Pentecost Sunday
Acts 2:1-11
Psalm 104:1, 24, 29-30, 31, 34
1 Corinthians 12:3b-7, 12-13
John 20:19-23

The Jewish feast of Pentecost was called Shebuoth, or The Feast of Weeks. It was a harvest festival, for which the people of Israel would pilgrimage to Jerusalem to offer the best, the first fruits, of the harvest to God in thanksgiving. It was called Shebuoth, the Feast of Weeks, because it was the day that crowned seven weeks of seven days after the Passover. So the evening of the forty-ninth day began the feast of the fiftieth day, Shebuoth. The Greek word for fifty is Pentecost.

In the Jewish liturgical celebration of Shebuoth, one of the readings would be from Exodus, Chapter 19, which tells of Israel through Moses receiving the Stone Tablets of the Law from God at Mount Sinai, which was wreathed with smoke; and it says, the Lord descended upon it with fire. If one were to study the book of the Exodus, one might also notice that this receiving of God’s Law at Sinai happened fifty days after the Israelites departed from Egypt at the Passover. So this Jewish Feast of Weeks, of Shebuoth, Pentecost, was also a celebration of Israel having received the divine law from God.  

That sets the stage for our readings today. The disciples—not just the twelve, but a hundred twenty, including the Blessed Mother—were gathered in prayer, as the Lord had told them at the Ascension to do. Meanwhile, outside, people from all over the world—some Jewish, others, gentile converts, others, pagan worshipers of Israel’s God—were all gathered to celebrate the feast of Pentecost. It was a very lively moment. And into that moment, in the presence of the disciples, our first reading tells us, there was a rushing wind. In Hebrew, the word “ruah” means wind or breath or spirit. It’s the word used at Creation when it says the Spirit (ruah) of God hovered over the waters, and the ruah that God breathed into Adam. So the ruah, the wind, the divine breath, rushed through the room, and tongues of fire rested above each of the disciples.

According to Jewish Tradition, it took 10 people to establish a synagogue, a local church. They have already replaced Judas with Matthias, so the Eleven are back to Twelve Apostles, and enough other disciples to establish a synagogue under each one. At Sinai, the Lord descended with fire upon the twelve tribes of Israel. Here at Pentecost, the Lord descends with fire upon the Twelve Apostles, and their “tribes,” their churches, of the New (worldwide) Israel. James (the Less, the Son of Alphaeus, “James, the Brother of the Lord”) will stay and lead the Jerusalem church. Peter will go to Antioch and then to Rome. Andrew will go to Greece. Thomas will go to India. John will be exiled to Patmos, and so on. Yet they are all united by the Holy Spirit as the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church. “Catholic” comes from kata-holos, “according to the whole.” The Church taught (and was) everywhere the same truth, and the whole truth. 

As God made the covenant at Sinai establishing Israel as the People of God, and gave them the Law of the Covenant on the stone tablets, here at Pentecost, in Jerusalem, the city of God’s presence with his people, the Holy Spirit in a similar way establishes the new covenant with the New Israel with his own divine ruah, and fire, and, as the prophets had said, he establishes the new law not carved into stone, but written into the flesh of their hearts.

In the first half of the reading, we have the experience of the Church. In the second half of the reading, we have the experience of the Church with the world. The disciples go out, and with great joy and excitement, start sharing the good news with the whole crowd gathered from everywhere for Pentecost.

And we have another connection to the Old Testament: the Tower of Babel. In Genesis, in the generations shortly after the Flood, humanity, still speaking a single language, decides (as fallen humanity often tries to do in different ways in different ages) to build a giant tower—a siege tower—to take heaven by force. God observes what they’re doing, and divides and confuses their language, reflecting the division and confusion in their hearts and their relationships to Him and to one another. Thus confused and confounded, they each wander off to different parts of the world. But “Babel” is the root for our term “babbling,” that is, making unintelligible sounds.  The city that opposes God is also the city of unintelligibility. Opposition to God leads to moral and intellectual confusion, the loss of truth and goodness. And we see this today among those who oppose God’s truth and his Church.  

So in Pentecost, and we have the reversal of the confusion of Babel. People of all different languages come together and understand the disciples, who are full of the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of unity and truth. We might notice the progression of responses among the crowd—first they are confused, because they understand the apostles, then they were astounded, then amazed. As we open ourselves to God working within us, first it is confusing, then as we begin to understand, we are astounded and amazed, at how he works in our life and our situations.

So that’s the event of Pentecost, but what’s the importance of Pentecost? It means that everything Jesus accomplished in his mission into the world—his life, his healing, his self-giving love, his word, his wisdom and light, his forgiveness of sins, his sacraments of grace, his life-giving body and blood, his death to separation from God and resurrection to eternal life, his ascension and holy communion with the life and power of the Holy Trinity—all that is given to us. The divine power that said “Let there be light, and bang, there was light”—that power is given to us by Pentecost. The Holy Spirit is the power of the sacraments, the fire of God’s love that changes the nature of material things into signs of sublime spiritual realities that communicate himself to us. The Holy Spirit is the lifeblood and soul that binds the Church into the mystical body of Christ, and we as members of the Body, sharing in its glory, and in its sufferings, but suffering with faith, hope, and love. The Holy Spirit is the presence of God within us, prompting us to accomplish his will for us, and through us to the world. Pentecost is the big bang of the new creation. It is the pouring out of the Holy Spirit to renew the face of the earth. For those who have eyes to see and ears to hear, this changes everything. It is the power of God in us. The holy communion of Emmanuel—God for us, God among us, God within us. And it is the mission to bring others into this holy communion of God’s love and truth. Pentecost is still a harvest festival!  

How do we respond? By putting sin behind us, by living by the inspired teaching of the Church, and not the errors and sins of the world. That’s the first and most basic response: Go and sin no more. But more than that, we respond by frequent and devout prayer, by weekly or even daily (worthy) participation in the holy liturgies and sacraments of the Church. We read and study and contemplate the Divine Word of the bible, filling our hearts and minds and uniting ourselves with his Word. We ask for the intercession of the saints in glory, especially our Blessed Mother, whose last words in Scripture are, “Do whatever he tells you.” The Blessed Mother was overshadowed by the Holy Spirit, conceiving the Divine Word in her womb, and her response was that she went with haste to minister to the needs of Elizabeth, and sharing her joy. The Church receives the Holy Spirit, and our response must likewise be that we go with haste to minister to the needs of the world, sharing our joy.

Pentecost is our invitation to continue in ourselves the life and ministry of Jesus Christ our Lord. By the Holy Spirit of his love, he gives us the power to deny ourselves, pick up our cross, and follow him, through death to everlasting life in His glory.

The Ascension of the Lord (Year C)
Acts 1:1-11
Psalm 47:2-3, 6-7, 8-9
Heb 9:24-28; 10:19-23
Luke 24:46-53

Today’s Feast Day of the Ascension celebrates that part of the infinite mystery of Christ by which he victoriously returns, in his resurrected and transfigured flesh, to the right hand of God the Father, to rule all Creation as king, and to sanctify all Creation as high priest. The overwhelming, brilliant glory of Christ that was briefly seen in the mystery of the Transfiguration, is now forever fulfilled in the mystery of the Ascension. The Son of God took on our human flesh, which is now and forever held within the eternal glory of God himself, the Holy Trinity. Divinity shared in our humanity, so that humanity might share in His divinity.

Our gospel reading gives us the last verses of the gospel of Luke, which tell of Jesus meeting with his disciples after resurrection, giving them the confidence that all that Jesus had said of himself being the Messiah and the Son of God, and being killed on the cross and rising on the third day, was true. Jesus was victorious in his defeat over death, and now the good news was to be spread throughout all the nations by his joyful disciples, the Church—the good news of the invitation to repentance and the forgiveness of sins through Christ. But their mission wasn’t to start just yet—not until they are empowered by the coming of the Holy Spirit upon them at Pentecost. After giving them the joy of his resurrection, the mission of his Church, and the promise of his Holy Spirit, Jesus led them out of the city, raised his hands in blessing upon them, and parted from them in his Ascension. Back at the beginning of the Gospel of Luke, we saw the priest Zechariah ministering in the temple, when the angel told him of the coming of his son, John the Baptist. But Zechariah didn’t believe the angel, and he was struck mute. When he came out of the temple, the people expected to receive the priestly blessing from him, but they could not. The time of the old priestly blessings has ended. Now, at the end of the Gospel of Luke, the world once again receives the priestly blessing —not from the old covenant priesthood, but from the new covenant’s high priest Jesus Christ, as he goes up to the heavenly temple.

In the opening verses of the Gospel of Luke, he says that he has collected and re-examined all the available eye-witness accounts regarding Jesus, and is writing his gospel for a person he calls Theophilus, which may be a person’s name, or could just be a generic name to apply to any Christian reader, since it means “friend of God.” And the writing is with the intention to help Theophilus to be strengthened in his faith in Jesus Christ, and the miraculous accounts that are circulating about him.

Now, as our first reading today, we have the very first verses of the Acts of the Apostles, which begins, “In the first book, Theophilus, I dealt with all that Jesus did and taught until the day he was taken up, after giving instructions through the holy Spirit to the apostles whom he had chosen…” and then continues on with the rest of our reading of the Ascension, and then on with the rest of the story. So the Gospel of Luke and the Acts of the Apostles go together. The beginning of Acts is like the first scene of a TV episode, that begins, “Previously…”, and recaps the end of the previous episode, before continuing on with the new material.

As we celebrate the Ascension, some people may get confused by that language, “ascended up into Heaven.” Does that mean that Jesus goes up into the outer space? Does he keep going past Pluto somewhere? What does that mean? St. Paul describes a mystical vision in which he was taken up into “the third heaven.” In the ancient Jewish understanding of the world, the first heaven was the air, the domain of clouds and birds. The second heaven was the furthest that we could see, the firmament of the blue sky and stars, like a dome over the world. And then, there was the third heaven, kind of a spiritual realm in which God and the angels dwell. So the visible heaven is a kind of sacramental symbol for the invisible spiritual realm in which the Lord dwells: “The heaven of heavens.” So Jesus being lifted up, and then hidden by a cloud, is revealing that he is now passing into the invisible realm where the Father dwells. That’s what this day is celebrating.

For our second reading, we had the option to read from either the Letter to the Ephesians or the Hebrews. This section from Hebrews is a detailed reflection on the mystery of Jesus’ Ascension in the New Testament. It says that “Christ did not enter into a sanctuary made by hands, a copy of the true one, but heaven itself, that he might now appear before God on our behalf.” Christ isn’t offering himself over and over like an eternally repeating cycle. He offered himself once, for all time. His crucified and resurrected life is itself the perpetual offering of himself to the Father on our behalf. He is in the true Temple, of which the Jerusalem temple was an icon, a sacramental image of the hidden reality, based on the Tent of Meeting, which Moses built from instructions God had given him. Our modern churches, with a sanctuary, tabernacle, bread of presence, lampstand, and altar, are a copy of a copy of a copy. But what is the true, heavenly temple? We know from John’s book of Revelation that the heavenly city doesn’t have a temple. John says, “I saw no temple in it, for the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb are its temple.” The heavenly Temple is an image of divine love: the love between the Father and the Son; and now, after the Ascension, with the Son in human flesh, it is the eternal love between Divinity and Humanity. Between the eternal Bridegroom and Bride.

Fr. Jean Corbon, in his beautiful book on the liturgy, “Wellspring of Worship,” describes the Ascension as ongoing until the end of time, because the Ascension is the arrival of the Body of Christ into the presence of the Father, and the Body of Christ is all the members of the Church. The members of the Body continue the Ascension, as each one follows Christ, the head of the body, through death, and up into the heavenly banquet of the Father joyfully welcoming home His Son, returning from his mission of rescuing humanity, His Bride, his People, from death, and bringing them into communion with God. It is the supper of the Lamb, the wedding feast of the Lamb and the Bride, united in the Holy Spirit.

We have a taste of that here and now. That’s what the sacrament of Communion is! If our own bodies are holy because of their union with our human souls, how much more so the body of Christ, that is united to divinity, the source of life, itself!? Now this flesh is transfigured in the Paschal mystery of Christ, and, in the Ascension, shares in the Holy Trinity itself, and we unite ourselves with this divine flesh that is the real presence of Jesus in the sacrament of communion. What did Jesus say in the Bread of Life Discourse? Jesus said to them, “Amen, amen, I say to you… Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him…” Then he says, “Does this shock you? What if you were to see the Son of Man ascending to where he was before?”

Jesus connects the Ascension with the Eucharist. We are what we eat; we become like what we eat. When we worthily receive the Sacrament of Communion, we are united to heaven, to the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb. We are transformed by our sacramental share in the joyful banquet feast of heaven. How? By the Holy Spirit, the grace that unites the bread and wine the priest offers on the altar into Christ’s sacrament of his body and blood at the Last Supper, which is then offered as the perfect sacrifice of himself by his cross and resurrection, that we might have life with the Father, through Christ, in the Holy Spirit. That’s what we celebrate in the Ascension: our own participation in the shalom of the Holy Trinity. And then our mission is to spread the good news of the invitation into this mystery, and the necessity of repentance and the forgiveness of sins. But before we begin that mission, first we need to join the Apostles as they prayerfully prepare for the gift of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost.

The Third Sunday of Easter (Year C)
Acts 5:27-32, 40b-41
Psalm 30:2, 4, 5-6, 11-12, 13
Revelation 5:11-14
John 21:1-19

In last week’s Gospel, we had two separate appearances of Jesus to his Apostles: First, the evening of the resurrection, but Thomas wasn’t with them. And then a week later, on the Second Sunday of Easter, and this time Thomas saw and believed. And Jesus blesses those who haven’t seen, yet believe. And then we had what sounded very much like the ending of the Gospel book.

But wait—there’s more. About half way through today’s gospel reading, it says, “This was now the third time Jesus was revealed to his disciples after being raised from the dead.” The first half of the reading, before that line, and the second half after it, can be looked at separately, so that’s what we’re going to do.

At the beginning of the reading, “Simon Peter said to them, ‘I am going fishing.’” Some people read that to mean Peter had given up and decided to go back to his former way of life. That just doesn’t make sense. We should remember that they just saw the resurrected Jesus, twice. Now, they were in Galilee, waiting for Jesus, as they were told. And while they were waiting, Peter decides, “We’re just here waiting. I’m gonna go fishing.” And they all say, “Yeah, ok. We’ll go with you.”

As usual, it seems, they spend all night fishing, and catch nothing. Then this stranger on the shore shouts out, “Children, have you caught anything to eat?” That’s a weird thing, maybe a little flag. He called them, “Children,” but they just answer, “No.” He tells them to throw the net over the right side of the boat, and they immediately catch so many fish they can’t even pull the net back into the boat. And that’s when it clicks for John, who remembers something like this happening before, after fishing all night unsuccessfully, this strange man gives them a strange suggestion, and on doing so, they catch a super-abundance of fish… way back when Jesus had first stepped into Peter’s boat. John turns to the others “Duh! Guys, it’s Jesus!” (That’s a more modern translation!) Peter jumps in the water, while the rest bring the boat and the net ashore. Apparently, Jesus must have seemed different somehow, or why would it say, “And none of the disciples dared to ask him, ‘Who are you?’” I don’t think it would say that if his resurrected body were exactly the same as he was before. But clearly, they knew that indeed he was himself. Then, after the miraculous catch of fish he had just given them, he gave them a meal of loaves and fishes. Yep, that’s Jesus.

Then, more importantly, we have the second half of our reading. First, notice that it very specifically says that Jesus was next to a charcoal fire. The Greek word for charcoal fire, anthrakian, appears only twice in the whole bible: here, and the charcoal fire Peter was warming himself by when he denied Christ three times. When did Jesus predict that Peter was going to deny him three times? When, at the Last Supper, Peter had said to Jesus that even if all the other disciples were to abandon him, Peter would never abandon him; that he loved him so much he would lay down his life for him. Now, next to a charcoal fire, Jesus asks Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?“ Wow. I can’t imagine how this must have been for Peter, to have Jesus so sharply call to mind that shared moment of betrayal: both his prediction of his betrayal, and Peter’s very moment of betrayal, by a charcoal fire, just as their eyes met, as the cock crowed. 

Actually, Jesus doesn’t ask, “Do you love me.” He asks, “Simon, son of John, do you love me  more than these?” More than these what? Does Jesus mean… Do you love me more than you love these other people? (Do you love me above all other persons in your life?) Or does he mean… Do you love me more than you love these fish? (Do you love me more than your way of life, your “comfort zone,” the pleasures and comforts that this world offers?) Or does he mean… Do you love me more than these other men do? Do you have greater love for me than others do? Do you excel in Christian love, so as to be ready to excel also in Christian authority? I would say that Jesus meant all of that, in his simple question. Simon, son of John, do you “agape” me? Do you love me with the sacrificial, self-giving, love that I have shown for you?

“Simon Peter answered him, ‘Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.’” I “phileo” you.” I don’t love you with your agape love, but I love you with all my phileo love. Not like God, but like my teacher, my mentor, my brother, my dearest friend. Jesus responds, “Feed my lambs.” Nourish my hungry people, give them the living water to quench their thirst, and the bread of heaven to feed their souls.

Second time, same thing: “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Do you agape me? Simon Peter answered him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” I phileo you. Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” The Greek word isn’t quite as soft and fluffy. It’s “Shepherd my sheep.” Lead them, protect them, guide them, provide for them. Teach and train them. Including the other Apostles. I’m putting you in charge. I am the Good Shepherd, but I’m telling you to shepherd my sheep on my behalf.

Now the third time: “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” But this time Jesus lowers the bar, and uses Peter’s word, “phileo.” It says, “Peter was distressed that Jesus had said to him a third time, do you love me?” Do you phileo me? And Peter said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” I phileo you. Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.”

When Judas had seen the effect of his betrayal of Jesus, he despaired of his forgiveness, and went out and hanged himself. When Peter had seen the effect of his betrayal of Jesus, he went out and wept, for having so offended the relationship he had with Jesus.

Now, Jesus asks Peter three times, “Do you love me,” in effect, forgiving and wiping away Peter’s betrayal. Now that Peter has experienced Jesus’ divine mercy and love for him, Jesus is inviting Peter to follow him not just as a disciple, but to follow him specifically in Jesus’ place as leader of the disciples, to be the Rock on which Jesus had said he would build his church. To be a Christian leader doesn’t mean great technical skill, or great administrative skill. It means great love. Peter, do you excel in Christian love, so as to be ready to excel also in Christian authority? Will you do what ever it takes, sacrificing your life, to love my people with my love for them? Jesus says, “‘Amen, amen, I say to you, when you were younger, you used to dress yourself and go where you wanted. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.’ He said this signifying by what kind of death Peter would glorify God [–crucifixion]. And when he had said this, he said to Peter, ‘Follow me.’”

Jesus is in effect saying to Peter, “For now, I will meet you where you are, and accept your love of friendship, your phileo love. But in the Holy Spirit, you will mature in your role, you will mature in your love and care for my dear little flock that I trust to your care. Peter, the Fisher of men, Peter the Shepherd of the sheep: you may not be there yet, but I will bring you to my agape sacrificial, divine love. And you willingly make good on that promise to lay down your life for love of me and my body, the Church.” That’s the Peter we see in the Acts of the Apostles.

Since I now don’t have time to get into the other readings, I’ll just end with this: that this love we’re talking about with Jesus and Peter is what we mean by the agape love between Christ and his Bride, the Church. Husbands, you are like Peter, striving to more perfectly love and honor your bride with Jesus’ love for her, and to lead her, by serving her, nourishing her, shepherding her toward heaven, stepping up as the spiritual head of the home, especially for your children. Wives, you are called—first, to choose a good man who wants your salvation more than you do (and so won’t ask you to jeopardize your salvation by sin)—and then to look to your husband as the Church looked to Peter: as an icon of Jesus, a man capable of noble character, who needs your prayers and love and encouragement to be the man that God is calling him to be for you. Husbands, you are an icon of the Bridegroom. Wives, you are an icon of the Bride. Your marriage is an icon of the faithful, forgiving, patient, abundant, unbreakable love between them. That’s the sacrament of Marriage, which is so much more than sex and companionship. It’s the agape self-giving love of the cross, by which you offer your life to each other, maturing in your love and care for each other. “My beloved, do you love me? Yes, you know that I love you.”

“Why is this night different from every other night? Because once we were slaves, and we are slaves no longer…” These lines are drawn from the celebration of Passover, recalling God’s mighty liberation of his people from their slavery in Egypt, and they are a fitting way to describe the mysteries we celebrate this evening.

“Why is this night different from every other night?” Tonight, we are in the midst of the great Easter Triduum, the Mass of Our Lord’s Supper on Holy Thursday, the Passion of Our Lord on Good Friday, and the most holy feast day of the Resurrection of Our Lord on Easter Sunday. The Easter Vigil—as the Church calls it, “The Mother of all Vigils”—prepares us throughout this night to enter even more joyfully into the Feast Day of the Resurrection.

“Why is this night different from every other night?” The Divine Liturgy of the Mass is made of two distinct parts: the Liturgy of the Word, and then the Liturgy of the Eucharist. In the Mass of the Easter Vigil, tonight, there are four parts to the Mass.

We started with the Liturgy of Light: Jesus Christ is the LIGHT in the Darkness. We blessed the Easter Fire, making it a sign of divine glory—God’s burning heart of divine love. From the fire we blessed the Paschal (or Easter) Candle, representing Christ as the light of the world, the pillar of fire that lights our darkness, leading the People of God on our journey through the wilderness to the Promised Land. Those of us who are baptized, although not wearing the white garments of our baptism, lit our candles from the Easter Candle, as the light of faith that we have received. Christ told us that we are the light of the world, telling us to share our light, from his light, with others. It also represents our vigilance to our Lord’s warning to keep awake, with the lamps of our faith and good works lit, prepared for our Lord’s coming.

The second part of our night is the Liturgy of the Word: Jesus Christ is THE WORD and truth of God. The Easter Vigil has seven Old Testament Readings, each with their own responsorial psalm and prayer, intending to help extend the length of the liturgy from sunset until the dawning of Easter Morning. Tonight, we just had three of those readings, because we’re not trying to extend the Mass (to anywhere close to dawn).

The Liturgy of the Word tonight helps us to focus on the mystery of baptism. In a few moments, we’ll hear the beautiful Easter blessing prayer over the water of the baptismal font, which like our readings, recalls many of the ways in which God has used water as an image of baptism and new life throughout salvation history—The water and the Holy Spirit at the beginning of creation; Israel’s passing through the waters of the Red Sea, putting their slavery behind them as they set off on their journey to the Promised Land; God’s beautiful promise through the prophet Ezekiel of a future restoration, in which God says to his people, “I will sprinkle clean water upon you to cleanse you… I will give you a new heart and place a new spirit within you… you shall be my people, and I will be your God.” From the New Testament, we heard Saint Paul’s letter to the Romans about the mystery of our death to sin, and new life in Christian baptism, as we are made into a new creation by the mystery of Christ’s death and resurrection being applied to us. And then, we heard from the Gospel of St. Luke, of the glorious empty tomb. Christ is not among the dead, but truly lives, as he promised. The power of the resurrection is given to us in baptism: our redemption from sin and death, and our new life of the grace of the risen Savior. “Why is this night different from every other night? Because once we were slaves, and we are slaves no longer…”

The third part of the Easter Vigil is the Liturgy of Initiation: Jesus Christ is THE LIFE of communion with God. In the Gospel of St. John, Jesus says, “Amen, amen, I say to you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit.” We have two young women among us who, over this past year, have been preparing to be baptized. Baptism in a sense is the virgin womb of Mother Church, from which is born new sons and daughters of God our Father, adopted through our communion in the divine sonship of Christ, as his brothers and sisters. In another sense, baptism is the bridal bath, the ceremonial washing of the members of the Bride of Christ, the Church, in preparation for her consummation of her nuptial communion with Christ her Bridegroom, who gave himself, that she might be made clean. Then they will receive their white baptismal garment, and their baptismal candle, which we talked about a moment ago.

Then we will have three men and women called forward, who have already been baptized in different Christian traditions, who have been preparing to be brought into full communion with the Catholic Church. Then all five of our new members, the two newly baptized, and the three newly professed, will receive the second sacrament of initiation, Confirmation. They will be anointed with sacred chrism, as Christ was anointed with the Oil of Gladness, to carry out his mission to be priest, prophet, and king.

They will then return to their place, as they join us in our celebration of the fourth and final part of the Easter Vigil, the Liturgy of the Eucharist: Jesus Christ is THE FOOD of the spiritual life. The Eucharist is celebrated tonight as we do each Sunday, albeit with a few alterations to the prayers in recognition of tonight’s special and sacred role in the sacramental life of the Church. Tonight, our five newly initiated members receive the last of the Church’s three sacraments of Initiation: the Eucharist. With this sacrament, our new members will join with us in the perfect reconciliation offered to us through the Paschal Mystery: the holy communion of Saints and angels in union with God. They will join us in being spiritually fed with the new manna of Christ’s flesh, and made new in the blood of the new Covenant. With us, they will receive the grace and power of Christ, to be sent out into the world, to minister God’s mercy, to spread God’s light, and to witness to God’s love. Congratulations and welcome, Sarah and  Bobbi, Matt, Aileen, and Justin. May God’s love richly bless you.

• The Liturgy of Light: Jesus Christ is THE LIGHT in the darkness.
• The Liturgy of the Word: Jesus Christ is THE WORD and Truth of God.
• The Liturgy of Initiation: Jesus Christ is THE LIFE in communion with God.
• The Liturgy of the Eucharist: Jesus Christ is THE FOOD of the spiritual life.

My brothers and sisters, Happy—and blessed—Easter to you and your family! “He is risen! He is risen, indeed! Alleluia, Alleluia!” “Why is this night different from every other night? Because once we were slaves, and we are slaves no longer…”

The Fourth Sunday of Lent (Year C) “LAETARE SUNDAY”
Joshua 5:9a, 10-12
Psalm 34:2-3, 4-5, 6-7
2nd Corinthians 5:17-21
Luke 15:1-3, 11-32

This Fourth Sunday of Lent is traditionally called Laetare Sunday, from the entrance antiphon of the Mass: 

Latin:
“Lætare Jerusalem: et conventum facite omnes qui diligitis eam: gaudete cum lætitia, qui in tristitia fuistis: ut exsultetis, et satiemini ab uberibus consolationis vestræ!”

English:
“Rejoice, Jerusalem, and all who love her. Be joyful, all who were in mourning; exult and be satisfied at her consoling breast!“

The color for the Mass is the seasonal Lenten purple, the liturgical color of penitence and preparation, or for today the option of rose, the liturgical color of joy and rejoicing. On the one hand, it’s the joyful midpoint of our Lenten penitence, giving us a brief reminder of the Easter joy we’re preparing ourselves for. On the other hand, it’s also a reminder that even our penitence itself is essentially joyful, as offering our suffering and sacrifice unites us more closely with Christ and the mysterious joy of the paradox of the cross.

In our gospel reading last week, Jesus gave us our rude awakening. Our kind and gentle Jesus shouted us out of our spiritual sleep with the abrupt and sudden message, “If you do not repent, you will all perish!” Wake up! You don’t know that you have the next day or the next year to change your ways and take your eternal life seriously. You don’t know that you are going to heaven with your current spiritual condition. Repent, change your ways. Love God with all your soul and all your life, and bear the fruit of your faith, and do it urgently and always.

In this week’s gospel, we have the good news—the joyful news—that our God who urgently calls us to repentance, is eagerly waiting for us to return to Him, as a father who painfully misses his runaway child, that He might again embrace us in His love, restore us to our dignity, and share His overflowing joy with us.

The readings together share a common theme of renewal and “new creation.” In our first reading, actually right before our first reading, God instructs Joshua to circumcise Israel a second time. All those who had been circumcised when they had left Egypt had died for their unfaithfulness, and Moses had failed to circumcise the next generation. Circumcision is the sign of a man’s participation in the covenant. So Joshua did as God had commanded. And thus the first line of our first reading, “The LORD said to Joshua, ‘Today I have removed the reproach of Egypt from you.’” So immediately upon entering into the Promised Land, the Lord renews Israel in their identity and covenant as God’s people.

And then the Israelites celebrated the Passover for the first time with the fruits of the Promised Land. The Exodus began with the Passover, and now ends with the Passover, the sacrifice that is to be a perpetual reminder of the Lord liberating them from their slavery in Egypt. And now that their journey had come to an end, the miraculous food for the journey, the manna, which God had provided for them, has come to an end as well. The food they had never seen before its appearance at the beginning of the Exodus, they never saw again after the Exodus. But the Manna was one of the items God told them to put into the Ark of the Covenant (along with the tablets of the Law, and Aaron’s staff). And they believed the manna would someday return, with the Messiah, the new Moses, for the new Exodus, to the New Promised Land.

As great and momentous as their Exodus was, which freed them from slavery, brought them into the great covenant with God, revealed to them the truth of human nature and moral law, and instituted them as a nation, for all that, it was still only a promise of a greater Exodus yet to come. Moses did not circumcise the second generation, nor did Moses lead them across the threshold into the Promised Land. Joshua accomplished what Moses did not. The Hebrew for Joshua’s name is Yeshua, which is also the Hebrew for Jesus. Likewise, Jesus accomplished what Moses did not. Moses freed the Israelites (those who participated in the Passover and the circumcision) from the physical slavery of the Egyptians. Jesus frees all people (who participate in baptism and the Eucharist) from the spiritual slavery of sin. Moses gave the people the law of living by justice, written on stone. Jesus gave the people the love of living by mercy, written on the heart. Moses gave the daily miraculous bread from heaven that fed the body for the Exodus to the Promised Land of Canaan. Jesus gives the daily living miraculous bread from heaven that feeds the spirit for our new Exodus to the new Promised Land of Heaven.

In our second reading, Saint Paul teaches the Corinthians, “Whoever is in Christ is a new creation: the old things have passed away… And all this is from God, who has reconciled us to himself through Christ…” I have said before that God isn’t up in heaven with his angels keeping track of each of our mistakes and sins. He’s looking for us to become a certain sort of person—the sort of person who throws themselves upon the mercy of God with contrition, sorrow for their sins, and the hope that through God’s mercy, they will go and sin no more; to be able to amend their life and live virtuously and fruitfully. Each time we go to the Sacrament of Reconciliation, we re-enter into the mystery of our baptism, in which we are made anew from our old life. We become a new creation, not defined by our sin, but by God’s merciful love for us. And all this is possible through the life-giving sacrifice of Christ, who pours the grace of His Paschal Mystery into the world, and upon all who truly want to put their past behind them and step forward into their new life in Christ. Paul again pleads with us: “We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.”

The beautiful parable in our Gospel Reading has been given different names, each giving its own emphasis on how the parable might be interpreted. The most common title is “The Parable of the Prodigal Son.” The word prodigal means “spending one’s resources carelessly or indulgently.” And so this title emphasizes how the younger son “squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation.” Another common name for this story is “The Parable of the Merciful Father,” or even the “Prodigal Father,” emphasizing the great indulgence of forgiveness expressed by the Father on the son’s return. Pope Benedict called this “The Parable of the Two Sons,” emphasizing the contrast between the contrition of the younger son and the hard-heartedness of the older son. The best name might be the “Parable of the Lost Son.” Jesus gives the parable in the context of Pharisees and Scribes offended that Jesus and his disciples are eating with sinners. Jesus responds with a number of short parables (which our reading skipped, between the introduction and the parable) such as the shepherd who left the ninety-nine sheep and found the one lost sheep, and the widow who had lost and then found her two coins. And then Jesus gives this parable, in which the father twice says that his son was lost, and is now found.

For today, we’re just going to focus on two things in this beautiful parable. First, the younger son had set off for distant lands. It sounds awesome in Greek, it’s the chora makra (which sounds like an alien race in Doctor Who) which means, “the great wide-open emptiness.” Now he’s suffering, because he wasted his money, and he’s starving, eating less than he’s feeding the pigs. He’s someplace where they herd pigs, so we know he’s not among the Israelites, because pigs are unclean. For Jesus’ audience hearing this parable, this would have connected with the theme of exile: Israel’s sinfulness caused them to leave the Promised Land and suffer disgrace and captivity out in the chora makra. We often think of sin in the sense that we broke a commandment or rule, and so we deserved to be punished. But here we have other images for sin: sin as exile, sin as suffering, sin as being unclean, sin as having lost our sense of worth or dignity. Surely we have felt these effects of sin.

And the second thing we’re going to look at is the encounter of the son returning to his father. When his father saw him from a distance, it implies his father had been in the habit of looking into the distance with the hope of his sons’ return. When the father saw that the son was coming home, the father ran out to meet him. The son didn’t even get the chance to finish his prepared speech! So what did the father do? First, it says the father was “filled with compassion.” The Greek word means, “He was moved in his guts, his bowels” (which is sometimes adapted to “heart”). It’s the same Greek word used when it says Jesus saw that the people “were like sheep without a shepherd, and his heart was moved with pity for them.” It’s that feeling deep within, of just wanting to embrace a loved one in their suffering, and pull them close and comfort them. It says the father, “embraced him and kissed him.” Literally in the Greek it says he “cast himself on the neck of his son”. If you’ve ever seen the videos of veterans returning home and surprising their loved ones (I love those videos!), what’s the response of that encounter? It’s this. A tight, full embrace of love of someone who was gone, maybe forever, and has returned. That’s the love of this father being shown.

Then the son tries to give his speech of his humble offer. But his father cuts him off, and tells his servants, ‘Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.” What does that mean? It means that the son is not being welcomed back as a slave or servant, but being restored to his dignity as a son of the Father, as family. He receives the family cygnet ring, and will not go barefoot like a slave but with the dignity of having sandals for his feet. We can see how this father, in his prodigal (extravagant, bounteous) forgiveness of his son, undoes all our earlier images for the effects of sin. “Take the fattened calf and slaughter it. Then let us celebrate with a feast, because this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found.’”

All our lives, in every moment, God, our loving Father, is eagerly waiting, hoping, and watching for your return to Him. God wants to embrace you and welcome you to Himself, to bring you out of your suffering, to clean and wash you from your sins, and to restore and help you to see your own dignity as a son or daughter of the Most High God. This is the new creation, the restoration, made available to us by Jesus, by his life-giving, reconciling sacrifice, which we celebrate every Easter. It’s a miracle so wonderful, that we need 40 days of purification and preparation to enter into the celebration of so great a mystery. But first we need to wake up, and recognize our sin, and repent. Reconcile yourself with God. “Taste and See the Goodness of the Lord.”

Third Sunday of Lent, Year C
Exodus 3:1-8a, 13-15
Psalm 103: 1-2, 3-4, 6-7, 8, 11
1st Corinthians 10:1-6, 10-12
Luke 13:1-9

Our gospel reading gives us three separate images of our main theme for today. Our theme is that of God’s desire for our reconciliation with Him, Who is the source of life and salvation. God says to us repeatedly through His prophets that He does not delight in the death and destruction of the sinner. He is God of life. He wants not death, but that the sinner would repent, call upon God’s mercy, live according to the truth, bear the good fruit of faith and virtue, and share in eternal life.

In our first reading, we hear God’s call of Moses from the encounter of the burning bush, which is in flames, but is not consumed by them. God proclaims to him, “I am the God of your fathers… the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob… I have witnessed the affliction of my people in Egypt and have heard their cry… so I know well what they are suffering. Therefore I have come down to rescue them… and lead them out… into a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey.” This doesn’t sound like a God who is all wrath and destruction and judgment. This is the revelation of a God of relationship, of nurturing, guiding, and protection. This is a God who hears the cry of His own people and enters into their suffering, and leads them through their suffering, and delivers them to goodness and abundance.

Our Psalm echoes that theme: “The Lord is kind and merciful… He pardons all your iniquities, heals all your ills, He redeems your life from destruction, crowns you with kindness and compassion… He has made known his ways to Moses, and his deeds to the children of Israel.”

When God revealed his name to Moses, in our first reading, it’s extremely difficult to translate the full impact of what’s contained in the short, simple Hebrew. “‘I am who am.’ Then he added, ‘This is what you shall tell the Israelites: I AM sent me to you.’” It reveals that God is being; As St. Augustine explored in his Confessions, time exists only to matter, and God is infinitely transcendent to matter. So God is beyond time. We think of God in our material, temporal terms, “as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be.” Infinite, perfect existence. But that’s the perspective from within our time. From God’s perspective, He simply is. He is the perfection of existence: love, light, goodness, beauty, wisdom, compassion, justice, etc. Time is just a little span of drama. He can see the whole continuum of time. He can do what he wants in any point of time. His nature is to provide being to all things, and to be well-disposed toward the flourishing of their being, their nature. It’s not that God is vindictive or wrathful, but rather when human beings  make choices that hit against the well-being of their own nature and existence, then their existence, human nature itself, hits back. Not with the intent to destroy, but with the intent to bring one back into harmony with its nature, its flourishing. To quote the humorous sign I saw recently, “Everything happens for a reason, and sometimes that reason is that we’re stupid and make bad decisions.”

Often, then, our suffering is rooted in some pattern of sinful choices that frustrate our goodness and happiness. But Jesus’ message in our gospel reading is that this is not true for all suffering. In fact, the two examples at the beginning of our gospel are the two sources or kinds of evil: moral evil, and natural evil. Moral evil is suffering that comes from sin committed by a person. In our Gospel reading, Pontius Pilate slaughtered some Galilean Jews and mixed their blood with the blood of the sacrifice they were offering in worship. Natural evil refers to suffering that comes from something that just happens without blame. In our Gospel reading, eighteen people were killed in Jerusalem when a tower fell on them. We might add with that other natural disasters, such as flooding, or earthquakes; and disease, like cancer, or pneumonia. It’s perhaps a little easier to process the suffering or death of a loved one from moral evil: there’s someone to blame, someone to be angry at, someone to work toward forgiving. It’s often more difficult to process when the suffering or death of a loved one is from a natural evil.

Since suffering that comes from our own bad choices, and suffering from natural evil, both lack a “person out there” to blame, we can sometimes confuse the two. How often someone asks, “Why me? Why do I deserve this?” or worse, they say it about a tragedy that happens to a child. We can’t presume that our suffering is always deserved, because that’s just not always the case… which should bring some relief, but it often doesn’t. Because if it were something that we did to deserve it, we might be able to fix it. And that allows us to live in a universe that’s fair and makes sense to us (and implies we as humanity are in control of whether we suffer). But if it’s natural evil, again, that’s often harder to process, because we believe that if we do the right things, we won’t suffer. And when tragedy strikes anyway, there might be a feeling of betrayal: that’s not fair. The natural response in that case is then to blame the only other person that can be blamed: God. How many people have lost their faith because of tragedy? As if faith in God is protection against suffering (as though suffering were completely avoidable, or even that suffering is bad; certainly we don’t enjoy suffering, but in a modern society where pleasure is the ultimate blessing, suffering is the ultimate curse). God doesn’t always protect us from suffering. God didn’t keep the Israelites from becoming slaves in Egypt. And the Scriptures say nothing of their deserving to become slaves. But God does deliver them from slavery, and for the rest of their history, their cultural experience of slavery becomes a constant image for the captivity of sin, and the power of God to deliver them from slavery into the Promised Land. 

Back to the Gospel reading… Jesus says, “Do you think that, because this happened to them, they were greater sinners than all other Galileans?” “Do you think they were more guilty than everyone else who lived in Jerusalem?”

“By no means,” he says. “But… I tell you, if you do not repent, you will all perish as they did!” Jesus uses these examples to remind us that we must not make excuses for putting off repenting of our sinful habits and attachments, reconciling ourselves with God, and living always mindful that at any moment we might perish without warning. I’ve never gotten caught up in predictions about when the world ends, and what the end of the world and general judgment will be like. Because there’s only a possibility that we’ll be alive when that happens. But it’s absolutely guaranteed that we’ll see our own life end, and our own particular judgment. And that could happen at any time. 

That doesn’t mean adopting the self-absolving attitude, “I live with no regrets,” because there very well might be some big regrets you’ll have, if you unexpectedly find yourself before the God who called you to repentance, and whose invitation you postponed and ignored. And it also doesn’t, on the other hand, mean living in scrupulous fear of making a mistake and losing your salvation. (God does not have angels with notepads keeping track of our every little sin… we talked about that here). What it does mean is that our God is generous in mercy, always inviting us to partake of his repentance and salvation. But we only have this life to do that, and this life can end in an instant. We might not get the time we think we have. And if we unexpectedly have to answer for having delayed our repentance and living by God’s way, if we haven’t done all we could to purge sinful behaviors and vices and ordered our life to love God with all our heart, all our soul, all our mind, then we might find that the secular message that “everyone who’s basically a good person goes to heaven,” isn’t what God says.

At the end of our second reading, the Word of God says, through St. Paul, “…whoever thinks he is standing secure should take care not to fall.” Elsewhere, St. Paul says to the Philippians, “Work out your salvation with fear and trembling.” At the end of our Gospel reading, Jesus gives us another parable: a fig tree that is failing to be fruitful. The landowner loves his orchard, all the trees that generously put forth their fruit, as it is a tree’s nature to do, when nurtured, and cared for, as God cares for us. But about the unfruitful tree, the landowner tells the gardener, “For three years now I have come in search of fruit on this fig tree but have found none. So cut it down. Why should it exhaust the soil?” The gardener responds, “Sir, leave it for this year also, and I shall cultivate the ground around it and fertilize it; it may bear fruit in the future. If not you can cut it down.” If we’re wasting the talents and resources God is giving us, and yet we won’t produce the fruit we’re supposed to… maybe we’ll be left for another year… and maybe that year is already up.

When I had my dad as a high school biology teacher, he always called the Chapter 3 test “The Rude Awakening.” The first two tests weren’t necessarily easy, but this test clearly raised the bar, and students struggled (not always successfully) with the new level of challenge. He was a great teacher. He was just, and he was merciful (which was good, because I’m not really good at biology!). After the first two weeks of Lent, with Jesus triumphing over Satan’s temptations, and the glorious beauty of the Transfiguration, this week’s Gospel, here in Week 3 of Lent, Jesus raises the bar, and gives us our Rude Awakening: We’re not resting in the verdant pastures of heaven yet. There’s work to be done. If you do not repent, you will perish.

The truth of the gospel is not just about God’s beautiful invitation to his mercy and kindness—it is that—but also about God’s requirements of justice and truth—that we must accept the invitation to repent (from the actions we’ve done and the habits we have that conflict with the flourishing of our human nature), and bear fruit. The way to salvation is steep and narrow, and few are those who find it. You can’t just float upstream. Things float downstream. If we’re going to go up, it’s going to be by repenting of our sins, reconciling ourselves with God’s Divine Mercy, and bearing the fruit of our faith.