For Vocation Sunday

Lessons born out of love

A number of years ago, I arrived in the parish where I was to live for a number of months during the time of my formation in preparation for priesthood.  Within the first days after my arrival, I found myself in the church, sitting in a pew, for I wasn’t yet a priest. People were filing into the pew beside me, and in front of me, and behind me.  I didn’t know a single soul that day except the pastor, who I’d met only a few days before.  I knelt and uttered a prayer.  I think it sounded something like this:  Dear Lord, thank you for the opportunity to live among these people.  Help me to love them, so that I can serve them as you would serve them, but most of all, help me to be attentive to the lessons that you will teach me through them in the coming months.

• Listen to this homily
  

When you’re a stranger in a new place, it can seem overwhelming, but if you’re lucky it won’t take long before a few people introduce themselves.  As time goes on, you remember faces, and perhaps names.  If you’re lucky enough to learn something about people’s lives, then you’ve reached the next level of friendship, and when you begin to know how people are related, then you can truly say that you’ve begun to know them.  All of this takes time and lots of effort.  It’s a test of memory, a challenge for some and lots of fun for others, but it’s only the beginning of the process if we truly want to love them, and it’s an absolute necessity if we’re serious about believing that lessons about life and faith can be learned through our interactions with the people God puts on our path.

The fourth Sunday of Easter is referred to as the World Day of Prayer for Vocations or Good Shepherd Sunday, because of the gospel associated with today’s liturgy: the gospel we have just heard.  The people of Jesus’ time were well acquainted with shepherds.  They knew what it meant to be a good shepherd, and they knew what a bad one was too.  In order for us to grasp the meaning behind the words of this passage, we must understand that in certain European countries, even today, sheep are raised principally for their meat, but in ancient Israel, they were raised principally for their wool and their milk.  Certain flocks of sheep remained for many years in the company of a given shepherd who over time would come to know each sheep’s character.  He might even give each sheep a name.  Jesus knew many shepherds, and understood that though they many have been devoted to the care of their flocks, they were not well respected by the rest of society.

To a hired hand, sheep are merely a commodity, to be watched over only so that they can provide a source of revenue, but to the good shepherd, sheep are far more than just a responsibility, because shepherds are often also the owners of their sheep.  If a shepherd owns his sheep, he will come to love them, and he will be genuinely concerned for them.  This is the kind of relationship Jesus had with his Father; it is the kind of relationship he came to tell us the Father has always wanted with all his children.

The disciples had to have experienced this relationship of genuine love.  John spoke of it when he said that we are all called children of God: and that is what we are.  Because they had experienced this deep abiding love, Peter and John were able to speak to the rulers of the people and elders, pointing out to them that it was Jesus Christ of Nazareth, who had been crucified, and had risen from the dead, who was still curing the sick in their midst.

What about today?  Do we believe that Jesus still heals the sick?  Is it possible that Jesus, the Good Shepherd loves us as deeply as the good shepherds of ancient times loved their sheep?  The answer is yes.  Jesus loves us today with the same intensity that he has always loved.  In fact love must be at the heart of everything we do, every relationship we are called to enter, even, and perhaps most especially the relationships over which we exercise some kind of authority.  Pray today for those over whom we exercise this authority: our children, elderly parents, co-workers and colleagues, parishioners, people who ask us for help in any way, people who depend on us for their material or spiritual needs.  These are often the people who teach us the most valuable lessons in life, because whatever station we might occupy in life, we are all called to be good shepherds.  The staff we carry must never be a symbol of oppression.  Instead, it must always remind us of our heavenly calling to act out of dedication and love for those entrusted to our care.

Lessons for all

Children who can afford to dream may venture the possibility of envisioning the day when instead of being students, they in turn may have the freedom to determine their own lives, but the true measure of wisdom that comes with freedom is the realization that no matter how old we are (chronologically) we're always students of life.

• Check out the Teddy Stallard story, only one example of teaching that truly makes a difference

Some students are blessed with teachers and mentors who can help them develop the skills necessary so that they in turn can dream about the possibilities of true happiness, and others are affected by circumstances often beyond the scope of their own control in ways that are not always so apparent.

The truly lucky ones are those who are graced with mentors who can look beyond the surface values and determine the needs that will allow each student to flourish.  When a mentor, a teacher or a guide is able to recognize this truth, they are well on the way to exercising the true calling of teaching the lessons of life.

Life lessons

Some of life's most important lessons can be learned in very simple situations.  The trick is to apply the learnings to ordinary, everyday life, and to never lose sight of what's truly important.

Some of the best wisdom also can be imparted with very few words, like the lessons that were once taught through a cup of coffee.

Take time to savour life, to cherish it, and to learn the lessons that matter ... and don't forget to give thanks.

With gratitude.

From grade 5-6 to JK

When I arrived in the school this morning, I asked the question Which class shall I visit today?  As it turned out the acting principal was not present today, so there was another teacher in charge, but there are also some wonderful people working in other administrative roles, so each of them tried to answer my question.

Normally, I try to make the rounds of all classes before returning to any given group of students, but sometimes that's not possible.  Given the pace at which most schools operate, it happens from time to time that one classroom or another mght be empty because the students are away on a field trip, or engaged in an assembly or ...  As it turns out, I was scheduled to have breakfast with the Grade 5-6 class today, but they too had a supply teacher (since their regular teacher was the teacher in charge today).  Normally this is not a problem, but I chose to visit with a class who I believed would have its regular teacher in attendance today, so I made my way to the JK class, only to discover that there was a supply in that class too today.  I suppose the joke was on me.

Julie was one of the first to welcome me

From the time I set foot in the JK classroom, students came running over to me, one (and sometimes more than one) at a time.  They excitedly called my name, and hugged my legs in a gesture of welcome.  As the teacher tried to complete the attendance records, the Educational Assistant distributed grapes and gilled cheese sandwiches.  I just made my way from one table to another engaging as many of the students as I could in conversation.

Breakfast time can also be an opportuntity for learning, so students took turns arranging their grapes in geometric shapes, and counting them.  At times I think they were having more fun with this exercise than they were with trying to eat the grapes themselves.  I was told by one boy that the grapes are sweet, just like juice.  One girl struggled to remove her grapes from the stems until I showed her how to use both hands (then she promply returned to the one-handed method).  I think she was having much more fun watching the grapes fly all over the table than she was interested in the mechanics of removing the stems from the fruit.  Ah to think like a child!

Once the ritual of eating is complete, each child is free to find a book in the book centre, then to return to his or her designated place and to read quietly (or as quietly as JK students can).  It wasn't long though before one then two, then more and more of them wanted to show me the story corner, complete with a rocking chair for me to sit in, and of course a number of stories for me to read.  It didn't take too much pleading for me to sit, and for them to gather around so that we could read a story about the letters of the alphabet who set off on an adventure of their own.  Of couse the children had heard the story before, but even for this reader, the experience is not so much about telling the story as it is about watching the reactions of the students as the story unfolds.  They told me to change my voice and make it much more gruff when a certain character was grumpy or not happy about how the story was unfolding, or to lighten my voice when there were happy things to be told.

Needless to say, when story time came to an end, they didn't want it to stop, but some routines have to be observed, else we find ourselves with other challenges, and especially for the younger folk among us, it's important that the established routines (including washroom breaks) be observed as closely as possible.

I wonder if the Grade 5-6 class had as much fun with breakfast as we did in the JK class today!

Third for Easter

Slow to catch on

Most Wednesday mornings, I make my way to Saint David’s School.  Each week, I see children in the schoolyard playing games.  Each week I greet students as they enter the school and make their way to the classrooms.  Each week I have breakfast with one of the classes, and stay until the morning prayer and announcements are complete.  Sometimes I even stay longer.  Before I began this routine, I had been told that this was a ‘special place’, that it was not like other schools.  As the weeks go by, I am more and more familiar with the surroundings, and the students and staff are more and more accustomed to seeing me walking the halls.  I’ve learned that the staff in this school is pretty special.  A casual observer might characterize many of the students as slow to catch on, but although more than a few of these students have developed hardened exteriors, their outer shells seem to melt away when they find someone they can trust.

• Listen to this homily

There’s a lesson to be learned here for all of us, because if truth be known, all of us can develop hardened exteriors if our dreams have been shattered, but if we learn to trust those who are the leaders in our world, if we have faith in their abilities, all things are possible.  The problem is that trust and faith are fragile realities.  It only takes one experience of deception to make us wary, and sometimes it takes repeated effort and proof to make us believe.

Today’s gospel passage is a prime example of this tendency to be hesitant.  The disciples had heard Jesus say that he had to suffer and die, and that he would rise again, but time and time again their faith had been shaken.  On more than one occasion, their faith had been tested, and as a result their certainty in his promise had begun to fade and they had begun to second guess themselves.  Even when Jesus appeared before their very eyes, they didn’t want to believe it.  They were startled and terrified.  We too would be confused, afraid and even overwhelmed.

There’s nothing quite like the look of pride on the face of a student who has just completed a major presentation, and rewarded with thunderous applause.  At times your faith and mine can be as strong as an oak tree, with deep roots and filled with energy and life, but there are also times when life can get a bit unpredictable.  Suddenly, we lose our bearings and doubts begin to creep in.  At times such as those, a student might glance around the room, looking for a familiar, reassuring face, hoping for a word of encouragement, and an adult might do the same, asking: Where is God? At such moments, we can feel so alone and even become paralyzed with the thought that we might have to face the world all by ourselves.

The disciples themselves were afraid and confused.  They needed some encouragement in order to find the strength and courage to carry on.  Jesus relied on ordinary things: food, touch and conversation.  It was by re-telling the story of why he lived and died that they were able to understand, that they were able to find the courage to carry on.  It was by reminding them of the role they were to play that he built up their confidence:  You are witnesses of these things, he told them.

Witnesses are more than passive bystanders; they are the people who tell others what has happened and what it all means.  Because they had been strengthened through this encounter with the risen Jesus, Peter was then able to go to the temple gate, and to speak to the people who were there, telling them about the truth that God … has glorified his servant Jesus, whom you handed over and rejected.  These words were not meant as a chastisement, but a means of calling others to faith.

Strengthened by Jesus’ assurance, John too wrote his testimony about how God’s presence among us is confirmed: Whoever obeys his word … in such a person the love of God has reached perfection.  No matter how old we are, there is always a part of us that remains a child searching for a familiar face.  Thank goodness that we can always look to the face of Jesus, and find there the encouragement we need.

Inspiration for others

In the runup to the 2012 London Olympics, there is increasing hype about the athletes who are preparing, and there is renewed focus and inspiriation for all the up-and-coming athletes as well.  Take for instance the interview that was done with Canadian 100-metre Hurdler and medal hopeful Priscilla Lopes-Schliep.  Here's the athlete profile prepared about her in anticipation of the High School Grand Prix comptetions.

Poetry in process

My regular visit to the school today took me into a classroom of really clever people.  As it turns out, once the morning routines were completed, the students began work on the composition of their very own limericks.  Yesterday, they had begun to study the structure of such poems, and today they were invited to try their own hands at this special art.  Poetry is not always as easy as it first appears.  When it works, it can stir the heart, but when it doesn't it lands harder than the proberbial lead baloon.

Since at least one of the students in this particular class seemed to remember that on one of my previous visits, I had invited them to help me compose a blog post for these pages, and asked whether they would be writing another one today, I thought that I'd consider giving them some encouragement within these pages.

Here's my take on writing a limerick based on my experience today:

I visited a class more than seven

made up of young men and women

Limericks they wrote

on paper for note

For a moment I thought 'we're in heaven'.

 Anyone else want to try?  Post your limerick in the comment box.

What heaven is like

While I was upstairs in the church with the adults reflecting on the gospel story of Jesus' apparitions to his disciples in the upper room, and Thomas' imortal words ... unless I touch the wounds ... I will not believe, the children of our parish were otherwise occupied with their own reflections about what heaven is like.



Some of their responses are worthy of Art Linkletter himself.  If we were to picture heaven through the eyes of these children, apparently this is a bit of what we might see:

• Heaven is pink.
• There are pink clouds.
• It is kind of cloudy, like fog.
• It is always sunny, and the sun is very bright.
• There's a great big hockey rink, and of course
• Heaven is where Jesus is.

Second for Easter

Worth the effort

A few years ago, I had an opportunity to visit some parts of Poland, including Warsaw, Czestochowa and Krakow.  Perhaps the best part of the experience for me was the opportunity to meet some of the people who call that country home, and to see firsthand what it’s like to live in a country that’s still mostly Catholic.  Ordinary citizens will greet one another not with the somewhat banal ‘hi’, but rather with the Latin phrase Laudate Jesus Christus:  praise be to Jesus Christ.  Although young children will greet one another with familiar words which roughly translate as the equivalent of hello, it is almost expected that a priest will greet a passerby with the phrase roughly translated as May God bless you, and it would not be uncommon for the phrase to be repeated in greeting.

• Listen to this homily

Although my stay in Poland was only a few days in duration, I have always thought that if I could learn enough of the language to make myself understood, it would be so much easier to live faith there than it is at times here.  The Catholic roots of the Polish people are evident in the greetings they speak to one another, in the small but important observance of breaking and sharing a wafer not unlike a piece of communion bread between friends and family at Christmas, and even in the annual celebration of the parish feast day.  Known as otpust, this feast day often includes not only the celebration of a Mass and a parade, but a mixture of games and toys which can be purchased to be enjoyed by children of all ages.

It might be easier to live a life of faith in such circumstances, but then again it might not, just as we might be tempted to think that in some ways, it might also have been easier to be a person of faith in the years when the apostles walked the earth.  There’s a part of each one of us that is tempted to believe even today that it would be so much easier to believe that Jesus rose from the dead if we ourselves could see the mark of the nails in his hands.  Yet, the wounds of Christ are indeed present every day in many different ways.  Sometimes it just takes eyes of faith to see them, hands of faith to reach out and touch them, and words of encouragement spoken in faith to help the necessary healing to take place.

This past week, we celebrated the funeral of Liam Kirkwood, an eighteen year-old who completed his earthly journey on Holy Saturday evening.  On Thursday morning, this church was packed with students from Saint Benedict’s who knew him, and who know his brothers.  There were also many others who had played hockey with him, and of course there were family members and friends.  As I looked out upon the sea of people, I couldn’t help thinking that these are the kids who don’t ever think that such a tragedy could be real.  After all, it’s not normal that a life should be cut short just as it’s getting started.  Liam’s struggle with cancer, and his death at such a young age has perhaps shaken the confidence of some of those who may even have idolized him.  I hear he was a pretty good hockey player.  Teenagers and adults alike are wounded when a loved one dies, regardless of age, and at times when we are most deeply wounded, we will all seek comfort and consolation.  Sometimes words will help, but often no words in any language are adequate to soothe the ache that is in the heart.

The truth of the matter is that all of us, in all parts of the world, even here in this church today are wounded in some way or another.  Some of us carry wounds that are deeper and more intense than others.  Some are physical wounds while others are emotional or spiritual.  Wounds can be recently-inflicted or old, even long-standing hurts that we might have carried for what seem like entire lifetimes.  No amount of prescription medication can heal such hurts.  True healing is an internal process which puts things right, and to do this, we need to face our wounds.

Although so many in our world would rather deny the fact of human mortality, some experiences in life force us to admit that none of us will be here forever. When a funeral is celebrated only days after Easter weekend, it’s fitting to remember that with great power the Apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of Jesus, and with great power we too should give similar testimony to our belief that we too will rise with him on the last day.  This isn’t always an easy thing to do, but it’s worth the effort.

I have run the race

For the second time this week, I was asked to preside at a funeral Mass.  This time, the location was the parish where I had spent ten months living a pastoral internship while I was still a seminarian.  That 'first' parish is still special in my memory, and many of the people who still gather there today are fixtures among the fabric of that particular parish.  One of them died this week after a very short battle with brain cancer.  Here is the text of the homily pronounced today at the funeral Mass we celebrated for her.

HOMILY FOR THE FUNERAL OF NORMA HUMPHREY

Church of Saint Andrew the Apostle, Sudbury

Saturday, April 14, 2012

It was almost twenty-two years ago now when I received a phone call from Bishop Plouffe, telling me that he had assigned me to do a pastoral internship year at the parish of Saint Andrew the Apostle in Sudbury.  It’s a very vibrant community, he said, you’ll have lots of opportunities to gain pastoral experience, and the people are pretty special too.

I still remember the first day that I entered the church.  I had only just arrived, and knew absolutely no-one, but even then, from one of the pews toward the back of the church (as all good Catholics do), somewhere on the left-hand side of the church (or is that the right-hand side?  I can never figure that out), I remember uttering a silent prayer: Dear God, help me to love the people of this community.  Help me to serve them as you would serve them.  Help me to be attentive to the lessons they will teach me in the coming months.

On that day, I was a stranger to this community, but it wasn’t long before I began to meet people.  It’s one thing to get to know faces, and another to be able to put the names to the faces.  It’s another thing altogether to begin learning about the lives that accompany the people, and that’s where you really get to know the people.  So it was that I learned in relatively short order that there was a certain woman in the parish choir whose name was Norma.  She had a husband named Barry who was one of two photographers who would be responsible for chronicling all the major happenings in the parish.  Norma and Barry had one daughter whose name was Lisa, and she was involved with the youth choir.

More than twenty years later, I still remember that Norma was working at Bell Canada back then.  She and her family were faithfully present and involved in the life of this parish.  Whether it was the Sunday Mass, or the parish spaghetti supper, or any one of a number of other social gatherings, the Humphreys have always been here, always involved, always ready to lend a hand if needed.  Life has moved on since that time when I first met Norma and her family.  Lisa has grown up, gotten married to Jeremy, and they now have two beautiful children who are cherished by them and by their entire family.  Barry and Norma have both since retired.  They have had their share of challenges; who doesn’t in this life. 

When they learned of the twins’ premature birth, and their need for medical attention, I’m sure that Norma stormed heaven with prayer, and asked her family and friends to join her in doing so.  I’m sure that when Barry had to face medical challenges not so long ago, she was on her knees here in the church and elsewhere, praying for him too.  You see, when people have no faith as a part of their day-to-day life, they might find themselves struggling to pray in times of trial, but for someone like Norma who has always nurtured the faith dimension of life, prayer is not a stranger.  In fact, the entire community rallies around in times of need.

So it was that when she received the diagnosis of a virulent brain tumor just three months ago yesterday, I’m sure that she was shaken, but she had the assurance then of the faith that had seen her through other times of trial.  In just ninety days this tumor has robbed us of this beautiful soul, and I’m sure that there are more than a few of us who are still in shock over what exactly has taken place, and how quickly it has come to pass, but I’m equally sure that because we are people of faith, to whom prayer is no stranger, we can look to our God with grateful hearts for all that we have been privileged to know and to share through the life of this woman who we commend to His mercy today.

During her three-month ordeal, I wonder how often she found herself echoing the words of Saint Paul, spoken in the second reading we heard this morning: I am being poured out like a libation, and the time of my departure is at hand.  Facing the inevitability that our lives here on earth are only for a finite amount of days is indeed a sobering reality, but what better place to face such realities than in the Hospice where she found herself for those final days?  And what better time of the year to have to face such questions, than over the Easter weekend.  The Church all over the world was commemorating the Paschal Mystery, the central teaching of our faith as she herself was finishing the race.

The wisdom contained in the words of the Book of Proverbs has painted for us a picture of some pretty high ideals for which we all must strive, but I’m sure that you will agree that in so many ways, Norma achieved the standards set out by the ancient writer.  If we listen with the ear of faith, we can perhaps hear the voice of Jesus which I’m sure greeted her at the gate of heaven and spoke tender, loving words to her: Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.

Norma has no more worry now.  Norma has no more pain now, but what about the rest of us who will walk out of this church later today.  Perhaps this is an opportunity for all of us to examine our own lives in the light of faith.  Life should be lived to the fullest every day.  We need to always be prepared to identify the hungry in our world, and be willing to respond to their hunger with food which will satisfy.  Our faith leaves us little choice but to identify those in our world who thirst in so many ways for the simple and the profound gift of love.  All disciples of Jesus must be willing to seek out the strangers in our midst, whether they’re sitting here in the pews of this church or standing at our street corners.  Can we find ways to welcome them, to make a place for them at our table?  There are people in our world who are naked, perhaps not physically lacking clothing, but lacking acceptance, lacking understanding and we are the ones who must clothe them with the warmth and charity of Christ.  There are people in our world who are isolated through sickness and imprisonments of so many kinds, and we must be the ones who are willing to fling wide the doors behind which they are enslaved, to unbind them from their miseries and to show them the tender care of our God.

All of this and more, Norma sought to do in so many different ways.  As we gather here in this place where she met our God, where she spoke with him, where she nourished her faith, we now entrust her to the mercy of God, and trust that he will reward her with the gift of everlasting life.  Together with her parents, and her two sisters, may she now look down upon us from heaven and pray for us until the day when we shall all be reunited in the Father’s house.

Funeral for a teenager

Thankfully, it's not often that I'm called upon to celebrate a funeral for a young person, but life and death don't operate on schedules.  Today, there were more than 500 high school students, hockey entusiasts, parents and teachers in the church for the Mass of Resurrection celebrated for Liam Kirkwood.

Since this was such a special circumstance, I've recorded the homily.  Readers can access the podcast version of the reflection here, or if you prefer, read the text that follows.

FUNERAL HOMILY FOR LIAM LAUCHLANN KIRKWOOD

Church of Christ the King, Sudbury

Thursday, April 12, 201

Last October, I was asked to preside at a school Mass that was celebrated at St. Benedict’s Secondary School.  Prior to my arrival, I was told that this particular day had been designated as a ‘dress-down day’ and that all the students who chose to ‘dress down’ would be wearing orange, and contributing money to help the family of Liam Kirkwood with the expenses involved with their travel to and from Sick Kids.

I watched in amazement as more and more students made their way into the gymnasium where the Mass was to be celebrated.  By the time they were all in place, there was a sea of orange, and I knew then that every student knew the story, and that every student knew the gravity of the situation.  Teenagers aren’t supposed to get this sick.  Teenagers aren’t supposed to have to face such sobering situations.  Teenagers are supposed to believe in what is just and fair, and speak up for those who have no voice.  They’re supposed to excel at academics and sports, enjoy music and the arts, dream of a future, plan careers, build a life, fall in love; but when we, or someone we love become seriously ill, there are some serious questions to be asked, some sobering realities to be faced, and we can never look at life the same way again.

I was told that Liam’s brothers were present on that day when we celebrated Mass in the gymnasium in October, but it wasn’t until a number of months later that I was to meet them.  That day was a Tuesday, the Tuesday of the March Break.  I had received a phone call from Jen, asking if I could speak with Liam, so I made my way to the Kirkwood home.  That was the day that I was introduced to Liam and his family.  I spoke that day with Liam, but I also spoke with Rick and Jen, and with Kylian, Devyn ,Sheehan and Mary.  Here was a family who like any other family had knit the bonds that hold us together.  Yet here was a family who had been through some very sobering moments in the past two years or so.

Over the next few weeks, I had other opportunities to visit.  At times, Liam was well enough to play games on his I-phone or to send text messages and emails to friends, even to plan for supper in a restaurant.  I asked him one day about his hobbies and he told me about playing hockey, but he never mentioned the part about being drafted by the Kingston Frontenacs: that was a part of the puzzle I would only learn long afterward.  He told me about playing ball (and I wasn’t sure at the time whether he meant football, baseball or basketball).  I found out afterward that each of these sports, and many more were part of the fabric of this young man’s life, and I thought then, ‘these are the things he’s supposed to be concerned about at this stage of life, but he’s been forced to grow up long before his time.  Here was a living example of the words we heard in the first reading today: Length of days is not what makes age honorable, nor number of years the true measure of life.

There were also days when Liam had to endure the suffering of his own cross as the cancer slowly robbed him of the vitality that had been so much a part of him.  Throughout these past two years, many of us here in this church today have stood by him and witnessed his suffering.  Each in our own way, we have tried to bring some measure of comfort to him and to his family, for that is what Jesus asked us to do when he entrusted his mother to the beloved disciple.  We don’t have a choice.  We MUST take care of one another in this world, until the day we reach our heavenly homeland.

Today, we are here in this church to celebrate the life of Liam Lauchlann Kirkwood.  The question that is still lingering perhaps in the back of our brains is what is there to celebrate?  Saint Paul said it this way: We believe that Jesus died and rose again, and that it will be the same for those who have died in Jesus.

Liam and Devyn were born on November 24, 1993.  One year later, they were baptised in the Church of Saint Andrew the Apostle.  The date was November 27, 1994.  Whether they realized it or not, on that day they received a very special gift.  On that day, they were both welcomed by the Christian community, with great joy and from that day onward, they have been called children of God, for so indeed (we all) are.  On that day in 1994, Rick and Jen received baptismal candles, one for each of their twins.  Enlightened by Christ, they (and we) have walked through life even to this day as children of the light.  I believe that Liam kept that flame of faith alive in his heart throughout the past eighteen years, and now that his earthly journey is complete, he can go out to meet (the Lord) with all the saints in the heavenly kingdom.

I don’t know if you realize it, but last Saturday, as Liam’s journey here on earth came to a close, the Church was celebrating the Easter Vigil, the Vigil of the Resurrection.  In the days leading up to that moment, we had considered Christ’s last meal, his promise to the repentant thief and to all of us: a promise of life in eternity. On Saturday evening, when Liam entered into eternal life, we were about to listen again to the promise of God’s saving love as it has been told and retold throughout the centuries in the Old Testament stories of our salvation and in the lived experience of the prophets.  Our faith teaches us that from the day of our baptism, we are clothed with a garment of salvation. How fitting it was that at the same moment that we were celebrating Christ’s victory over death, Liam himself was entering into a new life.

Can you imagine what that moment was like?  I can, and I believe that there will also be such a moment for each of us, when we too will complete our earthly life and will enter into eternal life.  I believe that there will come a day when the pain that is now in our hearts will be no more.  That day, we will see Liam again.  That day we will discover that the ravages of cancer are powerless over him, and he is free to run, to jump, to skate, to smile and to laugh.   In heaven, we will all one day know the fullness of life.  We will all one day know the freedom to truly laugh, with the resounding laughter of the children of God.

Today is about remembering this young man, who has been deeply loved from the day of his birth.  We are right to remember him.  We are right to celebrate him, but we must also leave this place today willing to imitate him, ready to live this life to the fullest, to love those who are close to us with a love that knows no limits, and to love those who are our enemies even more.  When our turn comes, each of us will then be able to go out to meet (our God) with all the saints in the heavenly kingdom. What a day that will be!

Some food for thought which we hope has reached (or will reach) the ears and souls that need it most.

The story retold

Here is the revised text as it was modified for the Easter morning Masses:
 

Love beyond the grave (the Easter morning edition)

The scripture readings we have heard today are pregnant with confident words about a promise that has been fulfilled.  The first reading from the Acts of the Apostles is part of a speech that was spoken by Saint Peter when he met Cornelius, one of the centurions of the Italian cohort and his companions. Cornelius had previously had a vision in which an angel of God had confirmed his faith.  He therefore wanted to hear more from the mouths of the apostles themselves.  This was no ordinary tale.  Saint Paul also spoke in the second reading today about his experience of hearing God’s call, and the ways in which it had already changed his life.  The story told by Peter, and attested to by Paul is alive today in our midst, as alive as it ever was.  This story speaks powerfully to the realities of life.  When no earthly explanations will do, this story provides reassurance that God never leaves us alone, but accompanies us with deep abiding love.  When there are strikes looming, when young people cannot find jobs, or when the person we love is taken away from us, Jesus is present to console and to encourage.  His gospel speaks always of the promise of life, even in the face of physical death.

• Listen to the homily from Easter morning

Today, we have heard the resurrection account; the story of women who went to the tomb early in the morning intending to complete the burial rituals begun late in the day on Good Friday, and of apostles who also went to the tomb.  We heard of their disbelief when they discovered that the stone had been rolled away from the tomb.  Were they afraid that someone might have stolen Jesus’ body?  How often does it happen that even for people of deep faith and prayer, there are situations in our lives that leave us wondering whether the promise spoken of in today’s gospel could really be true?

If we want to understand the miracle that happened on that Easter morning, we must be willing to see it in light of Jesus command given to the disciples on Holy Thursday: If I your Lord and Teacher have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.  If we want to understand the miracle of that first Easter morning, we must be willing to see it as part of the self-giving love that led Jesus to accept death on a cross.  If we want to understand the miracle of Jesus’ resurrection, we must be willing to believe not only because of what we have heard, but because of what we know deep in our hearts.

The Resurrection is the central doctrine of our faith.  It is the ultimate proof of God’s abiding love for it is the promise of life even in the midst of death.  It gives hope and points toward a better future because it is the fulfillment of a promise that is made on the day of our baptism.  As we ourselves are reminded tonight of the day of our baptism, we strengthen and deepen our faith in promise of the Resurrection, a promise that enlightens and guides us even in times of deepest darkness, doubt and difficulty.

Even though we may at times lack clear understanding of how God is at work in our world, like the women at the tomb on that first Easter morning, we cling to faith in a loving God who overcomes death with everlasting life.

Happy Easter.

It is fulfilled

Love beyond the grave

This is the holiest night of the year, the night when we celebrate Christ’s victory over the power of sin and death.  Tonight, we have listened to readings that proclaim God’s constant presence and care for us.  This story began with the Genesis account of creation.  It continued with the telling of Israel’s miraculous escape from slavery in Egypt.  It also includes God’s promise of unending love made known by the prophets and fulfilled in Christ.

• Listen to the homily from the Easter Vigil 

This is not just a tale well-written; it’s alive today in our midst, as alive as it ever was.  This story speaks powerfully to the realities of life.  When no earthly explanations will do, this story provides reassurance that God never leaves us alone, but accompanies us with deep abiding love.  When there are strikes looming, when young people cannot find jobs, or when the person we love is taken away from us, Jesus is present to console and to encourage.  His gospel speaks always of the promise of life, even in the face of physical death.

Today, we have heard the resurrection account; the story of women who went to the tomb early in the morning intending to complete the burial rituals begun late in the day on Good Friday.  We heard of their disbelief when they discovered that the stone had been rolled away from the tomb.  Were they afraid that someone might have stolen Jesus’ body?  How often does it happen that even for people of deep faith and prayer, there are situations in our lives that leave us wondering whether the promise spoken of in today’s gospel could really be true?

If we want to understand the miracle that happened on that Easter morning, we must be willing to see it in light of Jesus command given to the disciples on Holy Thursday: If I your Lord and Teacher have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.  If we want to understand the miracle of that first Easter morning, we must be willing to see it as part of the self-giving love that led Jesus to accept death on a cross.  If we want to understand the miracle of Jesus’ resurrection, we must be willing to believe not only because of what we have heard, but because of what we know deep in our hearts.

The Resurrection is the central doctrine of our faith.  It is the ultimate proof of God’s abiding love for it is the promise of life even in the midst of death.  It gives hope and points toward a better future because it is the fulfillment of a promise that is made on the day of our baptism.  As we ourselves are reminded tonight of the day of our baptism, we strengthen and deepen our faith in promise of the Resurrection, a promise that enlightens and guides us even in times of deepest darkness, doubt and difficulty.

Even though we may at times lack clear understanding of how God is at work in our world, like the women at the tomb on that first Easter morning, we cling to faith in a loving God who overcomes death with everlasting life.

In the words of the ancient greeting: Laudate Jesus Christus.
Happy Easter.

Stations of the Cross

Today is the day for the Stations of the Cross.  In many and varied ways, this retelling of the final hours of Jesus' life will be recounted today.  Here's one way, adapted for the world of technology:

Extreme love

Observing the liturgies for Good Friday can be somewhat of a challenge when there are plural communities involved.  With a bit of creativity and lots of helping hands, even this is possible.  Two communities came together last night for the celebration of the Mass of the Lord's Supper, but today, there is room for two (and maybe even more) services as God's people gather to commemorate the Passion.

At 11:00am today, families were invited to gather at one of our sites where children and teenagers told the story of Jesus' final hours.  The pictures included with this post are taken from this morning's service.

This afternoon, at 3:00pm, a second liturgy took place, and during that gathering, the following reflection was shared.

Taken to the extreme

Ever since the days of childhood, I have always remembered crowds gathering in Churches on this day.  The cynical side of me might be tempted to think that it has something to do with the fact that all the shops are closed, but in reality, there is something about the change in routine that makes this day special.  For the casual onlooker, the story of Jesus’ torture was then a public spectacle, an act of shame and disgrace, but for those who have heard this story, and who have come to believe, it is the ultimate act of love.

•  Listen to this homily

The irony of this day’s events is that the Son of God, the one who is all powerful, made himself powerless so that we might understand the extremes to which he is willing to go in order to convince us of his love for us.  Just as he did not come into the world in the midst of luxury, there was no luxury about the way in which he went out of this world.

Chldren taking part in the retelling of the Passion

If we were in his place, would we not at least want to hide our suffering from public display?  Would we not perhaps even shun the possibility of visitors (other than immediate family) having the chance to see us in our dying hours?  In a society which makes it so easy for us to hide suffering and death, the telling of Jesus’ suffering and death speaks all the more powerfully, especially to those who can do nothing to hide their vulnerabilities.

The suffering of Jesus unites him to the suffering of his people.  We see it every day in the suffering of women and children in our world who live in torrid conditions imposed by others who take advantage of them.  We see it in the sufferings of the world’s indigenous peoples, marginalized and separated from society and forced to live according to conditions beyond their control.    We see it too in the suffering of those enslaved by human trafficking, and in the untold stories of so many victims whose truths ought not be spoken.

A dialogue homily with the chldren.  They have such wisdom!

Yet, the passion narrative recounted by John, the one proclaimed every year on this day, portrays Jesus as completely in charge from beginning to end.  He embraces all humanity in our sinfulness and willingly accepts suffering and death to become an unmistakable sign of God’s love and mercy, of reconciliation and healing for a broken world.  Through the shame and horror of the spectacle of crucifixion, his cross becomes a beacon of hope that stretches across time.

This is not just a story about a man who was led from one place to another and then condemned to a cruel death.  If it were, it would have been forgotten long ago.  No, this is our story.  This is the story of all God’s people.  This is the story of love taken to the extreme by our God who would go to any length, even to dying on a cross, in a public display of shame and disgrace in order to convince us of His love for us.

Venerating the cross

And the story doesn’t end here either.  The last chapter is yet to be written.  The final act of love is yet to be told.  Tune in tomorrow.

At 6:00pm tonight, we will welcome representatives from various Christian churches located in the neighbourhood.  Together we will pray the Stations of the Cross.  This should be a wonderful opportunity to share a moment of prayer with others who are commemorating the day of Our Lord's final act of love.

From priests to priests

Over the past number of years, as this writer took some time for personal reflection and prayer following the completion of the Holy Thursday Mass of the Lord's Supper, I have been prompted to write a reflection about priesthood.  The normal course of events is that this reflection is shared with other priests in the hope that these few thoughts might help us all to grow in our understanding that the ministry we exercise is not our own.  Rather, it is a gift which has been given to us, a gift that must be cherished and shared.

Here is this year's offering, penned last night in the darkened church.  May it bring peace to the hearts that need it, and encouragement to the souls that are searching.

HOLY THURSDAY
Letter to priests

April 5, 2012

Dear brothers,

Like you, I have by now completed the celebration of the Mass of the Lord’s Supper, and am taking a moment or two to sit before the Lord, present in the Blessed Sacrament.  The beauty of flickering candles and flowers which surround the altar of reposition draw my eye and my heart to remember the gentle love of Jesus whose disciples we are.  In contrast to this gentle presence, quietly radiating love, the rest of the sanctuary, now stripped bare of its habitual ornamentation, seems stark, cold and even harsh.  I find myself praying for courage this night. I pray for the courage which is the gift of the Spirit.  I pray for the courage that we all need in our time so that we can listen for His voice against the din of so many other voices.  I pray for the courage that will help us to allow Him to form our hearts evermore deeply by teaching us the lessons of mercy and forgiveness so that we can be capable of teaching these lessons to others who seek Him.

I can only imagine that on that fateful night, after Jesus had shared the supper with his disciples, he also prayed for courage.  The words of tender love spoken in the Upper Room, and even the gestures of kindness and compassion extended in the mandatum show that he was (and is) always the teacher, setting an example for the rest of us.  Yet, what doubts and fears he must have known as he looked into the eyes of his disciples!  He knew about Judas’ plan; he knew of the feeble faith of others there that night too.  He knew of Peter’s temper, and of John’s uncertainty, yet he believed in them and did what he could to inspire them and encourage them to believe in themselves.

Every year, I find myself drawn deeper and deeper into the mysterious example of the foot washing that takes place on this night.  It is such a simple gesture, yet so profound.  The act of baring a foot in front of someone we love is already an act of trust.  When done in front of a complete stranger, it instantly creates a bond, somewhat like friendship but curiously more intimate, more trusting.  On the giving end of the foot washing, this simple gesture of removing shoes and socks is already an act of trust, not unlike the trust with which so many of God’s people look to us for guidance.  As I go about the task of washing feet, I wonder whether I have always valued this gift of trust.  Unfortunately, some of us have misused or abused this trust and are now having to live with consequences we never imagined possible.  How many in such circumstances now long for an opportunity to wash the feet of those who have had to suffer?

For the past number of years, I have invited various parishioners to take part in the mandatum.  Among the participants tonight, there were couples who are preparing for marriage.  They sat alongside some elderly parishioners: long-time stalwarts of the Christian community, and four other priests who were also present.  As I approached the first of these, and poured water over his feet, I also paused to look him in the eye.  There, I had a momentary glimpse (much too fleetingly passed) of hopes and dreams for his forthcoming wedding and for his life together with his betrothed.  There was a sense for me that this connection was far too quickly gone, even as it gave me a glimpse into this man’s life.  I wonder: was this what it was like for Jesus and the disciples in the Upper Room?  Did they experience the same intense but fleeting connections?  Was this passing glance into another’s reality also present atop Mount Tabor during the Transfiguration?  Was this the reason for Peter’s question: ‘Shall we build three tents?’

The life to which we are called is summed up in the gestures of the mandatum.  Ours is the task of unwrapping sore, tired and wounded feet, of holding them gently in our hands, of examining them carefully and of tending to their needs.  Some of the soles (and souls) entrusted to our care are perfectly manicured, but many are twisted, mangled and pocked with bunions and other varieties of sores.  Each one is different.  Each one is precious.  Each one deserves our attention, for Christ has given us an example, which we must now follow.

Pray for me dear brothers, and know that there is a special place in my prayer for you too.  With Mary to help us, let us be courageous witnesses of tender love for our world today.

Happy Easter.

A virtual visit

As the world stops to observe this Good Friday, perhaps it is fitting that we should join with some of our brothers and sisters who are gathering in the place where it all happened.  Thanks to modern technology, it is now possible to take a virtual tour of the Holy Sepulchre.  Those who have already visited there will be amazed at the light crowds portrayed, but the scenes will no doubt bring back memories of paths trodden and experiences lived.