Jesuit Centre of Spirituality - Halifax NS

Speaking with real authority

2012-01-29T12:20:00.002-04:00

Homily for the Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B 2012

“They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.” Any number of people can get up in front of a crowd and put on the trappings of authority, claiming truth for their message. In some cases the reaction will be immediate: this is an impostor, this person is suffering from delusions, from megalomania. The audience will turn away and not listen. In other cases they will listen, but not recognize that the spellbinding person before them is a fraud, beset with deep psychological problems, and they are carried away, often with terrible consequences. Just think of Hitler or of many contemporary dictators who manage to fool their people at least until they wake up and realize that they have been living in a nightmare.

But in the case of Jesus, there was a sense among the crowds that his authority was genuine. His words deserved to be heeded. “What is this? A new teaching – with authority!”. They were puzzled, their universe was being turned upside down because of what Jesus was advocating, many of them eventually rejected him, but they sensed his authority.

In this Gospel passage his authority is proven by the fact that he is able to command the unclean spirits and they obey him. The crowds are amazed. They know that there is something powerful and without precedent in what Jesus is saying and doing.

But there are many other instances of Jesus projecting a sense of authority. He reads the beautiful passage of Isaiah in the synagogue of Capernaum, which begins “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me” and tells them in no uncertain terms that those words are being realized in his person. He says to the crowds: you have heard it said, referring to the many convoluted interpretations of the law proposed by the scribes and pharisees, but I say to you, speaking on his own authority, speaking words that are direct, compassionate, challenging, full of wisdom. We normally finish our prayers with AMEN, which is a word by which we agree and make our own what the prayer has expressed. Often Jesus begins his words with AMEN: Amen, Amen, I say to you. He is not agreeing with something else’ authority. The AMEN, the sense of trust and reliability is grounded in his own person. Another instance: to prove his claim that he can forgive sins, he cures the paralytic. There are many similar Gospel scenes.

Where does this authority come from? Of course being who he is, the Son of God from all eternity, he spontaneously speaks as God would speak, but without drawing attention to his prerogatives. He doesn’t tell people ahead of time that he is divine. He speaks in human terms and lets his words speak for themselves.

If we go to the first reading, we find another source of his authority. He has authority because he listens to God his Father. The prophet which Moses predicted is to speak in the name of God, to speak the words that God commands him. In other words his authority to speak as a human being is enhanced by listening to God his Father and being attuned to the movements of the Holy Spirit, as Jesus did during his human journey. It is not for nothing that Jesus spent long hours in private prayer, often on a mountain top apart from his disciples. This is a secret source of his authority.

Listening to God, but also listening to other human beings. A younger person can try to put on the mantle of authority and speak of things which he or she has not really experienced, and those of us who are older will see through him. An older person who has heard, seen, experienced life over many decades, who has rejoiced, who has suffered, who has shared in the joy and suffering of others, does have something to say. This helps us explain why Jesus spent most of his life hidden away in Nazareth, living the life of his village, learning a trade. He could have been out there preaching, but he needed to learn the lessons of life enough that when he opened his mouth during his public ministry, people would readily recognize that he knew what he was talking about.

None of us has the authority to speak as Jesus spoke. But in the lives we lead within our families and our communities there are times where we are called upon to take on the mantle of authoritative speech and to say something that comes from deep within our hearts and is meant to make a difference in the lives of others.

How can we prepare ourselves for this role of authority? Like Jesus we must listen, we must observe, we must learn what is going on around us. Above all we must listen to God in prayer, to be enlightened by him, to receive the promptings of his Spirit that invite us to speak a powerful word. Otherwise our words will have only the trappings of authority; they will at best be harmless and without impact and at worst cause much damage.

Does all this listening mean that we are subservient? No. Look at the example of Jesus. He was in constant contact with His Father and he spoke the words the Father wanted him to speak. But in doing that he spoke with his own power, his own authority, his own conviction. He made his own all he had heard and observed and the ensuing words came from him.

Likewise with us. Many speak with arrogance, with self-sufficiency, with false self-confidence : listen to the debates going on right now in the endless political season south of the border, and you might catch some of this going on. Others like to protect themselves with appeals to the authority of others. Their speech is studded with references and quotations. Rather than demonstrating authority, this demonstrates insecurity. We seek for that middle space where we are able to make our own what we have heard and reflected on stand by it with confidence. This is my role as preacher. I could launch out on my own with no reference to the Gospel and the teaching of the Church and you would soon realize that I am a fraud. I could cover my traces with one papal document after another, and you would get the sense that I am overly careful and maybe trying to impress. I try to find a middle space where I am both totally receptive and docile and totally confident and authoritative.

This is your role in many areas of life. How to find that middle space. That is the question. The example for all of us is Jesus who listened in depth and compassion to what others had to say, but who spoke with authority when his turn came. Let us follow his example, and hear his words, allowing them to change our lives.

King of Darkness and King of Light

2012-01-08T12:30:00.000-04:00

Homily for Epiphany 2012

Trained as I am in the spirituality of St. Ignatius Loyola, when beginning my prayer on scriptural texts, such as the ones for this celebration, I will take account of all the persons present in the text. Today’s Gospel is rich in personages: the Christ Child, Mary and Joseph, the shepherds, unless they had already gone back to their fields, the hidden presence of God the Father and of the Holy Spirit. One question remains: how many kings were there? We can find the first two very easily: Jesus is acknowledged as King, worthy of homage and adoration. There is his dark counterpart, King Herod, who wanted him dead.

Are there any more kings than that? Our attention turns to the wise men. We presume that there were three of them because there were three gifts, but we do not know that for sure. They come from the east and are enshrouded in mystery. The term used for them in the greek text is Magi, which we translate as wise men. They could have been astronomers, astrologers, interested in unusual confluences of stars and planets in the sky; they could have been scholars who had some knowledge about the sacred texts and customs of various religions, and noticed the predictions that there would be a newborn king of the Jews. They were also seen as kings, as in the well-known hymn “We three kings of orient are.” They could have been all of these. The beauty of the Gospel story is that it stimulates our imagination.

Herod and Jesus are certainly kings, and the contrast between them is stark. This contrast is described in the first reading of today’s mass, in which we hear:

“For darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you.”

These words have come true time and time again. They were true at the time of Jesus. The Roman Empire was a mighty political and military machine. Peoples were beaten down, exploited. Today we complain about violations of human rights; in that time there were no human rights. You will readily notice in the New Testament the struggle of the Jewish people under the Roman thumb. They were desperate for a messiah, a king to lead them out of the intolerable situation they were in.

An especially repulsive instance of that darkness we find in the Gospel reading of today. It is King Herod, the client king of Judea who held power over the Jews, power delegated by the Romans. He kept a rough peace, but ruled by arbitrary whim, and, intent on consolidating his own power, had countless people put to death, including members of his own family. As we know, he organized the slaughter of male infants two years old and younger in Bethlehem to get rid of the potential rival brought to his attention by the three wise men.

But then the first reading continues “...but the Lord will arise upon you and his glory will appear over you. Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.”

Light and darkness are caught up in a relentless struggle, but in the end light overcomes the darkness. This is the whole point of today’s feast.

The powerless, speechless, vulnerable infant of Bethlehem is a total contrast to Herod. He is a king whose reign will last forever. Herod dies very soon after these events, most certainly having hastened his death by his own decadent life style. He was a king racked by insecurity and paranoia. He promoted conflict, fear, to maintain his hold on power. The new king born in Bethlehem was indeed the king of peace. So sure of his relation to the one he called Father, he let go of his prerogatives as God and took on our human condition in all its vulnerability, taking on the form of a slave, as Paul tells us in his letter to the Philippians.

Today we celebrate the appearance on the scene of this new King, and the term used in New Testament times for the appearance of a king or emperor in a particular part of his territory was “epiphany.” Epiphany is a triumphal feast of light.

The three wise men, or kings, play a key role in today`s story. They are the intermediates between the Herod the king of war and Jesus the king of peace.

To begin with, they help us focus on the light that replaces the darkness. That light emerges for them as a bright spot on the horizon, a mysterious star. They are strangely attracted to it, out of their scientific curiosity, but then with a sense of hope and anticipation, and decide to follow it. They had heard of the promise that a new King of the Jews would be born, and this mysterious star might lead them to him. They come to Jerusalem, the capital city of Judea, seeking further information. They are open-minded and open-hearted people, seekers of God, but as soon as they ask about this new king, they create fear and not rejoicing in the Herod’s entourage, who asked themselves: Is this new king, which they knew was predicted, going to be a rival of Herod? Will he be a threat to the political order which they and many others enjoyed? Of course Herod wanted this potential rival snuffed out before he had a chance to establish himself, and providing the wise men with the information they sought, namely that the child was destined to be born in Bethlehem, and sought to use the wise men as a further source of information, not to pay homage to the child but to kill him. Of course we know how the wise men managed to elude Herod on their return home, and how the holy family fled into Egypt.

So the star led them to Bethlehem, and they came into the fulness of the light emanating from the new king. They paid homage to him, with gifts of gold, symbolizing that he was indeed a king, of frankincense, symbolizing that he was God and worthy of worship, and of myrrh, symbolizing that he was a human, and like all human beings, would taste suffering and death.

Not only do the texts of today`s mass allude to events two thousand years ago, they describe our own world. There are many King Herods in our world. Some of them have recently gone to their deaths, but others continue with their snipers and tanks to maintain their uncertain hold on power. Their violence at times floods our television screens and fills us with disgust. But there are other dark kings whose violence is more subtle and hidden. At the same time the King of peace is still with us, but not serving as a military leader to help us overcome our enemies by force. To change the balance of military forces in our world would be a superficial outcome. Unless hearts are changed, minds find new ways to think about peace, the violence will recur again and again.

What about the three wise men, who follow the star that leads them to Bethlehem? There are many men and women in our world who do not know the King of Peace as we know him, but who are attracted to him, and seek the path that will lead them to him. They struggle for peace, for justice. Often in their lives, even if they do not know or recognize Jesus, they give example of the self-sacrificing love that Jesus showed in his life. They are on a journey, following the star as best they can. I am sure we all know people like this.

But let us not only point at them. Let us point at ourselves. Like the three wise men we follow the star as best we can. Sometimes we stray from the path, but we find our way back. We know the promises of the scripture, and we trust that at the end of our journey God will be with us. We know the path to follow, and at the end of the path there is light for us. Can we be beacons of light for others, stars they can follow? Has the light of this feast totally enveloped us? Do we not need to go to the King of peace time and time again, to pay homage, to offer our own gifts, which may not be gold, frankincense, and myrrh, but other gifts close to our own hearts, and even the gift of our own selves. The Eucharist is the best way for us to offer this gift. Empowered by Christ’s gift of himself let us offer ourselves.

Truly Celebrating the New Year

2012-01-01T13:26:00.002-04:00

Homily for the feast of Mary the Mother of God 2012

Today, one week after the feast of Christmas, the Church provides for us a liturgical feast for the New Year. The New Year is both a secular and a religious celebration. As a secular celebration, it takes place over a 24 hour cycle as we go through the different time zones of our globe. I turned on the TV set yesterday around noon, and I was greeted with the firework display that took place in Hong Kong, which is 12 hours ahead of us.

In this form of New Year celebration the assembled crowds with their streamers and champagne cry out in unison watching the digital display: “Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, Happy New Year.” Or we might witness this count-down from the warmth and security of our home. The earth has gone around the sun once, and a new trip around the sun begins at that moment. But we know the new year will come to an end some 365 days later. The course of time is relentless.

But is this all there is to our New Year celebration? What about the religious dimension?

We will begin with the word “new” which carries two meanings. If you go to the New Testament in the original Greek, these meanings are expressed by two words for “new”, neos and kainos. The first word pertains to our secular celebration, the second to our religious celebration.

The first word, neos, is tells us something about the measurement of time. If I say that something is new in that sense, what I am saying is that it is new within its allotted life-span. A toaster is new today, might be considered new for a while longer, but five years later ends up in the dump, and nothing can be done about it. So together with the image of a robust child which represents 2012 there is the shrivelled up oldster who represents 2011. And some of us in the congregation here today feel that in our bones. We could say “we are getting older”, but to avoid raising alarm at our stents, bypasses, and replacement knees, we prefer to say “we are not getting any younger”.

The second word, kainos, tells us about newness in a completely different sense, and it is in that sense that the New Year is a religious occasion. We are not congratulating people for now being one year closer to their grave. We are wishing for them that in the course of the year something good will happen that is genuine and will make a permanent difference. This newness takes us beyond what we can measure on a clock. This newness will never grow old over the years and fall into oblivion.

So when we wish someone Happy New Year, the key point is not to hover over our watches and feel a sense of delight because 2011 on our digital display magically turns into 2012 at the precise moment of midnight. What we really want for ourselves and for all those around us is genuine renewal, newness that does not grow old. The previous year has had its painful and difficult moments. But the new year is the opportunity for a fresh new beginning for each individual, for the communities as a whole, for our world that seeks peace. We want the year to be new in the same sense as the new heaven and the new earth we hope for as Christians. We know that we will often fail in the course of 2012. We are filled with a sense of hope: things will be different. Just wait and see. We make new year resolutions but often fail to keep them. And this sense of failure is even tronger when we survey the world in its intractable struggles. In the face of all this, however, we believe that things will be really different in the new year, that there will be real progress. But let us remember that real progress is progress not in our own eyes but in God’s. That progress is slow in coming, often imperceptible, but it is genuine and lasting. Genuine renewal is far from the superficial signs of newness that modern advertising wants us to notice. We often hear the words “new and improved”. In some cases, maybe so, but in the end those words mean nothing. That newness will be caught up in the relentless wearing down of time. By contrast the newness we wish for everyone is a newness that lasts.

How can we find access to this genuine and lasting renewal of ourselves and of our world? Our hope is not in our own resources but in God’s grace bestowed upon us. So it is essential for us to celebrate the New Year as a religious feast. God is the only one that can give us a fresh new beginning, new hope, new energy.

Before the reform of the liturgy after Vatican II, the theme of the feast was the circumcision and naming of Jesus, an event that for new-born males took place some eight days after the birth. The Gospel still features the circumcision and the naming of Jesus. However the theme of the feast today is Mary as the mother of God.

Circumcision and naming in the Jewish tradition was akin to baptism, and introduces the newborn Jew into the life of the covenant, making him an heir to God’s promises. Jesus was born into the Jewish religion, and his devout parents followed the prescribed ritual for him. He was later baptised by John, and baptism became the introductory ritual for Christians. The newness baptism introduces does not gradually wither away and disappear, but it grows into eternal life. This is the promise of our own baptism.

How does Mary as the Mother of God connect with this celebration of the New Year? The Gospel we have read features an aspect of motherhood which is essential. To be a mother is not only to bear a child for nine months, and then to give birth to it. In her heart, her spirit, her psyche, the mother continues to bear the child after it is born. We see this in Luke`s Gospel passage today. She had just given birth to her child, and the extraordinary events that surrounded the birth impressed her deeply. She pondered them in her heart. There were the shepherds that came unannounced to visit; there was the unexpected arrival of the three kings. And of course the visit of the Angel Gabriel started this whole process of wonder. Who will this child be? What will he do? What will happen to him? In the presentation in the temple a bit later on the reflection was made more poignant. She was told that her child would be a sign of contradiction, that a sword would pierce her own heart. And, like every mother, she watched her child as he developed, and treasured in her heart the signs of new life that were emerging. The quality of his infant way of looking at her. His first steps. His first words. And this continued over his entire life, as indeed it does for all mothers with their own children. They continue to bear their children, to nurture them, to treasure them close to their heart throughout their entire life. They know them in an intimate way that is beyond words.

In the events surrounding Jesus’ birth there are signs of a newness beyond the ordinary. Mary is the mother of God, of the one who came to save us, to plant the seeds of the genuine newness that we wish to one another, that we wish for our world. She may not have been able to put anything into words at this stage of her life with Jesus, but she had a deep perception, an intuition, and little by little his role and her role would become clearer.

So to celebrate Mary as the mother of God is an excellent way for us to give ourselves over to the hope that God is really with us, that in spite of appearances to the contrary there are good things going on, things that bring people closer to one another and to God. This means that the words “Happy New Year” have a great power and meaning, a power and a meaning that come not from us but from God and God’s plans for us. He was named Jesus, and the word Jesus means “God saves”. Let us turn to the eucharist to continue to enact and celebrate our salvation.

Christmas, Feast for the Homeless

2011-12-25T11:48:00.001-04:00

Homily for Christmas Mass St. Patrick's Church Halifax 2011

Do we ever tire of Christmas? Every year at this time we celebrate it. For children the element of surprise, of wonder remains very strong. But some of us have celebrated this feast sixty or seventy times or more. This is my forty fourth Christmas sermon as a priest. What more is there to experience or to say? Is there not a danger of routine setting in?

In recent decades parts of the total Christmas celebration have become artificial, predictable, and in the long run boring. The feast of Christmas is now seen as a generic holiday, watered down to satisfy political correctness, and geared to the lowest common denominator. What is the lowest common denominator, you may ask. It appears to be the credit card machine. Christmas is blatantly exploited for commercial purposes. The beautiful hymns of years past are played less often, replaced by songs without real content or power to inspire, repeated over and over again. We are caught up in the rush, and we are expected to spend our quota of money to keep the economy going strong.

This superficial Christmas fails to satisfy us, but the real Christmas is genuine, full of surprises, and we are happy to celebrate it each year, no matter how old we get. We are celebrating not an event with only one dimension, but a mystery with endless facets, a mystery which becomes more attractive the more we enter into it. Love is that mystery, whether the love of God which is shown to us in the Christ Child come into our midst. or the love which, empowered by God’s love, we manage to show to one another, often slogging our way through the sites of commercial Christmas to find appropriate gifts.

An event which took place at St. Patrick’s Church a few days ago will help us reflect on one facet in particular of God’s love shown to us in this marvellous feast. Each year in one of the local Halifax Churches there is a memorial service for all the homeless people who have died in the course of the past year. This year was St. Patrick’s turn. Those present are invited to light a candle for a person they remember, and they often briefly speak about that person. Stories of heartbreak and of tragedy, but also of human dignity and resourcefulness. The homeless reveal themselves to us, but also us to ourselves, because in a deep sense we are all homeless. Like the many refugees living within our world, we are all on a journey to a better and more secure place, a place we can call home, not just for a time but forever. The homeless and the refugees know it deep in their bones, we sometimes forget it. But sometimes we do remember when the thought crosses our mind: “What is our world coming to? Can things continue this way? What will it be like for my children and grand-children to live in this world?”

Homeless persons and refugees play a key role in the birth of Christ. Christmas is a feast for the homeless. Towards the end of Mary’s pregnancy, Mary and Joseph were caught up, like refugees of today, in a politically motivated event upsetting for the poor and defenceless people of that day, a census in which you had to return to your place of origin to be counted. Mary and Joseph were homeless at a time when being at home, surrounded with familiar things needed for a birth, was most important. She was ready, but there was no place for her and Joseph, and she gave birth to Jesus in a shelter for animals.

Mary and Joseph were themselves homeless, but those who were the first to visit them according to Luke`s gospel, were also homeless. They knew what it is to be away from home. They may have had a home to go from time to time, but they spent many months with their sheep in the fields, guarding them day and night, and the comforts of home were not available to them as they ceaselessly sought for their sheep the best grazing land available. A life of poverty, of simplicity, of constantly being on the move. They are the ones who first received notice of the birth of a Saviour, and the first to visit the manger. Mary, Joseph, and the shepherds were specially favoured by God because they were homeless.

Paul tells us that when God the Son came into the world, he set aside his divine entitlement, his prerogatives, and totally shared the human condition in all its uncertainty and vulnerability. He could have been born in a palace, with trumpets blaring at his majestic entry into the world, with many slaves to attend to his needs, but instead he was born in a manger, to a couple without resources when they needed them most. And this was the pattern of his public life where, we are told, he often did not have a stone upon which to lay his head.

The question for us today is this: are we completely caught up in the comforts of our familiar surroundings, or is there a part of us which is homeless, insecure, without resources? There may be some of you here this evening who are experiencing homelessness in a painful way, struggling to find a good place to stay, whether in the literal sense of shelter or in a broader sense of relationships and community. But those of us who have a good home, a family, a community to enjoy, are called to be in solidarity with those who are homeless. Their homelessness is our pain and our concern. We are to be homeless with them. This is a season of sharing. Let us share with them something of the abundance we enjoy, and allow them to share with us something of the homelessness they experience. In the end Jesus came to lead us to a better home, a lasting home, a home with God. In this sense we are all homeless, but homeless with a sense of deep trust and confidence in Jesus who shares our homelessness that we might enter into the home of the One who sent him in our midst, the home for which we all yearn with every fibre of our being.

A Convocation Address

2011-11-20T13:45:00.003-04:00

This address I gave at the November 19 2011 Convocation of Regis College may of interest for two reasons: it reflects on the new shape of Jesuit ministries in Canada -- this applies to JCS -- and it offers spiritual reflections on my own ministry pertinent to those beginning ministry -- some 40 degrees were awarded in this convocation.
Jean-Marc Laporte, S.J.

I am delighted to be back for today’s convocation after three years away from such ceremonies. Over the years, I have been part of more than 75 convocations within the TST family, as President or Chancellor of Regis College, and as TST Director. This includes the very first convocation held by Regis College in 1978. But for me this chapel is a new place and receiving an honorary degree is a new role. I am most grateful for the kind words of my presenter and for the recognition I have received. I am sure that my fellow honorary graduand, Father Bob Doran, joins me in this gratitude.

This year we celebrate the four hundredth anniversary of the arrival of the Jesuits in Canada. They touched soil in Nova Scotia, where I now reside, but fourteen years later came to Quebec and soon after, in 1635, founded the Collège des Jésuites, inaugurating in North America the intellectual apostolate which has always been central to the Society of Jesus, confirmed by Pope Benedict three years ago in an address to Jesuits from around the world. Regis College is a major contribution of the Jesuits in English Canada to this apostolate.

The choice of today’s two honorary graduands brings to mind key strands in the history of Regis College. As a Canadian Jesuit I represent the contribution of the Jesuit province of English Canada which founded Regis College in 1930, and, in spite of its scarce resources, has supported it with men and money over the years. We did not have enough men to staff Regis College, which started in 1930 as a faculty of philosophy, nor did we have enough men when we started a faculty of theology in 1943. But we believed in God’s providence and in Jesuit solidarity. Over and over again we have looked for staff beyond the borders of our own Jesuit province and received a generous response.

Father Bob Doran represents the indispensable contribution of the many other provinces of our Society to Regis College over the years. He is a Jesuit from Wisconsin, spent many stellar years on the Regis faculty, and has only recently returned to his home province. Over many years men from outside our province have enriched our life and ministry in ways that cannot be adequately expressed.

Jesuit solidarity is always a given, but numbers of Jesuits, including those prepared in the field of theology, from Canada and beyond, has gone down drastically. This, however, is not the end of the story. During the last decade or so Jesuits throughout the world have come to the realization that they are called to share in Christ’s work not in isolation but in collaboration with others. This collaboration is a two way street. Jesuits are to be just as ready to collaborate in institutions not their own as to invite collaborators in their own institutions. The new life and hope brought by our non-Jesuit friends and partners was abundantly evident this summer when over 190 men and women came together in a congress at Midland Ontario to celebrate the 400 years of Jesuit presence in Canada. This group included most of the Jesuits of our province, many Jesuits from French Canada, and a significant group of lay collaborators from across Canada. Back in the mid 70's there were no non-Jesuits on the Regis faculty. But now they constitute the majority. As we move beyond 400 years the future of our Jesuit province and of Regis College will be different, but it remains vibrant and full of hope.

This is all abstract and institutional, you might well think. Those of you who have received your well-deserved parchments, hoods, bonnets, and mortarboards may ask “Does he have something more personal, more practical for us?”

My presenter offered some facts about me, with places, times and events, and an interpretation, too generous I would add, of their significance. How have I lived through these events and how have they marked me? Recounting some of the inner dimension of my story may be helpful for you who are graduating today.
Let me start off with a remark many have heard me make when reflecting on the meanderings of my own life: “Had I had false teeth, I would have swallowed them on the spot.”

When I graduated with my degrees in theology, my life plan was simple. I was going to teach theology for the rest of my life and do some writing, like my favourite teachers such as Fr. Fred Crowe. But my life did not go according to this plan.

The first big surprise was being summoned in 1975 by the then provincial superior who asked me to become president of Regis College at a contentious time just before its move downtown from our campus on Bayview North. I had neither skill set nor desire nor the temperament for this kind of work, but I was young and foolish, and a Jesuit vowed to obedience. I slowly learned some of the technical, relational, and leadership skills I needed.

That whole period of my life came to an end when I retired from the Toronto School of Theology directorship in 1999. I had visions of being able to resume full-time academic life according to my original plan, with research and teaching, but then I had a second false teeth experience. The provincial of the day asked me to become his assistant, which meant yet another shift, this time away from Regis College, with new skills and a new mind-set to learn. The learning curve was not so steep, and I soon took my turn being provincial superior.

When my mandate as provincial came to an end, a third false teeth experience. Finally, I then thought, I can get back to my original plan, to the leisurely academic activity of a semi-retired professor, and pick up the threads of my tattered scholarly existence. But I was asked to move to Halifax to take over a spirituality centre and work in pastoral and spiritual ministry. This is my current occupation.

We live in a world of dizzying change. The Church, albeit with great caution, is seeking new strategies to deal with this change. The human resources available fifty and sixty years ago for its ministry are no longer there. Fortunately this eclipse in quantity is not matched by an eclipse in quality. Our schools of theology, including Regis, are doing their utmost to meet unprecedented challenges, and you, the graduating class, give abundant witness to the positive results of that effort. But then the effort of the theology schools needs to be matched by the efforts of the Church to find new configurations and approaches that will make full use of your qualifications. And you need to be flexible in coordinating your skills, the needs you perceive, and the invitations you receive. Not an easy task.

One hundred years ago, there would have been no need to disturb the original life-plan which I and my superiors had approved. People with other skills and temperaments and desires would have been at hand to do what I ended up being asked to do. But given declining human resources my superiors had to make hard choices. As a wise man once told me, you must break eggs to make omelets.

At the same time, I can truly say upon looking back that the Gospel has it right: my yoke has been easy, my burden light. Sudden changes of the direction of one’s life are disruptive, but in the Jesuit way of obedience I was invited to enter into the dance of ceaseless change which marks our time. I had to let go of my expectations, pull up roots, and learn new skills, above all flexibility, open myself to new graces, above all availability, to be thrust into the midst of a world which is messy, ambiguous, full of surprises. Such letting go releases new energy and new life.

The Lord’s plan for me has been broader and richer than anything I could have dreamt of in my younger years. There has been struggle and plenty of anxiety, but in the end a sense of comfort, of deep continuity with what I have always wanted to be. Fortunately I managed to maintain teaching as a key part of my life for some thirty years. My formation in theology, including my doctoral studies, remains a vital part of who I am and has offered a welcome theological perspective for myself, and hopefully for those I serve today, in the trenches as it were. Often enough, we form too clear an idea of our own gifts and preferences, our vision is too rigid, and this leads to a self-enclosed development in which we unwittingly protect ourselves from the very realities of the world we are to serve constructively and compassionately. We have some knowledge of our own potential, but the One who fully knows us is the One who knit us from our mother’s womb and who knows our inmost thoughts. It is always better to graciously yield to the promptings of a Provident God who knows how best to bring authentic fulfillment to our lives and our ministries, how best to attune us to the work of the risen Christ who seeks to transform the world, patiently, gently, respectfully, but with the invincible power of the Spirit.

So here you are, members of the 2011 graduating class, with your convocation paraphernalia, but, more importantly, with the new skills and sensitivities you have acquired, and the plans you have devised to best find your place in a world which needs your ministry.

Willy nilly, you are part of the rapid and unfathomable change which marks our world. With some trepidation and anxiety, you will have to let go and join the dance. You will set aside parts of your life plan, but you will find undreamt of opportunities. In the end the tapestry of your lives will be richer and more varied than anything you might have imagined. You will discover inner resources and strengths you had not suspected were yours. New relationships and networks will fill out your lives. And looking back you will be convinced that this is who you were meant to be, what you were meant to do. Your achievements will not be self-enclosed and self-defined, but will be part of the only achievement that counts, that of Christ labouring to reconcile the world to himself and to bring it to its final stature.

Let us all rejoice in the great task which beckons all of us here today. Thank you.

2011 Magis Award Event: Reflections

2011-11-14T23:24:00.003-04:00

Nov 12, 2011

We have just finished the third of our annual Magis Award events. We began with the celebration of the Eucharist at St. Patrick’s Church. Even though I have been celebrating mass for 44 years, I am still a neophyte as regards Eucharists with deacons and diocesan protocols. A whole level of complexity is added. Reminds me of the old saying that a successful Jesuit liturgy is one in which no one gets hurt... My biggest mistake was connected with my usual hesitation at the time of the greeting of peace. I tend to barge in and invite the congregation to share the sign of peace when there is a deacon present, so I prepare myself ahead of time, telling myself to be silent and let the deacon do his thing. I had a moment of confusion at that point in the mass, and turned to the deacon inviting him to say “The Peace of Christ be with you always.”. With a chuckle shared by the congregation, he put the ball back in my court. You do your part and then I will do mine. I am sure the Lord enjoys these moments which add human fallibility and humour to the solemnity and seriousness of our worship. We must keep reminding ourselves that we are only humans, unprofitable servants at best.

I normally obsess about timing, and had planned an event that would begin at 11 and end at 2.15, with 15 minutes left to meet the agreed upon deadline of 2.30 pm. And I hectored people about respecting the schedule. Lo and behold, we finished at 2 pm. Once the event began I had to turn the event over to the Lord, who does much better than I anticipate. This was demonstrated in the prayerful eucharist, a beautiful sunny walk from the Church to the Hotel, an enjoyable lunch, and the warm companionship of the twelve tables, which seated 115 guests.

I was grateful not only for guests who are faithful to us year by year, but also for the new people who came for the first time because of their friendship and/or gratitude for Donna Legere our honoree. We knew from the nominations that she was an fine choice for the award, but in the weeks before the lunch and during the lunch itself I became more aware of her significance as a pioneer in lay ministry within the Archdiocese of Halifax. She and others like her have had to deal not only with glass ceilings but with unexpected and seemingly arbitrary transitions in their life of serving within the Church. Donna was among the many who regrouped time and time again, their basic loyalty undiminished.

This luncheon is not a fund-raiser per se. Its main impact is spreading the news of who we are and what we do. Given the claim on the time and energy of priests, pastoral workers, and parishioners, our centre and our readiness to be of service can easily be overlooked. But little by little a solid foundation for our ministry is being laid. By being flexible, we find new avenues and new forms of service. We will try to be led not by ourselves and our limited horizons but by the Lord of surprises. And knowing that we have a cadre of generous staff associates well-prepared in the ways of Ignatian spirituality makes our journey even more enjoyable.

Now to get ready for Magis 2012.

Seven Months Later...

2011-10-29T20:02:00.003-03:00

This has been a period of withdrawal from the blog I have maintained on the Jesuit Centre of Spirituality site. The last entry was my Palm Sunday homily. Until recently I was in the habit of writing out many of my sermons. Under the pressure of an increased work load, I have gradually discovered that preaching without a written text (but not without preparation, of course) works just as well for me. There are hesitations and misfires, of course, but on the whole greater spontaneity, greater energy, greater contact with my parishioners.

What pressure am I talking about? In addition to being in charge of the Jesuit Centre of Spirituality in Halifax, I have recently moved from being sacramental minister to St. Patrick’s parish (Halifax NS) to being priest-in-charge, an unusual title in the Roman Catholic Church, but one with which the archbishop and I felt comfortable. At the age of 74 the title of pastor, which bespeaks some permanence, seems inappropriate; and the title of administrator does not reflect the essential aspect of my work which is pastoral.

Still it is true to say that much of the additional work I have taken on is administrative. Some of the pastoral outreach of the priest was already part of my work as sacramental minister: getting to know the members of the community, mingling with them, discovering their gifts and their needs. All of that is important if I am to celebrate the Eucharist with and for them. But now I have a formal responsibility to give leadership in the area of community. I am still learning how to do all these things since my ministry as a Jesuit thus far has been in teaching, academic and Jesuit administration.

The parish of which I am in charge has many challenges. The most obvious one is the state of the church building, which goes back to the 1880's, and which needs repairs and major restoration. But that is not the most critical challenge. The spiritual health of the community is the most critical challenge. On the whole the people of the parish, who come from all over the area, form a vibrant and welcoming community. This strength and energy and good-will needs to be shaped and directed towards effective collaboration on all the issues before us, including that of restoring the Church. The administrative arrangements already in place to manage the restoration have opened the door to elements of friction and factionalism which must be overcome.

Thus the focus needs to be more on the community than on the church building. What would be a greater disaster, losing our church building or losing our community? The community should hold the first place in our hearts and minds. Indeed strengthening the community might well be the condition of being able to mobilize the resources to restore the church building.

As you can see, there are many issues swirling around when I prayerfully reflect on my new task. To be continued...

Jean-Marc Laporte S.J.

Homilies for the Sacred Triduum

2011-04-22T17:03:00.002-03:00

Holy Thursday Homily 2011

Today we give thanks for how Jesus wonderfully makes our salvation available to us day in and day out, week in and week out, year in and year out. Not only does he bring us freedom from our sins, and access to the eternal happiness we all long for and fail to find here below, but the act by which he gave his life for our salvation is not just something he did two thousand years ago, but something he makes present for us every time we attend mass. And we are invited not just to look on, but to enter into the mystery of love by which he saved us. We remember, but our remembering is not just a calling to mind but a transforming of our hearts and our lives. The full power of his act is still with us. Jesus has totally given himself for us, and he wants us to totally give ourselves in service to our brothers and sisters, those close by and those who inhabit the far reaches of our globe, all of them members of his body.

How does he make present the death by which he saved us? He chose to make it present under the appearances of bread and wine. This is what he did in a final meal with his disciples before his passion, death, and resurrection, and he told them, and us, to repeat his action in memory of him.

What precisely did he do? Let us hear the story as told in the second Eucharistic Prayer:

Before he was given up to death, a death he freely accepted, he took bread and gave you thanks, He broke the bread, gave it to his disciples, and said:

Take this, all of you, and eat it; this is my body which will be given up for you.

When the supper was ended, he took the cup. Again he gave you thanks and praise, gave the cup to his disciples, and said:

Take this, all of you, and drink from it; this is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven. Do this in memory of me.

What are the significant actions in this story?

He started by taking a loaf of bread, in the words of Paul’ account, setting it aside for a special purpose. He blessed this bread, giving God thanks and praise. His setting aside and blessing is reflected in the prayer that we say at the offertory: “Blessed are you, Lord God of all creation, through your goodness we have this bread to offer, fruit of the earth and work of human hands. It will become the bread of life.” The first part is the blessing, and the second tells us the special purpose for which this bread is set aside. That blessing is derived from the Jewish passover liturgical meal. Indeed that whole meal was structured as prayerful commemoration and blessing. The Eucharistic prayer is a longer version of this blessing prayer, and it is within it we find the story of what Jesus did with the bread and the wine.

When we hear this blessing prayer, like the disciples of Jesus we are drawn into an intimate relationship with God whose presence in his gifts we recognize.

But then the bread he has just blessed he breaks and distributes to his disciples. The bread is there to be broken, distributed, eaten, not just to be contemplated. Thanksgiving and contemplation are wonderful, but God expects us, like Jesus, to break and distribute bread to be eaten by others. Even more, we are to be the bread to be broken and distributed to others. Our gift of ourselves is to be without limits. Thanksgiving without service is empty. What we have received we must share with others. In receiving the Eucharist, we receive each other, because we are all members of Jesus’ body.

The relationship with God Jesus models in the blessing is usually seen as a relationship upward, like the beam of the cross which is planted in the ground and reaches heavenward. The relationship with our fellow humans Jesus models in the breaking and distributing is seen as a relationship which embraces all on the horizon, like the beam of the cross on which Jesus’s hands were nailed. In this blessing and breaking Jesus was pointing to the Cross which was waiting for him, the Cross which is the instrument of our salvation. On the cross he both surrenders to His Father without limit and he totally gives himself for all members of the human family.

In faith we affirm the real presence in the consecrated bread and wine. But this presence is dynamic not static.

We don’t just contemplate the bread of life, but we receive it as broken, given to us for our nourishment. Jesus’ bones may not have been broken on the cross, but his body was tortured and dislocated. That is the body we receive in the consecrated bread.

We don’t just contemplate the cup of salvation, but we receive it as poured out from the cup. Jesus may not have shed every drop of his blood on the cross, but water and blood flowed from his side, and in death he was spent, he was emptied out. This is what we receive in the consecrated wine.

So not only does Jesus totally empty himself out in the death he suffers out of love for us, but he has created a ritual which allows that love to penetrate and transform us whenever we come together to obey his command “do this in in memory of me” and to receive communion.

Receiving communion is not a banal gesture we perform without much thought each Sunday. It is the act by we are plugged in to the most important event that ever happened within the human family, the act of Jesus’ surrender to God which our sin had made impossible. Each one of us must surrender to God as Jesus did, and live out that surrender in many acts of service by which we express our gratitude to God in imitation of Jesus who came to serve us, to wash our feet.

Let us be grateful to Jesus for what he had done for us by receiving communion not only into our hands and our mouths, but also into our hearts, in a way that will renew us as a community of faith, hope, and love.

HOMILY FOR GOOD FRIDAY 2011

“For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”

Pilate’s response to these words of Jesus was “What is truth?” He responded with a question, and that question has echoed down through the centuries. Indeed, what is truth? Through all the joys and sorrows, the great accomplishments and the miserable failures, the acts of heroic love intermingled with the senseless violence which has always been part of our human world, down through the centuries we have sought the truth.

Or have we really sought the truth? So often like Pilate we have sensed what the truth might be and have refused to be fully aware of it. The truth has consequences, some of them painful and challenging, and we are not ready to face them. We fill our minds with numbing distractions, we concern ourselves with everything but what is essential. This is true of each of us, to the extent that we allow ourselves to be possessed by the fashion of the day, glittering for a moment, but rapidly discarded. This is true of the world in which we live. Often those who wish to lead us vie as to who would make the most promises, promises they know they cannot all keep, and they run away as fast as possible from those topics which are crucial to our welfare but which have a difficult and painful edge. And, of course, they are able to do this because so often we are in connivance with them, and they know that doing this will enhance their short-term prospects of success.

Pilate was a leader, but he was also a coward. When Jesus told him that he came to testify to the truth, there must have been some spark of recognition in him that he was dealing with someone different from anyone else he had met, a king in a very true and authentic sense, supported not by military power and the violence it is able to perpetrate, but by the power of truth. There was a tinge of cynicism to his question “what is truth”, but there was also in him a longing for something that he deeply sought, but which he repressed from his consciousness.

Initially he recognized that there was no case against Jesus, no warrant for his crucifixion, and proclaimed this to the crowd. But he felt insecure in his ability to control the explosive potential of the region of which he was the power, and he felt that the situation could get out of hand and he would be blamed by the Roman authorities. He thought that the assembled crowd would choose to release Jesus rather than Barabbas, a noted bandit. (Ironically his full name was Jesus Barabbas, and Barabbas translates as Son of the Father. The name might have been similar, but they were totally different as persons.)

Those assembled in the crowd chose Barabbas. Instead of upholding the truth that there was no case against Jesus, Pilate flinches in the face of their determination and tries to compromise. He says to himself:, “ I will have him flogged and bring him back to the crowd bloodied and bruised. Surely that will satisfy their bloodlust.” His compromise was a brutal one: having Jesus savagely punished when he knew he had committed no crime. This leads us to think of our own compromises and how often they have led us down a dark path we did not anticipate.

He tries to convince the crowd, but they prey on his weakness. “If you release this man, you are no friend of the emperor. Everyone who claims to be king — as Jesus does – sets himself against the emperor.” In the end, convinced though he was that Jesus was without guilt, he releases him to be crucified. Whatever glimpse of the truth he might have had in his dialogue with Jesus was wiped away, forgotten. He was filled with fear. What about his successful tenure as governor of Judea and his reputation in Rome? And the truth was blotted out from his mind.

But in the end the truth is never blotted out. Jesus was witness to the truth all the way to his death on the cross, and truth prevailed. To what truth did he witness? The truth that absolutely nothing can separate us from the love of God, who is willing to go to any lengths to bring us back to himself. Also the truth that there is a power of evil lurking in the world, so strong that it managed to put to death the author of life, the source of the love and compassion and tenderness which makes our life here below bearable. So the crucifixion, which was the most heinous and oppressive deed that could be committed against an innocent person, is also the deepest act of self-surrender, of obedience, of love, of compassion. Love came out the victor. Truth was vindicated. The tyranny of the persecutor is the patience of the martyr.

The question “what is truth” continues to haunt our world as it did Pilate. It haunts us as well. How often, like Pilate, do we flee from the truth, look the other way when we are caught in our own compromises, or when we catch a glimpse of the dark motivations that often mar the good that we do, be we moved by pride, or fear, or anxiety, or avoidance of conflict or pain. And what is the status of truth within our world? We often ask ourselves if there is anyone out there willing to speak the unvarnished truth as he or she sees it. So often messages are doctored, massaged, spun around in order to bypass that part of ourselves where we are able to genuinely discern our path in the Spirit. And then as we look at the multi-billion dollar communication enterprises of our world, mass-media or advertising or whatever, how haunting indeed is the question “What is truth?”

We are grateful to Jesus because he was a faithful witness to the truth and in him the truth prevailed. May this gratitude transform our lives. Let us allow Jesus’s truth to invade us, especially the darker parts of ourselves we wish to ignore. The light of his truth is compassionate and merciful, and it will bring healing. Let us together work together for a world in which genuine truth, the truth to which Jesus was a witness, prevails. In the Greek of the New Testament, the word for witness and the word for martyr is the same. We may not be called upon to give up our lives, but we will be called upon to risk our lives, our welfare, our reputation, our image. But we know that the truth to which Jesus was faithful is the truth that will set us free.

Hosanna: Christ's triumphal entry each day

2011-04-17T19:41:00.003-03:00

Homily for Passion Sunday Year A

This is a double celebration: the two names for this particular Sunday of the liturgical year are Palm Sunday and Passion Sunday. You have heard two gospels, a brief one in the back of the Church telling the story of Jesus’ triumphal procession into Jerusalem, and a longer one telling the story of what happened afterwards; triumph turned into derision, and the one acclaimed as king executed as a criminal.

We will hear the story of the passion once again on Good Friday, this time as told in John’s Gospel. Today we will reflect on Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, and participate as best we can in it as we enter into the Eucharist.

Why entry into Jerusalem? Jerusalem was the site of the most sacred place of Israel, the temple. Jesus had gone there many times in his life. To go to Jerusalem was to ascend, because Jerusalem is situated on the crest of a mountain chain. To get from the Dead Sea to Jerusalem means climbing almost 4,000 feet. As Jesus ascended to Jerusalem for the last time, knowing what was waiting for him there, groups of enthusiastic followers started forming, and by the time he came to Jerusalem, there was a crowd ready to acclaim him as he entered into the city.

His triumphal entry was fraught with symbolism. He had always rejected the temptation of becoming a political messiah. He did not enter into the city with legions of soldiers and blaring trumpets, seated on a noble steed or on a chariot. No, he came seated on the most humble of animals, the donkey, fulfilling the prophecy of Zechariah “Behold, your King is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on the colt, the foal of a donkey.” The kingly power that Jesus exercised was the power of love, which in the eyes of those who run this world is a form of weakness, but in the eyes of God is the only power that counts.

The bystanders spread their garments and palm branches on the ground, which is the way a king in procession was greeted at that time. They shouted “Hosanna to the Son of David”. Hosanna was originally a cry for help, but by Jesus’ time it was sung as a cry of jubilation. They also cried out “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.”

This acclamation we all readily recognize. It is part of the “Holy Holy Holy” sung before the Eucharistic Prayer.

We all know how Jesus’ wonderful procession ended. The mood turned sour. Within a couple of days inhabitants of Jerusalem, goaded by the religious authorities, saw Jesus as an intruder, an impostor, a trouble maker. “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord” turned into “Crucify him, crucify him.”

Jesus came not with the trappings of power but in humility and love, and in the end he triumphed over our hearts. Those who opposed him thought that they had once and for all got rid of him, but the cross they inflicted on him was the very means by which he saved us.

We still sing Hosanna, which reminds us of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. But the triumphal entry we celebrate each time we sing it is also his coming to us in an even more humble guise than seated on a donkey. He comes under the appearances of bread and wine to become for us food and drink to help us grow into eternal life.

As we celebrate his entry into our lives today, let us allow His power of humble service, of compassion towards others, to make us instruments of the kingdom he has come to establish in our midst.

The Twice Blind Beggar

2011-04-05T14:47:00.002-03:00

4th Sunday of Lent Year A

Quite a story you have just heard! A miracle which in the other Gospels would be told quite briefly and to the point gives rise to a powerful drama in John’s Gospel, involving a number of actors, above all a blind beggar, the group of pharisees he encounters, and Jesus himself. For John’s gospel, the actual cure is the backdrop to the real story that John wants to tell. Indeed there are two kinds of blindness going on in this story. There is the physical blindness of the beggar cured by Jesus, but there is also spiritual blindness, which is gradually removed in the case of the physically blind man, but which remains in the Pharisees. It is on the spiritual blindness that John focusses.

The blind beggar’s spiritual blindness is cured gradually. He passes from Jesus being just another person he has heard about vaguely to being his Lord and Saviour. The cure begins with his encounter with Jesus who removes his physical blindness. But this sets off a chain of events. He is challenged in depth by people who did not want to deal with the evidence before their eyes that he has recovered his sight through Jesus. First he was asked by those who knew him as a blind beggar how his eyes were opened. He points to Jesus as the man who was the author of this cure. Jesus becomes someone who stands out as significant for him. Then the Pharisees to whom the formerly blind man is brought get into the act, and they ask him the same questions. They are initially divided as to what happened, and they ask the beggar what he thinks about Jesus. This helps him bring Jesus into clearer focus. He affirms Jesus not just to be the author of his cure but also a prophet. Then the Pharisees pursue their questioning further, trying to get the blind man’s parents involved. The parents refuse to get involved in the question of how he was cured, and the blind man is left to fend off the attacks of the Pharisees. He defends his view that Jesus is a prophet from God. As a result the Pharisees drive him out of the synagogue. Then he meets Jesus again and in a dialogue with Jesus ends up seeing Jesus clearly with the eyes of his spirit. He says to Jesus “Lord, I believe” And he worshipped him, as the story tells us.

Note the progression. The cure of his spiritual blindness is gradual. He first says that Jesus is the man who responsible for the cure, then that Jesus is a prophet, then he acknowledges Jesus as Lord, someone to be believed and worshipped. He goes right to the heart of the matter. And what moves him to do that? At first he is challenged by curious bystanders and especially by the pharisees. They try to push him around, but he holds his ground. As a result he is driven out of the synagogue. But then he meets Jesus, and his final step in recognizing Jesus occurs in his conversation with him. Jesus is very gentle, inviting him to an act of faith and the cured beggar responds positively. This is the experience of our own lives. At times we express our faith more clearly as the result of challenges from others, but at times it is simply a question of Jesus encountering us in a special moment and removing the film from our eyes.

John also tells us that on the spiritual level, it is the blind beggar cured by Jesus who sees, and the pharisees who are blind. They are part of the religious establishment, they think that their narrow framework enables them to understand and judge everyone else. Already they had made up their mind that followers of Jesus did not belong in the synagogue. They tell the blind man “You were born entirely in sins, and you are trying to teach us.” They were not willing to accept the clear evidence that Jesus performed this miracle and that he has to be from God. They are enraged and as expected drive the beggar out of the synagogue.

As the epilogue of the story Jesus says “I have come into this world for judgement so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.” This is the type of paradoxical statement we often find in John. It cannot be understood without some reflection. We might expand the statement this way: “I have come into this world for judgement so that those who acknowledge their blindness may see, and those who think that they see may become blind.” The blind beggar does not have any religious pretense. He is a man who has always suffered from a deep affliction and who looks for anyone who can help him. His heart is open. He is ready to grow in understanding about the one who cured him, and little by little he is prepared for the encounter in which he comes into the light of Christ by making his profession of faith. By contrast the Pharisees are confirmed in their blindness, even though they think they see clearly, with the right to pass judgements of condemnation. There is within the blind beggar an openness for the truth of Christ; the Pharisees in this story are full of their own righteousness and fail to see the signs that should have led them to the truth of Christ.

Jesus is the light of the world. He tells us this just before performing this miracle, and the miracle is designed to demonstrate what he means by this statement. He is the light that shines in the darkness. We are invited to come out of the darkness and, as the second reading tells us, in the Lord we become light. We are to take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose such works for what they are.

How does this apply to us? All of us here without exception have parts of ourselves that are in the light, and parts of ourselves that are in the darkness. What Jesus is inviting us to do is to face up to those parts of ourselves that are still in the darkness, the parts that we are ashamed of, the parts we pretend are not there, the parts that are repressed and hidden. To face up to them, to acknowledge them, to allow our hearts to be humbled and broken, is to allow them to be healed as the light of Christ shines on the darkness within us. We need not fear the light of Christ, because it is compassionate and merciful. Christ lets us see who we really are in his sight. Yes, we are sinners, there are in us blemishes, flaws, areas of resistance and of disorder, but we are loved and forgiven. He hates not us but the sin and the disorder that prevents us from fully being who we really are and wants to take them away.

This process is gradual, just like it is for the blind man. We are brought into the light gradually, according to what we can bear at any given moment. This journey into the light is at the heart of our Lenten observance. And in that journey we are guided by the word of God and fed by the bread of life.

St. Patrick: Two Homilies

2011-03-17T17:41:00.003-03:00

Two Homilies given at the Church of St. Patrick in Halifax

(Homily One: 2010) What do we know about St. Patrick? What is fact, and what is legend? We are certain that he was born somewhere in the island which includes England, Wales and Scotland towards the year 400, that his parents were Roman Celts, that marauders captured him when he was sixteen, brought him to Ireland, where he tended sheep as a slave. He learned the Celtic language spoken in Ireland, and the solitude of being a shepherd was the opportunity for him to develop a strong prayer life and lay the base for his vocation. After six years he fled from his master and returned to his homeland. But soon after he ended up in France where he studied for the priesthood. He accompanied St. Germain of Auxerre who was sent to Britain to counter heretics there, and later was ordained a bishop and sent as a missionary to Ireland. This was in accord with a desire to return to Ireland which was nurtured by his prayers and visions. At that time the Druids, a more sanguinary version of the tree-people of the film Avatar, were very influential, and his mission was a perilous one. But he laboured many years, ordained priests and bishops. According to the tradition, his place of burial is within the graveyard of the Anglican cathedral of Downpatrick, a place which I visited. His dates of birth and death are unclear. One account has him living over a hundred years. That may not be the case, but it is clear from the evidence that he laboured in Ireland in the middle to late 400's.

Patrick is one of the patron saints of Ireland, but he is also the patron saint of those who emigrated from Ireland and their descendants, including those of you have Irish ancestry here today at St. Patrick’s. These descendants commemorate him with March 17th parades and celebrations in many cities across North America, which bring together those who have some Irish ancestry and those who wish they had. Here we are doing just that.

The life of Patrick, as that of many Irish people in the last two centuries, was marked by a crisis which led them to leave their native land. The crisis in Patrick’s life was his being captured and taken as a slave at the age of 16, and for the rest of his life he was in constant motion from one place to the other in carrying out his mission. He knew fear, danger, struggle, upset. The crisis in the life of Irish emigrants was the potato famine of the 1840's, compounded by the poverty and oppression of the farming classes. The only way out for many was emigration, facing the unknown and trying to create a home for themselves in a new land. At its height the population of Ireland was about 8 million. Perhaps a million died of the famine, and over the next decades emigration was very intense, to the US, to Canada, to England and Scotland, and to other countries, mostly English-speaking. It is estimated that up to 8 million people left Ireland over the years. Some of them left during or very soon after the potato famine, others left later. The current population of Ireland is about 4.5 million. The total Irish diaspora in various countries of the world exceeds 50 million.

St. Patrick is the right patron for those of you here today who claim Irish descent. Indeed he is the right patron for all of us, because most of our ancestors were caught in the crisis of migration. Because of his own life experience he has a special affinity for the struggles, the uncertainties, the oppression, that your ancestors experienced in Ireland, during the dangers of sea travel in which many died of diseases such as cholera, during the years of establishing themselves in a new land, starting at the bottom of the ladder.

But note that all the perils that Patrick encountered had a purpose in God’s providence. That purpose was to bring the Gospel to the country in which he spent six years of slavery. Likewise God did not permit this mass exodus of people from Ireland in the 19th century without a purpose. Most of the migrants were Catholic, and their presence in various countries gave the Catholic Church a firm foundation in countries that remain in majority non-Catholic. And let us not forget their many other contributions, cultural and economic, to the countries to which they henceforth belonged. They play a full role in the life of their countries. The scattering of the Irish people was not in vain.

We live in a period where the Catholic heritage brought by Patrick is under a cloud. Ireland is no longer distinguished by its high rate of religious practice. Indeed the Irish Church is caught in the struggles which has been part of our own Catholic life for the last twenty years or so, stemming from the phenomenon of sexual and physical abuse of children in Catholic institutions. The same downturn applies to us, though perhaps not so dramatic, since the decline has been more gradual. The Catholic tradition, in spite of the shortcomings of some of its official representatives, is a valuable one, one that could fritter away within decades. The Church could end up a small ghettoized minority. Education in the faith is often more perfunctory, and the passing on of the faith from generation to generation has become more difficult, more counter-cultural. We have a major challenge on our hands.

As we celebrate St. Patrick’s, let us remember the Catholic heritage which he solidly implanted in Ireland, and the many obstacles which he faced courageously during his mission to Ireland. Let him be a beacon for us as we enter into the struggles of our own time, here at St. Patrick’s on Brunswick St., in the Irish populations of Canada and many countries of the world, and among all of us whatever our lineage, because we are all brothers and sisters in the Lord, nourished by the Word of God and the bread of life.

(Homily Two: 2011) What is there to say about St. Patrick that has not yet been said? He is lost in the mists of ancient history. We seek the truth behind the legends about him. We are at a loss for precise dates. When precisely was he born? When did he die? Did he do all the miraculous things attributed to him, such as banishing the snakes from Ireland? Many have tried their hand at putting together what we do know for sure. We have an outline, but many details are missing.

We know that he was not born in Ireland. He was captured by marauders as a youngster and served his Irish master as a shepherd until he escaped out of Ireland. After becoming a priest and a bishop he returned to Ireland. His mission was to serve the new Christian community already beginning there, and to bring the good news of Jesus Christ to many others, mostly under the influence of the Druids, priests and wisdom figures of the local nature worship going back to the Iron Age. The word Druid means tree-seers. Trees were majestic, long-lived, and represented the mystical force of nature; Druids were the ones who sensed those forces, channelled them, and made them available for good or for ill. Just think of some of the druidic characters you encountered in the memorable film trilogy, the Lord of the Rings.

Patrick opposed Druidism tooth and nail and was persecuted for it. He is said to have attended the meeting of Irish kings and chieftains at Tara, and he laid down the gauntlet there. He made many sworn enemies among the proponents of nature religion, but made many converts as well. He was fearless, as we can see from his famous prayer known as the Breastplate:

I bind unto myself today
The strong name of the Trinity,
By invocation of the same,
The Three in One and One in Three.

I bind this day to me for ever,
By power of faith, Christ's Incarnation;
His baptism in the Jordan River;
His death on cross for my salvation;
His bursting from the spicèd tomb;
His riding up the heavenly way;
His coming at the day of doom;
I bind unto myself today.

I bind unto myself the power
Of the great love of the Cherubim;
The sweet 'Well done' in judgment hour;
The service of the Seraphim,
Confessors' faith, Apostles' word,
The Patriarchs' prayers, the Prophets' scrolls,
All good deeds done unto the Lord,
And purity of virgin souls.

I bind unto myself today
The virtues of the starlit heaven,
The glorious sun's life-giving ray,
The whiteness of the moon at even,
The flashing of the lightning free,
The whirling wind's tempestuous shocks,
The stable earth, the deep salt sea,
Around the old eternal rocks.

I bind unto myself today
The power of God to hold and lead,
His eye to watch, His might to stay,
His ear to hearken to my need.
The wisdom of my God to teach,
His hand to guide, his shield to ward,
The word of God to give me speech,
His heavenly host to be my guard.

Against the demon snares of sin,
The vice that gives temptation force,
The natural lusts that war within,
The hostile men that mar my course;
Or few or many, far or nigh,
In every place and in all hours
Against their fierce hostility,
I bind to me these holy powers.

Against all Satan's spells and wiles,
Against false words of heresy,
Against the knowledge that defiles,
Against the heart's idolatry,
Against the wizard's evil craft,
Against the death-wound and the burning
The choking wave and the poisoned shaft,
Protect me, Christ, till thy returning.

Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me,
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

I bind unto myself the name,
The strong name of the Trinity;
By invocation of the same.
The Three in One, and One in Three,
Of whom all nature hath creation,
Eternal Father, Spirit, Word:
Praise to the Lord of my salvation,
salvation is of Christ the Lord.

Indeed powerful words we need to hear today, and take to heart as we seek to unmask the forces of evil in our day. They contrast with the waverings and hesitations of many of our leaders.

At the same time Patrick’s attitude towards the people he was bringing to Christ was welcoming and respectful. He did not try to impose an alien liturgy and structure upon them. What emerged from his creative ministry was a Celtic Christianity, which used many of the images and artifacts that the people were used to, but transposed to their new belief system. Bonfires as a religious event continued; there continued to be sacred places and sacred pillars. Many pillars took the form of the celtic cross, which is often said to be a combination of the cross which represents Jesus Christ and the circle which represents the sun. We could go on. The transition from nature religion to Christianity was a smooth one, thanks to St. Patrick and many who followed in his footsteps. A peculiarly Celtic form of Christianity with its own observances emerged. It was only in the early Middle Ages, after Celtic missionaries had evangelized parts of Europe, which, unlike Ireland, suffered the barbarian onslaught, that the variant Celtic observances were blended into the practices of the emerging Roman rite.

So, as you can see, St. Patrick was a man who allied fearless preaching of the faith and respect for the traditions of the people to whom he was preaching. He is an example of what an apostle should be in today’s world. The message of Jesus ought to be preached without being watered down, but it needs to be preached in such a way that those who hear it know that they are understood, respected, treasured. Jesus’ message does not come to abolish our identity and culture, but to fulfill it. To hit the right notes in this kind of evangelization is very difficult in today’s world. Indeed we are called to find these right notes, because the new evangelization is a key theme within our archdiocese. At times we can be too timid and too compromising about our values; at other times too rigid and too demanding. We need discernment. Patrick was a man of wisdom, and as we celebrate his feast today, we can ask for a share of that wisdom as we too find ourselves in a culture which for all its familiarity to us poses challenges which in many ways lies beyond our depth and our comprehension.

Jesus' Temptations in our Time

2011-03-13T13:27:00.002-03:00

First Sunday of Lent Year A

This year the Church proposes for our prayer and reflection three scripture passages which lay out for us what is at the heart of our Lenten observance.

The first text tells us the story of the first sin. Adam and Eve were tricked by Satan, and gave in to a monumental delusion that they could on their own become like God by partaking of the forbidden fruit. Their sin was trying to wrench from God that which he intended to give them as a free loving gift in a personal relation with God which called for trust and surrender. This fault introduced sin into the world, and since then human beings are born into a world marked by sin. All of us bear the scars of that. We are sinned against and in turn we sin against others.

The second text, which is from Paul’s letter to the Romans, shows us the way out of this impasse. Yes, Adam by disobeying introduced a terrible dynamic into the world, one which leads to sin, to death, to eternal separation from God. But God sent his Son into the world to undo this terrible dynamic. He did not spare his Son from the supreme sacrifice. The antidote to Adam’s disobedience was Jesus’ obedience unto death. Adam and Eve tried to grasp the status of being like God; by contrast Jesus was already God’s equal but voluntarily gave up the privileges that came with that status, fully sharing the vulnerability of human beings (Phil 2:6-7). He thereby overcame the power unleashed by Adam’s sin. His obedience brings grace, and opens for us a path to our being right with God and sharing God’s own life and glory.

The third text, which is the story of Jesus’ temptations in the desert, show us how Jesus in his public ministry prepared himself for his final act of loving obedience. Throughout his ministry he faced challenges and temptations, and this story summarizes what must have been a constant experience throughout his life. As the letter to the Hebrews tells us, he was tempered, he was tested, he learned obedience through suffering.

This story, like the first one, features Satan, who personifies the power of evil. He tries three times to seduce Jesus into the path once trod by Adam, and each time he fails. The first temptation was to invite Jesus to satisfy his hunger with something less than God, in this case bread. But Jesus responds by quoting scripture: ”Man does not live by bread alone but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.” The devil could not make him deviate from his adherence to God and God’s word.

The second temptation was more subtle. In it Satan picks up on the fact that Jesus quoted scripture in repulsing the first temptation, and he attempts to unsettle Jesus with a scriptural quote of his own. This time he invites Jesus to take a short-cut to the success of his mission, a short-cut which would be to perform a spectacular miracle which would gain many followers, but Jesus knows that such a miracle would not convert their hearts. Their adherence would be superficial, like adherence in our own world to the heart-throb of the day put forward by the media. At the first sign of trouble they would leave him. Jesus rejects this temptation with another word of scripture: Do not put the Lord your God to the test.

In the third temptation the devil is no longer subtle: he shows himself as he really is, asking Jesus to worship him, with the result that he would be given unlimited political power. But Jesus knew that his mission was not to gain political power but to win over human hearts to the worship of the living God. This blatant and frontal attack Jesus also overcomes. He often faced this particular form of attack during his public ministry. The crowds that followed him wanted him to be a political messiah according to their own desires, and even his disciples, and that includes Peter their leader, were upset when they found out that his way would lead him to the cross. But Jesus did not stray from his path. He told Peter in no uncertain terms “Get behind me, Satan”. Jesus’ mission was the conversion of hearts, and the only way he could do achieve that was by the supreme act of love that would melt the hardness of our hearts.

Will we allow our hearts to be melted during this Lenten season? That is the question. The three temptations of Christ are the temptations that we continually face ourselves.

The first temptation is the temptation to addiction, addiction to something other than God that we think will satisfy us, but which time and time again leaves us with a bad taste in our mouth and deep dissatisfaction. The word addiction is often attached to drugs, sex, alcohol, but we can be addicted any number of things or values or images of ourselves, and these prevent us from treasuring God and our fellow humans as we ought.

The second temptation is to cut corners, to be impatient, to try to achieve results too quickly, especially in complex human situations. We end up hurting others and in the process fail to achieve anything solid and substantial. This too is a temptation of our public life: how many cars have to be recalled because the company could not overcome the urge to rush them to market? The same applies to many other areas of business. Shoddiness and premature obsolescence are the order of the day.

The third temptation is the temptation which defines our competitive world, the temptation of power, power to be gained and to be maintained by stealth or by force. Those who give in to this temptation sow the seeds of violence, oppression in some cases – think of Libya; of cynicism and hopelessness in others – think of our ailing first world democracies. This temptation also applies to our personal lives. We are involved in many subtle power plays within our human interactions. Everything is seen through the lens of unbridled competition.

Jesus proposes to us another way of behaviour, the only one that can transform our world and bring it new life. But that transformation takes place slowly and is often hidden from our eyes. It will not be easy to follow Jesus, but better to light one candle than to curse the darkness, and a multitude of small candles can often shed considerable light. This is a path of faith, struggle, of solidarity with the poor under the standard of the Cross. Let these scriptural texts inspire us, and the Eucharist we share strengthen us.

Jesus invites us to inner wisdom

2011-02-13T14:08:00.002-04:00

6th Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A

“You have heard it said in ancient times... but now I say to you.” This phrase Jesus repeats three times in the course of today’s Gospel. These words are revolutionary. Jesus evokes three commandments found in the Old Testament to regulate our external behaviour: do not kill, do not commit adultery, do not bear swear false oaths, and tells us that he wants us to go deeper in observing them: we must also regulate the desires and passions of our hearts that lead to such sins. He invites us to an inner wisdom, a loving widsom that is both liberating and challenging.

Regarding the Old Testament injunction not to murder, in addition we need to purge our hearts of the desires that lead to murder – and other sins that harm our neighbour. We must overcome our tendency to criticise others, to reprove them, but above all we must overcome the root of all these sins which is anger. Indeed the pattern of Jesus’ life is that of non-violence. Even when he speaks challenging words, he does so with compassion and understanding, not with anger.

Regarding the Old Testament injunction not to commit adultery, in addition we need to purge our hearts of lustful thoughts directed towards others. We must avoid adultery with others not only in our bodies but also in our imaginations and our hearts. What Jesus is asking of us is that we respect ourselves and all others as temples of the Holy Spirit, and, to add a contemporary note, this includes abstaining from pornography which degrades so many caught up in that trade to the status of mere objects.

Regarding the Old Testament injunction not to swear falsely, Jesus tells us that if our hearts are transparent and authentic, if we do not harbour within ourselves the spirit of duplicity and deception, we do not need to artificially convince others of our sincerity, which may be false, by swearing by heaven, or by Jerusalem, or by our own heads, to use examples from his own culture. No, let our words by yes if we mean yes and no if we mean no. That is sufficient.

Jesus’ approach in this passage is liberating . The Pharisees imposed many extra regulations on the Hebrew people at the time of Jesus, and Jesus liberated the people from the burden of following them, though he did not reprove those who followed them sincerely. But these were means and not ends, and there is ample room for exceptions and following the spirit rather than the letter of the law. Jesus did not abolish the law, but he fulfilled it.

We struggle with similar issues today. Those of us who are older in the Church remember when many religious practices loomed large, and we had the sense that a failure to implement them faithfully was a sin, in some cases a mortal sin. I remember as a young priest going through the approved manuals and counting 23 mortal sins I could commit in celebrating the Eucharist! We have been liberated from many of these burdens in the aftermath of Vatican II, and our consciences breathe easier. But the underlying attitudes of fidelity and worship which the Church was trying to foster in people through its earlier regime of regulations and penalties remains. Fostering these attitudes are the purpose, the regulations are the means. We have to use our freedom responsibly, and remain accountable to the Lord for our choices. He is above all interested in where our heart is. Simply throwing away our earlier practices because we are no longer obliged to follow them is no answer. To do this would be to exchange our earlier regulated existence not with freedom but with licence. Hopefully you come to Church not because of an external threat but because of your desire to worship God, to find nourishment in the Eucharist and the word of God, to find and to build community. This is true freedom, because you are following external do’s and don’ts you are listening to the voice of the inner wisdom that resonates within your hearts.

It is more difficult to deal with disorder of anger and criticism and lust and duplicity which often reign within our hearts – to use the examples Jesus lays before us in today’s Gospel – than to simply abstain from killing, adultery, or swearing false oaths. So while Jesus liberates us in today’s Gospel, he also challenges us, to move from a morality grounded in external commandments to one grounded in inner wisdom. The commandments are necessary as are banisters on stairways, as a way to guard us. But to try to control our outer behaviour without dealing with our inner impulses is futile. Sooner or later our anger or lust or duplicity or whatever vice lurks within us will have its way, and we will engage in toxic and destructive behaviour.

How can we fulfill Jesus’ invitation to cleanse our hearts and not just our outer behaviour? We all struggle with the tendencies within our own hearts and at times we fail to control them. Is Jesus imposing a new burden on us which we cannot fulfill?

The answer to this question is found in the second reading. It speaks of God’s wisdom, secret and hidden, revealed to us through the Spirit. This is a wisdom based on love and compassion, God’s love and God’s compassion, which God wants us to receive into our hearts and share with others. Let us not pretend that we can fulfill on our own, with our own resources, what Jesus asks of us, but let us allow the Spirit to make us channels of His love, knowing that what Jesus asks of us he will give us the power to accomplish. All can be summed up in Augustine’s phrase: love, and do what you will. Not any love, but authentic love. We cannot really love unless God love in and through us. Let us allow that true love to enter into our hearts as we celebrate this Eucharist.

The Lamb who Shows us the Way

2011-01-16T12:11:00.001-04:00

Second Sunday Ordinary Time Year A

We are reminded of today’s Gospel reading every time we celebrate the Eucharist. Before communion we sing “Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us”.”Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us”, “Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, grant us peace.” Who is this Lamb of God, whom we invoke three times before communion? John the Baptist tells us in today’s Gospel reading. When he says “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world!” he points to Jesus.

What does it mean for Jesus to be the Lamb of God? Why would he be called Lamb of God, when we also know him as the Good Shepherd who cares for his flock? Can he be both lamb and the shepherd that takes care of the lambs? We are in the world of images and symbols, and what in real life is a contradiction holds together as our hearts are opened to the mystery of God’s love. There are other seeming contradictions. For example, Jesus is both the High Priest and the victim for our sins.

The image of the Lamb of God invites us to scale the heights of Jesus’ glory and also brings us down to the depths of his debasement. As Isaiah tells us about the suffering servant, whom we identify as Jesus, “He was oppressed, he was afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth.” (Is 53). That is the abasement, but it is followed by the glory. Let us hear the Book of Revelation, which tells us “Then I looked, and I heard the voice of many angels surrounding the throne and the living creatures and the elders; they numbered ...thousands of thousands, singing with full voice: Worthy is the Lamb that was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honour and glory and blessing.” Many of us can almost sing this with the melody of Handel’s Messiah.

For him to take away the sins of the world he had to pay a terrible price. In another place Isaiah tells us that by his bruises we are healed. He poured himself out to death, but in this way he conquered death and sin for all of us. So when John the Baptist says “Here is the Lamb of God” this is not just a piece of religious puffery. Let us not start humming “Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow.” Being the Lamb of God is something terrifying. John’s prophetic words, like the two-edged sword, go to the very heart of who Jesus is and why he came into our world. They must have evoked within Jesus who heard them a deep tremor of the heart. At the beginning of his ministry he was already starting to grasp the fearsome mission the Father had laid upon his shoulders, and John’s prophetic words would have brought greater clarity to that mission. A greater clarity about the struggle before him, a struggle to the death, as evidenced in his temptations in the desert and his agony in the garden.

What would have given John the confidence to utter these prophetic words about Jesus? Of course his mission was to discover the Messiah and to point him out, and he spent many years in the desert preparing himself for his ministry. He knew his scripture, and was acquainted with the patterns of God’s presence in our world. It was already clear to him that one of the hallmarks of God’s power when He acts in the world is the outpouring of the Spirit. The one on whom the Spirit comes down and remains is the one Chosen by God. And John tells us “I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and remain on him. I myself did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptise with water said to me “He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit. And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God.”

So when before communion we sing “This is the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world,” let us be fully aware of the meaning of what we are singing. We are singing about the Jesus upon whom the Spirit descended and remained, empowering him for his public ministry. But we are also singing about Jesus who to save us became the Lamb led to slaughter, put to death for us and for our salvation. But above all we are singing about the Jesus who takes away sin and death from our world, who at the end is exalted by all as Universal Lord and Saviour, who receives glory and power and might and honour.

Where does all this leave us? Just as Jesus was baptized, so are we all baptized. I would be very surprised to hear that there was a dove descending upon the heads of any of us here at our baptism. But still the Holy Spirit descends upon each one of us, and we become temples in which the Holy Spirit dwells. This means that the power of the Spirit active in Jesus’ ministry is active in our own lives, or, at least, it is there as a unexploited source of energy that we could tap, enabling us to do even greater things. We are certainly not the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. But as our sins are being taken away, we become aware of a call to model our behaviour on that of the Lamb of God. Like him, we find ourselves at times able to absorb evil with good, hatred with love, discord with a peaceful spirit. We learn that the power that God exercises in our lives and in our world is a gentle power, full of respect and compassion. We receive that compassion from him and we share it with others. No less can be expected of us when we sing Lamb of God and then come up to receive communion.

Marqués par le baptême de Jésus

2011-01-09T20:30:00.005-04:00

Baptême de Jésus
Année A

(For English readers: this Sunday I preached in French. I hope that this text in that language will not deter many of you.)

Le baptême de Jésus que nous célébrons aujourd’hui est à l’origine du baptême de chacun et chacune d’entre nous. C’est parce que Jésus s’est laissé baptiser que nous sommes tous, au début de notre vie chrétienne, baptisés.

Il est surprenant pour nous que Jésus se soit fait baptiser. Imaginez les longues files de gens qui sentent le besoin de se convertir, de changer leur vie, attendant leur tour pour recevoir le baptême par immersion célébré par Jean Baptiste. Ces gens-là étaient des gens ordinaires, conscients de leur imperfection, leurs faiblesses, les difficultés qu’ils avaient à vivre leur vie de juifs fidèles dans un monde où la survie exigait d’eux toutes sortes de compromis. Jésus se met en ligne avec eux, comme si lui aussi était pécheur. Il aurait pu annoncer à tout le monde autour “C’est moi le Messie” et réclamer qu’on le reconnaisse. Mais non, il entre en solidarité profonde avec tous ceux qu’il était venu sauver, faisant comme eux l’expérience du mal qui les entourait et comprenant en profondeur pourquoi ils désiraient en être délivrés. Et on s’aperçoit dans la lecture de l’Evangile que la surprise, c’était la réaction de Jean Baptiste aussi, lui qui ne voulait pas baptiser Jésus, mais plutôt être baptisé par Jésus.

Alors on imagine Jésus après avoir attendu arriver à son tour. Jean le plonge dans l’eau du Jourdain. C’est un baptême par immersion, un rite traditionnel encore pratiqué dans plusieurs églises.

Jésus se relève, et un événement inattendu se produit. Lui qui a caché son identité en se joignant aux pécheurs qui attendaient de se faire baptiser entend son Père céleste révéler son identité: “Celui-ci est mon fils bien-aimé en qui j’ai mis tout mon amour.” Il s’est mis du côté des pécheurs, non pas pour devenir pécheur comme eux, mais pour compatir avec eux et les sauver. Il n’est pas un pécheur mais le fils bien-aimé de Dieu.

Et ce n’est pas tout. Non seulement a-t-il entendu la voix du Père mais aussi il a vu l’Esprit de Dieu descendre comme une colombe et venir sur lui. L’Esprit habitait déjà en lui, dès sa conception, mais à partir de son baptême l’Esprit le remplit de sa force et le pousse à commencer son ministère public. Comme nous le dit la deuxième lecture, “Là où il passait, il faisait le bien, et il guérissait tous ceux qui étaient sour le pouvoir du démon. Car Dieu était avec lui.”

Donc le baptême de Jésus est l’occasion d’une révélation où Dieu se fait connaître comme le Père qui a un fils bien-aimé, comme Fils qui est bien aimé du Père, et comme Esprit de puissance. Déjà on commence à entrevoir le mystère de Dieu qui est Trinité, mais il faudra attendre des siècles avant que les savants de l`église se penchent sur cette question.

Lorsque les premiers chrétiens se sont mis à baptiser ceux que se joignaient à eux, il est tout naturel qu’ils invoquent le nom du Père, et du Fils, et du Saint Esprit en célébrant le baptême, les personnes présentes au baptême de Jésus.

Etre baptisé au nom du Père et du Fils et du Saint Esprit, ce n’est pas seulement une cérémonie d’initiation pour nos tout petits, cérémonie qui ne veut pas dire grand chose mais qui fait partie de nos traditions, traditions qui commencent déjà à se perdre, comme vous le savez bien. La famille se prépare au baptême de leurs nouveaux nés, prend des engagements lors de la cérémonie, mais des engagements qui peuvent facilement passer à l’oubli.

Le baptême, c’est célébrer le début d’une nouvelle vie, la seule en définitive qui compte. C’est cette vie-là qui nous portera au delà de notre mort physique. C’est une vie fragile, qui ne fait pas trop de bruit, que nous oublions souvent, car la vie terrestre nous attire. Mais c’est une vie qui durera éternellement.

Au coeur de cette vie se trouve une nouvelle identité, identité que la cérémonie même du baptême nous permet de nommer. Nous sommes baptisés au nom du Père, et du Fils, et du Saint Esprit.

Baptisés au nom du Père: cela nous permet de savoir que nous sommes enfants choyés du Père céleste, bien-aimés de Dieu, tout comme Jésus qui nous a précédé. Dans les épreuves de la vie, nous ne savons pas parfois où mettre la tête. Nous nous sentons mis à part, mal-aimés, mais connaître l’amour compatissant du Père nous donne courage.

Baptisés au nom du Fils: nous devenons disciples de Jésus, nous nous mettons à sa suite, en observant ses commandements, surtout celui d’amour. C’est par Jésus que nous avons accès au Père. Il est le fils propre de Dieu; nous sommes fils et filles adoptifs.

Baptisés au nom du Saint Esprit: la même force, la même puissance qui s’est emparé de Jésus lors de son baptême peut s’emparer de nous, et nous tous sommes appelés à faire des choses extraordinaires à l’exemple de Jésus. Cela ne veut pas nécessairement dire des miracles dans le sens fort du mot, mais un sourire, un mot de réconfort, un geste de solidarité, cela peut faire une différence énorme dans la vie de quelqu’un autour de nous. Comme Jésus, nous pouvons tous faire le bien autour de nous.

Donc aujourd`hui revivons notre baptême et ouvrons nous à la grâce qu’il ne nous a pas encore apporté. Dieu n’a pas fini de faire de nous des bien-aimés de Dieu, des disciples de son Fils, des Temples de son Esprit. Nous ne faisons que commencer.

A Time to Savour our Gifts

2011-01-01T14:45:00.002-04:00

Feast of the Mother of God 2011

Most of the time the exchange of gifts at Christmas works very well. We open our gifts and immediately experience and express feelings of delight, gratitude. The gift is not just offered, it is also accepted. The generosity of the giver who took the trouble to search out the right gift for us is matched by our pleasure in receiving it.

But on occasion things do not work that way. The gift is offered, then opened, but really not accepted. The usual words of surprise and thanks might be on our lips but not in our hearts. The expression on our faces tells the story. This is not what we expected. Our forced smile covers up our disappointment, and we think to ourselves using words like: “I’ve already got two of these in my closet,” or “I bet you this is a re-gift,” or “I’ll give it to uncle Humphrey for his birthday.”

Once in a while we have this negative experience of receiving a gift that we do not really appreciate. Of course we make allowances for this and overcome our disappointment: “he did his best but had no way of knowing, ”; “his intention is what counts,” and so on. So Christmas continues to be a highly appreciated time together for us in spite of occasional moments of awkwardness. But if most of the gifts offered at Christmas were not really wanted, people would enter into this celebration with some reluctance, because it would be an occasion for formal politeness rather than for the creation of tighter and warmer family bonds. We want to give and receive gifts that are deeply appreciated.

In sum for gift exchange to really take place and we want it to, not only must the gift be offered from our heart, it must also be received within our heart.

All of this will help us understand the second reading of today’s Eucharist, from Paul’s letter to the Galatians. God offers us an inestimable gift when he sends his son into the world for our redemption. But unless we really want to receive that gift, the offer is in vain. That is why God gives us a second Gift, a quiet and invisible one, that of the Spirit sent into our hearts. Because of that second Gift we are able to recognize and accept God’s offer of becoming adopted sons and daughters within His family. This new status which God offers us is not just a legal formality, something we know as a cold, cerebral fact, but something which needs to reverberate in our hearts. It is the Spirit whose gift sets our hearts on fire with acceptance of the Son, enables us to have the felt experience of being sons and daughters of God, to address God not as a distant patriarchal figure but as “Abba”, a word which means father but which is used within the bosom of family in actually addressing, with confidence and affection, the one who is our father.

So God’s gift is not just sending his Son into the world, offering us salvation, but also sending His Spirit into the hearts of each one of us, making it possible for us to accept the gift of salvation, to treasure it, to delight in it, and to allow it to transform our lives.

As we begin our New Year we celebrate the motherhood of God. As we see from today’s gospel text, Mary did not just hear the words which told her about the Son which she brought into the world. She pondered over these words, treasured them in her heart, allowed them to deepen the relationship she had with her extraordinary child. Is this not what mothers normally do with their children? Motherhood is not just a biological process with nine months of gestation, birth, and a period of time where the offspring needs to be fed and cared for. It is also a psychic process in which the mother’s extraordinary closeness to her child helps her discern his or her unique gifts, to treasure them, to foster their development.

Physical gestation takes place over a period of nine months and then the child leaves the womb. Psychic gestation continues long after the child’s birth. The child continues to live within the mother’s heart, and she develops an intuitive understanding and appreciation of the child, which offers the child the support he or she needs to grow to full human maturity. And this continues until the mother departs from this world.

So for Mary to be the mother of God is not just a biological process of giving birth to Jesus but also the psychic process of carrying him in her heart during his entire life. She knew him through and through, yet he continued to be a mystery to her much as our own children are a mystery to us, to be savoured, treasured, but never totally comprehended. The mystery deepened as she and he lived their lives, came to a moment at the foot of the cross where all seemed to fall apart, but found unexpected joy and fulfilment when he rose from the dead.

The invitation is for us to be like Mary and to treasure the gift of God in our hearts, to ponder it, to reflect on it. And we can respond to this invitation because the Holy Spirit in our hearts gives us the power to do so. Another word for this treasuring and pondering is prayer. To pray is to deepen our relationship with God, to allow him to become for us not a distant patriarchal father but the father of a beloved family to which we belong and in which we feel very much at home.

May we remain at home within the family of God throughout 2011, and may that family Spirit profoundly transform our relationships, making of us agents of peace in every facet of our lives.

Innocence Triumphs

2010-12-24T17:19:00.002-04:00

Christmas 2010

A few years back, I happened to notice in a recently paved driveway a tiny plant whose stem had emerged through the concrete, ready to open its leaves for the first time, and to continue on with its development. The seed was tiny, fragile, without much hope of new life, yet it managed to push through. Its force was gentle, but nothing in the end could oppose it. This surprised me, but such things are not unusual. You can go on the web and find many explanations of how this can happen.

The mystery we celebrate today is the entry of God’s Son into our world. He could have come in power and majesty, striking fear and awe into our hearts. But he chose another way. He began in the utter fragility and dependence of new human life developing within a mother’s womb, unable to speak, to care for itself. He continued as the new born child, unable to make his needs known except through crying, needing constant protection and nurturing. But already in that state he was changing human hearts. Infants are weak, helpless, totally innocent, and they pull at our heartstrings. We want to reach out to them, to cuddle them, to hold them, to protect them. The attraction is genuine: we are not being manipulated, seduced, conned. We see a small child and what is beautiful and loving and true in the child reaches out to our heart. They are full of an amazing potential which we will never fathom. This was true of the infant Jesus.

The big difference between this newborn and all the rest of us who have come into the world as he did is that his innocence continues on, but we eventually lose ours. We are caught up in the sin of the world, he takes it away. The struggles of life in an uncertain world take hold of us, and we develop various ways to cope, many of them unhealthy. Our innocence is tarnished and taken from us. Innocence is a power we cannot exercise as Jesus did throughout his entire life. He paid a terrible price for doing so, because innocence cannot coexist with the world in which he lived and we live today, full of fear and violence and accusation. But his innocence, his vulnerability, prevailed. Like the fragile seed that pushes through the concrete, he overcame terrible obstacles during his earthly career, and the power of the Love which inhabited him prevailed. He bore fruit, fruit that would last, fruit that we draw on for nourishment and strength even today.

His ultimate victory we will recall later on in our liturgical calendar, but for now let us simply allow ourselves to be like the shepherds who came to see Jesus. They were simple men who remained with their sheep day and night watching over them. Their lives were not complicated with the need for power and wealth and advancement. They acted simply and directly. They heard the message of the angel, and hastened to visit their new-born Saviour. And what they experienced in their visit made them feel at home. They did not enter into a palace with impressive architecture and beautiful art-work and perfume wafting through the air. They did not enter into an awe inspiring sanctuary with mysterious chanting and incense. They did not enter into a library with many many books containing all the knowledge of the world. No, they entered a stable. They knew the odors emanating from the animals already there, because they too looked after animals. Indeed they probably contributed to the odor. The main difference that instead of food in the manger for the hungry animals, they found a newly born infant wrapped in swaddling clothes lying there. Instead of eating, these animals were looking on and with their breath warmed the new born infant needing protection from the cold. And, who knows, maybe some sheep came with the shepherds, filling out the scene and bringing their own warmth as well.

At the centre of the scene was the new born child. To worship him, they did not need him to be washed clean, dressed in sumptuous clothing and anointed. The mystery of new life, of vulnerability, of innocence was enough. It totally caught their attention and won them over. Instinctively they sensed that what they saw in the manger was the beginning of a totally new life for humanity, a life based on vulnerability and openness and love, stronger than any obstacle this world was able to throw in its face. They yearned for salvation, and they instinctively knew that the path to salvation passed through this infant. They were able to repeat to their friends the song which the angels taught them: “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those he favours.”

What does it mean for us today to repeat this same song, as we already have done: Glory to God in the highest, and peace to his people on earth”?

We live in a world marked by many struggles: economic, cultural, social, religious. Our families are scarred by these struggles in various ways, with sufferings, tensions, anxieties. But we also find within our families love and peace and joy. Within them we can be ourselves and be vulnerable to one another. Once again at Christmas the face of innocence shows itself, especially in our younger children and grand-children. And this is one of the joys of St. Patrick’s, which recently has been the chosen place for many baptisms, and which welcomes little children and their families. They love to run around the Church after mass, feeling at home, protected, secure. Many of the struggles of life are ahead of them. Let us for a blessed moment share the gift they have, finding in it strength and hope, knowing that the seed of new life has been sown in our world and in our hearts, and that it will in the end overcome all the obstacles put in its way. A blessed Christmas to all of you. May you find in the Christ-child and in one another comfort and joy.

A Protector we can count on

2010-12-18T19:27:00.001-04:00

Advent 4 Year A

This year on the 4th Sunday of Advent the Church invites us to contemplate a different facet of the the events that preceded the Lord’s birth. So often, and rightly so, the focus in the story is on the Blessed Virgin Mary, her willingness to say yes to the Angel’s invitation to be the Mother of the Saviour, her visitation of her cousin Elisabeth, her difficult travel in the later stages of her pregnancy to Bethlehem for the census. But there is another person involved in this drama who shared a experience similar to hers. I am referring to Joseph, who took Mary as his wife and served as the foster father of Jesus.

So, to use the colors often featured in artistic depictions, let us move from the blue which so typical of Mary to the brown typical of Joseph.

Who is Joseph for us? Firstly he is the principal patron saint of Canada, venerated by the early founders of the Canadian Church, who named him patron in 1624. The Jesuits who build an outpost among the Huron Indians near Midland ON named their chapel after him. And who does not know about the intense devotion to St. Joseph of Saint Brother Andre of Montreal, a devotion which gave rise to St Joseph’s splendid basilica, known as St. Joseph’s Oratory on Mount Royal, visited by over two million pilgrims a year. This basilica began as a small chapel Brother Andre started in 1904, but his devotion to St. Joseph kept on overcoming obstacles and doing wonders. I lived in Montreal for ten years before I joined the Society of Jesus, and it was one of my favourite places for prayer and eucharist. You go there and you hae a sense of being in good hands, of knowing that God provides and cares as an exemplary father, because that is the image projected by St. Joseph.

Who is Joseph in the scriptural record? We do not know much about him. He is often portrayed as an older man, some say a widower, but we have no way of verifying this information. But we do know that he was a man of faith and trust. Just like the Blessed Virgin accepted the mission of being the mother of God in absolute trust and surrender, not knowing how that would take place or what she was getting into, so too Joseph accepted the mission of protecting Jesus and her child. It appears that after a period of exile into Egypt, they settled in Nazareth, and that Jesus learned the trade of carpenter from his foster father.

Today’s Gospel story tells us about the spiritual struggle of Joseph. He was engaged to Mary, but, in accord with the custom of the day, had not yet moved into married life together with her. He found out – would Mary have told him? – that she was with child, but that the child was not his. In accord with Jewish law, this would have been a sufficient reason for him to dismiss her. Some authorities would say that the Law prescribed this gesture.

He was ready to follow this law, but wanted to dismiss her quietly rather than make a public splash about this incident, again showing his thoughtful and protective nature. For him to marry a young girl carrying a child not his own would lead to a lot of finger pointing and gossip. Life would get messy and complicated. Dismissal was the way out. But then, just as Mary received the visitation of the Archangel Gabriel, so too in a dream Joseph received an angelic visitation, and he was informed of God’s plan for Mary and for him. “Do not be afraid” was the theme of the message. We are simply told: “When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the Angel of the Lord commanded him: he took her as his wife.” What do we find? Obedience and trust, and a readiness to protect a vulnerable young woman and the new life mysteriously implanted within her womb. Let us also consider the years they spent together as Jesus grew up. He had both a father and a mother to care for him, and who he was as an adult, just as happens to us, is in good part the result of his wholesome upbringing. Like all of us, he grew in wisdom, age, and grace.

It was important for Jesus to have a father who could give him a name, just like Zechariah gave John the Baptist his name in Luke’s gospel. That way he would not be stigmatized as the child of an unwed mother. It was also important, since Jews calculated ancestral relationships through the father, for him to be recorded as the son of a descendant of David, as the long genealogy found at the beginning of Matthew’s gospel points out. Thus he could be singled out as the mysterious descendant of David evoked by the prophets who would bring salvation to Israel. The name he would receive from Joseph, Jesus, would echo this prophecy. Jesus is the Greek form of Joshua, a name which means “God saves” and which recalls the one who ushered the chosen people into the promised land. This point is amplified by the attribution to him in today’s Gospel of the surname “Emmanuel”, God-with-us.

What does St. Joseph mean for us today? We know little about him; he remains in the shadows. Many people known only to a circle of intimate friends and relatives are likewise in the shadows, but those of us in the know recognize their importance in the lives of those around them, their quiet influence. They do not advertise themselves, they do not make a lot of noise, but when it counts they are there for those who need them. Such was St. Joseph. His role in the holy family was discreet. He was there to protect, to foster, to nurture, and to deflect attention from what would made Jesus’ early life more difficult by accepting the role of being his father. He agreed to take care of a child which was not his own rather than seek a spouse with whom he could have his own children. Protecting Jesus meant Joseph being the head of a displaced family for a period of time, but he stood by Mary and Jesus. A steady, calming presence they could count on. A steady, calming presence we can count on, in a time full of uncertainty and risk. Just as he took care of Jesus, he is there to take care of us. And during this season of Advent we know he is present to our longings and struggles for peace and love in our fractured world.

Isaiah: a Dream for our Times

2010-11-27T17:41:00.002-04:00

Advent One, Year A

Isaiah the Prophet, whom we hear today in the first reading, had a dream, a beautiful dream, a dream which flew in the face of the reality which he and the people of Israel were living at the time. From the very outset this people was tempted to depend on the force of arms to protect themselves and find their way in a warlike world. They often fell into this temptation. They thought that they could at least end up gaining respect. They trusted in the power of their horses and chariots, rather than in the God who had made a covenant with them. They sought alliances with other powers. They wanted to be like the other people around them, and have a king rule over them.

God knew that this was not the path for them, but rather than block them, he gave them their way. He knew that they could only receive his teaching in their hearts through suffering and struggle and experiencing the disaster that comes from wrong decisions. The prophets learned through this suffering, and taught the people what they learnt. Some followed their teaching, but many others continued in their wrongful ways.

God gave them their way, and they ended up in wars and alliances that brought them low, and eventually lost both their kingdoms and went through the major upheaval known as the Babylonian captivity, where they were dispersed over many countries. Isaiah made today's prophecy before the Babylonian captivity, but already the process of self-destruction was engaged. And in later years when the Prince of Peace came on earth, he was put to death.

What Isaiah proclaimed was a vision completely contrary to the reality of the world of his day. A vision of peace, of harmony. A peace not built on the superiority of one’s weapons, but a peace grounded in the word of God. Obeying that word is a source of power. Not the power to dominate and to compel, but the power to invite others and to attract their hearts. Those who come up to the mountain of the Lord come of their own free will, because they are ready for a new vision: “that he may teach us his ways and that we will walk in his paths”. They are not in shackles and in a forced military march. They want to ascend the mountain of the Lord because their hearts are willing.

When Israel is enticed by the political and military power that surrounds it, it fails miserably. When Israel submits to God’s word, it will becomes not a world empire but an agent of peace, helping to institute a new order, allowing God to “judge between the nations, and arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.” Not only shall war disappear from the face of the earth, but warlike dispositions shall disappear from the human hearts: waging war will no longer part of our instinctive behaviour, our way of thinking.

Translate this passage into today, and the result is striking. The same dynamic is present as was present in the time of Isaiah. Many countries are building up their armed power, not with chariots and horses but with reactors and uranium. Other countries are caught in a bind. They do seek peace, but feel the need to make themselves strong enough that no one dares attack them. The issue for them is whether the peace they seek is just the stand-off that comes from destructive forces in equilibrium or the real tranquillity which comes when people hear the word of God and put it into practice. Pope Benedict keeps warning the countries of the West, especially in Europe, that they are losing their roots in Christianity and in the process losing themselves. The situation keeps on worsening.

But the dynamic has another side. There are also messengers of peace like Isaiah at work in our world, seeking to defuse, to improve communications, to bring people together so that they might genuinely communicate and find a path to resolving their differences. They reach out, in big ways and small ways, in season and out of season, to others, hoping to break down barriers one at a time. Champions of change, but genuine change that will transform hearts.

We desperately need Jesus to come into our world with his power. Yes, he will come at the end in majesty, but the end is already upon us, and he keeps coming to us in unexpected ways and at unexpected times. We need to be able to recognize his coming, to allow it to transform our attitudes and our lives, to make of us agents of peace, beginning with peace in our own back-yards, but reaching all the way to the global peace which eludes our grasp.

May these words and the nourishment of the Eucharist set us on our path. We will not change the world overnight, but better to light one candle than to let the darkness take over. Let us be ready, let us keep awake, for He is surely coming.

A KING LIKE NO OTHER

2010-11-21T17:30:00.002-04:00

(Readings from the feast of Christ the King Year C)

Christ is in the image of the invisible God, the first-born of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created...all things have been created through him and for him. Christ is before all things, and in him all things hold together (from the first reading of Christ the King Year C)

This is the type of passage we look for to celebrate Christ as our King. We want to see him as powerful and triumphant. We love to hear that in him all things hold together, all things find reconciliation and peace.

But to simply focus on this passage and other passages like it in Scripture is to miss the point. Christ is King, yes, but as he told us his kingdom is not of this world. So often the power of the kingdoms and the empires of this world is based on money and arms. This power satisfies human greed and ambition, and breeds violence and conflict. This is the sorry history of the human race over the centuries, and even though we have not had a world war for 65 years, violence and oppression continue.

The stakes are higher now, with rogue states, uncontrolled nuclear power, intractable conflicts which never seem to go away, terrorists ready to blow themselves up, and us in the process, to create havoc and panic. These earthly kingdoms appear to be powerful, but their power is short-termed, built on illusion, and sooner or later we find them repulsive and counter-productive. We strive to overcome them, and sometimes succeed, but the cycle repeats itself over and over. Power corrupts, we are told. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Is all of this the final word? If we want to understand the secret of Christ’s power and attractiveness as King, we must go to today’s Gospel. What it recounts is quite the opposite of the ways of earthly power. Jesus is king, but his kingdom is not of this world.

Often earthly rulers arrange for a steady diet of adulation and praise; bogus parades and crowds, manipulation of the media, and at times laws that severely punish criticism. At times they do this blatantly, at other times subtly. But what words do we hear in today’s Gospel about Jesus? The leaders scoffed at him, the soldiers mocked him, one of the criminals derided him.

Successful earthly rulers are able to maintain their position. But in the eyes of those standing around the cross Christ cannot save himself, cannot come down from his cross. Nor can he save anyone else. He appears to be powerless, totally without resources. These bystanders know his claim to be a king, but their only way of judging his claim is the short-sighted way of this world. He is yet another messianic impostor.

Only one person in this scene understands what Christ’s kingship is all about: the good thief. Here is Jesus dying the slow and humiliating death of crucifixion, but there is something attractive about him, a secret power that animates him. This prompts the good thief to ask him something utterly amazing: “Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom.” Through the grace of God the good thief is able to see more deeply, to be attracted to the grace that emanates from Jesus on the cross. This attractive power is not the power the world of earthly kingdoms is used to. Rather it is the power of a kingdom that is not of this world. The good thief is confident that through this crucifixion Jesus is coming into his kingdom, and he wants to be remembered, to be part of that kingdom. Jesus finds the strength to respond “Today, I tell you, you will be with me in Paradise”.

What is the secret of Jesus’ kingdom? It is not a kingdom which seeks to overcome, to terrorize, to bring about external compliance to laws and decrees whose purpose is too often to enrich the leaders and those close to them. It is a kingdom that aims to bring about conversion of mind and heart. It works through invitation and attraction, not coercion and manipulation. It seems the heart-felt and willing response of those who are drawn into it. Those who obey its laws do so not out of fear and terror but out of love. What is the supreme example of that love? It is Christ on the cross. For him to take himself down from the cross in answer to the taunts of those reviling him would be to send the wrong message. He may be more powerful than those who crucified him, but if he showed off his power in the way they wanted, at heart he would be no different than they are, people who follow the laws of violence, greed, self-protection which rule this world. He might have stopped them in their tracks, but their adherence to him would have been superficial, the flavour of the day soon to be replaced by another. By choosing to stay on the cross and dying there, he proves to us that God loves us without bounds, and invites us to a life in which this love is the uppermost value. This the good thief sensed.

The power of Christ’s kingdom is at work in our world. It is a power of attraction, of invitation, not of manipulation and coercion. At times it may be imperceptible, when compared to the power of earthly kingdoms in a mad course of destruction. But it is at work in our world, in the many people who give examples of patience, perseverance, compassion, who seek not their own good but the common good and find ways of achieving it. Some of them achieve recognition as agents of change, and rightly so. Most are unsung, unrecognized. I am sure that many of you here in this congregation in your own small way are doing the work of Christ’s kingdom. But all of us deeply experience both dynamics, that of Christ’s kingdom and that of earthly kingdoms. Let us pray that in our struggle to choose between them, that we will be on the side of Jesus and the good thief rather than on the side of those who mock, deride, and scoff at the power of love.

Two Takes on Zacchaeus

2010-10-31T19:23:00.002-03:00

based on the readings of the 31st Sunday of Ordinary Time (Cycle C)

These readings lay out for us two radically different ways of assessing Zacchaeus’ behaviour. All of us have experienced them many times in our lives. So many times we have been judged by others and so many times we have judged others. Indeed Zacchaeus in this story stands for all of us.

God has his way of assessing Zacchaeus’ worth, a way exemplified by Jesus’ behaviour toward him. The first reading makes God’s way abundantly clear. Whatever God creates is good; God loves and cares for all his creatures, does not turn away from them in aversion when they fail, but seeks their healing and their fulfilment. The basic theme of God’s attention to us is compassion and redemption. Because at root we are good and worthwhile, God corrects us little by little – gentleness rather than harshness is the keynote – so as to free us from wickedness and instill in us radical trust in His goodness. He hates sin but loves sinners.

This is also Jesus’ way of approaching us, as exemplified in the story of Zacchaeus. Zacchaeus as a tax collector collaborated with the Roman occupiers and in the process feathered his own nest. In this he was unjust. There may have been a secret desire in him to be delivered from the burdens of his own occupation when he heard about Jesus’ coming to Jericho, but the main motive of his climbing the sycamore tree apparently was to satisfy his curiosity, which he could not do from the ground given his short stature. Jesus sees him, with a sense of urgency bids him come down from his tree and invites himself into his home: he told Zacchaeus to hurry, because he needed – not just wanted or desired – to stay at Zaachaeus’ house, and it had to be today, not in some vague future. This encounter was for Zacchaeus a turning point. Recognized by Jesus as a valued member of the human family in spite of his flaws, he renounced the injust patterns which had marked his life and his work till then. Jesus could have ignored him, despised him, left him to his own resources, but he enters into his life in a way that is both gentle and forceful. Like everyone else Zacchaeus is a creature of God, beloved in spite of his trespasses, worth saving. Indeed Jesus came to fulfill the principles expressed in the Wisdom text: to seek out and save the lost.

Zacchaeus also experienced another form of judgement, which was harsh and dismissive. Those standing around were scandalized by Jesus’ action. A person like Zacchaeus was beyond the pale, not one of “us” but one of “them”, a reprobate, a worthy recipient of harsh criticism. They criticized in the name of their own flawed religious sense. Jesus consistently refused to give in to that form of religiosity, and ended up losing his life because of his commitment to God’s way rather than the way of the religious authorities of the day.

In a different way at times we also fall into the tendency to harshly judge ourselves. We imprison ourselves in a false and negative self-image in which we fail to recognize the goodness which God has imparted to us, and our true fulfilment is thwarted. Could this have been true of Zacchaeus? Could he have internalized some of the negative judgements he had to endure throughout his life?

All of us have experienced the harsh judgement of people who criticize us, often pointing out real deficiencies and flaws in our behaviour, but totally failing to affirm and recognize our own efforts to do what is right, our own intrinsic value and worth. But we have also at difficult times experienced the loving and compassionate judgement of those who focus on the good they see in us and try to build us up.

We have also experienced ourselves as caught between the urge to be ultimately compassionate and respectful in our judgements of others, even of those who rightly merit criticism because of what they have done, and to be harsh and condemnatory in our judgements, ignoring the fundamental goodness of those we condemn. Condemnation or compassion us a fork in the road we have often met.

One of the key issues we struggle with in both civil society and in our church communities is our propensity to isolate ourselves and isolate others because of harsh and peremptory judgements. Such judgements are toxic and destructive of community. These texts point out a way that will help us in our efforts to build a community that is in constant danger of falling apart. We might need to criticize, to tell others the truth as we see it, but our criticism has to be compassionate and loving if it is to unite us rather than divide. We are all members of the same family, we all struggle, we all need space and time to fully become ourselves. If God who is without flaws is compassionate, how can we who are flawed be any less compassionate to our companions on the human journey?

Money: Indispensable but Tainted

2010-09-19T13:58:00.002-03:00

On the readings of the 25th Sunday of Ordinary Time

The Church offers us readings today (25th Sunday in ordinary time), with which we will feel quite at home. The first reading is the condemnation by the prophet Amos of the dishonest and exploitative business practices of his day. The Gospel tells us the story of the dishonest manager and how he manages to get out of a difficult situation.

Dishonesty, squandering, bribes, exploitation, pyramid schemes: our newscasts are full of them. We turn on our computer and we get messages addressed to “Dear Friend” inviting us to various kinds of shady deals supposed to get us large sums of money, but which in fact are meant to steal our personal information and even to extract sums of money from us. From very early on humans have used money for their transactions rather than direct barter. We would not be able to do without this monetary system of exchange. The worth of the money that circulates is in large part based on trust, for example, that those we lend to will make enough profit to repay their loans. But then trust is mixed with greed, with false advertising, and, as has recently happened, many loans and mortgages have defaulted, banks have gone bankrupt, and the system is threatened with collapse. Collapse has not taken place, thank God, but we are now in a definite period of financial belt-tightening and anxiety as we try to work ourselves out of the crisis.

Another reason for the blight which affects money is that much of the capital that drives our economy is at the expense of people who live on the margins and who continue, like the poor in the first reading, to be exploited. So while indispensable – in order to live we have no choice but to buy, sell, borrow, save, invest -- money is tainted, and that taint rubs off on all of us, inasmuch as we enter into the exchange system. Thus in the Gospel reading the adjective “dishonest” is attached to “wealth”, in the original “mammon, or mammon of iniquity”, which means money as that in which we falsely trust.

Is Jesus telling us not to use money? No, even if it is dishonest, we are to use it creatively and generously, thus making friends by helping others with our resources, by being faithful in administering it. But we are warned that we cannot serve both God and wealth. Money is not an end but a means. Unfortunately for many in the world it is an end not a means. At times money might evoke feelings of confidence, of solidity: if I have plenty of money invested, and I trust the system, I can rest secure. But now I feel that the money I have set aside might not be enough. I am anxious. But the upside of this present crisis is that we all realize that our system of monetary exchange is fragile, that it could collapse like a castle of cards, and we hope for a way forward out of our present situation which is based not on more economic sleight of hand but on solid principles anchored in God’s will for us. Recent papal encyclicals such as Benedict’s Caritas in Veritate keep on reminding us of that. Jesus is asking us to put our trust not in wealth, or “mammon”, the term he uses, but in God, the wisdom God imparts to us and the providence with which God guides our lives.

The Gospel text for the 25th Sunday, from Luke 16, is at first reading strange. Why would the master praise his dishonest manager for trying to cut back the obligations of those who owed money for goods purchased? One explanation which makes sense is that the common way in Jesus’ day for someone to make a profit was not to increase the price of what was sold, in our terms grain for $50 a bushel rather than $30 a bushel with a profit of $20 a bushel, but to increase the number of bushels on the bill. If the person pays for 50 bushels, but only gets the delivery of 30, there is a net profit corresponding to the value of the 20 bushels left. So the dishonest manager is basically remitting to the customers the extra units which he added on to their bill to cover his own cut, which seems exorbitant, and this is something the master is able to praise.

The point of the story is that we are to imitate the dishonest manager not in his practice of extortion but in his cleverness in dealing the fallout of losing his job. He finds a helpful tactic to use, and he uses it. We are to be as clever, resourceful, and prudent in our dealings with others with a view to achieving our own ultimate goal, which is not a fat investment account but our place in the eternal homes. And that resourcefulness goes against the grain as far as the ways of the world are concerned: as the first reading bids us, we are to refrain from exploitation; as the Gospel bids us, we are to be generous to others, making friends with them, because we know that when we are generous to them we are imitating Christ’s generosity to us, and, even more, in being generous to those in need we are being generous to Christ of whose body they are especially precious members.

GOD IN OUR PLANNING AND IMPLEMENTING

2010-08-29T14:51:00.003-03:00

I remember the early days of computers when I could master the programmes I purchased and do a whole range of things simply and with complete understanding of what I was doing. I could tweak the programme at will. Those days are over. Programmes have gotten very complicated, and programmers are constantly trying to anticipate what users are likely to do. They develop complicated routines which only they can understand, in an effort to anticipate many of the errors anyone might commit. In the process they create problems which require further complexities. The software becomes bloated, and its user often feels helpless. We have no choice but to submit to the paternalism, no matter how well-intentioned, of the computer programmers. Microsoft, or whoever, knows best, so it seems. This illusory quest for perfection leads to programmes which are not only bloated but full of unexpected bugs. This means frustrations and updates, and the time we save at one end we waste at the other.

This is an image for what too easily happens in our own lives and the decisions we constantly have to make. (It certainly applies to me.) I try to be an all-knowing programmer, and fail time and time again. If I were God, I would know all the possible alternatives, explore each one, and come up with decisions that are always the best ones. There would be no risk, because I know how every decision would play out in the end. But I am not God, and such knowledge is not accessible to me. I need to take risks, to cast my nets into unknown waters, to acknowledge that my compulsion to check out every possible alternative and to account for every possible thing that could go wrong is a recipe for paralysis. Room must be found for faith, for trust, for hope, for a mystery which I do not control. Ultimately when I face a future which I do not fathom, what I am facing is the living God and an invitation to let go.

This is only part of it. Ultimately in my efforts to minister, to serve, to make good decisions, it is not me that is ministering and serving others. My personal role is secondary. The best I can do is to allow God to operate in me, to do God’s thing. Yes, I have to make decisions, anticipate and plan as best I can, but my role is secondary, caught up in a much broader agenda which is God's plan. Whatever I anticipate will happen will generally meet up with surprises that often stun me. But then they often stimulate me. I regroup and allow myself to be drawn into the sacred space where I realize that ultimately I am not in control. If I am willing to inhabit that space, I will often discover and treasure the subtle ways in which God shapes my life both as an individual and as a member of a community. I will often exclaim "This is what I would have planned had I known or did I possess the resources to pull it off."

Often the issue is one of patience. My objectives might also be God's objectives, but I want the objective to be realized right now, in my own defective way. God is ready to wait, respecting the rhythms and needs of all those involved, so that when the objective is realized it will not be something ephemeral and likely to fall apart as something planted in good soil that will bear lasting fruit. A hundredfold.

There are beautiful scripture passages which invite us to take on this attitude of patience and surrender. Who is not aware of the beautiful passage on the lilies of the field and on the uselessness of worrying about tomorrow: tomorrow will worry about itself (Mt 6). And we are told that God's thoughts are higher than our thoughts, God's ways higher than our ways (Is 55:9). But Psalm 139 is perhaps the best antidote to our tendency to take ourselves, our plans, our decisions too seriously. God knows each one of us better than we know ourselves, surrounds us, lays his hand of protection upon us. Indeed "such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high I cannot attain it" (v.6).

So ultimately what counts in the end is not my doing this rather than that, but allowing God's Spirit in me to use me to achieve the divine purpose. What I end up deciding or doing is not a matter of life and death, as if my success or failure will change the course of the universe. I am a human, not God. God uses my energy, my good will, my intelligence in ways which escape my understanding to achieve purposes that are beyond what I can imagine. So let go and let God be God. I can relax and let God be in charge. I can develop a sense of humour rather than be given over to frustration.

This was a lesson which Ignatius Loyola learned during a long life where he had to provide for a newly established religious order, growing very quickly, responding to many urgent demands. He told us to pray as if everything depended on ourselves, but act as if everything depended on God. (Some popular versions of this saying have it the other way around).

Thus when we plan and make choices, we are to do so with a felt experience of depending on ourselves. Our choices, no matter how much God is present in them, are the acts by which we define ourselves as adults, as responsible agents. We are taking a risk, venturing out into the unknown. We take this risk as if God were not there, though we know He is. But when we move into action, implementing our plans and choices, we should do so with the sense that though it is really us who have rolled up our sleeves and are now engaged in the process of implementation, ultimately unless God is also there in His providence to guide the way, we are helpless and all our efforts will come to nothing. It is in the stage of implementation that we are to entrust ourselves most radically to God’s care for us and for our projects of service, because it is in that stage that we are most prone to over-relying on our insights and our strengths. (more on this: http://www.jesuits.ca/orientations/hevenesi.pdf)

INDEED PENTECOST DOES REVERBERATE

2010-06-09T10:17:00.000-03:00

Unlike Easter, Pentecost does not have its own octave. But Pentecost still reverberates after we move into Ordinary Time! This is always the case, but even more so this year in the life of the parish of which I am the sacramental minister, St. Patrick’s in Halifax. The story of Pentecost recalls the powerful Wind sweeping over the face of the chaotic waters according to the first verses of the creation account in Genesis. But there are also winds of lesser intensity, ranging from gusts to breezes, and these lesser winds also characterize the ways of the Spirit, which remain subtle and elusive.

St. Patrick’s did have a powerful wind experience about five years ago when, faced with closure, its community rallied to have that decision reversed, taking on a more active role to help the parish survive and flourish. This was a moment of Pentecostal grace. Having heard accounts of what happened then, the image of tongues of fire occurs to me, but I will not develop it.

As we know from the Acts of the Apostles, the Spirit in the years after Pentecost continued to be active in the life and development of the first Christian community, opening some doors and closing others, raising up apostles like Paul, Timothy, and Barnabas needed for the task of wider evangelization, and so forth. These are winds which are quite noticeable but of lesser intensity. Our experience at St. Pat’s is similar: having gone through the re-founding of our community once the decision to close the Church was rescinded, now we are rebuilding, consolidating, refurbishing our building and our parish structures, finding new ways of reaching out to others, growing our numbers, just as the primitive Christian community did. And there are moments of success and moments of failure as we seek to implement ambitious objectives. The Spirit was present to us at the a critical turning point: the Spirit continues to be present in our present struggles.

What makes us note the continuing presence of the Spirit right now is the influx of children to wanting to be initiated into the Christian faith. In recent decades the parish was mostly made up of older adults with a lengthy connection with the parish, and other adults who found the style of worship and community congenial. In more recent years some younger adults came with their children. After Christmas this year the realization dawned that we now have a good number of youngsters that need to be introduced to the life of the sacraments. It did not take long for resources to emerge, programmes to be organized, and in the last few weeks we have experienced the deep joy of incorporating a number of young Christians into the life of the Church. We celebrate baptisms from time to time, but in the course of preparing fourteen youngsters for first communion and reconciliation this year, we realized that four of them were not baptized, which meant further formation for them to receive that sacrament. While any baptism is a joyful experience, to have a child who is able to speak for himself or herself eagerly wanting baptism and stepping up to the baptismal font touched me and the whole congregation deeply. Eight older children were confirmed, and again qualified persons took on their formation, and I conferred confirmation on them and on one adult member of the parish as well, with delegation from the archbishop and the pastor. And on the feast of Corpus Christi, fourteen first communions took place.

Fifty years ago, when religious practice was regular and lives were simpler, this formation sequence was taken for granted and the young people of the parish were simply slotted into the programmes that led them to the next stage of their Christian initiation. But to carry out this formation today is to swim against the cultural current. So many influences, attractions, commitments to be entered into the weekly schedule beckon both children and parents today that finding time that all can agree on for a programme is quite difficult. And there is much greater unevenness in family situations and religious commitment. Often things which at an earlier period of time would be dealt with in a regular way fall through the cracks, like those baptisms which fifty years ago would likely have been done in infancy. All of this is our way to share the primordial chaos out of which God creates a beautiful and harmonious universe. The Spirit blows mightily and good things happen. New energies and vision emerge, new freshness and enthusiasm. In our atmosphere of prevailing secularism, more and more this will be the way that the Church will continue to grow. To let go and let the Spirit.

Numerical increase is important, but even more important is the desires that stir within young hearts, desires which they themselves can express only imperfectly given their lack of full human maturity, but which are transparent to those who work with them. For instance, the grace of the sacraments we conferred will lead to new mass servers.

An experienced pastor who reads this will probably ask “What else is new?” I have been in the field of theological education and administration for over forty years, and this assignment at the age of 72 has opened my eyes. What I have recounted is new to me. Upon receiving this the assignment to come here from my provincial superior, trained administrator that I was, I saw all the pitfalls, I recounted all my inadequacies, my total lack of experience. But now I know that these pitfalls and inadequacies are not the last word. The last word is the ministry of Jesus to the people I serve, and the energy of the Spirit which constantly surprises and renews me.

THE SEXUAL ABUSE CRISIS: THE CHURCH DYING AND RISING

2010-04-02T20:51:00.005-03:00

Good Friday 2010
St.Patrick’s Parish
Halifax NS

Our own experience of the Passion of Jesus continues to evolve as we go through the stages of our life. Different aspects of it will touch our hearts each year. To begin with there are our own passion processes: we often die as we let go of something we thought essential to our lives, and eventually we find a peace and a liberation we never dared hope for. Sometimes we share in the passion of loved ones who are struck by a disease over which they have no control, and end up leaving this world. We mourn their passing, but our mourning is often tinged with gratitude, because they are finally released into resurrection out of lengthy and painful sufferings. Sometimes we reflect on the plight of far too many people in our world who live in refugee camps, uprooted from their homes, victims of a violence they do not deserve, not knowing when help is going to come. Sometimes we are caught up with the plight of the homeless, often put out on the street with various drugs to numb their pain and confusion, dependent on the care and compassion of all of us, unable in many cases to pull together the fabric of their lives in a meaningful way. And so on.

Contemplative silence as we behold Christ journeying through his passion will help us understand the Cross as we stand under its dark radiance. Our silence today will unite us with one of the aspects of the passion we cannot but relive at this time in our collective life. Jesus opened his mouth and spoke during his journey to the Cross. He was not mute. He answered many of the questions of his judges, but he knew that his response would be fruitless, his words not heeded. As far as effectively defending himself, his identity, the mandate His Father gave him, he might as well have been mute. Any words he said to vindicate himself were words in the void. His judges had their mind made up and Pilate yielded to political expediency. It was the time for darkness to take over and to envelop him. This was the price of our salvation.

Words that fall into the void or words that have power to defend and vindicate: for us, and in these days, this is an issue of mighty struggle. Jesus was persecuted, and his words were powerless against his accusers. At this time too the Church which he founded is being persecuted, as it has been down through the centuries, but persecuted in a different way, which brings it closer to Jesus victim of injustice and slander. The media in these last weeks, in their quest of news to shock us, and to garner larger audiences and increase their revenues, are bringing to the fore stories of sexual and physical abuse committed by Roman Catholic priests against children and teenagers, and the long-standing failure of Church authorities to deal with these issues in a forthright way. One story after another. The same ones repeated time and time again. “When will it stop?”, we ask. And now we note an effort to include the highest authority in the Church, the Pope, in this wave of accusation by innuendo. This effort has to do with his alleged negligence, even his cover-up, when he was Archbishop of Munich. So the passion of Christ continues. The suffering of many victims of abuse whose lives have been twisted out of shape is intertwined with that of persons who feel – often rightly so – unjustly accused of failure to act in a forthright and effective manner when confronted with incidents of abuse, and also with our own suffering, because these incidents provoke in us feelings of shame, of powerlessness before the onslaught, feelings that the Church has let us down.

How do we respond to this extremely complex situation? Volumes could be written about it and no doubt they will be, once the dust has settled and we have enough distance to see things more clearly in their broader context. We will limit ourselves to two preliminary points:

Firstly many of these accusations of cover-up simply ignore the factual responses and explanations that have been forthcoming from the Vatican and other sources. Willful misrepresentation is going on, and a failure to acknowledge recent changes in the Church’s understandings and procedures. For example, one can agree, with the hindsight we have today, that Benedict XVI as an archbishop ought to have been more personally concerned with the abuse issues that came across his desk, or to have asked his subordinates to bring these issues to his personal attention. He doubtlessly now wishes he had then acted differently. But it is unwarranted to lay on him an accusation of deliberate cover-up carried out at a time when less was known about sexual abuse and its effects. In the last 5 years, even more than John Paul II, he has been instrumental in having the Church do a thorough cleansing of itself, with no area covered-up or hidden, and instrumental in stirring up some of the muck and debris that we might deal with it. He has got the point and is responding courageously. Thank God for that.

My second point is the more important one. The faithful and those who lead them in the Church today cannot simply wring their hands in the face of the current media frenzy, and pretend that as a Church we are maligned and victims just as Jesus was: “ Poor us, we are now suffering without cause.” No, the Church has reason to suffer because its members have sinned. By contrast, Jesus didn’t sin. And we need to suffer as members of the Church because without being purged the Church will not be renewed and reformed as it needs to be. By contrast, Christ did not need to suffer, because he was without sin. He chose to suffer for our sakes, to show us that the road towards perfection for us and for our Church passes through suffering.

I am not calling into question the pope’s sure guidance in the matter of faith and morals. But infallibility is far from meaning that the Church as a whole, including ourselves, and the popes and bishops who lead us, are without sin. We have seen this sinfulness at work in the course of history: it began with the very apostles that Jesus chose. During his earthly life they stubbornly held on to a wrong interpretation of Jesus’ mandate; during his passion they abandoned and betrayed him. Later in the history of the Church there have been some very difficult periods marked by corruption at the top, for example in the 10th century, and among some of the renaissance popes of the 15th and 16th centuries. Much damage was done to the unity of the Church. Thank God that these periods have been followed by periods of repentance and reform. Thank God that the path of repentance and reform is open before us today.

One of the most notable sins of the Church down through the ages is its tendency to cultivate its image as the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic church, to look good in the eyes of others, to belittle and even hide its warts and flaws. This tendency has been ingrained in its institutional culture. Recognizing its own flaws and need for cleansing does not come easy for the Church. Its earlier practice of keeping quiet such things as priests abusing young people sexually and physically was mostly, we are told, to avoid scandalizing the faithful. It would say: “Let us not disturb their simple faith in the holiness of the Church.” Of course our young ones need to be gradually initiated into Christian life and we need to protect them. But such protection, when people have grown up, can degenerate into paternalism. The faith that animates us should be an adult faith. We can and must confront sin wherever it is to be found in ourselves and in the Church and call it by its name. If we pretend that the Church, its leaders and members, are holier than they actually are, that they are without the disorders that are endemic to the human condition, we are caught in an intolerable untruth. Adult faith means facing reality whatever it is, in this case knowing and accepting in love the Church with both its gifts and its flaws, recognizing that it is not the pinnacle of the perfection that it preaches.

The crisis which has shaken all of us profoundly has energized many of us towards this adult faith. Most importantly, our faith in Jesus as our Saviour and beacon of hope is intact; we continue to come together as a Christian community to celebrate Christ our redeemer, as we are doing today; but we demand more honesty and effective action on the part of our leaders, and our voices will not be silenced. Fortunately, we have heard so many of our Church leaders tell us they are ready to launch into the deep with a new way of dealing with these issues in the Church. What is emerging is no less than a re-foundation, in the words of our Archbishop. A deep cultural change has begun to take place, but we are far from having completed this process of reform and repentance based on a solid foundation of adult faith. This is painful and discouraging for us, because while we are trying to rebuild, past failings of the Church and its officials are constantly being thrown back in our face. This is part of the purgation which we all need to undergo. Let us undergo it courageously. It is one dimension of Christ’s passion which continues today. We suffer, we struggle, we hope.

We know that the passion and death leads to the resurrection. As we undergo a passion which, unlike Jesus, we deserve, let us trust that the fruits of resurrection will be given to us, in a Church rebuilt on the rock of faith and hope and love, nourished by Jesus and his grace so abundant in our midst over the centuries. Our failings and consequent sufferings are God’s way of constantly reminding all of us that God is God, and we need to simply let ourselves be ourselves, forgiven sinners who assemble around the Cross which saves us.

ALMOST 50 YEARS LATER: WHERE ARE WE WITH VATICAN II?

2010-02-06T19:21:00.005-04:00

This is a talk that I gave at a ceremony honouring Archbishop Emeritus James Hayes of Halifax. He is one of the few remaining bishops who was in attendance at Vatican II, and was renowned for his implementation of Vatican II in his archdiocese.
Jean-Marc Laporte S.J.

For many of you, evoking Vatican II brings back vivid memories of the Church as it was before that council, the unexpected readiness of John XXIII to convene it, the heady years of its sessions from ‘62 to ‘65, and the subsequent years of implementation, with their achievements and struggles. For those of a younger generation a reminder of Vatican II does not have the same impact, though they too have their concerns about the life of the Church as it continues to deal with the legacy of this unexpected council.

We are honouring Archbishop Hayes at our luncheon today, one of the few bishops still alive who participated in Vatican II. He made it come alive in his archdiocese, that of Halifax. Far from abstract and theoretical, today’s topic today touches us deeply. What are we to make of the aftermath of Vatican II as we experience it here and now?

This aftermath has been marked by conflict and struggle. Some Catholics of a more traditional cast interpret Vatican II in a minimal way; they think the Church has gone too far in implementing it; they are nostalgic for the good old days with their regime of law and order, and want to bring them back. And this desire is not limited to those who experienced the pre-Vatican II Church. Many of a younger generation have entered into this movement of restoration. Today all these traditionals are making their voice heard, at times positively, but in more extreme cases a few of them use accusations and threats, hoping to bring members of the Church, including priests and bishops whom they consider lukewarm, back to order.

But many Catholics still look back to the exciting times of Vatican II and its implementation; their interpretation is maximal; they think the Church has not gone far enough in implementing it. So they lament “Where have all the flowers of Vatican II gone?” Its achievements seem to be coming unstuck, and some of the forward movement it promised has not come to pass. While the more traditional group has voice and energy in today’s Church, these devotees of Vatican II are tempted today by listlessness, withdrawal, and discouragement because of what they see as the caution and disinterest of Church authorities.

The above is a picture in broad strokes which fails to do justice to the complexities and subtleties of the many currents of opinion swirling around in the Church today. If you follow Church news, this picture emerges much more clearly in the US, whose culture is more prone to strident opposition and conflict, than in Canada. We find a small and noisy minority at both extremes. There is also a larger minority on both sides whose members have a clear position in favour of either Vatican II-inspired change or of greater order and stability, but who are more moderate and ready for dialogue. There is the large middle, made up for the most part of the faithful who do not think much about these conflicts, but also of some others who, scandalized by them, seek to be agents of dialogue and reconciliation, helping those on opposite sides to talk to one another, to discover the interdependence of their positions, to become complementary and lifegiving for one another and for the Church. Cardinal Bernardin of Chicago before dying in 1996 gave us an excellent model to follow with his common ground initiative between deep-set factions in the US Church. There was vocal opposition among some of his US episcopal colleagues, more given to imposition than to dialogue, but Bernardin’s initiative continues today.

To rejoice in our complementarities rather than to be locked in conflict is our goal. The more liberal among us need to recognize that the more conservative have real concerns and a real contribution to make, and vice versa. Vatican II needs to be implemented, yes, but implemented in a way that leads to deep and long-lasting change that all will recognize and treasure. It is worth taking time to do this right. Let us begin by exploring fresh images to bring this complementarity alive.

Let us imagine for an instant a car with an accelerator pedal that works very well, but no brake pedal. Let us imagine the opposite, a car with a good solid brake but with no accelerator. With neither would we get to our intended destination. No acceleration, no forward movement. No brakes, the forward movement will inevitably lead to a crash. Good drivers know when and how to accelerate and when to brake. To accelerate and to brake are complementary and interdependent functions.

Another image is that of two forces, one of them pushing us away from the centre towards the frontiers, the other pulling us in towards the centre, and keeping us there. We can be frontier-people – drawn to move out of the safe centre towards the frontiers where there is dialogue, risk, challenge, opportunity for renewal and change; or we can be centre-people – drawn to cling to the centre where we find a clear identity, firm boundaries, consistency, and security. Both tendencies are essential. Of this Pope Benedict reminded us Jesuits in our General Congregation of 2008. He called us to continue our work on the frontiers, exploring new territory, opening up new conversations with people who either do not know the Church or are alienated from it, but asked us to always remain connected to the centre of the Church in fidelity and loyalty. We responded to his request with enthusiasm.

Indeed frontier-oriented people and centre-oriented people need to work together for health of the Church:

We need centre-oriented people. They will prevent us from ignoring our perennial tradition, from scattering in many directions, and diluting our identity as Church. They will make sure that the Church’s moral ideals are presented unambiguously and without compromise; that there are clear boundaries between those who belong and those who don’t. But if unchecked, people of this tendency could easily become intransigent. The Church would become rigid and lifeless, a museum piece, a small minority without impact, its hierarchical structures brittle and inflexible, its teachings seen as irrelevant, nothing more than another take it or leave it item in the endless cafeteria line which our culture has become.

We need frontier-oriented people. They will keep the Church’s perennial tradition alive, renewing itself, responding to new challenges. They want to keep the Church pastorally effective and open to the surprises of the Spirit, which can come from any direction. Their contribution is important because Church leaders, caught up in an administrative maelstrom, have often been and will be risk-averse. At times they need prodding and encouragement. But if unchecked, people of this tendency would lead us towards a wishy-washy Church without clear identity, which too readily responds to superficial and ephemeral trends currently active in our culture. It would have nothing of substance to offer, especially to young people, many of whom have become disaffected. (Cf. Note 1)

Both sides tend to pick and choose their favourite doctrines. Centre-people sometimes belittle newer and more innovative teachings of the Church, such as those on social justice, and advocate various litmus tests based especially on areas around sex and reproduction, to separate out those who they think really belong in our eucharistic assembly and those who don’t. Frontier-people stress advances made in the recent social teaching of the Church and collaboration with people who share similar social objectives, even if such collaborators fail to meet the litmus tests mentioned above. The quest for complementarity within the Church is a constant source of tension and suffering. We all hope that Christ and His Spirit will guide the Church and make this tension creative and healthy. But, as we know, Christ, who will be with the Church to the end, did not promise to shelter it from the struggles and ambiguities that have ever marked the human situation.

These struggles and ambiguities often come to the fore during and after ecumenical councils. As has become customary for him, Pope Benedict in his summer vacation of 2007 responded to the questions of local priests, and pointed out the even more bewildering conflicts that raged after the first ecumenical council, that of Nicaea in 325. It took over 50 years for its teaching to be generally received. By comparison with the aftermath of Nicaea, our present uncomfortable situation after Vatican II is quite tame. (Cf. Note 2)

The current world situation as we move into the third millennium makes our search for post Vatican II complementarity and pastoral impact even more urgent and challenging.

Why more urgent? Recent popes, most lately Benedict XVI in his encyclical Caritas in Veritate, have eloquently pointed out the deep disorders, ecological, economic, social, cultural, which could, if unchecked, make of our world a living hell, a hell of which we now have a foretaste.

Why more challenging? Our critical world-situation impinges on the inner life of the Church. Indeed Benedict pointed out that the period of usual turmoil after Vatican II has been heightened because of earth-shaking political events. The first event was the 1968 student revolution in Europe, which he saw as the beginning of the great cultural crisis of the West, brought on by a younger generation which had lost its hopes and its moorings. The second was the 1989 fall of the Communist regimes, which ushered in an unexpected spirit of secularism and radical scepticism.

To these I would add the 2001 9/11 tragedy. It showed us that our society, in spite of its vaunted strengths, is very fragile. Its faulty structures have spawned dangerous fundamentalisms and terrorists who have no concern for their own lives. And, to add a further dimension, we in the western Church are still in a deep crisis over the phenomenon of clerical abuse of children. Much healing has taken place, but because of very recent events we are still reeling and wondering who in the end we can trust.

So Vatican II is being received, interpreted, and implemented not in the hush of wellpadded ecclesiastical chambers but in the hurly burly of a world marked by crises and challenges of unprecedented magnitude. The aftermath of Vatican II is turbulent, but all the more reason to hope. Great things have already happened in the Church because of the Council. More great things are to come. God has only begun with his Church.

God’s work is not hasty and ill-conceived. For the Council to grow deep roots, we will need to allow ourselves to be tempered and shaped by our sufferings, patient with one another in our struggles and differences, and trusting in the God who has called us to be together.

In this year of the priest let us not forget the graces of faithful commitment to their people manifested by our priests, of whom Archbishop Hayes offers a most apt example. They are in less numerous than before, battered on all sides by complex administrative and pastoral issues, but they are persevering in their compassionate ministry and letting us know how in the midst of change the Church as founded by Christ ever perdures. Ultimately the Church is not our Church, it is that of Jesus Christ. The energy which enlivens it is not our energy but that of Christ’s Spirit. Our own plans for it, whether from the centre or from the frontiers, are of little moment. They will be subsumed, shaped, directed, molded, altered by God whose providence is beyond our comprehension. Our faith tells us that the final word will be resurrection and new life. May the example of Archbishop Hayes encourage us to be, each one in his or her own way, people of patience, reconciliation, and trust in the providence that has brought us together as God’s people, enlivened by the Spirit and helping Jesus Christ form the fulness of his Body. Thank you.

Note 1: Some drift into the ambient culture which ultimately will prove empty and make them even more disaffected. Others seek traditions and practices, which though helpful, lack the fulness and balance of the tradition we have received from Christ. Others may identify with certain Church traditions, human and peripheral, and need to grow in their appreciation of the solid and perennial core to which these traditions point.)

Note 2: Cf. MEETING OF THE HOLY FATHER BENEDICT XVI WITH THE CLERGY OF THE DIOCESES OF BELLUNO-FELTRE AND TREVISO Church of St Justin Martyr, Auronzo di Cadore Tuesday, 24 July 2007. The transcript is found on the Vatican website: www.vatican.va. Go to the search window on the main page of that site and type in “Belluno-Feltre priests”.

©Jean-Marc Laporte, S.J.
Nov 14, 2009

THE WEDDING FEAST AT CANA, ONE OF THE THREE EPIPHANIES OF CHRIST

2010-01-17T17:18:00.006-04:00

Three mysteries of the life of Christ are united together in the liturgy of the Church: the visit of the three wise men, the baptism of Christ, and the wedding feast at Cana. They are part of the epiphany understood more broadly as the public manifestation of the truth proclaimed at Christmas: the birth of Jesus means God becoming human so that we human beings can become sharers in the mystery of God.

The Christmas scene is a private one, with Mary, Joseph, a few shepherds from the neighbourhood, and some domestic animals as its only witnesses. (1) The visit and adoration by the wise men from the east point out to us that the birth of Jesus is a blessing not just for a chosen few, but for the entire human race. (2) The baptism of Jesus is a manifestation to Jesus himself and to those around him that He is the well-beloved Son, and that He is fully anointed by the Spirit for his mission. (3) In the wedding feast at Cana Jesus, beckoned by his Mother, manifests himself, reveals his glory. He shows himself to be the one in whom God is married to humanity and humanity to God, in an intimate embrace way beyond that of the marriage bed.

The Gospels have a global historical value, and there is no reason to doubt that Jesus actually performed such a miracle at some point during his public career. But John tells this incident with a beautiful complexity of symbolically evocative details, details with a deep religious meaning designed to help us on our journey towards salvation. It is that meaning that we need to ponder within our hearts.

God and the chosen people are to be wedded, as the first reading of the 2nd Sunday of Ordinary Time (cycle C) tells us. But the chosen people is not just Israel, called back from the Babylonian exile. Every human being is chosen, every one is beloved of God.

The bridegroom in the story is the one who regulates the wine at the wedding feast. But the real bridegroom is Jesus, who, unknown to the bridegroom in the story, has a profound impact on the celebration, making sure that the festivities will be even more joyful and intense with the high quality wine which he has miraculously provided. In effect, at Mary's prompting, Christ shows himself as the bridegroom who is married to the Church, and, beyond that, God as the bridegroom who is married to His chosen people, a people not divided by artificial boundaries of faith, culture, race, condition of being.

The new wine brings greater intensity and joy to those celebrating this wedding feast. Water is essential for us to survive, yes, but the wine into which Jesus transforms the water brings us far beyond mere survival. God wants a fulness of joy and celebration for every human being. That is our final destiny.

When prompted by his mother, Jesus tells her that his hour has not yet come. He is just at the beginning of his public ministry. But she knows that he will act, and he does. He transforms water into wine as a symbol of what he will do at the end of his public ministry. Then and only then will his hour come. At the last supper he will transform wine into his own blood poured out for our salvation, and in the passion and death fully manifest his glorious identity. Jesus says yes to her without engaging in an act which would be premature at the beginning of his ministry. Everything in its right time and place. At the beginning of his ministry he transforms water poured into the jars into wine poured into the goblets of the wedding guests, at the end of his ministry wine for the celebration of the passover feast into his blood poured out for our salvation.

Let us continue to discern the signs of intensity and joy as we live our lives. These signs are abundant and are a foretaste of what God has in store for us. Of course they are present in the moments of celebration which punctuate our lives. But the second reading of the Second Sunday of Ordinary time (cycle C) bids us find them in the outpouring of the gifts of the Spirit into our communities of faith. Let us also look there and rejoice that we are destined for the fulness of the Spirit.

REFLECTIONS ON CHRISTMAS 2009

2009-12-24T17:12:00.003-04:00

This is my first Christmas in Halifax, and I am privileged to spend it in St. Patrick's parish which has welcomed my priestly ministry. The midnight mass will be in the usual grand style, but tomorrow will be a special treat for me, because we have an enthusiastic and gifted African choir to lead us in songs in various African languages, in French, and in English. This reminds me of the blessed time I spent in Nairobi in 1992. Jesus is indeed a universal saviour!

Here is my midnight mass homily, if you are interested:

A SERMON FOR CHRISTMAS 2009

During the four weeks of the advent season we have been reminded that we are part of a human race that too often finds itself in a land of deep darkness. In the words of Isaiah, we have longed for a great light, a saviour from God to break the rod of the oppressor and bring us peace. But in what form does this saviour come to us? I can already hear the answer on your lips: as a vulnerable and helpless infant: that is the familiar story of Christmas retold to us in the words of Luke’s gospel which we have just heard.

We will return to that story in a moment, but note the saviour in Isaiah also comes as a child: “For a child has been born for us, a son given to us, who is named Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace”. The one who is born a helpless infant will mature as a human being, and his mission will be to usher in endless peace. These words can be applied to Jesus.

Thus Isaiah’s words naturally lead us into the story told by Luke. That story covers the whole range of human experience, from poverty, marginalization and fragility, to glory, peace and joy. Joseph and Mary lived in a land of oppression, and they had to submit to the harsh Roman edict which forced them to undertake a perilous journey they would have avoided, especially because the birth of Mary’s child was imminent. Excluded from the inn, they ended up in a shelter for domestic animals, and their child, once born, was laid in a feeding trough which they had cleaned out, lined with fresh straw, so that it might serve as a crib.

But this birth was bathed in an extraordinary atmosphere of serenity, joy, love, and trust in the marvelous workings of God. These virtues are at the heart of the human quest for liberation and world peace. The emperor Caesar Augustus, mentioned at the beginning of this gospel reading, ushered in a period of peace through warlike means, but this period of peace was soon shattered by renewed conflict and violence in the Roman Empire, which eventually broke down. The peace we seek and which Jesus provides for us is a lasting peace, which is possible only because he has turned our hearts towards God.

As we reflect on Luke’s story, let us pay special attention today to the shepherds living in the fields and keeping watch over their flocks by night.

First, together with Mary and Zechariah, they were the recipients of an angelic visitation. In the first two cases, the visitor was the Angel Gabriel. In this case the Angel is without name. These angels are bearers of good news, of an event which, in the case of Mary and Zechariah, will take place, of an event which, in the case of the shepherds, is now taking place. In all three visitations the Angel offered a sign to prove that their message is true. The sign for the shepherds was the unexpected event of finding a child wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.

This sign is most appropriate. If we go by what most Jews of Jesus’ time longed for and imagined, the Saviour should have appeared as a powerful warrior heading an invincible army that would rout the Romans, or as a noble person of wisdom acclaimed for his clever pronouncements by the intellectuals of the day. But what did the shepherds find? A tiny child born in utter destitution, kept warm by the breath of the domestic animals huddled in the shelter, fragile, vulnerable, but yet tenderly loved by his mother and foster father. A tiny child laid in a manger, a feeding trough, which reminds us that his flesh would become food for the life of the world.

The choice of shepherds to be the first recipients of the good news that the Saviour is born this day is most appropriate as well. We easily romanticize the shepherds of first century Judaea. They are quite unlike the shepherds which are part of the decor of our Christmas cribs. These sculpted shepherds are dressed in their Sunday best, and one imagines that they took a bath before appearing before the Christ Child, and made sure that the sheep they brought along with them were properly groomed, like dogs entered in a dog show. But in reality their clothing was ragged and dirty, their odor a combination of ripe body sweat and the pungent smell of the sheep they cared for. Like Jesus, Mary, and Joseph in the animal shelter, they were deprived of a comfortable place to stay, spending day and night in the fields. Who would have a similar experience in our own time? We can imagine farmers eking out a living in parts of Africa often devastated by drought, or refugees living in primitive camps with inadequate food, shelter, or sanitation, waiting for their chance to find a new home, maybe after many years, maybe never. These are the shepherds who today would be chosen to receive the message of Jesus’ birth and to be present as he began his infant life.

When the time comes for God to make known the presence of the Saviour, the first to know is not King Herod, or the scribes and pharisees, religious leaders well versed in religious doctrine, but these shepherds. Salvation comes to those who experience poverty, who are not burdened with riches which take up all the space in their hearts and leave no room for Jesus to be born for them.

Before going to the manger to discover their newly born Saviour, the shepherds witnessed yet another manifestation of God’s loving power. Together with the Angel, a multitude of the heavenly host sang out “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those whom he favours.” Not the empty glory of tanks, jet fighters, military bravado, not the empty glory of the false abundance which clutters up our Christmas celebration, with so many deprived of basic essentials, not the empty glory of those media stars whose message to us is superficial and even misleading, but the glory which arises when love is fully manifest. It is not a glory which we bestow upon ourselves, as some political leaders try to do upon themselves. It is the glory of God’s favour and the peace which God brings through his Son, who is indeed the Prince of Peace.

The song of the angels is a privileged moment which reveals God’s glory. So often in our lives, marked by frustration and struggle, this glory is hidden from us, but when we celebrate Eucharist and together sing “Glory to God in the highest”, we know that glory is secretly at work in our hearts, our lives, our communities, that it will burst forth in fulness when Jesus returns to bring us to the house of our Heavenly Father.

ADVENT: THE THREE COMINGS OF CHRIST

2009-12-12T23:05:00.002-04:00

(This is a continuation of the last blog on Advent.)

Two of the three comings are very easily detected in the liturgical texts of advent. One of them is uppermost in the minds and hearts of all of us, and it is reflected in the hymns, images and symbols that surround us at this time. It is the first coming of Jesus, his coming in poverty some two thousand years ago to be our Saviour. The cribs we put up in our churches and our homes is its evocative symbol. We will begin there.

Many of the texts of the Advent liturgy invite us to reenact the long journey of the chosen people as they waited for the coming of the one who would save them. How often we have savoured the beautiful prophecies the Church proposes for us as readings during Advent, especially those from Isaiah. We get a taste of them in the Sunday liturgies, but there are as well so many beautiful texts of this kind in the weekday liturgies. They point to the Saviour's coming and to God's decisive intervention to set things right, and for us Christians they set the stage for the humble entry of God incarnate in our world, which was the beginning of God's decisive intervention on our behalf. As we move further into the season of Advent more emphasis is given to this first coming, to the stories of immediate preparation for the birth of Jesus, especially those found in Luke's gospel, and also to stories about John the Baptist, who earliest years are also featured in Luke's gospel, but who later prepared the way for Jesus' public ministry as Messiah. The tone is warm, intimate, familial. And as Christians we believe that when we contemplate any scene of Christ's earthly life, what happens is not simply an empty memorial. Jesus is really there to meet us and to grace us in our prayer. So the birth of Christ in Bethlehem is not a hazy event of the past which we try to clothe with vividness in our imagination: in a mystical but real way the event happens all over again for us, we relive it, and share in its graces.

But if one looks at many of the texts proposed by the Church for Advent, they have two meanings. There are two comings. What the chosen people expected was the end of the world, the beginnings of the new heaven and the new earth, the coming of the Messiah, and that is the way they read the prophetic texts from the Hebrew Scriptures the Church features in Advent. We have the same expectation and understand these texts the same way, but there is a key difference: for us there are two comings of Christ, the first one which has already occurred, in poverty and humility, which our Jewish brothers and sisters do not acknowledge, the second one in majesty and power, where the reign of God inaugurated in the first coming is definitively established and we are ushered into the new heaven and the new earth. This second coming is highlighted in the first weeks of Advent, which continue the end of the world emphasis of the last weeks of ordinary time.

We are not really expecting the first coming any more. It has already taken place in history. But we are delighted to re-enact it each year, and to receive the beautiful graces which the Lord has in store for us as we relive it. We are, however, expecting the second coming, in which all the hidden graces of the first coming, the love and the vulnerability shown by Jesus from his birth to his death on the cross, are shown to be what they really are: a glorious manifestation of God's real power, a power which does not oppress and dominate us, but sets us free and enables us to be our real selves.

The texts of Advent take us in two directions simultaneously, but these two directions are profoundly linked. The first and the second coming go together. The first coming is a preparation for the second coming. The essential grace is already found in the first coming: Emmanuel, God present to us. But God's power is mostly hidden to us, functioning under the guise of vulnerability and compassion. The second coming is the fulfillment of the first coming. What was hidden becomes fully known under the guise of majesty and glory and power. That is when the seeds of new life deeply planted in us when Christ is born in our hearts will fully transform our fragile and weak selves and our topsy turvy world. In other words our life is shaped by the already now of the first coming and the not yet of the second coming. We live in hope, and that is the key virtue pointed out to us during this holy season of Advent.

Let us summarize what we have been saying in the words of the first preface of Advent:

When he humbled himself to come among us as a human being, he fulfilled the plan you formed long ago and opened for us the way to salvation.

Now we watch for the day, hoping that the salvation promised us will be ours when Christ our Lord will come again in his glory.

This preface says it simply and profoundly, and there is no need for us to further delve into first and the second coming.

However in the title of this talk we refer to the three comings of Christ. What have we missed? Let us paraphrase St. Bernard, a great monk and theologian of the 12th century. His text, in the office of readings during the first week of Advent, gives a clear explanation of yet another coming:

We know that there are three comings of the Lord. The third lies between the other two. It is invisible, while the other two are visible. In the first coming he was seen on earth, dwelling among human beings; he himself testifies that they saw him and many hated him. In the final coming all flesh will see the salvation of our God, and they will look on him whom they pierced. The intermediate coming is a hidden one; in it only those on the path to God see the Lord within their own selves, and they experience salvation. In his first coming our Lord came in our flesh and in our weakness; in this middle coming he comes in spirit and in power; in the final coming he will be seen in glory and majesty.

So from this text we see that this coming, not referred to as clearly in the Advent liturgy as the first two, is found between the first and the second. It is invisible. Indeed it is a series of comings within our inmost hearts in the course of our earthly lives. Jesus comes to us with his challenges and his empowerment, his invitations and his consolation. His comings are subtle, and we can easily miss them. We need to be ever alert, because we do not know the time nor the hour of our visitation. Let us continue with Bernard:

In case someone should think that what we say about this middle coming is sheer invention, listen to what our Lord himself says: If anyone loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him... Where is God's word to be kept? Obviously in the heart, as the prophet says: I have hidden your words in my heart, so that I may not sin against you.

Keep God's word in this way. Let it enter into your very being, let it take possession of your desires and your whole way of life...Your soul will delight in its richness. Fill your soul with richness and strength.

Because this coming lies between the other two, it is like a road on which we travel from the first coming to the last. In the first, Christ was our redemption; in the last, he will appear as our life; in this middle coming, he is our rest and consolation.

If you keep the word of God in this way, it will also keep you. The Son with the Father will come to you. The great Prophet who will build the new Jerusalem will come, the one who makes all things new. This coming will fulfill what is written: As we have borne the likeness of the earthly man, we shall also bear the likeness of the heavenly man. Just as Adam's sin spread through all humankind and took hold of all, so Christ, who created and redeemed all, will glorify all, once he takes possession of all.

This intermediate coming is really a series of many comings in the course of our daily lives. They prepare us for the final coming of Christ who will take possession of all and glorify all. We are like the virgins who wait for the Master's coming with their lamps trimmed, not knowing the hour. If we learn to detect the signs of his coming in our daily lives, we will be all the more ready to discern his presence in the end-time events.

So Advent is not just a way for us to remember and to reenact the Lord's first coming in the weakness of human flesh and to remind ourselves that He will come again in the glory of risen flesh. It is also a way for us learn how to focus our minds, to sharpen our attention, so that we might discern the numerous and often subtle reminders of his presence on our path here below, foretastes of what is to come. Indeed our lives are strewn with reminders of his presence, nudges and invitations to ready ourselves for when he returns in glory. The first coming is in the past; the second in the future; between them He continually comes to us in our lives, pointing us in the direction of his final coming.

Here are two questions which may stimulate our further prayer and reflection: What role does the second coming play in our Advent observance, and how well do we detect the continual signs of the comings of the Lord in our daily life? What would be signs of his presence?

ADVENT: WHO IS BORROWING FROM WHOM?

2009-12-02T19:56:00.002-04:00

(This blog is part of a reflection on Advent which I gave at St. Agnes' Parish in Halifax NS. I offer it for those who may be interested.

J-M Laporte S.J.

ADVENT: WHO IS BORROWING FROM WHOM?

By taking part in this Saturday event we are a source of strength and hope for one another, because we are witnesses to one another of our Christian commitment. We are not isolated individuals, together we form a community of believers. Let us begin by acknowledging that fact and rejoicing in it.

The Church to which we belong always lives in a surrounding culture, with which it has no choice but to interact. The Church is essentially the same down through the centuries and in all parts of the world, but often its practices and observances take on different hues and feelings because the culture of the people is different. This applies to Advent and Christmas. Christmas feels different in Vietnam, Argentina, Canada, Slovakia, Italy, and so on. The Church in different areas constantly borrows from the ambient culture, taking from it values, festivals, patterns of behaviour, transforming them to make its own liturgies and religious observances more attractive and accessible to the people. But the Church is also counter-cultural: it can take strong stands against certain aspects of the surrounding culture. An example of the this is the strong stance of the Church against the general atmosphere of permissiveness regarding right to life in our own culture. But that is not our theme today.

The process of borrowing works in the other direction as well. The culture sometimes takes religious festivals and observances of the Church and uses them for its own ends. So parallel to our preparation for the religious feast of Christmas we are more and more caught up in the advertising-driven hullabaloo of preparing for another festival, whose point is not to acclaim the saviour of the world but to get people to open up their purses and worship the golden calf of commercialism. The festival of Christmas fills us with a sense of wonder and hope. The coinciding commercial festival, without the safeguard of genuine religious observance, will in the long run leave us with a sense of emptiness.

An example of the first kind of borrowing, the Church borrowing from the culture, relates to the liturgical cycle we are about to begin, that of Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany.

The Gospels do not tell us when Jesus was born. They give us an idea of the year, which may be either 4 or 6 BC. But they tell us nothing that will help us determine the date. The birth of Jesus is a momentous event in the history of the world that Christians want to remember and celebrate yearly. But on what date? The early Church grew in the Roman Empire, and there were many religious traditions floating around in that complex world. One of them was the celebration each year of the Unconquered Sun (Sol Invictus). As you know December 21 is the shortest day of the year. But from that day onwards, the sun begins to increase its hours of presence each day. The Sun appeared to be on the way to its demise, but it begins to increase in strength and presence. So it made a lot of sense for the Church to choose December 25th, a high point of this pagan celebration, for its own celebration of the birth of Christ, who is the unconquered light of the world. Christians would feel comfortable with this choice of date, and over the centuries it has worked beautifully in all areas of the world. At the same time many other pagan traditions, coming mainly from the barbarian tribes who took over the Western Roman Empire, were also transformed by Christianity, and we enjoy wreaths, candles, and Christmas trees and other such symbols. They are less universal than the date of Christmas, but nonetheless have been widely adopted.

We have mentioned the other kind of borrowing, in which the culture borrows from the Church. Christmas began as a religious feast, and it was considered so important that a period of preparation for it, known as Advent, emerged in the practice of the Church. There is also evidence of gift-giving as a practice of this pre-Christian period of celebration. Indeed gift-giving is part of the Christmas story: for instance we all know the beautiful story of the three wise men who came to Jesus with their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

As I researched the origins of Christmas gift-giving on the web, the first site that Google gave me was a site set up to promote Hershey and Ghirardelli chocolate. That says it all. I have nothing against Hershey bars and chocolate from the Ghirardelli company in San Francisco. To be honest chocolate is for me an easy entry into my own version of gluttony. But the point I wish to make is that our culture, which is highly commercialized, has commandeered our religious festival and made of it an occasion for people to spend money which often they do not have. To give simple gifts as a token of our love and our family bonds is wonderful. But it is not wonderful to be constantly battered by advertising which creates artificial needs, makes us feel guilty when we spend less, lays before us an illusory world of beautiful and wonderful things we can buy on credit. It is a travesty. The material gift becomes the focus rather than the spiritual relationship which it expresses and nurtures.

Santa Claus, based on the stories around Saint Nicholas, a third century bishop who lived in what is present-day Turkey, has become the focal point of this commercial celebration, with parades which over the decades have taken place earlier and earlier because the season of sales can be prolonged and revenues increased. Gift-giving is great, but when does gift-giving cease to be the expression of one’s heart-felt commitment to those we love and become an empty gesture which often we cannot afford?

I am sure that you know many traditional Christmas carols. If you study their words, you will find in them profound and poetic expressions of the mystery we celebrate. It is worth taking them as themes for our prayer. They lead us into the religious significance of the feast we prepare for during Advent and celebrate at Christmas and Epiphany. They warm our hearts and make us responsive to God’s grace. But commercial Christmas is a secular feast, and a different set of Christmas songs has developed, the jingle of which encourages the jingle of cash in our pockets available for purchases.

So you can see that borrowing can take place in two different directions, from Church to culture, and from culture to Church, and we have to be discerning as Christians in properly preparing for and celebrating Christmas. We cannot avoid entering to some extent into the practices of commercial Christmas, but let us not get sucked into them. Part of our preparation will be shopping lists, the search for sales, the wrapping of presents, strings of sparkling lights, mistletoe, mulled wine, and so on. And within proper limits, that is good. But at heart our preparation ought to be a religious one.

Thoughts around Thanksgiving

2009-10-27T11:01:00.001-03:00

Thanksgiving is the most uncelebrated celebration in our Church's calendar. Gratitude is a portal by which all other graces of one's spiritual life are given. It is the quintessential grace of persons whose basic life option is to love God first above all other possible loves. There is no love of God without gratitude. St. Ignatius goes so far as to name 'ingratitude towards our loving God' as humanity's first sin. It is critical for us to notice the primacy of gratitude as a focus in our daily Awareness Examen. We human beings are regrettably slow to acknowledge God as our first love, in a life freely given.

In scholarly reflections on the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius Loyola we find several 'catch phrases' that attempt to précis its essence. One easily identifiable axiom is 'Finding God in all things'. Another complementary maxim is 'All is grace'. Indeed, all life is a grace. Each and every aspect of human life - every molecule of it - is inebriated with the loving Presence of God - of God, no less! God redeems our human life and permeates us with heartfelt awareness that we are infinitely loved although sinful. We are, like the Lord Jesus Christ, members of God's eternal family, if we but choose to accept the gift!

What is God's first gift if not the salvation of our humanity? It is written that 'God so loved the world that he gave to us his only begotten Son Jesus to save the world and not condemn it.' [Jn. 3:16] St. Paul writes that 'for those who love God all things work for the good... and that nothing can separate us from God's love.' [Rm. 8: 28, 35] These words inspire the aching parched heart of any person thirsting for life's true purpose!

The core meaning and centrality of gratitude to a healthy spiritual life is further highlighted with a story. The Masi tribe of the Sudan, East Africa, have an unusual way to give thanks. They bow and put their foreheads to the ground and say before their benefactor, "My head is in the dirt." When members of another African tribe give thanks they sit before that person who gave them the favour and say, "I sit on the ground before you." Thanksgiving is an act of humility. Gratitude is kindred to humility. True gratitude is an act of one who 'stands unprotected' before life (and God), and in fact this is how we human beings are to stand. We are finite creatures who depend on a spectrum of real non-negotiable human needs like food, clothing, shelter, security, a sense of belonging to others as loved, education. I discover and nurture all that 'I am' in, with, and through a host of freely given interrelationships of love. It is not possible to earn any life gift, not one. As totally dependent but loved by God in spite of our sinfulness, we cannot but live with hands open to other persons

Who I am is who I am before God. God invites me to live every moment of every day, so as to awaken with heartfelt knowledge my unique individuality as the beloved of God. God awaits my response to this sublime reality. God's pure and unconditional donation is not only God's gift, but God in person. God gives us Jesus Christ, God-made-human for us. Thanksgiving is a womb-like 'sacred space' in which we allow God to be God for us. God is permitted to self-reveal thereby fulfilling God's dream that every human being live united in a community of loving persons no less than God lives as Trinity.

Wow, I am left breathless but not without a sigh of gratitude!

Earl Smith, S.J.

Our mission, in Gospel terms

2009-09-23T10:08:00.002-03:00

As I was reflecting on today's Gospel (Sept 23; Lk 9-1-6) the words "he sent them out to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal" leapt out from the page. These words, and the reading as a whole, apply to the Jesuit Centre of Spirituality and its work in Atlantic Canada.

Our programmes, evening events aiming to explore faith and spirituality, as well as retreats, here in Halifax and elsewhere, attempt to fulfill this Gospel mandate. Using different approaches, we present the Word of God, with Jesus at its centre, and we want to allow that Word to do its work, which is to heal, to help people to realize that the Lord's yoke is easy and his burdens light, to liberate them from their disorders and their anxieties. Liberation indeed is at the heart of the Ignatian spirituality we practice.

There is another aspect highlighted by the reading. Jesus told his apostles to take nothing for their journey. They are to depend not on the plentiful resources they control but on the generosity of others. This is real poverty, it is scary, and it applies to us as well. We are obviously poor in human resources with only two Jesuits on staff, with a number of devoted volunteers, and we are poor financially and administratively. But in a mysterious way, our poverty can make us authentic and effective as ministers of the Gospel. That is the prayer this text inspires in me.

What does it all mean.....

2009-08-26T15:52:00.002-03:00

I have been here in Halifax since February and my earlier blogs have let you in on my active life in caring for the Spirituality Centre. A swirl of concerns, plans, anxieties, challenges have kept my mind very busy, and evoked in me complex emotional reactions, both positive and negative. I now need to step back and reflect on my experience from a spiritual point of view, and, given my role as the director of a spirituality centre, to share what I have learned with others, in the hope that what I have to say will open up for them a space of reflection. I hope this blog is a good way to do that.

This assignment (I had been in Toronto for well over forty years ) is far from what I had anticipated and planned for the seventh decade of my life. After many years of heavy administrative work, I had thought of a leisurely return to what was my deep desire, to teach theology. This would give me time to develop the more contemplative side of my life, to open myself to the gift of wisdom which has become increasingly precious to me. But I am just as busy as I have always been. with many administrative details taking up my energy and my attention, juggling many balls, and occasionally dropping one of them. My memory, especially short-term, is not what it used to be. I continue to be mostly Martha with precious little Mary. What does it all mean?

My reflection and prayer during all this has been somewhat fitful and scattered, but still there are moments of Elijah-like enlightenment., of gentle breeze in the midst of the wind and earthquake. The main point that has come across to me is that it is not necessary for me to understand what it all means. Whatever understanding I may achieve is at best limited. God knows me better than I know myself, and if a continuation of the punishing pace of recent decades is what God judges best for me to help others and become more fully who I am to be, so be it. So I rest confident not because I understand the meaning of my life but because God understands it. Psalm 139 (O God you have searched me and you know me...") says it best.

All may seem fragile, disconnected, and I fail to know whether what I doing will have lasting results. The thread that uphold me and the enterprises close to my heart, the Spirituality Centre and St. Patrick's parish, is very strong one, and if ever it breaks God is there to welcome me and what I worked to accomplish. Within the scope of His purpose, my success or my failure will be a building block of his plan.

At this point the Our Father is an especially powerful prayer. What I pray for is not my kingdom, my will, but that of God. That is the only thing that matters. And I pray not for a supply of bread that will last me for months, years, decades, so that I may feel confident as I approach the future, but for enough bread, enough light, enough energy to carry me through to the next day, the next phase of what the Lord has in store for me. God will prosper the work of my hands.

Poised and Ready to Go...

2009-08-14T19:53:00.002-03:00

My time away from Halifax (mid June to mid July) was rmost restful and productive. I gave a retreat in French to a group of my Jesuit colleagues from the French Canada province. This was a new venture for me, because I gave the whole retreat extemporaneously from notes rather than read texts. Felt affirmed by the results. I feel more confident as a bilingual person. The theme of the retreat was the humanness of Christ, a rich theme that I will develop in a series of evenings in the early spring. Then I visited family (Montreal, Quebec City, Chicoutimi, Edmundston), spend some time with the Trappists in Rogersville to renew myself, and finally came back to Halifax.

Programming for the 2009-2010 season was completed before my departure, as evidenced by this web-site and the brochure which has been printed and will begin to be circulated very soon. (If you want one, send us an e-mail with your name and address at registrar@jesuitspirit.ca).

The challenge now is marketing and development. We have a wonderful facility on Brunswick St., and we need to use it more effectively. The issue for us will be how many people come to our programmes and find new life and new insights in them. One of the main ways for us to become known more widely is the Magis award, which was announced last year, and will be given for the first time on November 14. Keep posted. You will soon know who the recipient is, and I am sure that many of you know him. One hint: Pope Benedict XVI has declared this year to be the year of the priest, and our recipient will help us highlight some of the wonderful things we have grown to expect from our priests.

So poised and ready to go, but not before we have the sense that enough people are back from their time away and are ready to concentrate on the year ahead and what they might do. We invite them to include the Jesuit Centre of Spirituality in their plans.

Getting organized for 2009-2010

2009-06-14T16:53:00.002-03:00

As incoming director, this is my first cycle of preparation for a new year at the Jesuit Centre of Spirituality, beginning in September 2009. This has a difficult task for me, which involved creating new programmes and renewing old ones, marketing them, and making sure that our financial base is secure. But the help of many friends, some of whom are faithful volunteers at the Centre, have made this task not only possible, but also into a work of faith, hope, and love.

Getting the job done is a source of great satisfaction to me, but realizing that I was not alone in taking on this task, that all sorts of people were enthusiastic and ready to help, has given me a sense of enthusiasm as we face a future not without its challenges. The friends and supporters which George Leach our founding director enlisted are still on board. Thank God for that!

We trust that the programmes we have scheduled will meet needs you have expressed, and be in conformity with our own Ignatian charism. As we continue, we will be able to refine and adjust and perhaps open up new horizons in our service of the people of the Atlantic provinces. We are few, and limited in our time and energy, but what we do we do with a grateful heart. We may add some programmes for this year -- they will be posted in the usual places on the web-site and we will notify our list of participants actual and potential.

A rousing memorial for George Leach

2009-04-24T11:29:00.001-03:00

On the evening of the 23rd of April, the Church of St.Patrick in Halifax was absolutely filled with those who wanted to pay tribute to and remember George. There were over 600 people, with standing room only. The service, which began with evening prayer, included six testimonials, and ended with the Eucharist, went very well, and there is nothing like a church filled with full-throated song.

What struck me was the variety and solidity of friendships George had developed over his life, many of them going back to his childhood, and others to the earlier years of his priestly ministry. Once a friend, always a friend: George kept in touch. Many people wanted to be at the memorial service but sent a message instead, and at times from a great distance. But they were there in spirit.

The people there were from all walks of life. What I found remarkable is that a good number of the homeless and destitute people who live in our neighborhood came in and participated in the service. George was especially present to them during his years in Halifax.

The organization of the service was quite complex, and at times, as George's replacement as sacramental priest for St. Patirck's parish, I was wondering how many cooks the broth could sustain. But there is a lot of talent and generosity in the parish, and things came together very nicely. I have a sneaking suspicion that from his new vantage point George was enjoying the service, with a chuckle now and then at something which caught his attention, maybe my own discovery -- which at times took me aback -- of what it means to work in a parish context.

May God be praised for all of this!

Death of Fr. George Leach

2009-04-17T11:51:00.000-03:00

Before Easter Sunday morning Fr. George passed away in his sleep. He was our founding director, and had been assigned to a new position in Toronto, as Rector of Regis College, in charge of the formation of young Jesuits in their last years of study for the priesthood. George and I are the same age. He was transferred to Toronto after 12 years in Halifax, and I to to Halifax after 44 years in Toronto. The Lord took him and left me behind to care for the Jesuit Center of Spirituality which he nurtured in its early years. May I receive the grace to be faithful to the community of supporters of the JCS, many of whom are friends of his over many years.

A death like this one looms large. The funeral in Toronto went very well, I am told, and we are planning two events in Halifax, a remembrance event in the parish with which George was associated off and on over recent years, St. Patrick's (Sunday Apr 19, 11.30 am), and a more formal memorial service and mass (Thursday Apr 23, 7.00 pm, also at St. Pat's). I am beginning to realize the wide roots which George had in this community, the depth of mourning of many people who shared his life here.

May the Risen Lord welcome him. He preached the word in season and out of season, helped many persons and communities be sensitive to the Spirit in their lives, and led the community in prayer. May he share fully the banquet of eternal life which is foreshadowed by the Eucharist which he celebrated so often.