March 2008 Sanchez Commentaries & Sample Homilies

FOURTH SUNDAY OF LENT (A)March 2, 2008Seeing and BelievingPatricia Datchuck Sánchez

1 Sam 16:1, 6-7, 10-13Eph 5:8-14John 9:1-41

A 1991 New York Times Magazine article featured a group of more than 100 women who had relocated from their native Cambodia to Long Beach, California. All the women, refugees who witnessed the “killing fields” that resulted from the Pol Pot regime, were certifiably blind even though there was nothing physically wrong with their eyes. Theirs was a psychosomatic blindness induced by the horrors they had seen. The injuries they suffered had not been to their bodies but to their minds, and to compensate for having been so traumatized, their eyes simply refused to see anything at all.

Although the cause of his blindness is not represented as being psychosomatic, the blind man featured in today’s Gospel was also unable to see until his encounter with the Johannine Jesus. Then, and because of his emerging faith in Jesus, he began to see not only physically but also spiritually; he began to see with the eyes of faith.

In reflecting upon the experience of the man born blind, and the fact that the Pharisees chose not to see Jesus for who he truly was, we might be prompted to consider our own visual acuity. Most of us are probably blind to someone or something at one time or another. Whether deliberate or not, certain biases, preferences and even prejudices cause a form of blindness whereby we do not see clearly. By way of a remedy, William J. Bausch (A World of Stories for Preachers and Teachers, Twenty-Third Pub., Mystic, Conn: 1998) has suggested that each of us stand with the man born blind and allow Jesus to heal our blindness. That healing, says Bausch, should lead us to be able to see three things.

First, we would be able to see what our hearts have always told us is true: all that truly matters in life are our relationships. If we can see the bonds that are shared with family, with friends and with members of our faith community as paramount, that is an essential first step in making those relationships better, stronger, truer. Too frequently, we allow our jobs and other interests to stand in the way of our time together. The experience of the blind man who began to see can be ours if we, by God’s grace and Jesus’ healing power, begin to see one another anew and to recognize and value one another as gifts.

To illustrate the importance of this way of seeing, Bausch offered a graphic example. During the Bolshevik revolution, thousands of Russians were randomly arrested, stripped naked and shot, one by one, in the back of the head. One eyewitness account captured the depth of our human need to feel connected to one another. “Most of the victims,” he wrote, “usually requested a chance to say goodbye. But since there was no one else there, they embraced and kissed their executioners.” Who could not be moved at the poignancy of this account? If such a need for connection can lead people to recognize the humanity even of their executioners — then how much more can we be moved to recognize the humanity of those we love, to see their preciousness in a new light? Let us reach out and embrace them and hold them close.

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A second thing we might begin to see if we allow Jesus to heal our blindness is the population of the overlooked. These are the ones who are there but are often unseen because they do not count in anyone’s eyes. These are the poor, the homeless, the hungry, the out-of-work, the immigrants, the underemployed, the marginalized and the handicapped. At times, the overlooked force us to see them because their burden has caused them to become obnoxious and demanding. But like Jesus, we are to look beyond the bluster with which they protect themselves and see them with eyes of love and patient caring.

And third, healing from Jesus can enable us to see with fresh eyes the love God has for us and to recognize the many hints of that love punctuating our days and nights. To see the beauties of nature as sacraments of God’s love will lead to a newfound gratitude. To see the burdens of life as opportunities for leaning more deliberately on God will bring new strength. To see the image of God reflected in the faces of those we love, and in those whom we have yet to learn to love, can lead to deeper insight into the very mind and heart of God.

All these many ways of seeing are ours from God as gift, and all have the capacity to move us beyond mere physical sight to the seeing that we call faith.

1 Sam 16:1, 6-7, 10-13In this excerpted narrative, the Deuteronomic historian has recounted the beginning of

David’s remarkable transformation from shepherd boy to shepherd king of Israel and Judah. By the end of this lengthy narrative in 2 Samuel, David will be enthroned in Jerusalem, protected and supported by a standing army. He will be part of what Walter Brueggemann has called an extensive bureaucracy; he’ll have an ample harem, an entrenched priesthood and an intricate tax system (Power, Providence and Personality, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1990).

David’s story finds its prelude in the hopeful Song of Hannah, which celebrates the power of God who “raises the needy from the dust; from the ash heap, God lifts up the poor to seat them with princes” (1 Sam 2:8). In David, God has enacted the very reversal about which Hannah sang. God can indeed bring low and raise up. Brueggemann’s insight affirms the fact that it was God’s choice of David that caused his transformation from lowly shepherd to king. Although the story seems to suggest that David was somehow more “qualified” than his brothers, it would eventually be revealed that David, with all his good looks and despite his considerable failings (adultery, premeditated murder of Uriah, etc.), was great because God is great and God’s great grace made David who he was. To his credit, David cooperated with God, for the most part, and he stands out in the scriptures as a dramatic illustration of the power of grace to cooperate with human nature in order to move forward the saving purposes of God.

A good complement for today’s Gospel of the man born blind, this text affirms the difference between human sight, which takes in the outer appearance, and divine sight, which penetrates the heart. Outwardly, David appeared to be the youngest of several brothers and an unlikely candidate for leadership. Yet God saw in him someone through whom Israel and Judah could be united and under whose leadership the chosen people would prosper. Hence the anointing of David, an act that signaled the divine designation as well as the presence of God’s spirit to guide and inspire him.

Like David, the blind man of today’s Gospel appeared outwardly to be an unlikely candidate for leading his contemporaries to faith. Yet it was he who was chosen “so that the works of God might be made visible in him” (John 9:3). Like David, who was anointed with oil by Samuel, the blind man was anointed with clay and saliva by Jesus. By virtue of that anointing

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and by obeying Jesus’ command to go and wash in the pool of Siloam, the man was able to see. To put it another way, he was enlightened by the one who had claimed, “I am the light of the world” (John 9:5). Early believers in Jesus recognized that the experience of David and that of the blind man could be regarded as a symbol of Christian baptism. Those who are called and chosen by God and who respond to God’s grace are anointed as a sign of their belonging to God. Those who are anointed begin to see not with physical sight only, but with the sight of belief.

Eph 5:8-14Imagine walking into a darkened room of your home and switching on the light to

discover cockroaches quickly scurrying for cover. This is the image that came to the mind of Methodist pastor Tim Roth when he read this exhortation addressed to the Ephesians (The Abingdon Preaching Annual, David N. Mosser, ed., Abingdon Press, Nashville, Tenn.: 2004). Those who are unwilling to relinquish the darkness of sin, who will not allow their deeds to be exposed to the light of truth, are like the crawly creatures that prefer to hide rather than be caught in their sin. But for believers, enlightened in baptism and embraced by the light of Christ, it cannot be so. Every word and work of the follower of Jesus must be exposed to the light and its truth.

This text is part of a longer section of Ephesians devoted to the conduct proper to believers (5:1-20) and reflects the ancient author’s conviction that the Christian life should challenge and chastise contemporary society. By living in the light of Christ, the Christian offers a wordless witness that can tweak the consciences of the guilty while calling them to a deeper commitment to Christ and the Gospel.

In their capacity of chastising and challenging others, Christians are, as the Ephesians author has affirmed, “children of light.” This title was a favorite self-designation for members of the community that produced and preserved the Dead Sea Scrolls (Essenes of Qumran) as well as the Johannine community that produced and preserved today’s Gospel. Not a self-generated light, the light that illumines the believer comes from Christ. This light, as the Ephesians author has pointed out, produces the valuable fruits of goodness, righteousness and truth; enables the believer to discriminate between good and bad and what is pleasing and not pleasing to God; exposes evil for what it is.

To further emphasize his point, the ancient writer cited a quote from what was probably an early Christian hymn. Most scholars, such as William Barclay, agree that the hymn was part of a baptismal liturgy (“The Letter to the Ephesians,” The Daily Study Bible, The Saint Andrew Press, Edinburgh, U.K.: 1976). Perhaps these were the lines that were sung as the newly enlightened emerged from the waters of their baptism, symbolizing their dying and rising with Jesus Christ. Others have suggested that this quote was from a hymn that was supposed to summon the archangels of God when the last trumpet sounded over the earth. Then would come the great awakening, when all believers would rise from the sleep of death to live forever in the light of Christ. In either event, the hymn calls the praying community to work toward dispelling the darkness of the world by cultivating the goodness, righteousness and truth that are to characterize those who belong to Jesus Christ.

John 9:1-41Blindness in the time of Jesus was regarded as a consequence of sin. As a result, the blind

were doubly burdened — first by the disadvantages of their condition, and then by a culture that thought they were living in a darkness they deserved.

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This uniquely Johannine narrative, juxtaposes themes of darkness and light, and the challenge for Jesus’ disciples is clear. Choosing to follow him will require a daily, deliberate decision to emerge from the secure darkness of unlived faith in order to risk living fully and openly in the light of Jesus’ truth and justice. Once he was healed by Jesus, the formerly blind man was thrust into the light and exposed to the hostility of the Pharisees. He not only gained his physical sight, he also began to see and accept Jesus with the spiritual sight that is faith. Seeing Jesus truly, the man became a disciple who thenceforth witnessed to others of the healing and salvation he had come to know because of Jesus.

Unwilling to be exposed to the light and to the hostility to which their son was subjected by the religious authorities of their day, the healed man’s parents refused to speak on his behalf or defend him. “He can speak for himself” (v. 21), they argued. But the reason given for their reticence (“they were afraid of the Jews … that if anyone acknowledged him as the Christ, he would be expelled from the synagogue” — v. 22) represents an anachronism. With this reference, the Johannine evangelist reflected the growing tension between Jews and Jewish Christians in the period after the destruction of the temple in the year 70 C.E. By the 80s, and due to increasing pressure from their Roman oppressors, the Jewish community was intent upon distancing itself from its Jewish Christian members who were regarded as a dangerous liability. To that end, the prayers of blessing prayed in the synagogue were revised to include what was equivalent to a curse against heretics; that is, Christians.

Those who in conscience, because of their commitment to Jesus, could not utter such a “prayer” were effectively ousted from the synagogue. This would explain the fear on the part of the blind man’s parents and affirm their son’s courage. As his story is proclaimed among us, believers are reminded that God affords grace to all who ask for courage in their commitment to live in the light of Jesus — the One who opens eyes, the light of the world.

March 2, 2008 Sample HomilyFourth Sunday of Lent”Our Vision of the Future”Fr. James Smith

When the blind man got his sight, his whole life changed. And his new life depended on his new vision of the world. Vision gives direction.

When the settlers moved westward, killing the buffalo and chasing the Indians from their land, the Indians were forced to react. The land had belonged to their ancestors since forever, and the buffalo was their rnainstay for food and supplies. Something must be done. Different tribes dealt with the crisis according to two different visions.

Chief Many Wars had a vision of the buffialo being driven into a deep hole and then cows coming out of the hole. He interpreted that to mean that the buffalo would never come back but would be replaced by the cows of the white man So, he allied his tribe with the settlers.

Chief Sitting Bull had a vision of the white man leaving and the buffalo returning. He interpreted that to mean a defeat of the white man. So he fought them, rallying the tribes with the famous Ghost Dance that was to ensure victory.

History records the sad results. Chief Sitting Bull was captured and killed; Chief Many Wars was granted refuge on a small remnant of his ancestral land. What history does not record is whether it is better to die fighting for freedom or to languish on a reservation.

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Different Catholics are responding to a changing, invading world in different ways. And their response is a function of their vision of the future. Some people see a bright future in which the old church will regain its past glory and power. They want a return to the traditions that used to work. But other Catholics think that in spite of Ghost Dances, Latin Masses and novenas, the buffalo will not return. Traditional Catholics are rightly concerned that if we ally ourselves too closely with secular culture we will be absorbed and lose our identity. Progressive Catholics rightly fear that if we do not relate with secular culture we will become irrelevant. They look at groups like the Amish and think: “That is nice for them but not much use to the world.”

It is a dilemma, but we have more options than our native Indian friends. They could only fight the invading culture or give in to it. But we know that even if the buffalo does not come back, Jesus will.

When final victory is absolute, minor setbacks or even defeats are absorbed, small successes are muted. No thing is either demonized or divinized. For instance, science is neither a sacred cow that saves us nor a golden calf that replaces God. In a similar way, television can corrupt culture or expand it to the masses. Sexual expression can be energizing or narcotizing. Technology can free us or enslave us. Money can make us miserly or magnanimous. The modern world can do many things — but what it won’t do is go away.

You and I do not have that much time to formulate our personal vision of how God relates with the world. There are as many possible permutations as there are people, but we have basically three options: We may envision God as a distant Creator who made the world and then leaves it free to work out its own destiny. We may envision a God who comes from heaven to intervene in the world now and then according to God’s wishes or our prayers. We may envision a God who is engaged with the world every second of every day.

Our vision of God’s relationship with the world helps us formulate a vision of our church. Above all, our vision of the future determines our life in the present.

FIFTH SUNDAY OF LENT (A)March 9, 2008AwakeningPatricia Datchuck Sánchez

Ezek 37:12-14Rom 8:8-11John 11:1-45

The 1990 movie “Awakenings,” based on the life of Dr. Oliver Sacks and his book by the same title, recounts the medical treatment offered to certain mental patients in a New York City hospital during the summer of 1969. Research conducted by Sacks revealed that many of the patients had suffered from encephalitis in the 1920s, and as a result several were left in a catatonic state.

With permission from a patient’s mother, the doctor (played in the movie by Robin Williams) administered the drug Levodopa — or L-dopa — to him. Astoundingly, Leonard Lowe (played by Robert de Niro) woke up. Several other patients had the same reaction to the drug and began to live again with great enthusiasm. Their emergence from years of silence and

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inactivity was not unlike the vision of Ezekiel that is preserved in today’s first reading. Those who had appeared banished from the land of the living would be called forth from their graves, and each would begin to live again the life that had seemed lost forever. It was that way for the patients of Dr. Sacks; new life had been breathed into them through the wonder drug. As in Ezekiel’s vision, old bones began to live with new life. Sadly for Dr. Sacks’ patients, though, the L-dopa offered only a temporary awakening that could not be sustained. Eventually, Leonard and all the other patients relapsed into the seeming death of catatonia.

In another book with a similar title and subject matter, Friedrich Zuendel tells the story of the 19th-century German pastor Johann C. Blumhardt and his efforts to bring healing to a woman caught in the throes of great mental and physical suffering (The Awakening: One Man’s Battle with Darkness, The Plough Pub. House, Farmington, Pa.: 2000). What followed was a true awakening of repentance, such that those who witnessed the restoration of the woman through the power of Blumhardt’s prayer began to remember their own faith. They began to pray again and with such fervor that it was as if the church in their area had been reborn.

We are not told if the restoration of Lazarus from death to life brought forth a similar awakening of faith in his contemporaries, but his story does challenge each of us to become our best selves. His experience of a second chance at living reminds us to make the most of each day, dying to self and to sin so as to live for God and others.

In truth, Lazarus, who was reawakened to life by Jesus, experienced not resurrection but resuscitation, and he would eventually die again. However, because of Jesus’ saving death and resurrection, Lazarus and all who believe will one day be awakened to never-ending life. Until then, Lazarus stands out in the Gospels as one in whom the power of Jesus is revealed and the effects of the Christ-event are anticipated.

In the post-Lazarus, post-resurrection era in which we continue to live, Paul wants his readers to understand that the effects of the Christ-event are to be transformative. Jesus gave us life and the promise of everlasting life, and so we believers are to live in a manner worthy of that gift. The death that sin brings has been defeated; therefore believers should not succumb to weakness, but in full reliance on the Spirit, we are to allow that Spirit to shine out in us.

Paul, with his wise advice; Ezekiel and his vision of empty graves; and Lazarus and his “awakening” unite to prepare us for the celebration of Easter that lies ahead. Each of these, our ancestors in the faith, calls us forth from our graves of indifference or boredom or laziness or doubt. Each calls us to awaken to life anew, to love fully and freely until death becomes our final passage to everlasting life.

Ezek 37:12-14Following the lead of philosopher David Hume (Human Nature, Book I, Part IV),

theologian Hans Küng has insisted that the reality of the resurrection is completely intangible; because of this, imagination can only mislead us when it comes to comprehending such a mystery (On Being a Christian, Doubleday, New York: 1976). Nevertheless, Ezekiel has used his considerable imagination to share his vision of God’s power to bring forth life where there was only death. As author and theologian Amos N. Wilder has pointed out, Ezekiel’s imagination became a means of knowing and celebrating the mystery of God’s gift of life (Theopoetic: Religious Theology and Imagination, Academic Renewal Press, Philadelphia: 2001).

At the time Ezekiel ministered as prophet to his people, rising from the grave and living again was his way of describing what it would be like to return home to Judah after the long

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years of exile in Babylonia. From an experience that carried with it all the finality of death, Ezekiel held out the hope of rescue and restoration.

To describe how this vision came to him, Ezekiel said, “The hand of the Lord came upon me and God led me out in the spirit of the Lord and set me in the center of the plain, which was filled with bones … and God said to me, ‘Can these bones live?’ ” (Ezek 37:1, 3). This, suggests Walter Brueggemann, is always the question for the believer (Texts For Preaching, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1995). Can a rescue be worked? Can the blind see? Can the lame walk? Can the poor rejoice? Can the power for life override the reality of death? Ezekiel’s response to God’s question is a surrender spoken in faith — “You alone know that!” (37:3). As Abraham J. Heschel has explained, Ezekiel has wisely put everything in God’s hands (The Prophets, Prince Press, Peabody, Mass.: 2001).

The “hand of the Lord” is a synonym for the manifestation of God’s strength and power; it is the name the prophet used to describe the urgency, pressure and compulsion by which he was stunned and overwhelmed. The hand of God burdened the prophet with a twofold necessity: accept the experience of God’s power and purpose, and announce it to all. Overpowered and overwhelmed, he could do little else but surrender to the word that had taken hold of him and changed his life. He knew that that same word must take hold of others, through his efforts, and change their future forever.

The dramatic manner with which Ezekiel delivered his word prepares contemporary believers for understanding how the reality of Jesus’ resurrection is to take hold of us and of our lives. We are forever transformed by the rising of Jesus. It becomes our responsibility as believers to use our imaginations and other God-given graces and talents to live in a manner that reflects the mystery that is at the heart of all our believing.

Rom 8:8-11Daniel Harrington is among those scholars of the sacred word who regard Romans 8 as

the most important chapter in the entire letter and Romans as the most important book in the Bible (Romans: the Good News According to Paul, New City Press, Hyde Park, New York: 1998). After describing how the Holy Spirit empowers believers to live in the spirit (vv. 1-11), Paul affirmed their identity as children of God (vv. 12-17); reflected on the ramifications of Christian spirituality (vv. 18-25); shared his profound insight on prayer (vv. 26-27); and emphasized the fact that God is for us and with us (vv. 28-39). If we had no other text but this one, insists Harrington, we could know all we need to know about God, ourselves and salvation.

In the verses that comprise today’s second reading, Paul has emphasized the necessary role of the Spirit, through whom comes the grace needed to live — no longer in the flesh but in and by the spirit. Although he did at times refer to the flesh as the corporeal aspect of the person and to the spirit as its spiritual counterpart, this is not the case in Romans 8. Here, the two terms refer more to a mindset or a way of living. As Beverly Gaventa has pointed out, for Paul, living according to the flesh does not necessarily mean surrendering to gluttony, indolence or vanity (Texts For Preaching, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1995). Rather, a “fleshly” existence is one that is shaped and controlled by the values and standards of a world in rebellion against God. Conversely, a “spirited” existence is one that is surrendered to God, to grace and to the action of the Spirit of God who dwells within the believer. A present gift as well as a future one, the Spirit enlightens and empowers the actions of the believer and inspires each to goodness here and now; the Spirit also secures the pledge of life beyond the passage of death and beyond the grave unto eternity.

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In describing the powerful action of the Spirit within the believer, Walter Wink compared the spirit to a substrate of molten magma under the earth’s crust trying to erupt volcanically in all of us (Engaging the Powers, Augsburg Fortress Press, Minneapolis: 1992). The Spirit does not have to be invoked, merely allowed. The Spirit need not be called; rather, the Spirit should be acknowledged as present already. Our task as believers is not to mobilize God but to arouse our consciousness to God and to deepen our commitment to the God who wills to be committed to us in the Spirit. To be open to the workings of the Spirit is to realize that Someone else lives within our house; it is to realize that it is not my house alone, and the sooner I make room for the God who wishes to become a permanent resident within me, the more powerfully I can live and love and serve and grow in the Spirit.

John 11:1-45Most of us probably assume that Lazarus was overjoyed to be restored to life by Jesus.

But in his play “Calvary,” William Butler Yeats offered a different point of view (Selected Poems and Two Plays, Collier Books, New York: 1966). An annoyed and ungrateful Lazarus is portrayed as complaining to Jesus, “For four whole days I had been dead and I was lying still in an old comfortable cavern when you came … and dragged me to the light.”

Lazarus, muses Geoff Wood, did not want to be raised from the dead (Living the Lectionary: Links to Life and Literature, Liturgy Training Publications, Chicago: 2004). Life was too much for him; he wanted to withdraw to the peace of being no more. But Jesus would have none of it. Nor will Jesus allow us to follow our inclination to withdraw from people, from conflict and from our potential for mistakes. Therefore, like Lazarus, we must listen to Jesus’ call to “come out” into the open spaces and risk living life and our faith to the full. Jesus, for his part, will be present to unbind us and to equip us with the grace that we will need to be fully invested in the life that is God’s gift to each of us.

Unique to the Johannine Gospel, the account of the raising of Lazarus is the last and greatest of the seven signs, each of which has served to reveal something of the person and purpose of Jesus. Through the restoration of Lazarus, Jesus is revealed as the resurrection and the life; through his suffering and death, the gift of everlasting life will be made available to all who believe.

While the communication of this truth is the reason for the Lazarus story, it is couched in a beautifully and poignantly dramatized narrative that challenges our growth in faith. When appreciated in conjunction with the Gospels of the previous two Sundays, we can discern what Raymond E. Brown identified as three stages of faith (Christ in the Gospels of the Ordinary Sundays, The Liturgical Press, Collegeville: 1998). First, the Samaritan woman at the well illustrated an initial coming to faith. Then the man born blind illustrated an incipient faith that acquired depth after he was tested. Finally, the Lazarus story today illustrates the deepening of faith that comes from facing death. In his telling of the story, the Johannine evangelist leads his readers to a more profound understanding of death, just as Jesus led Martha to a more complete faith in everlasting life.

In her dialogue with Jesus, Martha expressed her faith in a resurrection on the last day. She wished that her brother had not died before Jesus’ arrival; her reluctance to open the tomb indicated that she was resigned to Lazarus’ death and that she looked forward to that future, unknown time when he would live again. But Martha’s faith needed deepening. True faith, as Brown has explained, has to include a belief in Jesus as the source of unending life. Such immortality awaits Jesus’ resurrection, and the sign of Lazarus points ahead to the eternal life

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that God will give through Jesus. Just as he asked Martha “Do you believe this?” — so Jesus asks us. Martha answered, “Yes, Lord.” What is your response?

March 9, 2008 Sample HomilyFifth Sunday of Lent“The Point of Death”Fr. James Smith

Jesus said: “Lazarus is dead?” But what exactly is death? It depends on whom you ask. To the ordinary person, death is when you stop breathing. To a doctor, it is when brain waves stop.

Those are reasonable ways of deciding the point of death. But there is more to us than a physical body. From the Christian perspective, what happens to us at death is far less important than what we do at death.

For Christians, death is that point when we sum up our whole life, when a whole lifetime of actions has determined who we are, when a succession of decisions has defined our personality, when we decide what we want to be for eternity. Death is the instant when we finally acknowledge precisely who we are and then present that finished self as an offering to the mercy of God.

Even if the body is suddenly killed, personal death is a process. Even if bodily cessation is accidental, death is purposeful. That is why the instant of physical death may not be the same instant of personal decision. It might be that pain or anxiety or drugs or fear may prevent a person from the ultimate personal decision at the point of physical death. But at some point in life, every person does — or does not — make that ultimate offering of self to God.

Even if they do not know when, even if they do not believe in God, each person at some time decides whether their whole life is self-serving or self-giving, whether their life dissolves in futility or falls into the mystery of God.

Karl Rahner wrote: “There are so many little deaths along the way that it doesn’t matter which is the last one.” Each failure, each suffering, each illness is a lessening of our life, a diminishment of our self.

But we are not created for our own self only. We are created to live with God forever. We are given this earthly life to allow us to become that person we want to be forever. We are given a certain amount of time to create, by every free choice, that unique person who will have a unique personal relationship with their God.

That relationship with God, as with all other relationships, is based on love. And love is the desire for union with another. Which demands that we get out of ourselves and into the other. Love means that we prefer the good of the other to our own good. Love means that we defer to the other’s wishes, that our wishes coincide. All of which means that, like the Baptist, we decrease so they increase.

That is how by each act of love we gradually let go of our control of life; that we gradually give in to God. So that when death finally comes, giving up the rest of our self will not be hard. Death will be a joyful letting go instead of a grudging holding on to life.

People have difficulty with death because they consider it to be the end of life. Christians know that death is a transitional stage to a different kind of life. People have trouble with death because they think it is the destruction of all they worked so hard to accomplish. Christians know that death is the summation, the culmination of life. Or, as Jesus called it, his hour of triumph.

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If we really believed these things, then death would lose its frightful grip on us.

PALM/PASSION SUNDAY (A)March 16, 2008RememberingPatricia Datchuck Sánchez

Isa 50:4-7Phil 2:6-11Matt 26:14-27:66

Where were you when President John F. Kennedy was shot? Many Baby Boomers can recall with marked vividness every detail of that day in Dallas when shots were fired and a much-admired leader was no more. Who among us can forget the Texas school book repository, the grassy knoll, the assassination of the assassin and the funeral that an entire nation attended via television? For music fans, it might be the shooting death of Beatle John Lennon in 1980 that remains strongly present in memory. Others may not be able to forget the sudden deaths of two young rappers, Tupac Shakur and Christopher George Latore Wallace (better known as The Notorious B.I.G.) in the 1990s. Only last year, the world joined the British in remembering the death of Princess Diana of Wales on the 10th anniversary of her fatal car accident. The families of Nicole Simpson, Ron Goldman and Laci Peterson continue to mourn their passing, and the same goes for the families of so many less famous, but no less precious people whose lives were abruptly and unjustly ended.

All of these deaths were unexpected, violent and senseless. Each person, in their dying, has generated powerful remembrances. These memories bring the lost loved one near again, and so, despite the pain and sorrow, we recall them to mind.

Today, we remember another death. The one we remember died violently, shockingly, suddenly — but not senselessly. To a casual onlooker, the death of Jesus may not seem to merit much respect, given that his was a criminal’s execution. But the remembrance of his dying lies at the heart of who we are as believers. We remember one who died because he chose to give himself up to death as a sacrifice that would bring about the forgiveness and salvation of sinners.

We remember one who did not shield his face from buffets and spitting but who set his face like flint so as to accomplish God’s purposes (Isaiah, first reading). We remember one who was mocked and whose hands and feet were pierced, yet all the while he did not lose sight of his mission. In the end, his death served as a proclamation of praise to God, and because of him many of the descendants of Jacob-Israel learned to revere God and to return to God for forgiveness and mercy (Responsorial Psalm). We remember one who was willing to be totally emptied of every right, dignity, freedom and even life itself so that sinners might be reconciled to God (Philippians, second reading).

We remember one who was betrayed by a friend, denied by another friend and abandoned when he was most in need of support and companionship. We remember one who ate a last meal with his friends and gave himself as Eucharist so that his disciples would have a memorial of his saving life, death and resurrection and a means of experiencing his real and powerful presence until he should come among them again.

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We remember one who struggled with God’s will all through a terrible and lonely night and, in the end, accepted that will resolutely and in faith. We remember one who refused to allow his friends to behave violently even when his own life was at stake. We remember one who did not defend himself before false accusers.

We remember one who was condemned by some of the very people he had healed, by those he had taught, by those he had come to serve and to save. We remember one who was brutally beaten and executed as a common criminal, but who in his dying was fully revealed for who he was and always will be: Jesus, the Son of God (Gospel, Matthew).

We remember all these moments of Jesus living, giving, serving, dying and rising so as to enter once again into the mystery of our salvation. We remember so as to know and experience Jesus as present to each of us, here and now and always. We remember so as to be transformed by the grace of his sacred presence. We remember so as to allow that grace, working within us, to transform humankind. We remember so as to bless and make holy the world in which we live.

We remember so as to celebrate; we remember so as to grow in faith. We remember so as to become more devoted defenders and selfless servants of those least ones, those poor ones, those hungry, thirsty, homeless ones who were also Jesus’ favorites.

We remember, and in our remembering we become more and more like the one in whom we find our reason for living, our hope in dying and our faith in a future where all our memories will be forever realized.

Isa 50:4-7From the very outset, many have found the notion of a Suffering Savior to be

insupportable. Paul referenced this issue in his letter to the Corinthians, admitting that for Jews, the association of suffering with messiahship was a scandal; for Greeks, a stumbling block; but for God, wisdom. In the fourth century, Arius denied the divinity of Jesus. He could not be God, Arius reasoned — indeed, he was not God — if he submitted to the limitations of suffering. As a corrective, the participants at the Council of Nicaea affirmed the link between Christ and God and suffering. The council, insists Jon Sobrino, implicitly but effectively upheld the relationship between God and suffering, a relationship seen as both scandalous and blessed (Christ the Liberator, Orbis Books, Maryknoll, N.Y.: 2001). In faithful adherence to the New Testament, the council accepted the divinity of a suffering Christ, seeing this relationship as an expression of the ultimate reality of God, both in its content — God is love — and in its form — God is mystery.

Both of these realities, love and mystery, converge in the songs that celebrate the Suffering Servant through whose sacrifice sinners are saved. This text, the third of the four songs, emphasizes the determination of the Servant. That determination will be echoed in today’s Gospel, wherein the fearful but determined Jesus comes to grips with the mystery of redemption through suffering in the place called Gethsemane.

First isolated by the German scholar Bernhard Duhm in 1892, the Servant songs were first thought to be a later composition added to Deutero-Isaiah by an unnamed author. Contemporary scholarship is less inclined to view them as an independent composition but continues to affirm their significance to our understanding of Jesus’ saving sacrifice.

When first formulated, the songs offered lyric commentary on the role of Israel. By virtue of the covenant with God, the people of Israel had a special role in the process of redeeming humankind. Through Israel, God would be made known to the nations. Through Israel, God’s truth and justice would be taught. Through Israel, God’s peace would be established. In this interpretation, as Michael Coogan has pointed out, the suffering of the Israelites during the

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catastrophe of 586 B.C.E. and its aftermath was equated with the proper work of the Servant featured in this song (The Old Testament: A Historical and Literary Introduction to the Hebrew Scriptures, Oxford University Press, New York: 2006). Their suffering was interpreted as “the chastisement that made us whole” (Isa 53:5).

Christians, of course, believe that the suffering of Jesus has brought about wholeness that is forgiveness and redemption for all of sinful humankind. This could only be accomplished by one who loved sinners so much as to become one with them. Paul will celebrate this oneness in the early Christian hymn that constitutes today’s second reading.

Phil 2:6-11Unlike the majority of scripture scholars, who regard this early Christian hymn as a pre-

Pauline composition, Nicholas T. Wright holds the view that Paul wrote this poem himself as part of his polemic against the Roman empire (Paul: In Fresh Perspective, Fortress Press, Minneapolis: 2005). Instead of having them bow to imperial rule or even to acknowledge it, Paul would have his readers recognize that Jesus alone deserves the title “Lord” because Jesus alone is worthy of the esteem and honor of every human subject for whom he has died.

The primary theological and central focus of this poem, explains Wright, is the death of Jesus on the cross. By making this his focus, Paul invited readers to witness the rebirth of a symbol. A powerful symbol in the ancient world, the cross spoke of politics. It affirmed the seemingly unstoppable military power of Rome over the life and death of all its subjects. It also spoke of the self-proclaimed divinity of Caesar, whose power stood behind his legions of soldiers. These soldiers carried out Caesar’s every command, even the most cruel and barbarian orders, including the crucifixion of those who were found to be at odds with his empire.

But with Jesus, the cross began to speak a new language; what had formerly symbolized Caesar’s naked might now spoke of the naked love of God. Fully aware of this shift in symbolism and the transference of power from empire to God, Paul celebrated these transformations and called his readers in Philippi to do the same. Elsewhere in his correspondence with the Christians of Philippi, whose city enjoyed the status of a Roman colony, Paul would again emphasize the importance of Christ over Caesar. Whereas many residents of Philippi were proud to claim to be citizens of Rome, Paul insisted that Christians have “citizenship … in heaven, from where we also await a savior, the Lord Jesus Christ” (Phil 3:20).

As the hymn is proclaimed in our hearing today, we are invited, as were Paul’s first readers, to examine our allegiances and determine if Christ is indeed our Lord — that is, our Kyrios, the word the Septuagint translates as “Yahweh.” If Christ is Lord of our hearts and our lives, then our loyalties to him will demand a thorough conversion, such that his mind becomes our mind, his way becomes our way, his truth becomes our truth, his peace and justice become ours to establish and protect.

For all who try to live as faithful disciples of Jesus, our Lord, it remains significant that Paul quoted this hymn as part of an exhortation to mutual love and giving. Omitted from this pericope is the challenge with which Paul introduced this Christological hymn: “Have this mind among yourselves which was in Christ Jesus” (RSV) or “In your minds, you must be the same as Christ Jesus” (Jerusalem Bible). Paul was fully aware that growth comes from within, and he understood that minds and hearts and attitudes must be transformed so that they might translate into lifestyles worthy of the name Christian.

Matt 26:14-27:66

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Each year, we remember what Jesus suffered for our sake. We are grateful to celebrate this remembrance that is at the heart of our faith. But our remembering is not simply calling to mind a past event so we can evoke gratitude or sympathy. Rather, our remembering has a present dimension and a future thrust. Our shared memory alerts us to the fact that although the earthly Jesus suffers no more, the body of Christ, which is all the people of God, continues to suffer. Because of this, our futures shall be determined by the manner in which we deal with the suffering Christ here and now.

For our inspiration, we look to Jesus, who “emptied himself” (Phil 2:7) in the service of the suffering victims of this world. He reached out and offered more than sympathy or a kind word; he gave his very self through his teaching, his healing, his service, his example. This remained true even when it became obvious that Jesus would be rejected and made to suffer a violent death at the hands of the Jewish and Roman authorities.

Rather than reproach the ones who betrayed and denied him; rather than chastise those who abandoned him in his need, he hosted a meal and gave them a way to remember and experience his presence always. Rather than curse his accusers or false witnesses, judges or executioners, he resolutely trusted in God’s will, God’s help, God’s grace. His passion is the school of our discipleship; his suffering, the place where we are to find our truest selves. Our suffering, united to his, becomes a challenge to grow; the suffering of others, an ever-present opportunity for service.

Jon Sobrino (op. cit.) reminds us that we too will benefit in our service of the suffering of this world, because victims have something to teach us about God. Sobrino cites the experience of a European journalist questioning a survivor of the war in El Salvador how he could believe in God when he, his family and his village of Chalatenango had suffered so many atrocities. They had experienced bombings, disappearances of loved ones, murders, rapes, massacres … and yet they could say: “Yesterday we were bombed and we were saved by God. God is with us because if God had not been here, it would have been even worse.”

Victims such as these teach us by their own faithful endurance that even in the midst of suffering, God has absolute primacy and remains ultimately more powerful than evil. Although they sometimes have doubts (“My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me” … “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”) such victims ultimately find God to be their strength, support and source of liberation.

The crucified God whose passion we remember today speaks loudly of love and closeness because God, through Jesus’ suffering, chose to come close to all who suffer. The cross expresses this closeness, and it becomes an eloquent expression of the good and joyous news of our salvation.

March 16, 2008 Sample HomilyPalm/Passion Sunday“Welcome to Holy Week”Pat Marrin

Dorothy Day, a committed pacifist even during World War II, when asked what Pius XII could possibly have done regarding Hitler and the Jews, answered, “He could have ridden into Berlin on a donkey.” Day was invoking the nonviolent Jesus on what clearly was the first day of the rest of his short life. By all accounts, his Quixotic decision to ride into Jerusalem on an ass in fulfillment of a well known messianic prophecy sealed Jesus’ fate with the religious establishment and with the Roman

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occupation. He was poking Pontius Pilate in the eye and presenting himself to the Sanhedrin as an appointed prophet. And when Jesus proceeded to symbolically “cleanse” the temple of the animal sacrifice and money changing trade that lined the pockets of both the Romans and the Sadducees, he was also striking at the nerve of complicity between church and state, inviting the full wrath of both and within days, his own death by crucifixion. He might as well have been the pope taking on the Nazi regime in 1943 by riding into Berlin on a donkey. What are we to make of this moment in the Gospels when Jesus deliberately provokes his own death in confrontation with the Temple establishment and the Roman empire? The Gospel of Matthew explores the deep paradox and hidden intent of God’s will for Jesus on the cross. As the one gospel that focuses most often on fulfillment texts from the Hebrew Testament, Matthew presents Jesus as scripted at every step by the psalms, the prophets and the writings that portray God’s messiah as a suffering servant. That Jesus is struck down as he speaks truth to power is no surprise once the scriptures are delved into after the crucifixion. It was God’s way of exposing and overcoming the forces of evil with the secret power of love. Resurrection will confirm it – truth and love always prevail. Regimes fall, principalities and powers spend their fury and collapse upon themselves, but selfless love lives on, advances God’s ultimate plan for history. God’s Christ lives on, dispelling fear, inspiring service, transforming the world. Facing the might of the British Empire in his campaign for Indian independence, Gandhi told his fearful colleagues, “When I despair, I am reminded that through all of history, the way of truth and love has always won. Whenever you are in doubt that this is God’s way, think of that.” El Salvador’s Monsignor Romero was converted from a bookish, cautious centrist to a fearless advocate of the poor in their struggle for justice. He knew he was inviting his own death when he mounted the pulpit at the Metropolitan Cathedral for the last time in March of 1980 and called upon the army to stop the repression. His assassination gave precious substance to the words of Latin American bishops at Medellin, Puebla and Santa Domingo, to commit the church to God’s “preferential love for the poor.” What are we to make of our own call to follow Jesus on this Palm/Passion Sunday? The logic of self-preservation tells us to resist the story we will hear today and in the days to come. Do not let it move you. Do not let it bring you to that same threshold Jesus chose, where your own cautious life might be exchanged for the chance to give yourself for love? Won’t it hurt terribly, cost dearly and leave me empty of myself? Come and see. Don’t be afraid. Welcome to Holy Week.

March 20, 2008 Sample HomilyHoly Thursday“Jesus Sets the Terms”Fr. James Smith

You can almost see the look of amazement on Peter’s face when Jesus approaches him with that towel. You can practically feel his horror when Jesus sets that bowl of water at his feet. He looks and sounds like a fearful child cringing and crying: “Don’t touch me!”

Why all this fuss over feet? Ah — because feet are amazingly intimate appendages. We might think that those parts of our bodies so far from our heart and head, those unromantic digits we walk on, those practical toes we kick things with — we would think that those obvious, blatant feet would have nothing to hide.

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But they do. Our feet bear the scars of childhood scrapes and lifelong narrow escapes. Our feet are misshapen, adorned with corns and ingrown nails; they are splayed or pointed, wide or narrow, pigeon or duck, splotched and bunioned. Feet, in fact, have become a symbol of our private life that we don’t want anyone to see naked. That is why we hide them or paint their nails.

But it isn’t just his feet that bother Peter. It was the one who wanted to wash them. After all, just yesterday, Peter’s wife had washed his feet, and he fairly glowed with familial comfort. And last month, when he was invited to a rich man’s party, and the slave washed his feet, Peter felt downright regal.

When it comes to feet, the relationship of washer to washee is very important. I was privileged to wash my mother’s feet when she could not stand for arthritic pain. And in the hospital, a nurse I had never seen or since seen washed my feet without embarrassment. But You are not going to wash my feet — we’re not close enough. And I’m not going to wash Your feet — we’re too close.

So there was Peter, comfortable with his relationship with Jesus; there was Jesus, wanting greater intimacy. And it wasn’t negotiable. Jesus was unwilling to give Peter a little time or space or wiggle room. He said it simply: “Here’s the deal. I want to touch you where you live, heal you where you hurt; I want to see the worst in you, plumb your evil, expose your darkness, cleanse your filth. And if you will not let me be that close, I will have nothing at all to do with you.”

When Peter realized his limited options, the fear of losing Jesus threw him into overdrive anxiety. He pleaded: “Then wash every inch of me!” Peter was speaking for all of us who are overly impressed with our sins; who think that evil is stronger than grace; who do not really believe that mercy can engulf justice; who are convinced that we can earn God’s love. But Jesus just splashes a little water on Peter’s feet and says: “Relax — it’s bigger than both of us. Your baptismal water lasts a lifetime; you just need spot scrubbing.”

That first Holy Thursday was a traumatic time for Peter. It took great courage to let someone else dictate the terms of their relationship. But once he accepted the terms, once he allowed that intimacy, once he put his feet in the water, he knew everything would be all right. He could even feel the bonds of friendship tightening; strong enough to withstand the strain of betrayal the very next day.

This Holy Thursday would be a good time for us to let Jesus set the terms of our relationship, to touch our innermost self, to wash our feet.

EASTER SUNDAYMarch 23, 2008 (Reprinted from March 2002 issue)Pinpoints of Light and NobilityPatricia Datchuck Sánchez

Acts 10:34-37, 43Colossians 3:1-4John 20:1-9

During the dark days of World War II, amid the horrors that were being perpetrated by the Nazi regime, there were also what William J. Bausch has called pinpoints of light and nobility (The Yellow Brick Road, Twenty-Third Publications, Mystic, Conn.: 1999). One such source of noble light was Private Joseph Schultz. Sent to Yugoslavia shortly after the invasion,

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Schultz was a loyal young German soldier, filled with what he had perceived to be an ideal worthy of his dedication. One day while Schultz was on duty, the sergeant called out eight names, his among them. Thinking that they were going out on a routine patrol, the soldiers set out. As they made their way over a hill, they came upon eight Yugoslavians, five men and three women. Only after they had drawn to within 50 feet of them, a distance from which any marksman could shoot the eye out of a pheasant, the soldiers realized what their mission was.

The sergeant barked out his orders and the eight soldiers lined up. “Ready!” he shouted, and they raised their rifles. “Aim!” he said, and they focused their sights. Suddenly, in the silence that hung heavy in the air, they heard the thud of a rifle butt hitting the ground. As the sergeant and seven soldiers turned to look, they saw Private Schultz walking toward the Yugoslavians. Ignoring an order to come back, Schultz walked the 50 feet to the mound of the hill and joined hands with the five men and three women.

After a moment of stunned silence, the sergeant yelled, “Fire!” and Private Schultz died, mingling his blood with the blood of those innocent men and women. Later, an excerpt from St. Paul’s letter to the Corinthians was found on his body: “Love does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails” (1 Cor 13:6-8).

Perhaps this might seem a strange story to tell on such a glorious day, but in a very real sense, the pinpoint of light that we can see in Private Schultz is but a glimpse of the radiant new day that has dawned for us in Jesus. Though divine, Jesus came among us and took upon himself all the burdens and sorrows of our human condition. He held us by the hand. He mingled his humanity with our own. Though innocent, he shed his blood that we may live, and all this he did out of love — a love that makes right what is wrong, a love that bears all, endures all, a love that never fails.

No doubt many of us were moved by the story of Private Schultz; how much more should we be moved by the story of our brother Jesus. Today, we celebrate that story’s happy ending. Jesus, who was dead, is risen! Alleluia! Because of Jesus, we have been called to live what professor and pastor Peter Gomes has described as “life on the other side” of Easter (Sermons: Biblical Wisdom For Daily Living, William Morrow and Company, Inc., New York: 1998).

Life on the other side is more than just a vague connection with resurrection, with heaven, with eternity and immortality. It is more than a place of perfect and boring bliss. Life on the other side is what the author of Colossians (second reading) referred to as “being raised up in company with Christ” and as being “hidden with Christ in God.” If we want to understand the quality and tenor of this new life, this new beginning, we need only look at the first witnesses to the Easter event, the disciples of Jesus. They were transformed. Not instantly, but in a growing awareness of themselves and of Christ. In their growth and development, they became rehabilitated witnesses to Christ in a fallen world. Peter, who denied and lied, became a rock-solid leader and preacher of the good news. The others also went on to witness to Christ and became the community of the faithful to which we still belong. Because of the new day of light, peace and salvation brought on by Jesus, his disciples have been emboldened to do as he had done: to “go about doing good and healing all who were in the grip of the evil one” (first reading, Acts).

Acts 10:34-37, 43

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In his fine book And Now I See: A Theology of Transformation, Robert Barron describes Christianity as “above all, a way of seeing. Everything else in Christian life flows from and circles around the transformation of vision,” (Crossroad Pub. Co., New York: 1998).

Rabbi Harold Kushner is of a similar mind (Who Needs God, Pocket Books Pub. Co., New York: 2000). He has affirmed that religion is not primarily a set of beliefs, a collection of prayers or a series of rituals. Religion is, first and foremost, a way of seeing. It can’t change the facts about the world we live in, but it can change the way we see those facts, and that in itself can often make a difference.

How appropriate that Peter, in today’s first reading, begins his speech at the home of Cornelius with the words, “In truth, I begin to see that God shows no partiality” (v. 34). Living on the other side of the Easter event, Peter had also begun to see as Jesus did, not with the blinders of centuries-old prejudices that had once separated Jews like Peter from Gentiles like Cornelius, but with the very vision of God, who sees all with love and welcomes all without distinction.

That newfound vision enabled Peter finally to begin to see the universal intentions of God, to preach the good news at Cornelius’ home and afterward to welcome him and his household as baptized brothers and sisters in Christ. A comparison of Peter’s speech here, delivered to a Gentile audience, with other such speeches intended for Jewish audiences reveals the method developed by the early disciples for proselytizing non-Jews. Whereas the discourses geared toward Jewish ears began with Jesus’ rejection and death and an indictment upon those who were complicit in these acts, the Good News geared toward Gentile listeners detailed the ministry and good works of Jesus.

Rather than support his preaching with references to the prophets, which would have had little significance for Gentile listeners unfamiliar with the Jewish scriptures, Peter chose to cite the testimony of eyewitnesses: “We are witnesses to all he did” (v. 39). God raised up Jesus and “granted that he be seen … by such witnesses as had been chosen beforehand by God” (v. 41). The fact that these witnesses also ate and drank with the risen Jesus (v. 41) adds great weight and credibility to their testimony as well as to the reality of Jesus’ resurrection. As Peter Gomes (op. cit.) has further explained, the resurrection appearances of Jesus are hardly a set of spiritualized epiphanies. They are told in the most “fleshly” fashion possible. They are told around food and drink, around breakfast on a beach and supper in an upper room. They are told to remind us that life on the other side is tangible and real, not a ghostly metaphor but something that lives in living people here and now, and that you do not have to die to know the resurrected life.

Colossians 3:1-4“The great Easter truth,” said Phillips Brooks, the 19th-century American Episcopal

bishop, “is not … so much that we are to live forever, as that we are to, and may, live nobly now because we are to live forever” (R. Kent Hughes, 1001 Great Stories and Quotes, Tyndale House, Wheaton, Ill: 1998). The early Christian author of Colossians, like Brooks, understood that the consequences of Jesus’ resurrection are not solely relegated to eternal realms but that these consequences are also earthly and ethical.

An ethic cued by Jesus’ resurrection requires a shift in focus, or as the ancient author says: “Set your heart on what pertains to higher realms” and “be intent on things above rather than on things of earth” (v. 2). As Beverly Gaventa has pointed out, in the verses that follow this short text, the Colossians author explains what is meant by “things above” and “things on earth” (Texts For Preaching, Westminster John Knox Press, Louisville, Ky.: 1995). Colossians 3:5-10

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indicates that “earthly” things are not synonymous with everything on earth, but with thoughts and actions that abuse the self and others: sexual immorality, greed, evil desires, idolatry, anger, fury, malice, slander, obscene language and deceitful practices of all sorts (vv. 5, 8). “Things that are above” are by contrast determined by the “new self” (v. 10) that the believer has assumed in Jesus Christ. This new self makes no distinctions and observes no divisions between peoples but operates from a vantage point of oneness in Christ. Therefore, to focus on things that are above would preclude seeing another as Jew or Greek, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian or noble, slave or free (v. 11). On the contrary, the ethical consequences of the resurrection and of the believer’s participation in it require that all others are seen and accepted as brothers and sisters in Christ.

Many scholars are of the opinion that these verses may have been part of a baptismal ritual or that they refer to that part of the rite of baptism where the candidates removed their garments in order to be immersed in the baptismal waters. Upon emerging from those waters, the newly baptized would put on white robes as a symbol of their new life of purity and victory over sin and death in Christ. This seems to be suggested in verse 9, wherein the Colossians’ author says: “Since you have taken off the old self with its practices and have put on the new self …”

Though exchanging one garment for another is certainly a powerful symbol, it remains just that, a symbol. Just as “clothes do not make the man (or woman),” neither does baptism (or a robe) make a Christian. In order to make the sacrament of baptism a lived reality, the believer must be willing to cooperate with God’s grace in living an authentically Christian life every day — not just on Sundays or holy days or Lent or Advent, but daily.

John 20:1-9Many are the symbols of this glorious and holy day. First and foremost is the cross on

which Jesus suffered and died, and from which he rose to triumph. In many of our churches, this symbol will be draped with a white cloth that seems to testify: “He is not here; he is risen.” Other crosses may be adorned with the lily that blooms during this holy season. From ancient times, eggs, symbols of life, have readily lent themselves to the Christian celebration of Easter. Butterflies, too, are symbols of the resurrection — as they emerge from their cocoons, they are colorful reminders of the triumph of Jesus. The rabbit that was the symbol of the Egyptian moon (the moon is used to determine the date of Easter each year) has been associated with spring and with Easter for almost two millennia.

Today’s Gospel offers another less obvious Easter symbol: the empty tomb. With centuries of faith to support us, we can look at the empty tomb and explain its significance. However, as is evidenced in today’s Gospel, at the time, the empty tomb was at best an ambiguous sign of Jesus’ resurrection. Notice, for example, the reaction of Mary Magdalene. Upon discovering the rolled-away stone and the empty tomb, her immediate assumption was not that Jesus was risen but that someone had taken his body. Her dismay also underscores the fact that she did not expect to discover a risen Christ. The Gospel passage concludes: “Remember, as yet, they did not understand the scripture that Jesus had to rise from the dead” (John 20:9).

Despite the Gospel’s assertion that “the other disciple” (generally believed to have been the Beloved Disciple, the John to whom the fourth Gospel has been traditionally attributed) “saw and believed” (v. 8), the empty tomb remains nevertheless a secondary witness to Jesus’ resurrection. Had it been the only witness, it would have been almost impossible for early proclaimers of the Good News to overcome the suspicion of foul play regarding Jesus’ body.

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Over the next few weeks, we will be reminded of the rest of the story, as the transformed and resurrected Christ appears to his own, shows his wounds, speaks to them, breathes on them, stays with them to pore over the scriptures and breaks bread with them.

As Hans Küng has explained, Jesus’ resurrection cannot be described as an historical event in the ordinary sense of the word (Why I Am Still A Christian, Abingdon Press, Nashville, Tenn.: 1987). Rather, as the New Testament consistently attests, the resurrection of Jesus was an act of God, an integral part of the final transformation of all the world. After Easter, the risen Jesus becomes the norm for the relationship that God calls all of humankind to share. When asked how he can remain a Christian when that norm seems to be contradicted by the hypocrisy, injustice and corruption of so many professed Christians, even those in authority, Küng responded: “I know what I can rely on, what I can hold on to, because I believe in the Spirit of Jesus, who is alive today … this enables me not only to live but also to die … because I know that I am sustained by God.” This same faith inspires each of us to go on living, loving and serving in the name of the risen Christ, acting as pinpoints of light and nobility in our world.

Additional homiletic support for Easter Sunday was provided by Jude Siciliano, promoter of preaching for the Southern Dominican Province USA, taken from the archives of his online homiletic service.

“FIRST IMPRESSIONS” EASTER SUNDAY (Reprinted from March 27, 2005)Acts 10: 34a, 37-43 Ps. 118 Colossians 3: 1-4 (or I Cor 5: 6-8) John 20: 1-9

By: Jude Siciliano, OP

These Easter readings have similar beginnings. For example, today’s gospel starts, “...on the first day of the week....” St. Luke begins his story of the disciples to Emmaus, “That very day, the first day of the week....” Next Sunday we will hear again these words from John as he tells the story of Jesus’ appearance to the huddled disciples behind the locked doors, “On the evening of that first day of the week....” Usually the gospels are not that fussy about precise days and hours. Most stories begin more generically, “After that Jesus went to Jerusalem....” or, “Early in the morning Jesus entered the Temple.” Given such generalities, we moderns want to ask: exactly when did Jesus go to Jerusalem...what day, year and hour?” But instead we are almost always frustrated when we ask for that kind of information. It is as if the gospel writer is saying, “That’s not the point here.”

Despite the fact that the details of these Easter readings get confusing (were there two angels at the tomb, or just a young man.... did Mary Magdalene go alone or with two other women, etc.?), it seems that, concerning the day of the week of the resurrection, the writers are specific about one thing---it was “the first day of the week.” Not just the day after the sabbath, not just Sunday, but “the first day of the week.” The evangelists haven’t changing their usual habit of ambiguity about specifics. They just want to make the point that something new has happened, there is a fresh start, a new beginning for us all, it is “the first day of the week.” Just as God, on the first day, created light to pierce the darkness, so now God’s light has once again pierced the darkness —this time it is the darkness of the tomb. Because of “the first day of the week,” we no longer need to fear death.

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There is much to learn on this first day and the three disciples in today’s story are our teachers. Mary goes to the tomb in the same way we have visited grave sites: to grieve; to pay respects to someone gone; to call to mind a relationship ended abruptly by death. She hasn’t anticipated the resurrection; thus, John tells us she went “while it was still dark.” It is dark because she does not yet see by the light of faith and so does not understand what has happened. An empty tomb is not enough to convince her that Jesus is risen. Instead, she draws the same logical conclusion we would, “The Lord has been taken from the tomb!” That is the first bit of news she has to announce.

We look around the world trying to find logical arguments and hints of resurrection. We point to caterpillars that become butterflies with the gift of beauty and flight. We northeasterners point to frozen earth, bleak and brown and then to green shoots that soon will become daffodils. Somehow we think these are arguments for the resurrection, signs that life comes from unexpected, even dead-looking places. But with so much evidence of death these days; with more slaughter from car bombs in Iraq; death by starvation for millions, unending murder, rape and pillage of innocents in numerous countries (cf. below for information about world slavery) and with our own more immediate losses from the death of loved ones--- caterpillars becoming butterflies do not offer enough comfort and assurance in our grief. As a relative told me recently when her husband died, “He was my whole life.” More is needed to get through that kind of grief. The seeming “logic” of life--- to death-- to new life, leaves big question marks and not deep solace when death stares us in the face. We need more to keep us from faltering and, thankfully, we have more. Later in the story, though not in today’s reading, Mary will meet the risen Lord and come to believe what we believe—the dark shadow of death has been driven out by the light of the risen Lord. Once given the gift of light, she will proclaim the good news to the frightened apostles waiting in the upper room, “I have seen the Lord” (20: 11-18).

I wonder what slowed Peter up as he and “the other disciple” raced to the tomb? Is Peter’s slow pace John’s poetic touch suggesting that Peter’s memory of betrayal had slowed him down? Is he burdened by the weight of the past? If Peter comes to faith in the resurrection, everything will change for him. In the face of the risen Lord, Peter will have to accept forgiveness. It will be a gift, not something he earned, but something he must offer others—if he is to believe in the risen Lord. Hadn’t he heard Jesus say that he must forgive “seventy times seven times?” As we look into the empty tomb with the disciples today and express faith in the risen Christ, can we accept the forgiveness he offers us? And if we do, whom must we then forgive? Perhaps we don’t have any “heavy” sins to slow us down as we approach the empty tomb with the disciples. But when we reflect on the quality of our discipleship; the love we have for Christ; our dedication to his message and our response in service to our neighbor—perhaps we too might be slow in approaching the tomb. But if we remain slowed down by the past with Peter, we won’t “see” the resurrected one. This “first day of the week” will just be another Sunday.

If Peter believes in the resurrection, he will have to view the world through the lens of Jesus; there can be no other lens, no other standard of behavior. He will have to give total loyalty to the Christ, and turn away from all other contrary powers. We who have resurrection faith will also have to question and work to change all powers and institutions to which we give allegiance, if they do not manifest the love and justice Jesus

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has taught. Why, for example, in the richest country in the world, do almost 25% of our children live in poverty? Why aren’t women given equality in our church, the church of the One whose resurrection was first announced to and proclaimed by a woman? How does the resurrection faith we have received challenge and empower us to speak and act, now that it is “the first day of the week?”

But if this is “the first day,” then John is reminding us that something entirely new and unexpected is happening and we have reason to hope. There is one more person in our “first day story.” John tells us it is “the one Jesus loved.” Some think it was John himself. The gospel may be intentionally ambiguous here so that each of us can put ourselves in the story. The beloved disciple looked into the tomb and “saw and believed.” The love this disciple had known had opened his eyes. Our faith tells us that we can call our selves “the disciple Jesus loved.” The experienced of that love may open our eyes to the possibilities of this first day of the week ----as the beloved disciples’ eyes were opened when he peered into the tomb. Love gave him sight. This love is not based on merit, or achievements or our brilliant insights. Rather, as it is with love, it is given as a gift. We, the beloved, now can confront death in its many guises.

Love invites us to take a close look at what is before us on this first day of new life. We don’t look back over our shoulder at who we were and what we did in the past. This is a new day with new realizations and possibilities, after all, we are the beloved disciples. The love we have received is a basis for a new way to live. We can begin---or start again--- to act like loved ones. Because of Jesus’ death and resurrection, we trust we will not fall out of the embrace of God’s love and so we can take chances in loving others we might not ordinarily take.

We return from the empty tomb asking ourselves how we can live the life of a beloved disciple. How can we love better? Especially, how can we show love to those who don’t have the signs our culture loves---like youth, looks, wealth and power? Each of us makes the trip to the empty tomb today, peers into the tomb and into our lives. Is there someone we have not forgiven? Have we hesitated getting involved in serving others? What signs of death do we see that we must turn away from or confront? In the light of what we “see” on this first day of the week, what new life do we experience and with whom should we share it in word and act?

Our webpage address: http://www.op.org/exchange/ (Where you will find “Preachers’ Exchange,” which includes "First Impressions" and “Homilias Dominicales,” as well as articles, book reviews and quotes pertinent to preaching.)

“Homilias Dominicales”-- these Spanish reflections are written by two friars of the Southern Dominican Province, Leobardo Almazan, Angel Del Rio, and three sisters, Regina Mc Carthy, OP, Doris Regan, OP and Sr. Anna Marie Reha, SSND. Like “First Impressions”, “Homilias Dominicales” are a preacher’s early reflections on the upcoming Sunday readings and liturgy. So, if you or a friend would like to receive “Homilias Dominicales” drop a note to John Boll, O.P. at: jboll@opsouth.org)

"First Impressions" is a service to preachers and those wishing to prepare for Sunday worship. It is sponsored by the Southern Dominican Province, U.S.A. If you would like

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"First Impressions" sent weekly to a friend, send a note to John Boll at the above Email address.If you would like to support this ministry, please send tax deductible contributions to Jude Siciliano, O.P., whose address is listed below. Make checks to: Dominican Friars of Raleigh. Thank you.Blessings on your preaching,Jude Siciliano, O.P., Promoter of Preaching, Southern Dominican Province, USAP.O. Box 12927, Raleigh, N.C. 27605, (919) 833-1893, Email: judeop@juno.com

March 23, 2008 Sample HomilyEaster Sunday“All Creation Waits”Fr. James Smith

Most people think that Easter is the celebration of the resurrection of Jesus. That’s true, as far as it goes. Others think Easter celebrates our own future resurrection. That is also true, but reduces Easter to a Jesus-and-me event. Some people understand that Easter celebrates the resurrection of all human beings — from Adam till the end of time. That expands Easter, but still limits it to a few million years and one species. Is all the rest of creation just for show, merely a collection of throwaway items to humor us?

I don’t think so. More importantly. Saint Paul doesn’t think so. He said that all of creation groans in travail, in squirming pain, until it reaches its completion in the glorification of humankind. What can rocks and rabbits have to do with resurrection? We have to go far back to make the connection. Back to before there was anything.

First, God flung out the galaxies — with a specific plan in mind. God had said, “It is not good for God to be alone; there is none of my kind to talk with.” So, God designed original matter to reorganize and evolve its way through increasingly complex creatures until it reached humankind. Humankind is creation that has become conscious of itself. And when the first human said: “I am,” God said: “I can relate to that.”

Later on, God became part of his creation. God literally materialized, enfleshed Godself, became a human being. The miracle of creation is that dirt and dolphins and you and Jesus are all made of the very same primal stuff. The Son of God actually became an actor in the ongoing history of earthly affairs. And, for a few precious years, there was a mutually enriching conversation between Creator and created. The plan was working.

But soon, Jesus was killed. It did not seem to be an historic event. Just a mediocre governor colluding with a puppet priesthood and a motley crowd to execute a backwoods preacher.

Jesus was more than the son of Mary, though. He was also the Son of God. So what happens to him has vast consequences. That little conspiracy to commit murder was actually the culmination of all the evils of the world from Adam to Abel to Judas. That is why Jesus descended to hell — not just a place of torment but the heart of darkness, the control center of God’s enemy.

If Jesus had been defeated there, trapped there, then history would have gone its dogged, desperate way in its downward spiral of evil. But Jesus rose from that deadly place, which means that he overcame evil at its root. Which means that life is essentially good.

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It does not always seem that way. War and catastrophe and terrorism and headaches might make us suspect that the heart of reality is empty or even inhuman. Much the same as when we look at mountains and deserts and glaciers and think that the earth’s core is empty or solid. But that occasional volcano taught us to trace the flowing lava to a molten cauldron of matter at earth’s center. So at the center of reality rages the eternal fire of love, goodness, God.

Easter encourages us to take our place in the drama of creation. The final scene of God’s production will be when all of creation, from amoebas to angels, will be gathered into the cosmic Christ who will hand every renewed thing over to his Father. All of past history and present experience and future hope is encapsulated in our grammar of faith: Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.

SECOND SUNDAY OF EASTER (A)March 30, 2007(Reprinted from April 2002 issue)RootsPatricia Datchuck Sánchez

Acts 2:42-471 Peter 1:3-9John 20:19-31

Have you read author Alex Haley’s Roots: the Saga of an American Family (Dell, New York: 1976)? Did you travel with Haley as he made his way back through seven generations to his beginnings in 18th-century Gambia in West Africa? Did you sympathize with him as he told of the sorrows and hardships his family endured? Did you bristle at the indignities and injustices perpetrated upon them? Rejoice with them in the small and large triumphs they eventually achieved?

Haley’s remarkable story came to life even more vividly in one of the most watched miniseries in television history. As we read and as we watched, we learned who Alex Haley was, and we appreciated his heritage and the people and circumstances that made him who he is. In a critique of Roots (included in the book’s introduction), American author James Baldwin, wrote, “Alex Haley’s taking us back through time to the village of his ancestors is an act of faith and courage, but this book is also an act of love … it suggests with great power how each of us … can’t but be the vehicle of the history which produced us.”

In the aftermath of Roots, many of us were drawn back through time to our own personal villages and private histories. Aided by data from libraries, city halls, church records, newspaper files, photo albums and the memories of elderly family members, some of us were able to trace our roots back several generations.

During these weeks after Easter, the church invites us on a journey of a different sort. For the next several Sundays, with the assistance of Luke (Acts), the author of 1 Peter, and the Johannine evangelist, we will be invited to trace our spiritual ancestry back to its roots in those first believers in the risen Christ. Ours is a story of faith and courage, of love and power. As we retell that story of our fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers in the faith, we learn more and more about who we are and who we are called to be, as individuals and as a community committed to the person and mission of Jesus.

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We trace our roots today to the nascent church, described in today’s first reading as being solidly grounded in the teaching of the apostles, the breaking of the bread, prayer and the presence and power of one another in community. We trace our roots to the recipients of 1 Peter, who were suffering “the distress of many trials” for the sake of their faith in Jesus. By virtue of their example, we find encouragement in our struggle to be Christian. We trace our roots as well to those gathered together on the first Easter evening (Gospel). We can recognize our kinship with Thomas, who mingled doubt and disbelief with his growing and deepening faith. With him and the other disciples, we rejoice in the fact that Jesus has breathed on us, too, and thereby we are rooted in the sure presence of the Holy Spirit.

We are charged with carrying on the “family name” of Christian and with keeping alive the spiritual heritage Jesus has bequeathed to us. As Saint Augustine once declared, “We are an Easter people and Alleluia is our song.” Karl Rahner once explained that our rootedness in Easter is not merely a rootedness in a past event (The Great Church Year, The Crossroad Publishing Co., New York: 1994). The “Alleluias” we sing are not only for what was, but also for what is and will forever be. Easter proclaims a beginning that has already decided the remotest future. Easter means that the beginning of glory has already begun.

Acts 2:42-47In his excellent book Religious Experience in Earliest Christianity, educator and author

Luke Timothy Johnson has suggested that the layout of the typical Catholic church in America offers a fairly accurate description of the contemporary Christian community (Fortress Press, Minneapolis: 1998). In the front or sanctuary of the church, everything is orderly and correct. From the altar and the pulpit, orthodoxy is generally spoken. Overhead or high above, God is somehow artistically featured; below the throne of that representation is the bishop’s cathedra, then the presider’s chair, with the stools of the lesser ministers expressing the obvious arrangement of power.

In the back or vestibule of the church, however, another religious world thrives. There is the parish book of needs and intentions with its catalogue of anxieties, pain and desires. There is the bulletin board with its announcements of all those people, events and duties that make the parish vital. These postings, as Johnson has noted, are “democratically stuck any which way,” informing all who would read them of prayer groups at this and that home, of food drives, of a need for a ride to services — with no distinction based on rank or seniority.

At the front of the church, religion is much concerned with correctness of doctrine, morality, authority, procedure, rites, rituals. But back in the vestibule, religion is more about what Johnson calls “the experience of transforming power in any available form … The success of Catholicism has been its ability to hold these two worlds of religion, the world of formal discourse and the world of informal power, together in some sort of creative tension.”

This is precisely the genius (to use Johnson’s terminology) of the early church. Ideally depicted in today’s first reading by Luke, the early community of believers strove valiantly to hold together the two worlds of religion: the world of formal discourse — the apostles’ instruction, the breaking of the bread and the prayers — with the world of informal power; that is, their communal sharing of property and goods, their caring for the needy, and the meals they took in common. For their efforts in balancing all the aspects of their religious experience, the early Christian community won the approval of the people and grew steadily in strength and in number (v. 47).

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Today’s first reading is one of three such descriptive texts Luke included in Acts. Borrowing from the language of Greek philosophy, Luke’s topos on the love and friendship that characterized the early church “communicated to his readers in vivid fashion that it was the gift of the Spirit that brought about a community which realized the highest aspirations of human longing: unity, peace, joy and the praise of God” (Luke Timothy Johnson, The Acts of the Apostles, The Liturgical Press, Collegeville, Minn.: 1992). As we look back today to our beginnings as church, to our spiritual ancestors, those early Christians remind us that the same Spirit who enlivened, enlightened, encouraged and empowered them continues to do the same for us. Therefore, we too can strike the balance between the front of the church and the back of the church, between the sanctuary and the vestibule, between the religion of formal discourse and the religion of informal power. By virtue of the Spirit alive and at work in all of us, we are equipped to bring the experience of the sanctuary and of the vestibule to bear upon the exigencies of the marketplace, the boardroom, the classroom, etc., thus transforming them and rooting them solidly in the holiness, peace and justice of God.

1 Peter 1:3-9An integral part of the celebration of Jesus’ resurrection at Easter is the baptism of those

candidates who have come to believe in Christ and wish to be rooted in him and in the church. Every year at Easter, each member of the believing community renews his or her baptismal promises. Therefore, it seems quite appropriate that today’s second reading includes an early Christian hymn of thanksgiving to God for the blessed gift of baptism (vv. 3-5).

Notice the ancient hymn’s repeated references to the “new birth” that baptism affords to the followers of Jesus. No less than four times in three verses, the hymn describes the new birth of baptism as a birth unto hope, unto an imperishable inheritance and unto salvation.

Notice also that the author of 1 Peter urges his readers to rejoice in the fact of their new birth (v. 6). These words were no doubt intended to offer encouragement to the contemporaries of the ancient writer, who, if the consensus of scholars is correct, were being persecuted for their faith in Jesus some time near the end of the first Christian century. Scholars disagree, however, as to the source of the persecution. Raymond E. Brown (An Introduction to the New Testament, Doubleday, New York: 1997) has explained that the author of 1 Peter may have been referring to imperial persecution under Emperor Domitian (87-96 C.E.). However, if this were so, why then would 1 Peter command, “Honor the king [emperor]” (2:13, 17)?

A more recent tendency has been to understand 1 Peter’s references to suffering not as imperial persecution but as local hostility whereby non-Christians reviled Christians, treating them as evildoers (2:12), defaming their conduct (3:16), vilifying them (4:4) and insulting them because of their belief in Christ (4:14). In the eyes of their detractors, Christians would have constituted a new cult that seemed exclusive, secretive and subversive. Moreover, Christians were suspected of immorality and even atheism because they refused to participate in the public cult that venerated Domitian as “Dominus et Deus Noster!” and thus insulted the gods as well as the emperor.

Whatever the cause of their persecution, the contemporaries of 1 Peter were urged to regard their sufferings as temporary and as a means by which they were being purified like “fire-tried gold” (v. 7) before entering into the glory of life everlasting. “This too shall pass,” the ancient author seems to be saying.

With those words of comfort to strengthen us, we turn to the final two verses of this reading (vv. 8-9). Set to beautiful music decades ago by the French liturgist Lucien Deiss, these

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words echo the blessing of Jesus in today’s Gospel: “Blessed are they who have not seen and have believed.” As we welcome that blessing, we join our voices to those of our ancestral brothers and sisters, and pray: “Without seeing you, we love you; without seeing you, we believe, and we sing, Lord, in joy your glory.”

John 20:19-31In his essays on the resurrection narratives, Raymond E. Brown described the fourth

Gospel as a “Gospel of Encounters” (A Risen Christ in Eastertime, The Liturgical Press, Collegeville, Minn.: 1990). Nicodemus, the Samaritan woman at the well, the cripple at Bethesda, the man born blind, Mary, Martha and Lazarus, and even Pilate — one after the other they have made their entrance onto the Johannine stage, and through their respective encounters with the Lord, we have gradually learned more and more about Jesus. True to form, the Johannine resurrection account is also comprised of a series of encounters with Christ. Last week, Mary, Peter and the Beloved Disciple were center stage; this week the spotlight is on the disciples, and Thomas in particular.

As Jesus appears “on the evening of that first day of the week” (v. 19), despite the fact that the doors have been locked for fear of the Jews, his “Peace be with you” (which Brown calls a statement of fact, not a wish) is more than a greeting; it is a proclamation of fulfillment. Earlier in the Gospel, the Johannine Jesus had promised his own that he would bequeath to them the gift of peace. “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid.” This promise of peace was followed by the statement that Jesus was going away, but that he would come back to them (John 14:27-28). In that upper room on the first day of the week and despite the locked doors, Jesus was indeed coming back to his own, and the peace he had promised was now theirs to experience. That peace would banish their fears and strengthen them in all their troubles, just as Jesus had promised.

That same pronouncement of peace would be spoken again (v. 21) as Jesus commissioned his disciples for service. Just as Jesus had been sent forth by God, so also are the disciples sent forth by Jesus. From then on, they would be apostellein, “those who are sent.” “Receive the Holy Spirit,” declared Jesus (v. 22) as he breathed on them. This gesture, says Brown (op. cit.), is evocative of Genesis 2:7, wherein God formed a human being out of the dust of the earth and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life. At creation, the breath of God gave life to humankind. By virtue of his saving death and resurrection, Jesus has breathed into every redeemed sinner the breath of eternal life.

When Jesus breathes on them, the disciples become partners with the Son and the Spirit; in that capacity, they pronounce forgiveness of sins for those who believe and retention of sins for those who reject the Gospel. Later, the church would cite this text as well as Matthew 16:19 and 18:18 as seminal texts for understanding the sacrament of reconciliation.

Thomas, who was not present with the others for this Easter evening encounter, refused to believe their claim, “We have seen the Lord!” (v. 25). “I’ll never believe without probing … without touching,” Thomas declares. Jesus appeared again a week later, and again pronounced “Peace!” upon his gathered disciples. Perhaps that gift of peace moved Thomas from his stubborn disbelief, or perhaps it was Jesus’ challenge to put his finger in the wounds — but after this encounter, Thomas made one of the most profound expressions of faith in the Christian scriptures: “My Lord and my God!” Thomas remains for us an elder brother who teaches that doubt cannot be a stopping place, but it can be a stepping stone to greater, deeper faith.

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Additional homiletic support for Easter Sunday was provided by Jude Siciliano, promoter of preaching for the Southern Dominican Province USA, taken from the archives of his online homiletic service.

“FIRST IMPRESSIONS” 2ND SUNDAY OF EASTER (A) (Reprinted from April 7, 2002) Acts 2: 42-47 -47 Psalm 118 1 Peter 1: 3-9 John 20: 19-31

By: Jude Siciliano, OP

As I look ahead at the readings for the upcoming Sundays, I notice that right up to Pentecost Sunday in mid-May the first readings are from the Acts of the Apostles. So many appearances of Acts, yet I wonder when we last reflected or preached from this book? Why not dedicate at least one of these Sunday preachings to this important second book of Luke? I hope the following helps us do that.

We notice as we read the selections from Acts over these Sundays, that the early community was unique and their life challenges us to this day. It was an inclusive community that fulfilled Isaiah’ vision (chapter 56) of a renewed Israel in which all were welcome---foreigners, outcasts, women, poor, etc. As the prophets foretold, justice would characterize their community; all, rich and poor, would share their goods and they would eat together in a new age as members of a whole new life. Here in the community are the first signs of a new rule of life, the beginning of a new reign. How could a community that believed in the resurrection live in any other way? Today’s passage shows that at their table and prayers, as well as in the rest of daily life, community life was practiced (v. 42).

The word “koinonia” (communion/community) appears a lot in Acts. The early believers strove to get others to join them through their initiation rite of baptism. The frequent use of “koinonia” throughout Acts shows how much they valued their unity. Despite their many differences, the Spirit they received bound them together as a community. They valued staying together as a community and doing what they had to for their members. “All who believed were together and had all things in common....” Raymond Brown, for one, believes this communal sharing to be an exaggeration, but that some sharing of goods was indeed likely for a group of Jewish converts who believed the end was near and in the light of that, all wealth had lost its meaning.

In the Acts community the powerless are empowered. Remember, on the day of Pentecost, the first members were easily spotted as Galileans, “These people who are talking like this are Galileans!” (2:7) The Galileans were religious and social lower class people in the eyes of the institutional religion of Jerusalem. Yet, it is these very Galileans who manifested the gifts of the Holy Spirit and boldly preached to the more sophisticated and learned religious leaders. The whole world has been turned upside down and this resurrection community manifests how extensive the change is---the outsiders are in and the usual insiders are out.

Reading on further in Acts will reveal that the community’s faithful witness to what God has done in Jesus will arouse persecution. Nevertheless, despite the strong opposition they meet, the community will experience rapid growth. Their community life, even as it faced hostility from the establishment, attracted others to join them. Periodically Luke will pause in his account, as he does today, to give an update on the growth of the early church (E.g. 2: 41, 47; 6:7). Members of this community came to experience that Christ had not left them, for the apostles were performing the same wonderful works and preaching Jesus had in his lifetime

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(“...many wonders and signs were done through the apostles.”). We are told that the community broke bread in their homes. They weren’t just being nostalgic, looking back on a remembered Jesus. Instead, these were celebrations of the Risen Christ at their table and the renewal of his vision filling them with hope that someday they (we) would eat together at the heavenly banquet.

The reading from the Acts of the Apostles is a bit idyllic, but it does show what daily life might look like in a community whose faith has been engendered by the Resurrection. The community is closely knit, shares its goods and talents and worships together. The apostles continue the work of Jesus as they perform "many wonders and signs." I think we preachers make a common mistake of comparing the early Christian community, based on readings like this one, with our contemporary experience of community. Perhaps Luke is writing this idyllic description to stir his community and us to work harder at our Christian community life. It’s as if he is saying, “here is an ideal, let’s see if we live up to it.” I just wouldn’t place a guilt trip on the contemporary hearers by suggesting, “See how good they were then and how far short of the early Church we fall.” If these early Christians were humans, then they had the same problems we do. Perhaps our second reading from I Peter is more realistic as it praises God for the faith we have and the hope that draws its life from the resurrection of Jesus. But the writer also names the paradox that, with such peace and joy, is also persecution.

The readings these Sundays from Acts announce, through the words and deeds of the disciples, that the Reign of God has dawned. Either we are its members or we are not. Either we take the side of the outcasts, the eunuchs, Galileans, Gentiles and other social rejects or we take the side of the old order and deny the Resurrection, which we may have affirmed verbally, but not in fact. Do we stand with "the blasphemer Stephen" or are we with the civil religion of our country? Barriers fall in the light of the Risen One and Acts shows this by showing a mixed group of people united by their baptism and the gift of the Spirit.

The ideal that Acts poses to us does require we make an inventory of our own situation in our church, both on a local and international scene. How are we like or unlike the community in Acts? Are the poor, uneducated, ill, disabled, unemployed, at home among us? Do some people come to church for years and never feel like they really belong? Some people say the hour in church on Sunday is the most segregated time of the week. Do minorities, refugees, and others feel a part of us? Are people in nearby prisons, hospitals and jails visited by our faithful?

ONE GOOD BOOK FOR THE PREACHERHessel, Dieter T., ed. Social Themes of the Christian Year: A Commentary on the

Lectionary. Philadelphia: The Geneva Press, 1983. This book looks at the Lectionary, the seasons and assigned readings from the perspective

of social analysis. Its essays, by a variety of writers. offer the perspective of the poor and marginated in interpreting the readings and seasons

QUOTABLE“Resurrection does not simply spell the survival of the soul but requires the transformation

of the world as we know it.”—Elizabeth Schussler-Fiorenza, in “Jesus: Miriam’s Child, Sophia’s Prophet”. Quoted in

“The Living Pulpit”, Jan-March, 1998.

March 30, 2008 Sample HomilySecond Sunday of Easter

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“Reality of Belief”Fr. James Smith

Our Easter celebrations give us a romantic, idealized picture of our church’s origin. To get a true picture of the beginnings of Christianity, we need to imagine a small band of men who dreamed that they would reform their ancient Jewish religion — and just maybe grow strong enough to drive Roman soldiers out of their homeland.

The Gospel photograph today paints an entirely different picture. Here, we see a dispirited group of men who realize that their dream bubble has burst. They are frightened, embarrassed, confused. They must devise a way to disband secretly so they are not executed the way their leader was. And since there is no Witness Protection Program to give them new identities, they must return to their old lives — hope to get their old job back, endure the ridicule of fellow workers and neighbors while saving face with their children and enduring the lifelong scorn of their wives who told them so.

Suddenly, their old leader appeared in their midst. They got excited all over again. He wasn’t only still alive, or again alive; he told them not to be afraid. He even told them to go tell it on the mountain. And most amazingly, he told them that they could forgive sins!

At least, that is what they thought they saw and heard. But Thomas was having none of it. He thought they were the victims of mass hysteria, that they were so fearful of reality they manufactured a more livable virtual reality. He would never believe anything so preposterous unless he could feel it with his own fingers.

You and I know exactly what he means. And you and I probably would have felt the same way. We don’t believe other people’s miracle stories; we think they are made up by people who don’t like the way their life is going, so they write a new script more along the lines of a successful soap opera.

Scientific Thomas is so adamant that Jesus accepts his doubt and lets him touch the holes in his hands and the slash in his side. When Thomas proves to himself that this is the real thing, Jesus in turn accepts his act of faith.

But we say: “Wait a minute — that’s not faith! That’s just information. Anyone can believe something if they can touch it. What about us untouchables who are 2,000 years and a continent away?”

Jesus understands, and says: “You are even more blessed because you believe without seeing and feeling.” We are not satisfied. We want to see. But we are lately learning that more knowledge about Jesus does not necessarily increase our faith in Jesus.

Excavations tell us about the primitive conditions in which Jesus lived; sociology describes the provincial beliefs and superstitions of his time; reconstruction of a skull from that period even rendered the likely face of Jesus. It appeared on the cover of TIME, Newsweek and even Popular Mechanics. Many of us thought he looked more like a dull-witted Neanderthal man than the Son of God. It’s much easier to believe in our sanitized Sacred Heart pictures.

It is always easy to doubt anything beyond our range of experience. Faith in something outside us is always a victory over our prejudiced ego. If Jesus had appeared as a Northland car salesman, future generations would also have been disillusioned. And even if someone rises from the dead and rules the universe, we still have to deal with those messy holes in his hand and that ugly slash in his side. Blessed are we who believe any way we can.

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