For this week’s homily please play the video below:
Martin Schongauer, “Bust of a Man in a Hat Gazing Upward”, ca. 1480-90 (The Met)
J.M.J.
There’s only one place I want to be.
On the Cross with my good Christ.
Strange. Odd. Uncomfortable to admit.
The Cross is where I want to be.
The Cross is where I feel free.
The thought of being lifted up high.
The chance to be in pain.
With Him Whom I still don’t know.
To want it to never stop.
To not understand a single thing.
To be burned alive.
I can only call it love.
Yes. So be it. It’s Your command.
The Cross is where I want to be.
The Cross is where I am free.
The Cross is where I encounter love.
Yes, Lord Jesus.
Let me hang with You.
If only for a while.
My sins and those of all the world.
Added to the funeral pile.
Howard Hain is a contemplative layman, husband, and father. He blogs at http://www.howardhain.com
Follow Howard on Twitter @HowardDHain
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To listen to the audio of today’s homily please select file below:
Some years ago I went to Rome to visit churches. One was the Church of Saint John Lateran.
Churches have stories, which is especially true of St. John Lateran. It’s the first of the great Christian churches built by the Emperor Constantine after coming to power early in the 4th century. He gave Christians freedom to practice their religion throughout the Roman empire. He also built them churches and St. John Lateran was the first of the many he built. At its entrance is an inscription, “The mother of churches”; it’s been there for 1500 years.
The church, holding 10,000 people, was dedicated around 320 AD. Rome’s Christians must have been thrilled as they entered it.. Many were persecuted or has seen relatives, friends or other believers jailed or put to death during the reign of Diocletian, before Constantine.
Now, a new emperor honored them by building a church, a great Christian church, that everyone in Rome could see. He built it on property belonging to enemies of his, the Laterani family, which is why it’s called St. John Lateran. It’s situated on the southeastern edge of the city, away from the Roman Forum, because Constantine didn’t want to antagonize followers of the traditional religions. Still, the Lateran church was a sign that Christianity had arrived.
Before this, throughout the Roman empire, Christians had no churches but met in ordinary homes or small buildings. In Rome itself there were about 25 homes where they met and worshipped.
That in itself made people wonder about them. Why didn’t Christians participate in public rites and religious sacrifices conducted for the good of the empire, as good Romans did? What kind of religion was this anyway, people said? They’re godless, atheists. The 2nd century pagan writer Celsus saw them plotting rebellion, these “ people who cut themselves off and isolate themselves from others.” (Origen, Contra Celsum,8,2)
So, the building of the church of St. John Lateran was a signal of changing times. After centuries meeting apart in homes and small community settings, Christians now gathered as one great family.
That’s what churches do; they bring people together as one body, one family, one people. That’s how Paul described the church in his Letter to the Romans: “As in one body we have many members, and all the members do not have the same function, so we, though many, are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another.” (Romans12, 4-5)
An important part of the church of Saint John Lateran is its baptistery, a large building connected to the church itself, worn and patched, as you would expect from a building over 1500 years old. You can still see bricks from Constantine’s time. This is where for centuries Romans have been baptized. Conveniently, it’s built over a Roman bath, for a good supply of water for baptism. The church is called St. John Lateran because St. John the Baptist is one of its patrons, along with St. John the Evangelist. A beautiful Latin inscription is over the big baptismal basin and fount.
Those bound for heaven are born here,
born from holy seed by the Spirit moving on these waters.
Sinners enter this sacred stream and receive new life.
No differences among those born here,
they’re one, sharing one Spirit and one faith.
The Spirit gives children to our Mother, the Church, in these waters.
So be washed from your own sins and those of your ancestors.
Christ’s wounds are a life-giving fountain washing the whole world.
The kingdom of heaven is coming, eternal life is coming.
Don’t be afraid to come and be born a Christian.
One last thing about St. John Lateran, which many people don’t know. It’s the pope’s church. From the time of Constantine till the 15th century, the popes as leaders of the Church of Rome resided next to this church. Then, they moved to the Vatican, where they live today.
Celebrating the dedication of a church, as we are doing today, reminds us how important church buildings are for teaching us our faith. God speaks to us in our churches, God comes to us in our churches.
“Do you not know that you are the temple of God,
and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?” St. Paul says.
“If anyone destroys God’s temple,
God will destroy that person;
for the temple of God, which you are, is holy.”
by Orlando Hernandez
This Wednesday’s Gospel is from the section of Luke’s Chapter 14 that tells about what will be demanded of a follower of Jesus. I wonder how many people remained in the “Great crowds” after hearing what Jesus expected of them!
“ and He turned and addressed them, ‘If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.’” (Lk 14:25-27)
Jesus goes on to tell them of the builder, and the king marching into battle who do not have what it takes to succeed. What does it take to make it as a disciple of Christ? How does a disciple of Christ keep his or her “taste” like good salt? (Lk 14: 34-35) The Lord says in todays Gospel: “everyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple.” (Lk 14: 33)
The Lord presents these challenges all over the Gospel of Luke. For example: in chapter 9: 57-62, The Conditions of Discipleship; in chapter 8: 11-15, The Parable of the Sower; in chapter 6: 20-26, the Sermon on the Plain; and in chapter 18: 18-30, the story of the rich official who wants to follow Him. After the rich official leaves disappointed, the disciples ask Jesus: “Then who can be saved?”
Over the last few weeks I have been talking with leaders of prayer groups, evangelization brotherhoods, Knights of Columbus, Passionist Associate Directors. At some point or another they would complain sadly about how the majority of the members are not coming to the meetings. Their excuses are similar to those cited by the Gospel: “I had to work late at the business.”, “My husband wants me home.”, “I have to take the kids to soccer.”, “I’m so tired, the boss is giving me a hard time.”, and so on….. The initial enthusiasm , the taste of salt, seems to be fading, the light on the lamp stand getting dimmer. I often find myself falling into this darkening. Please Lord, don’t let me go!
How exclusive, really, is this fellowship with the Lord? What are the requirements after all? To be invited to the Feast of the Lord it seems to help to be part of “the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame.” (Lk 14:15-24) In the next chapter (Lk 15) we see that perhaps if you realize that you are lost in the night like that little sheep, then the Shepherd will come for you with great joy and love. Or, if you see your total poverty and foolishness, and feel true repentance, the Father will come running down the road to embrace you!
This is so much beyond my understanding. When I knew that I could not live without the Beautiful One who had revealed Himself to me, I jumped head long into His arms, without realizing what I was getting into. Was I like the unprepared builder, the understaffed king, the seed in rocky, or thorny ground? I imagine so. I have given up a lot for Him, but I fail Him so many times. I cling to so many pleasures and possessions: “What would I do without my retirement pension, or my health? I adore my grandchildren, my wife.”
Perhaps my mistake lies in that use of the word “my”. None of these things are really mine. As Christians, most of us eventually will understand that all these wonderful things are really not ours, but His, blessed be His most merciful heart! Actually, most of the people in our planet are lacking them. He tells everyone in today’s Gospel to “carry his own cross and come after me”. Come where? Where else but Calvary itself, where He lost everything, even His life. We are all headed there. Through aging, loss, or misfortune, sooner or later we will understand the total poverty of our situation. The only treasure we have is Him, not because we deserve this treasure, but because He loves us so much.
Orlando Hernandez
Jules Bastien-Lepage, “Pas Mèche (Nothing Doing)”, 1882 (Scottish National Gallery)
Stand your ground.
Be clear. Be strong.
Be kind.
Your dignity is Mine.
I planted within you “riches and honor and life.” *
Speak as heir.
Protect what’s Mine.
Truth. Beauty. Love.
These only I possess.
Handle with care.
Worry not what others say.
Listen carefully to what’s left unsaid.
My grace fills the gaps.
I send you not to give an answer.
I send you to be My Dignity.
Howard Hain is a contemplative layman, husband, and father. He blogs at www.howardhain.com
Follow Howard on Twitter @HowardDHain
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Web Link: National Galleries Scotland. Jules Bastien-Lepage, “Pas Mèche (Nothing Doing)”, 1882
* Proverbs 22:4
I hold in my hand a faded old leaf,
dry and crisp,
and I remember spring
when it was a tender lime green bud
and grass was greening and soft;
when flowers began to bloom
and birds sang again;
when the air was fresh and warm
and breezes were light and fragrant.
I think of that tiny bud
growing into a bright mature leaf;
of spring turning to summer,
of birds nests filled with eggs,
then babies chirping.
I think of the leaf maturing in summer’s heat
and soft grass growing tough and resistant.
Now the leaves have turned to autumn colors
and soon the trees will be bare,
resting in winter’s arms,
waiting for the tiny green buds of spring.
Gloria Ziemienski
October 17, 2007
by Father Theodore Walsh, CP
A spiritual writer beautifully described a listening heart at prayer. “Here I am, Lord. I hear your knocking at my door, as each person or event comes across my life”. How may we grow into this listening person.
A listening heart, first of all, is a heart that is open; namely, open to the heart of God, open to the heart of another person, open to the heart of our world. As someone put it: “When you listen, check your worries at the door”.
Secondly, when we deeply listen, we are also touched by the other. We weep with those who weep, we rejoice with those who rejoice. We are listening not just to their words but also to their feelings.
Finally, a listener responds to the other. Listening is not passive but active. Sometime ago there was a middle age gentleman, who was single and had his own business. He was invited by friends on a pilgrimage. The first evening there was the rosary. During the service, a thought came to him which he never had before: “Be a Priest”. When he returned home, the thought remained with him. He sought the counsel of a priest. The priest encouraged the gentleman. In time he sold his business, his home and entered the seminary. Today he is a Passionist Priest. He had a listening heart. He was open to the word, he was touched by that word, and he responded fully to the word.
The art of listening can have many faces. For example it can be a way of ministry. How often a person might say to us: ‘Thank you for listening’.
Listening can also be a way of being ministered to. We are blessed to have a confidant or friend who is there for us.
Finally, listening is a way of prayer. How often we might see an elderly couple sitting quietly with each other. A beautiful image of the soul with God.
Speaking of prayer, we end the way we began. “Here I am, Lord. I hear your knocking at my door, as each person or event comes across my life”.
Fr. Theodore Walsh, C.P.
For this week’s homily please play the video below:
Rembrandt, “Two Women Teaching a Child to Walk”, ca. 1635-37 (red chalk on gray paper)
This day might perhaps be the most boring day of our life.
It might look a lot like yesterday.
A lot like last Friday.
A lot like last November.
Routine.
Monotony.
The daily grind.
Another peppercorn held in the mill.
Waiting its turn to be ground into dust.
Sprinkled on a paper plate.
Consumed by a ravenous world.
Never to be seen again.
Never to see the light of day.
Or perhaps we’re wrong.
Perhaps we’re chunks of crystal.
Salt from a dead sea.
Clear.
A tinge of pink.
When the light hits right.
To be sprinkled.
To preserve what’s sacred.
To give life.
Perhaps we are the salt of the earth.
Perhaps this day we shall meet some pepper.
Perhaps we’ll let God have His way.
Giving taste to what seems to so many just another day.
Howard Hain is a contemplative layman, husband, and father. He blogs at http://www.howardhain.com
Follow Howard on Twitter @HowardDHain
If you enjoyed this post, please consider “liking” it, adding a comment, becoming an email subscriber, or passing it along via the social-media links below. Your support is greatly appreciated. Step by step. All for God’s glory.
by Orlando Hernandez
This Thursday at Mass we observe the Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed (I find comfort in the other, more inclusive name : “All Soul’s Day”). At the center of all the readings for this Mass is my beloved Psalm 23. I read in Wikipedia that in the 20th century church this psalm became associated with services for the dead, like funerals. It is appropriate that such a prayer, so full of life and hope, should be applied to death.
I have a history with Psalm 23. Though I spent most of my life away from God, God was always calling to me through this psalm. As a child in a home where there was no prayer I must have heard part of it somewhere. When we visited other homes I was always attracted to pictures depicting Jesus as the “Good Shepherd”, carrying a little lamb on His shoulders, or pictures of lovely guardian angels shepherding little children away from terrible dangers. I had so many childhood fears. These pictures would give me some sort of comfort. “Are there really supernatural beings out there who can protect me?”
In many movies that I saw on TV, when a loved one was buried, or when a ship was sinking, or a vampire monster was stalking, a character would proclaim a line from this psalm: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want!” or, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil!” I would be moved by these words. Was this prayer a sort of incantation against harm, or at least a source of relief in distress?
At the age of 60, not long after my conversion to Christianity, I sat next to my father’s hospice bed, as he struggled for breath during the last seconds of his life. I held his wrist. I felt the last heartbeat of his pulse. I felt him go from my life. I imagined I saw a solemn, kind-faced Jesus holding my father’s soul?, spirit?, in His arms as He took him up into this mysterious light above the dimly-lit room. He reminded me of the Good Shepherd. He was accompanied by angels similar to those I had seen in those childhood pictures. Was it my imagination? Was it a gift from my loving, consoling Lord?
As my sister, my wife, and I walked out of that nursing home into the night, we were like scattered sheep, in a world that suddenly seemed so unfamiliar. But I clung to that vision I had. The Shepherd was taking care of my father’s soul and He would get all of us through this.
The next day, at the cemetery office, while waiting for the appointment with the director, I was drawn to this very large Bible. It was opened to the page that contained Psalm 23. For the first time ever I read it from beginning to end, at least three times. Right then and there, and the hundreds of times since, that I have read this psalm, the Teacher tells me something like this:
“You must live your life from now on in this manner. You must do it for your father, who never had the chance. Be confident that I will always lead you to the right place. Come rest in me. I will soothe your hunger and thirst. I will guide you in the way of life that is right. Because you love Me you will learn. Death will only be a shadow, no longer supreme. I will fill this dark valley of tears with fruitful life. My rod and my staff together make a cross, the cross of your salvation. You’re safe, take courage! Come to My House, eat of My healing meal, no matter what dark baggage torments you. Drink from the overflowing cup of my very life-force. I anoint you with the soothing oil of my loving mercy. Come to My House. Live there with me forever. I will never let you go!”
And so my Lord fills me with trust and hope, even for my father, who is in His hands. This blessed psalm has different meanings for different folks at different times, but I am sure that it brings comfort and strength to everyone. Every time I hear Psalm 23 at a funeral Mass, or at “All Souls”, I re-live all these memories. Many people I know and love have died since then. The pain of loss is just as bad. But I am in God’s House, with His Community, vast and bright, on either side of death. My love of God, my faith, and my hope in God is mysteriously strengthened by each sad experience. Like St. Paul writes in today’s second reading (Romans 5: 5): “Hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.” Thank you, Beloved.
Orlando Hernandez
The Victor's Place 