By Orlando Hernández
     Both the Gospel for the First Sunday in Ordinary Time, and the one for the Second Sunday, tell the story of the Baptism of Jesus at the Jordan River. In both Gospels the Spirit of God is seen descending upon our Lord in the form of a dove. It is a supernatural event where the Holy Trinity shines before the eyes of John the Baptist. (Mt 3: 13-17, Jn 1: 29-34)   

 Most religious tours to the Holy Land take their pilgrims to a place where they can prayerfully remember this moment. The site that years ago was used by all tours was a small dammed-in reservoir at the source of the river, very near the Sea of Galilee, all stocked with bathrooms, showers, rental of white gowns, restaurant, and souvenir shops. It was losing its popularity because it seemed so commercialized and artificial. So the Israeli government created a national park much farther south along the river bed, near Jericho and the “Mount of Temptation”, closer to the area where Jesus was probably baptized by John.

The place has a new Visitor Center, which charges for the showers and gowns for Evangelical Pilgrims who want to go into the waters of the small stream where the Israeli army allows water to flow just for this purpose. There are platforms and stairs leading into the water. It is a rather lovely place in the middle of the Judean desert. The Jordanians on the other side have a similar facility, with an Orthodox Church at the site.    

 Young, Evangelical Christians were having a ball sloshing around in the river. We Catholics would not dare go into those brown waters, but Fr. Charles poured  a small amount over each of our heads, and we renewed our Baptismal vows. It was a very solemn experience. Then, everyone went off to take pictures.    

 I had to sit down by the water. I could not leave the spot. I was overwhelmed by being there, and so was my wife. Perhaps it was the hot desert sun, but I sensed a shimmer all around. My Lord was once there, and still is now! I felt our Abba leaning over us. Was He well-pleased with us? One of our fellow pilgrims, Felicia, a Nigerian-American from the Bronx, stayed with us. She is Catholic Charismatic like us, and somehow we found ourselves standing up, holding hands, and praising God at the top of our lungs. We did not care how crazy we looked. It felt so right. I lost all sense of where I was in the dazzling light. I ran out of things to say in either English or Spanish, and starting praising in words that I did not understand. We sang, we cried, we laughed like children. The tour guide had to come and tell us that it was time to go.  We went back up to the bus “like men dreaming,” big smiles on our faces. We looked into each others’ shining eyes, lovingly.  

   The Baptist said, “On whomever you see the Spirit come down and remain, He is the One Who will baptize with the Holy Spirit.” (Jn 1: 33b)  That’s what the Baptized Prince of Peace had done to us that day, no one can tell me otherwise. The Lord gave us a “Baptism of the Spirit” right then and there! The beauty of our Faith is that we do not need to travel thousands of miles to have this experience. Our beautiful Father can open up the clouds of our distraction and doubt, and look lovingly upon His “Beloved Son” right within our hearts. Their Living Spirit is constantly “coming upon” us if we just invite Him in prayer.    

 That day in Palestine, on the way back to the bus, we saw a spot where it seems someone leaves bird seed, and white pigeons come to feed. They were so wonderful to see, symbols of the Spirit of Peace. A few feet away, behind the barbed-wire fence,  the desert is still littered with unexploded land mines left there by the retreating Jordanian Army back in 1967. The Israeli Army has just left them there, a reminder that after all, we live in a very dangerous world. One could say that 2000 years ago, on that blessed day at the Jordan, Jesus’ pilgrimage would begin: His long, holy journey to the Cross, so that today I can dare to pray:

                                                    Holy Spirit, Beloved of my soul, I adore You. You enlighten me, guide me, strengthen me, console me.  Thank You precious God! Let there be peace on earth. 

by Francesca Hain, Grade 4, Catholic Schools Week 2020, Poetry Contest

Rocks. Ropes. Nature.
Trees everywhere.
Figures climbing,
But not many are there.

What could it be?
A forest?
God’s creation?
An adventure ahead?
Maybe so.

What are the figures doing?
Perhaps setting up gear.
Tying knots everywhere.
Ropes swinging down a mountain.

A tent.
A sleeping bag.
On walls of galore.
Maybe the figures are scaling the walls.

As I help set up the ropes,
There’s this strong feeling inside me, saying,
I’m scared! What if I fall?

Will I see God’s creation?
Are there spiders, leaves, or caterpillars?
Perhaps I will see a stream of water flowing from a rock.
On the journey up the wall, will I fall?

As my hand touches the hard rocks,
I say in my mind,
You can do this!

When I slip, I try again.
Although the rock is rough, no matter what,
I try again.

If I do succeed, I scream
Shouts of happiness and fear
At the same time.

When I’m up there,
I thank God that I’m all right.
As I stand up at the top, I see seagulls and many other birds.
What wonderful creations God has made!

For this week’s homily, please play the video file below.

My father got paid once a month. We were all aware of this, especially toward the end of the month. On payday my mother did a huge shopping. Several carts needed. Endless trips back and forth from the station wagon to the kitchen counter. My brothers and I scoping out the doubled-up paper bags as we carried. Week one was a feast, my mother needing to hide bags of chips and Peanut Chews in her room. Week two was a hardy week. Good solid meals, controlled deserts. Week three saw a steady decline. The bags of egg noodles taking center stage. If the hidden chips or Chews weren’t already found they’d make a celebrated appearance. Week four saw creative stretching: the jar of Ragu getting a splash of tap water to further the sauce. What we didn’t realize at the time was why my father often sat watching our plates. One of our favorites, chicken cutlets sizzling in the electric frying pan. The large dish in the middle of the table coated with paper towels to soak up the excess oil. Four forks poked away at the pile. My mother standing over the pan and moving cutlet by cutlet onto the center dish. My father watching. Four growing boys getting their fill. Young eagles devouring their parents’ kill. I thought my father was just being patient or holding off for some other cigarette-related reason, but mostly I didn’t think at all. Not until years later. The heart of the father now within my chest. He was waiting for us to finish. To be satisfied. Then he’d stab at the lone cutlet left in a pool of canola. But mostly he gathered. Collecting the remains from his sons’ plates. Scraps from their master’s table.

—Howard Hain

I was in the garden the other day. And I found a warm arena. A circle of evergreens. And standing upon a stump a mother holding her child. Homeless per se. A cold dark morning, the beginning of a new January day. Never what you’d expect, porcelain instead of stone. Pottery colors. So easily it could be broken. Like the snow beneath my feet. Crunched back into liquid. Yet some flakes drifted back up. Warmth neither melted nor shed. And there I stood halo of frost upon the head. A mother and child. An orphan within the wood. Take me with you. But nowhere do they go. Still and silent, porcelain afterglow. The sun will rise and the frost will flee. Mother and child took me home.

—Howard Hain

I know you are a thinking man. A man who values virtues. A man who swims in the pool of wisdom. So I share a little reflection.

How do you teach a child to read?

Well, there’s a prerequisite; you’re a reader yourself, one who loves to read, who reads well, and desires for those around you to fall in love with the word.

That in place, one can teach.

First, you read to the child, allowing him or her to see the pictures and the words while hearing your voice. A clear, kind, enthusiastic voice.

Second, you have the child follow your finger as you skim the words, allowing the ears to hear the sounds of the alphabet and the phonetic utterances the child is beginning to grasp.

Third, she sits with you attempting to connect the letters, words, and utterances with the images, while you fill in the gaps, spaces, and necessary connections. All the while audibly and visibly full of wonder at her progress.

Fourth, you listen to her read, not based on images but on the letters and words themselves that create images, as the child begins to take command of language. You gently encourage and correct and praise.

Fifth, the child reads to you. You listen with great attentiveness.

Then, you begin to read separately while sitting side by side.

Finally, the child reads on her own, knowing she will never again be alone.

You smile, thinking of the great joy that lies ahead.

You continue to read, endlessly encountering not only the words but the silence from which they spring.

You give great thanks.

—Howard Hain

December 30 Mon Sixth Day within the Octave of the Nativity

1 Jn 2:12-17/Lk 2:36-40 

31 Tue Seventh Day within the Octave of the Nativity

[Saint Sylvester I, Pope]

1 Jn 2:18-21/Jn 1:1-18 

JANUARY 2020 1 Wed SOLEMNITY OF MARY, THE HOLY MOTHER OF GOD

([Holyday of Obligation]

Nm 6:22-27/Gal 4:4-7/Lk 2:16-21

2 Thu Saints Basil the Great and Gregory Nazianzen,

 Bishops and Doctors of the Church Memorial

1 Jn 2:22-28/Jn 1:19-28 

3 Fri Christmas Weekday

[The Most Holy Name of Jesus]

1 Jn 2:29—3:6/Jn 1:29-34 

4 Sat USA: Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton, Religious Memorial

1 Jn 3:7-10/Jn 1:35-40

By Orlando Hernández

     East of the Palestinian city of Bethlehem lies the mostly Christian suburb of Beit Sahur. It is believed that somewhere in the area of this town is the site where the hosts of angels appeared to the shepherds on Christmas morning (Lk 2: 8-20). In a large open space one can visit ruins of Byzantine monasteries and churches doing back to the 4th Century. An Orthodox Church and a nearby Catholic Church commemorate the event. This place, known as Shepherd’s Field, is beautiful, located on a high point looking into a barren valley that is believed to once have been the field where Boaz and Ruth first met, surrounded by hills dotted with modern Israeli settlements in the distance. It is certainly a good vantage point from which to see heavenly things on a starry night. 

     Grottoes can be visited, where the ancient shepherds once kept their animals, and where artifacts from the 1st Century have been found, In these grottoes Franciscan priests celebrate the Mass with pilgrims all day long. One place that caught my attention and devotion was the “Chapel of the Angels”, designed by Antonio Barluzzi in the early 1950’s. It has a strange dodecagonal ( twelve-sided)shape, with a steep dome, supposed to resemble a shepherd’s tent. Inside it is graceful, peaceful, and filled with light from the many star-like openings in the dome. There are three semicircular chapels, each with a painted mural telling the story of the shepherds on Christmas morning. I have tried everywhere to find the name of the artist but I have not been able to. Our guide said that if we look carefully at the murals we can see the different reactions that persons of different ages can have in the presence of the Divine. 

     In the first mural one can see that their initial reaction was one of dread and awe as “the glory of the Lord shone around them and they were struck with great fear.”(v 9b) The young shepherd looks shocked, but still dares to look up at the angel. There is even a sort of smile on his face, showing the child-like wonderment that a young person can still feel. The adult shepherd cannot even get up. He looks scared and puts up his hand to shield himself from the Light (don’t we do that too!), but still he peeks through! The old man (to whom I relate the most), cannot even look up. Is it reverence, or a sense of guilt and unworthiness before such a Holy Presence? 

     The angel reassures them: “Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.”(v 10) Then the angel sends them on a mission (“You will find an infant …”). So many times in our own lives our loving God soothes our fears and doubts, and then inspires us to action. 

     In the second mural their mission takes place: “They went in haste and found Mary and Joseph and the infant lying on the manger.”(v 16) The mural depicts a scene of light and peace. Time seems to almost stand still. The young man kneels relaxed, but respectful, transfixed. He holds the little lamb with care, as if holding a baby. The adult shepherd, no longer afraid, is inspired to activity, to play a lullaby to the child Jesus. He seems moved by tenderness (God is Love!). The old man genuflects with open hands, in reverence , worship, invitation. He no longer shows fear. Instead he seems peaceful. He dares to look, smiles, loves, fells gratitude in the comfort of God’s benign presence. St. Joseph has an expression of contentment, maybe even a father’s pride. Mary, who is our greatest example of the Christian life, seems thoughtful, in meditation: “Mary kept all these things reflecting on them in her heart.”(v 19) All this happens in the light of the Divine Presence of the Newborn King: a sweet little baby!

     In the third mural we see the shepherds returning to their hill, still being showered by Grace, displaying the fruits of such intense contact with God. The youth is full of wild, delirious joy. He dances and sings. The adult channels this energy in a creative way, making a music that calms the sheep. The old man displays incredible joy in his eyes. We see such gratitude and love as he touches his heart and looks up to heaven. “Then the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, just as it had been told to them .”(LK 2:20)

      Dear Sisters and Brothers. I pray that your Christmas experiences in 2019 leave you with some of the grace, wonder, and glory that the shepherds found on that Christmas morning at Beit Sahur.