For today’s homily, please select the video below.
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You can run but you can’t hide. An apple a day keeps the doctor away.
What a world it would be if we only spoke in clichés.
Is it the kind of world you and I live in?
Do we retreat into beaten-down meadows, like deer who lay where others have already flattened the grass?
There’s less work I suppose. And the grass may still be warm.
But it’s also kind of like Goldilocks and the Three Bears.
You can enter a home that isn’t yours, you can search for a bed that fits just right, but at the end of the day your cover will be blown.
You can run but you can’t hide.
After all, you’ve made your bed, now lie in it.
Perhaps it is such lying that is really the apple.
For picking fruit from someone else’s tree has never been a good idea.
Those kind of apples certainly keep the good doctor away.
But I guess we also have to be careful to not overcorrect.
We must not out of pride be unwilling to enter where others have already been.
No, that is wisdom. We should go where others have gone before. It just depends on who they were and where they went.
And no matter what, we shouldn’t hide within those spaces, pretend that they are our own, and perhaps worst of all, act as if we are the first to ever have entered—delusion of this kind leads us to the belief that we create anything at all.
We don’t.
Think of Adam in the Garden. God is busy whipping up the entire universe from out of nothing. Creating and sculpting, adding and adapting, breathing life into His new world. And Adam, well, he’s one of the building blocks. Yes, certainly a favorite. A favorite that God does not want to be alone.
And something spectacular takes place:
The LORD God said: It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suited to him. So the LORD God formed out of the ground all the wild animals and all the birds of the air, and he brought them to the man to see what he would call them; whatever the man called each living creature was then its name. The man gave names to all the tame animals, all the birds of the air, and all the wild animals… (Genesis 18-20)
God created, Adam named.
It is simply amazing. And humbling.
What an honor. And what a clear indicator of who is truly in charge.
We create nothing. That’s the bad news for those who want to be God.
We do though participate in the ongoing unfolding of God’s perfect and eternal world. We even seem to share the leading role. That’s the Good News for those who believe.
For our work is not to create. We simply cant. Only God can. And even if we “build” with what is already in existence, if we seemingly “create” something “new” with the building blocks we find already laying around, that “pseudo-creation” still isn’t our primary job.
Then what is?
Well, the original disciples of Jesus had a similar wonder:
So they said to him, “What can we do to accomplish the works of God?” Jesus answered and said to them, “This is the work of God, that you believe in the one he sent.” (John 6:28-29)
And there’s the crux of it, if you will.
Adam, we must remember, when in the supremely honorable position of naming God’s creatures was still naked, and he felt “no shame.” He hadn’t yet eaten what wasn’t his. He was not yet hiding “among the trees of the garden.” He still believed in the One Who Sends.
Adam was faithful. Adam was original. Adam knew he was God’s creation. And Adam was free to roam.
But Adam used his freedom to choose to become a slave.
Adam’s fall was a fall into self. A fall into creation, the creation of a great lie, that man creates on the same level as God.
It was a great fall. So steep was the cliff off which he went that no other story could ever bring more meaning to the most hackneyed line: “Once upon a time…”
Adam’s fall is a fall into denomination.
A fall into the church of self.
A fall into complete and utter cliché.
And it brought death to the great privilege of cooperating with God, of naming and stewarding on His behalf His created world.
But thanks be to God.
For someone truly original, and creative, finally came round.
He put the apple back up upon the tree and told the snake to take a hike.
His name is Jesus.
He is also called The Son of Man.
But of course we are free to just call Him God.
For about Jesus, nothing is cliché.
It is very clear, there’s absolutely no running or hiding when it comes to the Cross.
And when it comes to His love for us, there’s no apple that can keep the Divine Physician away.
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—Howard Hain
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The Gospel for this Wednesday, January 18th, once again reminds me of our purpose as a church, to bring the healing power of God’s love to each other and to this wounded world, as soon as possible, without delay or excuse:
“Jesus entered the synagogue. There was a man there who had a withered hand. They watched Jesus closely to see if He would cure him on the sabbath so they might accuse Him. He said to the man with the withered hand, ‘Come up here before us.’ Then He said to the Pharisees, ‘ Is it lawful to do good on the sabbath rather than to do evil, to save life rather than to destroy it? ‘ But they remained silent. Looking at them with anger and grieved at their hardness of heart, Jesus said to the man, ‘ Stretch out your hand.’ He stretched it out and his hand was restored.” (Mk 3: 1-5)
With all eyes upon Him Jesus took the opportunity to challenge,teach, and also to heal. Once again Jesus was breaking the rules of His Jewish religion, putting His own life at risk to show us how to live in the Kingdom.
His challenge : paraphrasing the words of Pope Francis, are we, the Church, an empty museum for “saints”, or are we called to be “a field hospital” for the wounded, the lost, the withered, the sinner? We have many rules that damn the divorced, the gay person, the addict, the non-believer. Can we begin by welcoming, in our hearts and lives, those outsiders, the errant ones, hungry for the meaning in their lives that Jesus can most certainly provide? I don’t know that Jesus will turn them away because “it’s the sabbath “, or for any other reason. Maybe neither should we.
His lesson: the time to accept and heal is now, today, with everyone we meet. Let us truly stop and see our brothers and sisters. Let us show interest, empathy, love. Let us risk our own lives and dare to reach out to the ones who might not even trust us. Let us risk criticism or rejection for the sake of love of neighbor.
The healing: with every little act of mercy for others, the love of Christ reaches within our own withered hearts, and heals us as it changes us. With these hearts open to Jesus, let us accept His light, to change our hardened hearts into hearts of flesh and blood, sources of love to the world.
Our Lord gave His life for us. May we give our lives to Him, and to the healing of His people.
Orlando Hernandez
Today, This Moment, The Year of Your Lord
My Child,
I thought I should write you this morning. To put down a few words. To speak into creation my ongoing love for you.
There are times when I watch you, somewhat at a distance. I leave that space so that my watching doesn’t impede your playing. But there is really no space at all. Because by not being “right with you” I get to see you as you truly are. My “distance” allows me to see you within the full scope of your existence. And never forget, my child, not for a second, I create your existence. It is not an event of the past. I am active. Always. I am always creating you, and I am always enjoying my creation. That is why I watch.
I watch you unfold. I watch frowns and frustrations unfold into smirks and full-blown smiles. I watch you evolve and grow. I watch you transform. I watch you fight then make up. I watch you get hurt then heal. I watch you hoard then share. Of course there are many times, my dear child, always in fact, that I want to jump in and save the day, to stop the fight, the hurt, the misunderstanding before it evens begins. But I love you too much to always deny you such good food and such nutritious drink.
I will your existence moment by moment, and my will is love. I know exactly how much you need to digest in order to provide for your perfect growth. I also know when too much of one nutrient or the denial of another is not part of my overall plan.
Perhaps that is the hardest thing about being a father, knowing that your maximum freedom within the ever-expanding bounds of my love is what you most need. Such liberty leads you into the divine individuality that I ultimately will to be achieved. And it’s also what makes you most valuable to our one, united, and very common family.
True liberty is what makes you most like me.
Please enjoy my gift this new day.
That’s what I will.
Enjoy my love. Enjoy your freedom. Enjoy the play of keeping it all within bounds. For you should also know, your freedom without my love is a very dangerous game. A game that as much as it grieves me to see any of my children play, I must allow, if the freedom I gift to you is to be of any value at all.
I am always with you. And know this—and know it for sure—if at any one moment, you choose to use your liberty to call out my name, I will scoop you up before you can even utter “the smallest letter or the smallest part of a letter” of my most hallowed name.
For the distance between us isn’t real at all.
It’s love. It’s everywhere. And it lasts for eternity.
I seal this with a kiss. I place it upon the palm of my hand.
I hold it out and gently blow it your way.
I love you…my dear child.
Always smiling at you,
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Your Proud Papa
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—Howard Hain
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You are my rock
Upon the rock You built Your Church
At Your death the rock was split in two
They laid You lifeless in the rocky tomb
And rolled the rock to seal the light of day
I am Your rock
Upon me You build Your Church
At Your death I split in two
You lay lifeless in my lifeless tomb
My rocky heart seals the light of day
In secret to Father we do pray
Our stillness knows that He is God
No longer statues we arise
And throw aside what we once wore
Total darkness and yet we see
Clearly only one way to go
Your promise lights the way
To restore what You foretold
Same as in the beginning
God and in His image
His creation
His masterpiece
His Son and His brother
The One known as The Word and the one called man
We both enter the garden
As the rock is rolled away
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—Howard Hain
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He had no majestic bearing to catch our eye,
no beauty to draw us to him.
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—Isaiah 53:2
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There is a great hero alive this very moment.
He’s running into a burning building to rescue a small child.
He’s chasing down a thief who nabbed a pocketbook from a helpless old lady.
He’s performing CPR on a middle-aged man in the midst of a heart attack.
He’s keeping diligent watch over the safety of a nation.
But there is no “burning building”, no “thief”, no “heart attack.” And the “nation” he watches over is his own home.
Oh, but there is crisis, there are certainly trials.
There are countless situations and scenarios that require heroic virtue.
For the child he rescues lives in a foreclosing home, the helpless old lady he aides is robbed by dementia, the middle-aged man he resuscitates is his own brother who desperately needs a sober ride home.
And “he”, our hero, is not just one man. He is several, and numerous, and he wears all kinds of different clothes.
And like that ultimate superhero, the one our childhood comic books ceaselessly proclaim, he spends most of his other waking hours in a job that appears rather mundane.
His “telephone booth”—where he quickly straps on his boots, belt, and cape—is often a tiny bathroom—into which he quietly enters and calmly closes the door, only to clasp his face and let out a silent cry. He sometimes even falls to his knees, begging God for strength. But he only has a minute.
He cant help but look in the mirror as he regains his composure and dries his face, preparing to head back into the arena. What he sees looks old and unfamiliar. That’s not the face of adolescent dreams.
And the door is opened and out walks our hero to save the scene.
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Yet it was our pain that he bore,
our sufferings he endured.
We thought of him as stricken,
struck down by God and afflicted…
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—Isaiah 53:4-5
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—Howard Hain
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The Lord be with you.
—And with your spirit.
Lift up your hearts.
—We lift them up to the Lord.
Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.
—It is right and just.
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The next right thing.
Sometimes it is just that simple.
In fact, it is always that simple.
But to silly people like us, simple is not good enough.
It’s not complex enough.
Not sophisticated enough.
Not civilized enough.
Not cultured enough.
Not smart enough.
“Simple” lacks “nuance” and “subtlety”.
“Simple” contains nothing of the triune god of highly-refined society: arrogance, ambition, and ambiguity.
“Simple” is simply not good enough for you and me.
But it is for God.
He is simply great.
He is “right and just.”
Let’s simply be like Him.
Believe the next right thing.
Hope the next right thing.
Love the next right thing.
For the next right “thing” is God Himself.
For God is Good.
And He is Love.
Let us love then.
One step at a time.
One breath at a time.
One charitable conception, thought, and decision at a time.
Let us be like God.
Let us be amazingly simple.
Let us be simply amazing.
— “It is right and just.”
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It is truly right and just, our duty and our salvation, always and everywhere to give you thanks, Lord, holy Father, almighty and eternal God, through Christ our Lord.
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—Howard Hain
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We’re into the New Year and automatically we wonder about the future. We can’t avoid it. We’re wondering what this year is going to bring. What’s coming?
Living in a secular age as we do, we see things mainly with eyes for the here and now, which often boils down to politics and economics. What’s the country going to be like under President Trump? What’s the economy going to be like? Unfortunately when we look at things only like that, we can end up being small minded. We can think that what we see and hear and touch now is all there is. We lose a larger vision of life.
We need the spark, the light, of revelation.
Can we see that light in the mystery of the Epiphany we celebrate today? It begins with a star, guiding some travelers on their way. Can this mystery lift up our secular minds and point out something more? Is our world being guided by a Star?
To start, let’s not see the story of the Magi as a cute story of some people riding on camels coming to see Jesus. More than that, it’s a revelation of God’ divine plan which carries news for us and our world, and it’s as important now as it was then.
The Magi story is only found in the Gospel of Matthew, who was writing for Jewish Christians in Galilee and the Syria about the end of the first century. The temple of Jerusalem was recently destroyed and Jewish Christians like other Jews were facing an unknown, disturbing future. When Jesus came to them, he began his mission saying to the Canaanite woman, who pleaded for a cure for her daughter, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” (Mt 15;24) “Go nowhere among the Gentiles, and enter no town of the Samaritans, but go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel,” Jesus first told the twelve whom he sent out to preach. (Mt 10, 5) It looked as though the promises of God were for the Jews and them alone.
But that made the promises of God too small.
Matthew’s story of the Magi was a reminder that the gospel was meant for others besides. Jesus came for all, though his ministry was first to the Jews. God wants the world to be one family and he wishes his gifts and graces be given to many peoples and places. God doesn’t save a few.
The Magi may have come from present day Iran or Yemen; two places we hardly view positively today. We tend to see ourselves a privileged people and our own country a promised land. God is on our side. Better to leave the rest of the world to its wars, its earthquakes, its immigrants, its divisions, its problems. As the old song once said, let’s find “perfect peace, where joys never cease, and let the rest of the world go by.”
We can’t let the rest of the world go by. The story of the Magi reminds us we live in a big world that God means to be one. The story of the Magi is not a sweet story about people on camels who looked and dressed and spoke differently than us. They’re symbols of the world beyond ours that’s called by God to share in his promises.
And the newcomers come with gifts.
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A big fat book.
I’ll have to hollow it out.
I don’t see any other way to fit inside.
Of course I’ll have to leave the covers, the binding, and the outer edges of every inner page.
But what to do with the scraps?
Even the dogs are fed these.
Yes, I’ll eat them.
I’ll digest what’s been hallowed.
Then I’ll climb inside.
The cut-outs will be back in position.
Yes, all still right there, entirely inside, all in its proper place.
The complete volume.
The entire collected work.
The only difference is now I’m part of the story.
An essential part.
Without the pages in my belly the whole thing is essentially empty.
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Here I am, tucked away, a perfect fit, fetal position within the bind of an ever-revolving nook.
The covers tightly closed, the pages all accounted for, the sanctity of the space preserved.
Now I can rest assured…
Not a bit of attention on little ole me.
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But what if someone opens the cover?
Oh my, what if he turns the title page?
The jig is up!
I’m spotted for sure…seen as I am.
A stowaway. Hidden from the crowd. Holding out for the end of the storm. Eyes closed even within the dark pages of night.
But what’s he doing now?
He can’t possibly…
No, no…get away…this is my spot…there’s not enough space for two…
What do you mean there’s plenty of room?
What do you mean there are already a million others inside?
Where?
How?
Who?
I don’t see anybody but myself.
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—Howard Hain
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Mary Cassatt, “Breakfast in Bed”, 1897
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Lord, a new year is upon us.
Help us.
Help us to be grateful.
Gracious and grateful.
Gracious, grateful, and giving.
You give and you take away.
Nothing but Your love is truly ours.
For love You give and love You never take away.
Love only love.
Love just love.
What is it, Lord? What is Your love?
A million answers.
Each of us could probably come up with a thousand.
It’s times such as these that You are not silent, although You don’t seem to say a word.
You answer. You have and will always continue to do so.
You gave Your Only Begotten Son.
A tiny babe. A beautiful child. A strong young man. A fearless leader. A lamb to be slaughtered.
You gave the Tree of Life.
You threw it into the River.
You made all that is bitter sweet.
You gave the Sign of the Cross.
You wrote Your name upon our foreheads.
You gave us a mother, and common brothers and sisters, and holy angels and saints, all of whom we are free to call friends.
Yes, You gave us love.
But what is it, Lord?
We know love exits and we know it does not come from ourselves.
Even for those who say You don’t exist.
To them we could point at the ocean, or the sky—the sun, the moon, and the stars—or even a simple common everyday tree—a single leaf of grass.
“Who made them?”, we can ask.
“Who but God alone?”
Who but You, Lord God, Who willed not to be alone?
You willed love.
You willed Yourself.
Proof of Your existence is You don’t need it.
For nothing will prove You, for nothing can disprove You.
For the love You send is not only born, crucified, and risen, it also ascends.
Above all knowledge.
Into Heaven.
Pure and simple.
Knowledge.
Knowledge that You love us.
You truly love us.
Little old us.
That is what You love.
The object of Your love.
The product of Your love.
We are Your love.
Thank You, Lord.
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—Howard Hain
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The Victor's Place 