question ---

Will the Eucharist be simply about what we BELIEVE, or will it be about WHO we will BECOME?

Something tells me it’s both.
And that’s even a greater miracle than the Cub’s winning the World Series.

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Dcn. Brian McCaffery| Homily—Baccalaureate Mass 18 May ‘24| Pentecost Sunday – Baccalaureate Mass

Welcome to our celebration of Pentecost, and in particular, welcome to our graduating seniors as we celebrate your baccalaureate Mass. We have great hopes for you as you move into the next phase of your lives, whether as college students or as productive members of the work-force, and we pray that your new adventures will be a source of great growth and blessing. As I was preparing my homily, I had considered warning you about the many false doctrines alive in our culture, and which are particularly prevalent on college campuses. As a scientist, I wanted to explain that even though beliefs like scientific atheism, scientism, and relativism are widespread and powerful, they are also all false and easily shown to be illogical and irrational. As a minister, however, I realized that there’s another lie which is even more insidious and dangerous. So, on this Pentecost Sunday, when we celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit—the Spirit of Truth, as Jesus said—I’d like to just focus on the most deadly lie of all—the lie that “God doesn’t love you.”

At some point in the months and years ahead, you’ll either feel or be told that, even if God does exist, He doesn’t love you, because he doesn’t care and you are unlovable. That’s a lie that comes straight from Satan—the father of lies. When we experience academic failure or unemployment, when we face romantic disappointment or get overwhelmed by loneliness, when we wrestle with illness or injury, we can feel as if God’s abandoned us, but those feelings do not correspond with reality, with the objective fact of God’s great love and fidelity.

Or, as a college student, you might succumb to the temptations of the flesh that St. Paul lists in his letter to the Galatians: immorality, impurity, lust, and excessive drinking. After such sin you might try to hide from God just like Adam and Eve did. Or you may let the guilt convince you that God could never forgive your sins, as if your sins were somehow greater than the mercy of our infinitely powerful Father.

When you are tempted to despair of God’s tender mercies, recall today’s Gospel. After the Crucifixion, the apostles were devastated. They were terrified about what might happen to them, so they locked the doors to the Upper Room. Sometimes we feel that way. We lock the door to our heart to protect it from future pain; we accept loneliness, despair, isolation, and self-loathing as the cost of not getting hurt again. We may also lock the door to our soul, afraid that we can’t be forgiven of our sins. But in our pain and need, if we have the tiniest spark of hope that God does care, if we open those doors just a crack, then Jesus will rush in, break down the doors, storm through our walls to pour his soothing mercy upon us and to let us know that if we seek Him in faith and humility, nothing in this world can ever keep Him away from us.

And when the Lord comes, he comes bearing gifts, the same gifts he brought to his apostles on Easter Sunday night—peace, love, and forgiveness. First, as we read in today’s Gospel, he brings his peace. In fact, his peace is so important that he offered it to his astounded followers twice in the first moments after he appeared to them. His peace is not the same as the world’s peace. It is a peace which passes all understanding—not the absence of conflict and heartache, not a guarantee that we will never be challenged or disappointed—but rather the assurance that when we suffer, God is always with us, already by our side in our troubles and trials, stretching out his hand to rescue us from the waves and to help us bear the difficulties of human life—a life he fully shared. Not only does he take us by the hand, he holds us in his hands, reminding us that we have a blessed and glorious future with him as long as we stay close to him.
Jesus’ second gift for his apostles was evidence of his great love for us. He showed the disciples his wounds, a reminder of the cost of our sins and the price of our rescue—a price he was willing to pay on the Cross because he loves us so much. He still provides evidence of his great love for us today, for in just a few minutes, he will share with us yet again the eternal offering of his very own Body and Blood in the Eucharist. As we pray, “When we eat your body and drink your blood, we proclaim your death, O Lord, until you come again.”

The third gift that the Lord brought to his friends that night was forgiveness. He gave the apostles—and all the priests and bishops since them—the ministry of forgiveness through the Sacrament of Reconciliation. His generosity is mind-boggling, for he gave them this authority despite the fact that just three days earlier, they had abandoned and betrayed him. By giving this authority to such flawed and fallible men, Jesus emphasized just how profound and vast his mercy is. If the Lord could forgive these guys who had just betrayed their Master and Savior, if He could empower them to absolve us in His name, then He can forgive any of us, no matter how many sins we have committed, and no matter how serious those sins may be. His font of mercy will always overflow for us if we turn to him in repentance.

And there’s actually a fourth gift that Jesus shared with his disciples—perhaps the most important one, and the one we celebrate today—the Holy Spirit. Even though the Lord poured out the full power of the Spirit upon the disciples on Pentecost, he first shared the Spirit quietly when he appeared to them on Easter Sunday night. We know the Holy Spirit by many names—the Spirit of Truth, the Comforter, the Advocate, and the Giver of Life. Those titles explain what the Spirit does for us, but not who the Spirit is. The Holy Spirit is the actual love of God exchanged for all time between Father and Son, a love so powerful that it exists as the third person of the Holy Trinity. Think of that: the dynamic, passionate, eternal love between the Father and Son is what you received at Baptism, and then received again at Confirmation. Right now, unless you are in a state of grave sin, that Spirit, that love is inside you—just waiting to be activated and unleashed in a loving torrent that you and only you can share. For as today’s second reading said, “To each individual, the manifestation of the Spirit is given for some benefit.” Thus each of you has received the Spirit for a unique purpose. Your vocation as confirmed Catholics—indeed, all of our vocations—is to figure out, with the Lord’s grace, how God is calling you to share his Holy Spirit, his very love, with the world.

So, if we refuse to believe Satan’s lie that we are unlovable, and we open our hearts to Jesus, the Lord will come bearing the same gifts that he gave his apostles 2000 years ago—his peace, love, forgiveness and his Holy Spirit. That’s the Gospel; that’s the Good News. But now, we have to admit just why Jesus had to come to save us; that’s the bad news. In the weeks, months, and years ahead, you will almost certainly sin against the God who created you in love for an eternal destiny with him. Take it from me, take it from all of us who have already gone through what you’re about to go through—you’ll probably sin, and, if you’re anything like I was at your age, you may sin a lot. In ways big and small, you will almost certainly betray God, just like his dearest friends did. Based on recent studies, it’s also likely that some of you will abandon God entirely and simply walk away from the faith that has been passed on to you by your family and all the saints down through the centuries. Such a path is a devastating tragedy because it will lead you away from the God who wants nothing more than to be intimate with you, forever. To turn our back on God is always bad news.

Of course, Fr. David, Fr. Karun, Deacon Dave, your parents and grandparents, your fellow parishioners, and I, and all those who truly love you hope that doesn’t happen, and we will pray that it doesn’t, even as we struggle with our own sins. But, if that should happen, please, please remember the Good News. No sin is so great that Jesus cannot forgive it. No separation is so vast that Jesus cannot build a bridge across it with the wood of his Cross. No blackness is so deep that he will not dive into the very bottom of it to rescue you and lift you back up into the light—that radiant light where Satan’s lie has no power.

So now, you seniors here today, and all of us gathered here with you, remember that each of you is a precious and infinitely valued child of our almighty Father. He loves you with a boundless love that stretches from the moment of your conception into the farthest reaches of eternity. So never believe, not even for a moment, the lie that “God doesn’t love you.” No matter how far you might wander from his side, if you have even the slightest desire to return to him, just speak His holy name, and pray, “Jesus, help me.” If you do, he will race down that long and winding road to embrace you, to welcome you home, and to celebrate the joy of your return. May God bless you now and always.

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In today’s Gospel, Jesus uses the image of the vine and the branches to illustrate the intimate connection we must maintain with Him in order to fully share in God’s love and purpose. As I was preparing my homily, I wondered what image Jesus might use to make that same point if he came today, if he walked among us right now, up here in northern Wisconsin. I realized that there’s at least one thing every one of us is familiar with—from the farms to the cities, from the youngest infant to the eldest elder: medical care. And, if Jesus wanted to remain faithful to the image of the vine and the branches, in which the vine transmits vital fluids and nutrients to the branches, He might teach us using as an image a medical procedure that does that very same thing.

So, if He were here today, Jesus might declare, “I am the IV bag, you are the patient. Remain in me as I remain in you.” We all know how an IV works. A bag of vital fluids—saline or blood—is hung above the patient and, via either gravity or a pump, those fluids are transferred into the patient’s circulatory system via tubes and needles.

An IV system has direct analogies for our spiritual lives. Because of our fallen condition, we are, on our own, spiritually sick—patients who are weak, anemic, and prone to the infection of sin. We need the IV bag of Jesus Christ. We need to be hydrated with the waters of baptism; we need the direct infusion of grace which can destroy the infection of sin; we need the Eucharist, the very blood of Christ, which St. Ignatius of Antioch called “the medicine of immortality.”
Recall our recent celebration of Divine Mercy Sunday. In St. Faustina’ vision, divine mercy flowed like white and red beams pouring out from the side of Christ, and Jesus Himself told her that they represented the water and the blood that flowed from His side on Calvary. We can imagine that same two-fold mercy in twin IV bags pouring out saline and whole blood. Spiritually, we are all on life support, and without a life-giving transfusion from the merciful Savior, we will die.
Now, let’s take our transfusion metaphor one step further. On the battlefield, there are times when the only source of blood for a wounded soldier is one of his comrades. The medic must perform a “buddy transfusion,” providing the victim with blood directly from a fellow soldier.

Because each of us is involved in spiritual battle, whether we recognize it or not, we are all wounded in the course of that battle. So imagine yourself lying on a cot, bleeding profusely, and fading in and out of consciousness. Then, in a moment of clarity, you raise your head, see the tube in your arm, follow it up and over to the next cot, and there you see your comrade in arms—with His arms flung wide for you: Jesus Christ, your savior, nailed to a cross, pouring out His blood for you.

And this brings us to the crux of the metaphor. Jesus is both the medic and the friend donating His own blood to give you life. But, He’s not the one who controls the flow. We are. Because of the freedom He has given us, we decide how often and for how long we open the clamp to let His divine transfusion flow into us. Remember the Book of Revelation: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come into them.” So, the Lord knocks, but He doesn’t break down the door. Instead, He waits, offering us His very Blood, but He won’t force it into our spiritual veins. He leaves it to up to us to open that clamp.

But how many of us do open it, and if so, for how long? I fear that far too many Catholics just open that valve for one hour a week when they attend Sunday Mass, and then shut it again. We foolishly ignore our need for Christ for the rest of the week. But what kind of life does that leave us with? If we’re on spiritual life support, and we all are, why do we think that one hour of IV flow will sustain us for a single day, let alone an entire week? If you had a beloved family member in desperate need of saline or blood, would you tolerate a doctor telling you, “Well, we’ll open the clamp for an hour today, and then hope she survives the week”? Of course not! But all too often we don’t consider our own spiritual needs with anything near that level of concern.

In the parable of the Vine and the branches, Jesus emphasized our need for a permanent living connection with him, and He described what happens when that connection breaks, when we stop the flow of His grace into our hearts: “Anyone who does not remain in me will be thrown out like a branch and wither; people will gather them and throw them into a fire and they will be burned.”

Now, many Catholics do seek to maintain their connection with Christ beyond Sunday Mass and throughout the week by prayer, Eucharistic adoration, reading Scripture, proclaiming the Good News, and serving the poor—and blessings to all of you who do so. But do not become complacent in your piety and service. Always remember that salvation is not about us accomplishing great things for Jesus, but rather about allowing Him to accomplish great things in us. Realize that all of us—you, me, Father—all of us can open ourselves to Christ’s loving presence even more than we already do. Strive to keep that clamp open always—in prayer and in temptation, in joy and in sorrow, at work and at rest. It is a challenge to be aware of Jesus’ presence in the rush and busyness of everyday life, but we must all seek to do so. How? By intentionally fostering grateful hearts so that Christ is never far from our thoughts and our lips. As St. Paul wrote to the Thessalonians, “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” So, strive to live out Paul’s challenging but liberating encouragement.

Finally, as we seek to keep our spiritual veins open to the Blood of Christ, let’s rejoice that we can now receive the Blood of Christ in the Eucharist once again. We’re not receiving any more of Christ now, but drinking His blood today is a physical reminder of, and a share in, the blood He poured out on the Cross for our redemption. So, when we stop to receive the chalice today, let’s make it a sacred moment. Let’s not think of it as just a pit stop on the way back to our pew, or as a means for washing down the host. Instead, let us take that moment to immerse ourselves in the great ocean of Christ’s blood, His divine mercy, and try to see our entire life from that perspective, as a life set free, a life rescued, by the sacrifice of our Lord. When we receive Him in the Eucharist, let’s pause in gratitude as we receive a spiritual transfusion, as He pours out His life for us and into us, giving us everything we need to fight our spiritual battle unto eternal victory. Let’s resolve to keep our spiritual clamp open, always and everywhere, so that we can receive the Blood of Christ in all its saving power.

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“Where I am, there also will my servant be” Fifth Sunday of Lent – Year B; 17 March 2024 Deacon Brian McCaffery 

As we enter the final two weeks of Lent, the Church provides us with two very compelling readings which lead us into the very heart of our faith—an inspiring prophecy from Jeremiah and a chilling prophecy from Jesus himself as his Passion drew near. 

Let’s first consider our Old Testament passage from Jeremiah. 

Through the prophet, God declared that he would make a new covenant with his people, unlike the one he made with their fathers when he led them out of captivity in Egypt. Rather than the covenant written on the tablets of the Ten Commandments, God now said, “I will place my law within them and write it upon their hearts…All from least to greatest shall know me, says the Lord.” And how to do we come to know him? What opens our minds and our hearts to the blessings of this New Covenant? The Lord answered, “For I will forgive their evil-doing and remember their sins no more.” So we come to know him through an act of overwhelming mercy and divine amnesia, in which he will “forget” our sins, and forgive our trespasses against him. 

Now, let’s consider our passage from the Gospel of John. Shortly after Jesus entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, his disciples brought to him some Greeks who wished to see him. Jesus responded to their request by revealing to them the stunning and tragic fate he was about to endure. He said, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.” Now, in John’s Gospel, Jesus’ glorification refers to his death on the Cross. The Lord’s Greek visitors probably didn’t realize that, so he immediately clarified, using symbolic language. “Amen, amen, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.” So, Jesus is the grain that must die to produce the fruit of the resurrection. But then he immediately added that anyone who follows him must also walk that same path of death to self. “Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will preserve it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me.” Thus, Jesus foretold his coming death and made clear that anyone who desires to be his disciple must be ready to endure the same. 

So, how does this haunting prophecy relate to our earlier one? In Jeremiah’s prophecy, the new covenant written on our hearts will be revealed through God’s forgiveness of our sins. And what event ushers in this era of forgiveness, this New Covenant of mercy prophesied by Jeremiah? It is the death of Jesus—the death he spoke about with his Greek visitors. The seed must die, but through that death, it will produce the fruit, the grace, of forgiveness. 

And what is the sign of this New Covenant? It is the blood of Christ. At the Last Supper, Jesus “took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying ‘Drink from it, all of you, for this is my blood of the covenant, which will be shed on behalf of many for the forgiveness of sins.’” As Jeremiah foretold, the heart of this New Covenant is the Lord’s forgiveness of our sins. The early Christians knew that. In the Acts of the Apostles, every time Peter and Paul proclaimed the core of the Gospel, they declared that through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ we may have forgiveness of our sins. 

Thus, through Jesus’ blood, forgiveness gushes forth from the Cross. So, in light of this lifesaving gift, what is asked of us? The same question that Jesus asked James and John when they sought special places in his kingdom: “Can you drink the cup that I am going to drink?” Today, our Lord asks us that very question: “Can you drink the cup that I am going to drink? Can you drink the cup of the New Covenant, the cup of my blood, the cup of sacrifice?” In other words, “Are you willing to endure what I did for the sake of others?” 

I’ll be the first to admit that such a challenge is intimidating, but today, I’d encourage all of us to take a small, but difficult, sip of that cup. In today’s Gospel, Jesus declares, “Where I am, there also will my servant be.” So, let’s be with him; let’s stand with him where he poured out the blood of the New Covenant—on the summit of Calvary. Now, remember his prayer to the Father from the Cross, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do.” That’s what I encourage you to focus on in these last couple of weeks of Lent—forgiveness. Every time we pray the Our Father, we ask him to “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” As we draw ever closer to Good Friday, let’s focus on that. 

So, right now, recalling Jesus’ prayer on the Cross, think of the person or persons you resent because of how they have treated you, or how they have treated your loved ones. Gather up those resentments, those grudges, those grievances, and cast all of them into the blazing flames of God’s forgiveness. Beg the Lord to let that flame purify you and burn your resentments away. Then, seek to live like our heavenly Father, slow to anger and rich in mercy. Strive for excellence in living out the spiritual works of mercy which call us to bear wrongs patiently and to forgive injuries. 

During the remaining days of Lent, if you realize that an unforgiving spirit enslaves your soul, carry that burden to Calvary. Carry the resentments you’ve carried too long, the grudges you’ve clung to too long, the bitterness in which you’ve clothed yourself for far too long—carry all of that up Calvary, bring it to Jesus, and nail it to his Cross. To the Romans, St. Paul wrote, “We know that our old self was crucified with Jesus so that the body of sin might be rendered powerless, that we should no longer be slaves to sin.” So, here and now, let’s bring our old grudges to be crucified with Jesus so that the body of our resentments might be rendered powerless, that we should no longer be slaves to our bitterness. 

Let’s do that with our grudges and with the excuses we have nurtured to justify our lack of forgiveness—let them be nailed to the Cross as well, and let them die there. Then, in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, let’s repent of all our bitterness. Through the grace of the sacrament, may we, like Jesus, forgive even those who don’t ask for forgiveness, even those who don’t know what they have done to us. Let us pray for all those who have wounded us, humiliated us, thwarted us, or disrespected us. And, finally, let’s pray for divine amnesia so that, like God, we may remember their sins no more.

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Deacon Dave DiSera
Corpus Christi – 10 March 2024
Deacon Dave DiSera – 3rd week of Lent – 10 March, 2024
If you ever had kids, or were a kid yourself, you know that sometime kids will try to do “things”.
And when I say things, I mean things that they think they can get away with, without you, as a parent ever finding out.
I’ve done this, or tried to when I was a kid, especially as a teenager.
Sometimes it worked out but most of the time it didn’t.
So the story I’m about to tell you is true.
It happened about 16 years ago and involved one of our kids.
I won’t say which kid it was, there are 4 to pick from, but I will give you his initials. Ben.
Ben is the oldest kid,, so he was the one who did all the firsts in our family.
He was the first to walk, to talk, to go to school, to go to college and so on.
But the one thing Ben did first that brought us some grief was driving.
And any parent who experiences the thrill of your kid driving knows what I am talking about.
A lot of things go through your mind when your kid starts to drive and the biggest thing for us was safety.
So being the safety minded parents we were, we set up rules for taking our vehicles out.
Simple rules really, no speeding, no texting and driving, not more than one friend in the car.
We also set a curfew up for the vehicles.
If you were going to be out with our car, you and the car are going to be home by a certain time.
Being on time was a big rule in our house so we really enforced this.
If you are one minute late, that means you are late.
Back when Ben was 17, on one fall night, he took our little Toyota truck out to visit some friends.
So I set up a time for him to be home.
It was 9pm.
I told Ben he should be home at 9, not one minute later.
So now I had to come up with a plan to check that he was actually home at that time.
The plan was that I would call the house phone, a landline, at 9:01 pm.
If he didn’t answer the phone that meant he wasn’t home by 9 and he was late.
Seemed pretty simple to both of us when I explained my plan.
I made sure Ben understood it.
You get home by 9; I’ll give you 1 minute to get into the house to answer the phone by 9:01.
If you don’t answer, that must mean you are not home and that means you are late.
Simple enough.
Ben agreed and said he would be home by 9.
Great.
Donna and I were out somewhere that night with the rest of the family and driving home at 9pm.
It was time to call so I dug my flip phone out of my pocket and Donna dialed the house number and put it on speaker.
It started to ring.
It rang a few times and I thought, ok maybe he is just walking in the house.
It continued to ring 3, 4, 5, 6 times and then the answering machine picked up.
Hmmm. No one home to answer the phone.
I checked my watch to make sure it was the right time and it was 9:01.
So Donna hung up and gave it a minute and dialed again, same thing, no answer.
Now as a parent the first thing that crossed my mind was, I hope everything is ok.
Thankfully that was the case because when we pulled in the driveway at 9:30, my truck was parked and the lights were on in the house indicating to me that Ben was home, which he was.
Being the parent I was, I wanted to know when he got home.
So I checked the truck to see when it got home.
Now I know you are asking how I knew when the truck got home.
I didn’t, but being the mechanical guy that I am I knew that the radiator would be pretty much cooled off if the truck stopped running at 9 as it was now 9:30.
So I popped the hood and put my hand on the radiator, or I should say I tried to put my hand on the radiator.
It was hot, so hot that I couldn’t touch the radiator cap.
That told me that the truck just got home maybe 10 minutes ago.
So I asked Ben why he didn’t answer the phone and he made up some story about not coming in the house right away because he was up by the horses and forgot about the phone call.
Now Donna and I both knew this was not correct, as Ben didn’t care one bit about the horses.
So I asked Ben to come outside with me.
He had no idea what was coming.
I asked him again what time he got home and he said 9.
By this time it was 9:45 and I popped the hood of the truck and asked him to touch the radiator cap.
He looked at me really strange, kind of like, what in the world is the old man doing now?
He tried to put his hand on the cap but it was still too hot to touch.
He looked at me again like I was nuts,,,, but he said nothing.
I told him that if he was home at 9 o’clock like he said, then this radiator would be cooled off and he would be able to touch it.
I wish I had a camera at that moment to record the look on his face.
That look said he was busted and that he realized he couldn’t fool the old man that easily.
He had underestimated my ability to see through his made up story and confessed that he got home at 9:25.
So why am I telling you this story and giving away clever parenting tips?
It is because of the last few lines in today’s gospel.
“But Jesus would not trust himself to them because he knew them all, and did not need anyone to testify about human nature.
He himself understood it well.”
Those last few lines really hit me.
It says Jesus knows human nature and that means he knows my nature as well.
It made me think.
If I, a simple human being, can see through my kid’s made up story about being home on time,
how much more does Jesus see through my made up stories?
How much more does Jesus know what’s in my heart every moment of the day and night?
It made me think of some of the excuses I have for not doing something or doing the wrong thing.
I use these excuses thinking I can keep Jesus from seeing my human nature and hide my sin.
Who am I trying to fool?
Like I can really hide my sins from Jesus.
Deep down I know I can’t hide anything from Him but in the moment, when I am in the grips of sin, I try not to think about that fact.
I try to brush it off, thinking I can pull a fast one on Jesus.
Do you experience that too?
I think we all do at one time or another.
I think that is what Jesus meant when He said He understands human nature.
He is our Creator and knows all that there is to know about us.
Jesus knows what is hidden deep within our hearts.
He can read our thoughts and knows our intentions.
He knows when we are lying down and waking up.
He is in tune with all our ways.
God even knows what we are going to say before we say it.
But the wonderful thing about Jesus is that He also gives us a way to cleanse ourselves of our sins.
During Lent we are called to find ways to be closer to Christ.
What better way to get closer than to experience the Sacrament of Confession?
Is there something that you have been holding back from Jesus in the Sacrament of confession?
Do you really think He doesn’t know about it already?
Lent and confession go hand in hand.
Lent is the season of conversion, and confession is one of the greatest means of that conversion.
Let us all return to the Lord this Lenten season and welcome the risen Christ at Easter with a clean heart

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1st Sunday of Lent – Year B Safe Haven Sunday – 18 February 2024

Today is the first Sunday of Lent, a time to turn to God and to renew our efforts to resist temptation. Today’s Gospel passage highlights that the fight against temptation is a true spiritual battle. After his baptism, Jesus headed into the desert, the battleground where he encountered Satan. But they were not alone; rather, they were both accompanied by their troops. Angels ministered to the Lord during his temptation, but Mark also notes that Jesus was among wild beasts. 

In both the Old and New Testaments, beasts are often portrayed as the companions of Satan. So, the wild beasts with Jesus in the desert can be viewed scripturally as allies of Satan—as enemies of the Lord in his battle against temptation and as our enemies in our spiritual battles. To explore this theme, let me first share with you an encounter I had with a dangerous beast the year I turned 21. It was my first summer in the Arctic. One beautiful evening, three colleagues and I ventured out on the Chukchi Sea near Pt. Barrow in a 15-foot aluminum boat. We headed several miles offshore and in the low evening light and calm winds, we could see whale spouts ahead of us. I encouraged Herb, our boat driver, to get closer to the whales. Being thirty years older than me, however, Herb demonstrated a prudent restraint. We soon located and began following a mother gray whale and her calf. For over an hour, the three of us kept urging Herb to get closer, but he resisted our pleas, and only followed at a distance. 

Just before midnight, the female again rose to blow, but unlike every other time she surfaced that night, instead of continuing forward after she spouted, she just stopped and then slowly sank beneath the surface. That made me nervous, but the other guys didn’t see her do it, and Herb chose that very moment to finally zoom toward the spot where she’d just disappeared. I waved to him to hold back, but it looked an awful lot like my earlier waving to urge him forward, so he gunned the engine and swung to a stop right where she’d gone down. 

As we rocked there for a few seconds, I gripped the gunwales at the bow and peered into the water directly below us. Suddenly, I saw a great swirling mass below the surface, and as I cried out a warning, the mother whale came up underneath us, lifting our boat out of the water. Adult female gray whales can be up to 50 feet long, and as we rode up on her back, I looked to port and starboard and saw whale as far as I could see in both directions. Then we started to tip over. For what seemed an eternity, we hung at a treacherous angle, and nearly capsized, but as she continued forward, we slipped off her Dcn. Brian McCaffery Homily—1st Sunday of Lent, 2024 back, and slapped down hard on the ocean’s surface. One of my friends was stunned to silence, another screamed and babbled incoherently, and Herb cried out, “Brian, what should we do?” I replied, “Let’s get the heck out of here!” Unlike earlier, Herb immediately responded to this suggestion, and we eventually got back to shore safely. 

Only then did we learn that whalers called gray whales the devil fish, because of their reputation for attacking those who are hunting them. We ignored the danger posed by a mother protecting her calf, and we had not prepared for a night out on the Arctic Ocean. We’d left no float plan, we wore no life jackets, and without dry suits, we would have died in minutes anyway in the frigid 34-degree waters. Tempted by the thrill of getting so close to such powerful and exciting creatures, we went out that night ignorant and ill-prepared. 

Right now, our children and grandchildren are being tempted as well. They are poised in a moment just as precarious as when I was riding the back of that whale, and we cannot afford to be ignorant and ill-prepared in coming to their defense.  The powerful and exciting wild beast threatening our children is pornography. Just like the 50-ton whale, pornography is huge with global profits in excess of $50 billion a year. Just like that whale, the porn industry usually stays out of sight, just below the surface, in the shadows. And just as the devil fish threatened my physical life, pornography can be a deadly threat to the spiritual life of your entire family. 

To better understand just why pornography is so dangerous, it is important to first recall God’s plan for our sexuality. Our sexual faculties and even sexual pleasures are good gifts from God. Through these gifts, God brings woman and man together in shared intimacy and provides them with the opportunity to generate new life. Marital union and openness to new life are the natural, God-given meanings of sexual intimacy, and he offers us these gifts to be shared in the permanent and exclusive union of marriage between a man and a woman. 

Like any gift, however, sexual intimacy can be misused and abused. Any sexual act that does not promote marital union and which is not open to life goes against God’s plan, and is therefore sinful. Pornography fails on both counts, for it completely removes sexual pleasure from its unitive and procreative context and exploits it instead. Thus the potential beauty and wonder of sexual intimacy is twisted, perverted, and degraded. In addition, pornographic images actually re-wire the neural pathways in our brains, creating disturbingly persistent memories of those images, as well as a psychological need to view more—the precursor of addiction. When our own understanding of sexual intimacy Dcn. Brian McCaffery Homily—1st Sunday of Lent, 2024 becomes so badly warped, we risk creating unjust and demeaning expectations of our spouses or future spouses. 

And even if someone is miraculously immune from the negative personal impacts of pornography, the mere fact that they consume porn means that they are contributing to an industry which exploits thousands and thousands of sex trafficking victims, many of whom are children. So when someone visits an on-line porn site, they are supporting the enslavement of trafficking victims by creating demand for their exploitation. In addition, there is a clear correlation between violent pornography and violence against women in the real world, so the consumption of such porn supports and perpetuates the myth that violence against women is somehow legitimate. 

Understandably, you may be hoping that your children and grandchildren have not been exposed to this scourge. Tragically, that is almost certainly not the case. More and more boys and girls are encountering pornography. The average age at which our children are exposed to pornography is 11, and by the time they are 14, 94% of children have viewed pornography. 41% of kids report seeing on-line porn during the school day, and even more troubling, 84% of the pornographic images viewed by children depict rape, choking, or other violence. The emotional, psychological, and spiritual impacts of such images are devastatingly obvious. 

When that whale almost upended my boat so many years ago, the end of my life seemed just a heartbeat away. Today, the wild beast of pornography is coming for our children and threatening to upend their lives, and it can happen in the blink of an eye. So parents and grand-parents, we must step up now to protect our children. As we do, let’s take a lesson from Jesus in the desert. Even He did not go into battle alone. The angels ministered to him in the desert, and they did so again in the Garden of Gethsemane. Let’s follow Jesus’ example; let’s recruit allies for this battle. In prayer, ask for the intercession of the angels and the saints to protect our children and to give us the courage to do what must be done. Parents, work together with other parents to support and encourage one another in having the difficult conversations and taking the difficult actions that will be necessary to protect your children. If there are other adults you trust, enlist their support as well. 

As a parish, we also want to help, so we’ve provided a bulletin insert with some resources to help you take on this challenge. In addition, on St. Joe’s website, we’ve reposted a homily I preached about pornography exactly four years ago for you to consider Dcn. Brian McCaffery Homily—1st Sunday of Lent, 2024 again. Nationally, the website of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops has over a dozen documents with background and guidance on this topic. 

Before concluding, I’d like to speak directly to our young people. You may think that pornography isn’t as serious or dangerous as I’ve described. If you consume porn, you may feel that you’re in control and it’s not controlling you, and that it’s a pretty fun ride. Yankee whalers back in the 1800s thought the same thing when the whale they’d harpooned dragged them for an adrenaline-pumping ride across the waves in their flimsy little boats. The whalers rejoiced that they had captured the whale, but in truth, they had been captured by the whale as well, and more than a few went to their deaths as a result. 

We don’t want pornography to drag you to your spiritual deaths, so I beg you— take this problem seriously. Resist the temptation to consume porn, and help your friends resist as well. Listen to and be honest with your parents when they talk with you about it. Hear them out as they share their concerns with you. And, please, if you’ve sought out porn, particularly if you’ve found that you can’t stop, do not let shame prevent you from seeking help. Instead, let shame be a trigger for hope. Let it draw you to Jesus, the one who loves you completely, always, no matter what you’ve done. Let our merciful Lord take you by the hand and lead you to the healing that can arise from both sacramental reconciliation and professional counseling. 

Finally, let me encourage everyone to embrace hope. The subversive and pervasive power of pornography can seem overwhelming, but never forget: our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ is fighting on our side—the One who resisted Satan in the desert and the One who defeated Satan on Calvary. As Scripture reminds us, the battle belongs to the Lord. Lean on Jesus; call upon Him; welcome his Holy Spirit. Parents, remember: just as it can be tough to share our faith with our loved ones, it can also be tough to share our concerns with them. But do not be afraid; be bold and begin those tough conversations with your children. Let me close with the words of Bishop Powers in his Pastoral Letter on Evangelization, words which also apply to our battle against the evil of pornography. The bishop wrote: “Even as the world grows more…hostile around us, if we step forward in faith, profound renewal is attainable. The Lord Jesus reminds us, ‘For human beings this is impossible, but for God, all things are possible.’” 

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Third Sunday of Ordinary Time – Year B; 21 January 2024 “Repent, and believe in the Gospel” Deacon Brian McCaffery 

In today’s Gospel, the Lord declares: “This is the time of fulfillment. The kingdom of God is at hand. Repent, and believe in the gospel.” In the next scene, Jesus calls four fishermen to be his first disciples and they immediately follow him. When we reflect on this passage, we often focus on the dynamic drama of Jesus’ call and the fishermen’s response. Today, however, I’d like to first focus on the theme which unites this gospel with our Old Testament reading from Jonah—repentance. 

In that first reading, God sends the prophet Jonah to the wicked pagan city of Nineveh to proclaim its imminent destruction. Before Jonah gets even half-way across the city, however, the entire populace repents of their evil and is spared by God. In Mark’s Gospel, just before today’s passage, God also sends a prophet—John the Baptist, “proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” God then sends his only Son with the very same message, “Repent, and believe in the gospel.” 

This double-barreled exhortation to repent in Mark’s gospel is also found in Matthew, and the same theme bookends Luke’s entire gospel narrative. At the beginning, Luke notes that John ‘went throughout the whole region of the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” Then, just before the Lord’s ascension, Jesus declares, “Thus it is written that the Messiah would suffer and rise from the dead and that repentance for the forgiveness of sins would be preached in his name to all the nations.” Thus, from start to finish, these gospels emphasize the critical importance of repentance. 

But what does repentance actually mean? We usually think of it as turning away from sin and turning toward God. This understanding of repentance is appropriate. As we’ve seen, both John the Baptist and Jesus link repentance with the forgiveness of sins. So does Peter at Pentecost when the crowds, convicted of their sins, ask the apostles, “What are we to do?” Peter answered, “Repent and be baptized…in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins” (Acts 2:37-38). But this direct linkage with sin is only a part of what it means to repent. 

The English word repent is a translation of the Greek, metanoeó, which means “to change one’s mind or purpose,” or “to think differently afterwards.” With these definitions in mind, let’s look again 2 | 3 rd Sunday of Ordinary Time—Deacon Brian McCaffery at our Gospel passage when Jesus calls his first disciples. Notice that there is no mention of sin, remorse, forgiveness, or reconciliation, but there is repentance. Andrew, Peter, James and John all repent—that is, they think differently after hearing Jesus’ invitation. They no longer think that making a living with their family is the most important thing they should be doing; instead, they know that following Jesus is. Their minds are changed; they have a new purpose. 

That kind of change, that kind of repentance, is exactly what St. Paul means when he says, “Do not conform yourself to this age, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and pleasing and perfect” (Romans 12:2). That is the kind of repentance we are all called to every day, even if we are not aware of particular sins in need of being forgiven. 

We live in a culture with a volume of external stimulation unprecedented in human history. Through the endless diversity of media and entertainment, it is easy to get distracted by things which do not draw us closer to God. Even in the pursuit of good things—family, making a living, healthy recreation—we can easily lose our focus and forget that intimacy with God is our destiny, our highest purpose. As a result, we constantly need to repent—to renew our thinking, to clarify our purpose, to change our mind, and focus on God. We should repent—that is, “think differently after”—each prayer we say, every Mass we attend, each reception of Jesus himself in the Eucharist, as well as every time we go to Confession. Whenever we experience God’s grace, we should think differently about our lives afterwards. 

Remember: Jesus called us to repent in light of God’s coming kingdom. As his loyal subjects, therefore, we should submit everything —our thoughts and speech, our attitudes and activities, our vocation and avocations, what we earn and what we learn—everything should be submitted to Him, our Lord and King. Like the disciples on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, whenever we encounter Jesus Christ, let us think differently. Let’s ask Him to renew our minds so that we might live our lives, first and foremost, as subjects and children of our great King. In other words, each and every day, let us repent.