For today’s homily, please play the video below:
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Come, let us sing to the Lord
and shout with joy to the Rock who saves us.
—Psalm 95:1
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Come,
Me? Am I included? Can I come as well? But you are God? Am I really allowed to join the celebration?
But Your Word simply says “Come”. It’s an open invitation, right? An open call; no qualifications, no applications, no background checks, no letters of introduction required?
It seems pretty clear. So I guess I shall. I shall come along. After all, I’ve followed crowds all my life, perhaps it’s time to follow the “great cloud of witnesses”—Your patriarchs and Your prophets, Your holy angels and Your holy saints. I will come along then. Forgive me though, Lord, for not being properly dressed. But if I were to first run home to change, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Plus, I might then miss the entire affair.
No, I’ll come now, just as I am—no more excuses, no more procrastination—for the procession is well under way.
…let us sing to the Lord…
But…forgive me, Lord…there I go again, once more I begin a thought with such an ugly conjunction. “But”…I am so unprepared. Sing? Me? In Public? With my voice? You know well the noise I make. But then again, I cannot deny it, when I am alone, You know Lord that I love to sing. I truly do. All kinds of melodies, all kinds of hymns. I even compose. And chanting, that too I do. In fact, to be really honest, I don’t think I’m half bad. Come to think of it, I’m actually pretty good. Relatively speaking, of course. Put it this way, within my little “monastic cell”, within the confines of my “inner room”—with the “door” well “shut”—I not only “sing”, but “dance”.
Perhaps it’s time to take the show on the road?
…and shout with joy…
Yes. With this one there are no “ifs, ands, or buts.” That I can do. I can shout. I can “shout with joy”. “You are fantastic! Truly!! I love You!!!” And the more I say it, the more joy I feel. So shout? Shout with joy? Yes, that I will do. I do it now. Right now. Even if it wakes my neighbors. Maybe precisely because it might wake my neighbors. I shout. I shout. I shout. “JOY!” “JOY!” “JOY!” And as I do, I remember. A sweet memory. A joyful memory. A memory that makes a small smile grow larger and eventually into a laugh, an out-loud laugh, even while sitting all by myself. And yet, that’s just the point, “with joy” we are never alone. For a memory—a memory transformed by hope—brings resurrection and divine significance to even the smallest details of our life. “The memory of the just will be blessed.” Bringing the Kingdom to life, but not only in our here and now, for the Holy Spirit also breathes life into our past.
The specific memory I now recall—the one currently “at hand” and recreating “earth as it is in heaven”—involves a classmate I knew many years ago in elementary school. Her name was Joy.
I don’t remember shouting with Joy, but I do clearly recall that she was the prettiest girl in class.
…to the Rock who saves us.
I blame you. You blame me. We both blame Adam. He blames Eve. She blames Satan. He doesn’t care about anything, all he wants is for us not to blame ourselves. For if we don’t “repent” how can we possibly “believe in the gospel”? And that’s the beginning of the end of not buying the “good news”. For the Kingdom begins when we realize we need to be saved from ourselves. And without that self knowledge, without the realization that we cannot anchor ourselves to ourselves, we drift falsely self-assured in utter chaos, “without form and shape, with darkness over the abyss.” In other words, for you and for me, and for all who “cast the first stone”, “the kingdom of God” is no longer “at hand.”
Lucky for us, some stones miss their target. Some even fall right as they fall into place. For “the stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.” Jesus, rejected by the builders of earthly kingdoms, fell asleep on the wood of the cross. He slept the sleep of death, dead to all the world, while His soul was still awake, truly awake to all those “saved in hope.” For “the hope of the just brings them joy.”
Jesus is then “the Rock”—“the Rock” who was laid within the “rock-hewn tomb”.
He is the “cornerstone” and the entire “temple”—the stone “temple” totally torn “down” (“not one stone…left upon another”) and completely raised up “in three days”.
He is “the living stone” toward whom we “shout with joy”.
Jesus is truly “the Rock who saves us.”
And even if we reject His plea to be “also, like living stones”, failing to let ourselves “be built into a spiritual house”, there will still be praise. For His glory won’t be denied:
As Jesus Himself replied: “I tell you, if they keep silent, the very stones will cry out!”
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Come, let us sing to the Lord
and shout with joy to the Rock who saves us.
—Psalm 95:1
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—Howard Hain
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February 14th
My Lord, my God, my Love,
Where can I begin?
Just this week alone, how much you have given…
A chance to help someone pursue good, a chance to help someone turn from darkness, a chance to help someone enter further into Your church, a chance to help someone see hope for his entire family, a chance to help someone re-encounter the little girl she once was, a chance to help someone see the magnificence of marriage, a chance to help someone regain her composure within the day-to-day grind, a chance to help a young someone meet You in Your gift of the Eucharist, a chance to help someone realize he is an instrument of Your peace…
That someone being helped is someone else, and that someone is also me.
Your gifts, my good, good Lord, send forth ripples of grace, covering those we serve for Your sake, covering ourselves, and covering so many others, so many who are so far beyond the limits of what we can see.
You are real. You exist today, right now. You will never be outdone in love or in generosity.
How could I ever say enough?
Give me Lord the chance to help someone praise You for all eternity.
Increase Your love in me.
Increase my love of souls.
And when, O Lord, this trek, this adventure, this stroll, comes to an end, may I please, good, good Lord, be with You?
May I truly rest with You, as I begin to do now—within arm’s reach—Your Kingdom, Your Promise, Your Joy, Your Peace.
It is all too much.
It makes me wonder why…why I…why anyone…would ever desire to sell an eternal soul in order to purchase a fleeting here and now—when all that could ever truly be desired is offered through the tiniest of tastes and the smallest of sips—Your Body and Blood, cloaked within the appearance of daily bread and table wine.
Thank You, Lord.
From my heart to Yours:
“O Jesus, meek and humble of heart, make my heart like unto Thine.”
O Jesus, this day, be my Valentine.
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—Howard Hain
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Gerard van Honthorst, “Saint Peter Being Freed from Prison”, 1616-18
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“What further need have we of witnesses? You have heard the blasphemy. What do you think?”
They all condemned him as deserving to die.
Some began to spit on him.
They blindfolded him and struck him and said to him, “Prophesy!”
And the guards greeted him with blows.
While Peter was below in the courtyard…
—Mark 14:63-66
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I don’t want to hear myself.
I want to hear from You.
My thoughts, my concerns, my feelings, bore me terribly.
I think You are silent but I know it isn’t true.
The moon is so very full this night and so are You.
The coffee I sip is bitter.
Your Word hangs on every tree.
If only Lord we could see.
Drama. Tragedy. Puppet show. Divine Comedy.
Me, me, me, look at me!
But it is You raised up high.
For all to see.
Forgive us, Father, for we still haven’t a clue.
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The inscription of the charge against him read, “The King of the Jews.”
With him they crucified two revolutionaries, one on his right and one on his left.
Those passing by reviled him, shaking their heads and saying, “Aha! You who would destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save yourself by coming down from the cross.”
Likewise the chief priests, with the scribes, mocked him among themselves and said, “He saved others; he cannot save himself. Let the Messiah, the King of Israel, come down now from the cross that we may see and believe.”
Those who were crucified with him also kept abusing him.
—Mark 15:26-32
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—Howard Hain
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Winslow Homer, “Snap the Whip”, 1872, (The Met)
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Lord, I don’t want to be witty, or smart, or cute.
I don’t want to be clever, or interesting, or different.
I don’t want to be important.
One of a kind.
I don’t want to want to be anything.
You were.
You are.
You will be.
“Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.”
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A few days ago my daughter was eating a piece of toast for breakfast. It was a nice piece of toast, I prepared it my myself. Golden brown. A good amount of very good olive oil, from a little can my sister-in-law gifted us after a trip to Portugal. And I cracked some sea salt. Beautiful little crystals atop virgin oil upon a bed of grain and wheat, all held aloft by a bit of yeast.
She was eating away. Then I heard a shriek. It seems a little stink bug landed on the edge of her plate. Well, that was the end of breakfast.
Like a little dinosaur. I’m pretty sure they’re harmless. Apparently, they’re not from the United States. It seems they’ve recently made their way over from China. They’re immigrants, if you will. Or perhaps ‘missionaries’ is a better way to put it, at least from the stink bug’s perspective.
They’ve got a job after all, like the rest of us. I doubt they complain though. I also doubt that the first little guy to make his way across the great ocean to arrive at our shores had any idea he was discovering a whole new world. The Christopher Columbus of stink bugs. But there’s no statue. No holiday. No day off. No big sale at Macy’s honoring his (or her) accomplishment.
Nonetheless, his relative was in my home the other day and landed on my daughter’s plate, leaving me wondering if she had eaten enough, and also somewhat worried she wouldn’t have enough energy to make it through the first half of the day.
She did. The day went on. The bug was removed. As far as my daughter’s relationship with stink bugs specifically or with insects in general, we’ll just have to wait and see.
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I don’t know why that little bug is on my mind. I guess I admire him. His obedience.
God created that little bug, both his kind and him individually. I am therefore to love him:
Love God in all His creation. Love all of God’s creation for His sake.
In love with a bug.
Hey, who knows?
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I’m having fun. Life is wonderful. If only we could all just play. All day. No homework. No tests. No goals of earning admittance.
I laugh. I smile. I think again. My little girl. All children. It’s amazing what they say. What the Holy Spirit speaks through living innocence:
“I want to fall into the Sun…and go deep, deep, deep…and the clouds will tickle me…”
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When parents speak of the little things they’re children say, I imagine most listeners take it with a grain of salt.
But parents know what they’ve heard, spoken or not.
Surely God knows.
After all, He’s a parent too.
And he wants us to play.
Stink bugs and all.
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—Howard Hain
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http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/11140
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Tintoretto, “Christ Washing the Disciples’ Feet”, 1548-49
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“Pray, brothers and sisters,
that my sacrifice and yours
may be acceptable to God,
the almighty Father.”
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Tall and handsome.
Big and powerful.
Profound and exciting.
A great adventure starring a great hero.
Doing the dishes.
Just the right combination of hot and cold.
Mostly hot of course.
And the cold, that splash of sobriety is so we don’t get burned.
“In the Name of our Lord Jesus Christ crucified, I commence the dishes…”
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The sponge is important.
It need be clean and effective.
For how can one wash with something dirty?
And yet, even the best is hardly perfect.
After a single use it’s bound to show signs of deterioration.
So you add more soap and hope for the best.
“Our Father, who art in heaven…”
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The circular motion of water, upon and around each dish.
Turn, turn, turn…
Rinse, rinse, rinse…
Like the axis of the earth.
The equator slightly tilting back and forth.
Side to side, to ensure proper runoff.
Such a delicate balance.
Then put aside to dry.
Sunlight works best.
“Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…”
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The drain cannot be ignored.
The little netting, catching all sorts of iniquities.
Now very clean hands.
Cleansed thru humility.
The dignity of work.
Reach down.
To grab what has been left below.
The rejected, the unwanted, the forgotten food.
A Eucharistic portion.
Not washed into the drain.
Yet separated from what is considered clean.
“Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.”
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I find two towels work the best.
One, somewhat clean, to wipe down the faucets and the edge of the sink.
The other to dry shriveled-up hands.
And to be hung, upon the little bar.
The one that crosses the oven door.
Awaiting the warmth.
The warmth that bakes our daily bread.
“May the Body of Christ keep me safe for eternal life.”
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It is all really very simple.
Short and simple.
He died. We live.
We die. He lives.
One dirty dish at a time.
One Eucharistic encounter at a time.
“Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life.”
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“Thanks be to God.”
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—Howard Hain
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In today’s Gospel we read about Jesus’ return to “His native place,” and the reception He got from His peers when He began to teach them. They found it hard to take Him seriously, asking,
“Is he not the carpenter, the son of Mary, and the brother of James and Joseph and Judas and Simon? And are not his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him. Jesus said to them, “A prophet is not without honor except in his native place and among his own kin and in his own house.”
Why such a reaction? Why were they not proud of their hometown boy? We’re they jealous of Him? Did they believe that a humble carpenter’s son had no right to teach about the divine? Were they startled because He no longer acted like a “regular guy”, one of them?
When I started testifying about my newfound faith at men’s retreats and at prayer groups, some people would come up to me and thank me for helping them in their search for healing, and for God, while others treated me like I was just some upstart who didn’t know anything! Well, I guess one of the lessons of this Gospel is that you just can’t please everybody, especially if they’re your friends and relatives .
After my conversion, many of them could not believe that I was for real. One of my drinking buddies winked at me and said, ” You gotta be kidding! Common, have fun. You only live once.” Another said, “Hey, don’t turn into a religious fanatic! That’s not the guy I know! What about that temper?”
A nice cousin of mine said, “You’re dedicating your life to God now that you’re retired? That’s a nice hobby. I guess you gotta do something with your free time.”
A very intelligent, cynical, clever friend would use her language skills to prove me wrong, and justify her way of thinking and acting towards others. I was no match for her smart talk. But another fiercely atheist friend synthesized the feelings of all the others:” Don’t come preaching to me! I don’t want to hear anything about God! If you’re my friend, let’s talk about anything but that!”
Like Jesus, I was ” amazed at their lack of faith!” I certainly wasn’t able to perform any “mighty deeds” there, except perhaps keep my composure, shake my head, and smile. I really love these persons. I guess the best I can do is show them this, knowing how much greater than mine is the love that our Lord Jesus has for them.
If they ask me I will tell them about the peace I feel in my heart. Maybe I’ll be able to show them how I have changed, even if a little, perhaps reflect the words of the scholar of mythology, Joseph Campbell: ” Preachers err by trying to talk people into belief, better they reveal the radiance of their own discoveries.”
My spiritual director, Fr John Powers C.P., once wrote, ” I begin the telling of my tale with the assumption that my story is, in some measure, everyone’s story.”
Orlando Hernandez
“The Denial of Saint Peter”, ca 1610, Caravaggio (Michelangelo Merisi) (Italian, Milan or Caravaggio 1571-1610 Porto Ercole) (The Met)
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Never look to a man for answers.
Look to Christ who is the answer.
If you insist on looking to a man, then choose one who points to Christ.
For the best teacher is Christ Himself…and His best assistants are those who clearly say: “Don’t look at me.”
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—Howard Hain
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http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/437986
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“1010 WINS”
If you grew up in the Tri-State Region, commonly known as the greater New York City area, you know the sound of “1010 WINS”, the radio station that reaches millions living in New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut, especially those sitting in traffic.
“Traffic and Transit on the Ones”
Every ten minutes, “on the ones” as they say, comes the coveted traffic report, including mass transit (train and subway) updates, and of course all the action one needs to know about the “bridges and tunnels”.
What a nightmare commuting can be.
Stop and Go.
“YOU GIVE US 22 MINUTES, WE’LL GIVE YOU THE WORLD”
That’s what we hear, while sitting in our cars, or as we get prepared to sit in our cars—or perhaps board buses, trains and/or subway cars.
Twenty-two minutes, that’s all they need, and we’ve got it all: breaking international news, politics, weather, sports, culture, and of course, traffic and transit “on the ones”.
Of course those twenty-two minutes give us everything we need, except relief. Thanks to them we are now very well-informed people sitting in traffic, as opposed to complete and utter ignoramuses actively stuck behind Greyhounds.
“Top and Bottom of the Hour. The Beginning and the End.”
There’s another great news agency constancy at work in the Tri-State Area. Its broadcast begins at the top and the bottom of the hour. But there’s only one message. The news is always good. And it always leaves one relieved.
New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut are filled with parishes. Most established by the immigrants of their time. And today they march on:
The Liturgy—The Great Prayer of God’s Church—won’t be stopped.
Day in, day out.
It is always the hour.
“YOU GIVE IT 22 MINUTES, IT’LL GIVE YOU MORE THAN THE WORLD”
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—Howard Hain
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Then the LORD brought us out of Egypt with a strong hand and outstretched arm, with terrifying power, with signs and wonders, and brought us to this place, and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey.
—Deuteronomy 26:8-9
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Last fall we went apple picking. We were a small party, composed of immediate family. It was a beautiful crisp day, just the kind you would order for such an excursion.
On our rounds we passed an old wood wagon, behind it and off a bit in the distance lay the remains of an abandoned stone farmhouse—roofless, hollowed out, its fireplaces and chimneys still the main draw. But is was a tiny hand-painted sign on the wagon right before me that most caught my attention:
“Honey is the only food that includes all the substances necessary to sustain life, including enzymes, vitamins, minerals, and water.”
I don’t know if it’s true or not, and I’m not going to spend much time investigating. I like the thought. That’s what matters. So I’m going to keep it, well not keep it, but steward it. Yes, ‘steward’ is a much better word:
Thus should one regard us: as servants of Christ and stewards of the mysteries of God.
(1 Corinthians 4:1)
So often an internet search can do quite the opposite. It can make us into investigators, examiners, maybe even mean-spirited inquisitors. It can turn us into lots of things, other than stewards.
Such an investigative approach also often opens the door to outright skepticism. It may even lead us into intellectual scrupulosity. And all scrupulosity, no matter its form or make up, steals joy. And that we just cannot allow.
On the other hand, we also have to be responsible. We can’t just “believe everything we hear and read”, right?
So what is one to do with such a pickle?
Well, a good steward should look to his master for advice, after all it’s his property we are called to steward on his behalf:
Now it is of course required of stewards that they be found trustworthy.
(1 Corinthians 4:2)
So there we have it. We must be stewards of God’s mysteries, and as stewards we must be found trustworthy.
Sounds straight forward enough. Tough to do though.
Perhaps this can help.
Let’s go step by step, at our Savior’s command:
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First, let us become more aware of the very mystery that is put into our care:
Our Father, who art in heaven…
Let us next adore what we do not understand:
hallowed be thy name;
Let us then accept the great gift of responsibility, handed over to each one of us daily:
thy kingdom come,
thy will be done
on earth as it is in heaven.
What happens next seems logical enough, we have to ask for help:
Give us this day our daily bread,
And with that, we address the inevitable—for even if we possess only a morsel of humility—we all know that disobedience on our part is bound to occur:
and forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us;
Now, having about all we need to proceed, it’s a very good idea to remind ourselves of an eternal reality: That the master is ultimately in control and oversees us closely—rooting us on to accomplish what he wills for us to achieve, all in his very name:
and lead us not into temptation,
But just in case we fail to avoid the snares and traps hidden in plain and disordered sight—especially from falling into the false belief that the “possessions” placed into our care are actually our own—we plead with great desperation, like Saint Peter and all true disciples who think they’ve become lost, that we don’t completely sink into the waters of darkness when our faith begins to falter:
but deliver us from evil.
And together we say:
Yes. I accept. I believe. I agree.
So be it.
(or in other words:)
AMEN.
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Now, if I can only find some raw milk for breakfast…
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Look down, then, from heaven, your holy abode, and bless your people Israel and the fields you have given us, as you promised on oath to our ancestors, a land flowing with milk and honey.
—Deuteronomy 26:15
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—Howard Hain
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The Victor's Place 