True Love’s Kiss

Homily for the Solemnity of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary
Preached on August 15, 2013 at Saint Mary Catholic Church, Perryville KY and Saint Andrew Catholic Church, Harrodsburg KY
Readings for the Vigil: 1 Chronicles 15:3-4, 15-16; 16:1-2; Psalm 132:6-7, 9-10, 13-14; 1 Corinthians 15:54b-57
Readings for the Day: Revelation 11:19a; 12:1-6a, 10ab; Psalm 45:10, 11, 12, 16; 1 Corinthians 15:20-27; Luke 1:39-56

Rapunzel has her long golden hair, Snow her white skin and name. Aurora is a beauty both awake and asleep. Yet, none of them can compare with Mary, the woman clothed with the sun, whose feet are shod with the moon, whose head is crowned with stars (cf. Rev. 12:1). She alone is blessed among women; her alone all generations call blessed (cf. Lk. 1:42, 48).

She was not imprisoned in a tower by a wicked witch. She ate no poisoned apple nor pricked her finger on a spindle. Yet, Mary was not spared from sorrow and distress. A seven headed horned dragon threatened to devour her Son when she gave birth (cf. Rev. 12:3, 4). A people she called her own plotted to kill that Son, the Christ, by nailing Him on the cross.

But, like a fairy tale, Mary’s tale of faith does not end there.

The Evil One, that huge dragon of the Apocalypse, thought that the cross was the kiss of death for Christ her Son. Yet, it was that cross that turned out to be Christ’s true love’s kiss for fallen humanity. Because of His cross, we are no longer meant to be captives of sin and death; Christ has ransomed us for grace and life. That is why Saint Paul brazenly teaches us to taunt death: “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” (1 Cor. 15:55)

Some naysayers would argue that this tale of faith is so fantastic that it must be a fairy tale. They claim that it is all made up, that none of it is true.

Yet, as Neil Gaiman points out in the epigraph to his novella Coraline, “Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be defeated.”

Such is the secret to the enduring power of Mary’s own tale of faith. It is more than just about good overcoming evil; it is about our God remembering the promise of mercy that He made to us and to our fathers (cf. Lk. 1:54-55): that the lowly will be lifted up (cf. Lk. 1:52), that the hungry will be filled with good things (cf. Lk. 1:53), that this our mortal flesh will be raised to immortal glory. It is Gospel and it is, by far, truer than any fairy tale.

The fairy tales of Rapunzel, Snow White, and Sleeping Beauty tell us to wait for a knight in shining armor, for a prince charming armed with true love’s kiss. Mary’s tale of faith tells us to wait no more: our Savior is here and, by taking her who is His mother body and soul to His glory, He has shown us that Heaven’s happily ever after is not that far, far away. It is within the grasp of those who believe that He is the one true love.

Whom We Have Here

Homily for the Memorial of Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton
Preached on January 4, 2011 at St. Andrew Catholic Church, Harrodsburg KY
Readings: 1 John 3:7-10; Psalm 98:1, 7-8, 9; John 1:35-42

By the age of 29, Elizabeth Ann Seton was a widow with five children. She had lost a husband and a fortune, and her curiosity about the Catholic Church was costing her her place in the New York high society into which she had been born and bred. She tried to remain an earnest Episcopalian but something—or Someone—greater was drawing her away from the faith of her childhood, her family, and her friends.

One Sunday, she attended St. Paul’s Chapel on Broadway where, she later wrote, “I got in a side pew which turned my face towards the Catholic Church in the next street, and found myself twenty times speaking to the Blessed Sacrament there, instead of looking at the naked altar where I was” (cf. Mrs. Seton: Foundress of the American Sisters of Charity by Joseph I. Dirvin, CM, p. 154). She had gone to seek her soul’s consolation in that chapel but found that the Real Presence she was looking for was someplace else.

Elizabeth Ann Seton realized that she was no longer content with bare sanctuaries and empty promises. She craved for the lavish meal of the Eucharist and the fullness of the Truth. She could no longer deny the hunger within her that cried for Christ and on March 14, 1805 she was received into the Catholic Church. She knew that her conversion would cut her off from her worldly connections and it did. Yet, it also cemented her celestial connection: at her first Holy Communion, she exclaimed with conviction, “at last, God is mine and I am His!” (Dirvin, p. 168).

Throughout the millennia, many others like Mother Seton have found themselves looking for something more, yearning for Someone Great. By God’s grace, somebody always pointed them to the right direction. John the Baptist did so with two of his disciples when he said of Jesus, “Behold, the Lamb of God” (Jn. 1:36). Our parish patron Andrew brought his brother Simon Peter to meet the promised Messiah (Jn. 1:41-42). It was the Filicchi family who first invited Mother Seton to come to Mass. So many more out there are looking for what and whom we have here. We too need to extend to them the invitation that Christ gave to His first disciples: “Come, and you will see” (Jn. 1:39).

Hide and God Seeks

Homily for the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary
Preached on December 7-8, 2011 at Saint Andrew Catholic Church, Harrodsburg KY and Saint Mary Catholic Church, Perryville KY
Readings: Genesis 3:9-15, 20; Psalm 98:1, 2-3ab, 3cd-4; Ephesians 1:3-6, 11-12; Luke 1:26-38

I had spent some twenty minutes seeking out every playmate who had gone into hiding. I found them, one after the other, in their usual hideaways in the backyard of Apung Cula. But, there was still one missing and, until I found that little boy, I was still “it” for this game of hide-and-go-seek. I had looked for him in every nook and cranny and still there was no sign of him. Finally, I decided to check the one place that no one in their right mind would have thought to hide in: the ditch right next to the house. There he was, crouching in the sewer: this silly soul stinking to high heaven. I do not know what he was sorrier for: that I had found him or that he had holed up for some twenty minutes in the gutter. Either way, it was his loss.

It all started as a game of hide-and-go-seek; it ended up as a game of hide-and-go-stink.

Countless generations have played this game of hide-and-go-seek since the time Adam and Eve invented it in that primeval Paradise. It all started when the Lord God came in the afternoon air to visit the first man and the first woman in the garden (cf. Gn. 3:8). It used to be that they would run to meet Him, but this time they were nowhere near to greet Him. “They hid themselves from the Lord God among the trees of the garden” (Gn. 3:8). God called out, “Where are you?” (Gn. 3:9) but Adam would not say where they were at. Adam and Eve feared, for the first time in their lives, that they would be exposed (cf. Gn. 3:10). It never bothered them before that they were naked, but this time they had something to hide: a sin of disobedience, an indiscretion that they did not want God to find out. So they walked away from God; they hid themselves from His sight. I do not know what they were sorrier for: that they got found out or that they had dragged themselves down into the same ditch as that crawling creature, the serpent. Either way, it was our loss as a human race.

But, when the fullness of time came to be, God sent His angel to seek out in the middle of nowhere Nazareth a member of our race who had nothing to hide. The angel asked the Virgin Mary if she would be the Mother of our Savior and she responded: “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord” (Lk. 1:38), that is to say, Here I am, ready to serve God. Finally, here was one who was not going to hide behind any excuses, one who would not skip on the responsibility. She was full of grace instead of fallen from grace. She said ‘Yes!’ to God and she meant it. It was, for the human race, a gain like no other.

The history of our salvation is the record of this continuous game of hide-and-go-seek between us and God. We hide away in the sewers of sin, we silly souls who stink up to high Heaven. Yet, God seeks us out and invites us to be bathed by His mercy from every blame and blemish so that we too might be like Mary, the new Mother of all the Living: “without spot or blemish”—in a word, immaculate—as He had intended “before the foundation of the world” (Eph. 1:4).

It all started as a game of hide-and-go-seek. But, God invites us to make sure that it does not end with us staying lost, but with us being found worthy of Himself.

A Tale Signifying Love

Homily for the Memorial of St. Margaret of Scotland
Preached on November 16, 2011 at St. Andrew Catholic Church, Harrodsburg KY
Readings: 2 Maccabees 7:1, 20-31; Psalm 17:1bcd, 5-6, 8b, 15; Luke 19:11-28

It was Macbeth who murdered Duncan, but it was his lady who goaded him to grab the chance that would crown him king. Shakespeare though warns us that grim is the end for those who, like this pair, were consumed by greed and ambition: Macbeth eventually dies at the hand of a man not of woman born; his lady takes her own life. In his despair, the usurper dismisses life as but “a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing” (Macbeth, act 5, scene 5, 26-28).

It was Macbeth who murdered Duncan, the father-in-law of Margaret of Scotland. But unlike that murderer’s lady, this sainted queen urged her husband Malcolm to pray to Christ who had made him king. It was not greed that consumed her but charity. Every day, she would serve the orphans and the poor before she ever sat to eat at her table. Like the martyred mother of seven in the Book of Maccabees (cf. 2 Mc. 7:20-29), Margaret taught her children not to be held captive by the world or by whatever it offers. She nursed them with the milk of human kindness and fed them with the truths of divine faith. Three of her sons became kings of Scotland and in history are noted for their piety and justice. David, the youngest son, was so known for his holiness that we remember him less as a sovereign and more as a saint. The Divine Master had given Margaret her share of gold and instead of wasting her gift she used everything she had to build up the kingdom of God on Scottish soil.

The Lord had said, “To everyone who has, more will be given, but from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away” (Lk. 19:26). Macbeth, who had no love for God or neighbor, wasted his life on things that do not last. It is no wonder then that he thought life to be meaningless, to be a tale signifying nothing. But, St. Margaret proved that life can be something more, that life can be a tale told by a saint, full of the power and the glory from above, signifying love for God and neighbor.

The Glance of the Lord

Homily for the Memorial of Saints Thomas More and John Fisher
Preached on June 22, 2010 at Holy Spirit Parish/The Newman Center at the University of Kentucky, Lexington KY
Readings: 2 Kings 19:9b-11, 14-21, 31-35a, 36; Psalm 48:2-4, 10-11; Matthew 7:6, 12-14

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
and his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
and the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea
when the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
 
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
that host with their banners at sunset were seen:
like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
that host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
 
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
and breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
and the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
and their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still.
 
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
but through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
and the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
and cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
 
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
with the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail:
and the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
the lances unlifted, the trumpets unblown.
 
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
and the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
and the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

First published in 1815 by Lord Byron in his Hebrew Melodies, this poem, titled “The Destruction of Sennacherib,” sums up the fate of the arrogant Assyrian king who taunted the besieged city of Jerusalem and Her living God. Its verses, written in anapestic tetrameter, recall the rhythm of galloping horse’s hooves, that frightful beat of an army riding into battle. That was the pulse that signaled the destruction of many cities by Sennacherib; it is the same pulse used here by the poet to recount the destruction of Sennacherib.

The Assyrian had warned Hezekiah that the Holy City would not be spared, that he was deceived if he relied on God to save Judah (cf. 2 Kgs. 19:9-10). But, it was Sennacherib who was deceived; his Assyrian hosts were in no way a match to the Lord of hosts. “That night the angel of the Lord went forth and struck down one hundred and eighty-five thousand men in the Assyrian camp. Early the next morning, there they were, dead, all those corpses!” (2 Kgs. 19:35) The fearsome façade of those faithless foes had crumbled to dust in the glance of the Lord.

Many other kings since Sennacherib had fallen into the same delusion that their military might and so-called ‘divine right’ could sway the servants of God from their faithfulness to Him. They were fools to expect that those who had found the narrow gate that leads to life (Mt. 7:14) would easily give up what is holy to dogs or throw their pearls before swine (Mt. 7:6). For the Lord’s faithful have their priorities right, because they know, as Saint Thomas More had once put it, that they are “the king’s good servant[s], but God’s first.”

God’s good servants—Hezekiah and Isaiah, John Fisher and Thomas More—will tell us that no king or queen, no president or prime minister can ever outrank and overpower God. And any of them who try to exercise might and morality beyond their pay grade will find themselves rather small before the glance of the Lord.

A Quiet Man

Homily for the Solemnity of St. Joseph, Husband of the Blessed Virgin Mary
Preached on March 19, 2010 at Holy Spirit Parish/The Newman Center at the University of Kentucky, Lexington KY
Readings: 2 Samuel 7:4-5a, 12-14a, 16; Psalm 89:2-3, 4-5, 27, 29; Romans 4:13, 16-18, 22; Matthew 1:16, 18-21, 24a

It comes as a surprise to many that none of the Gospels record a single word spoken by St. Joseph. And yet, it is true: not once do we hear him say anything. He breathed no complaint when the only delivery room he could find in Bethlehem was a stable (cf. Lk. 2:7). He did not utter any objection to the angel’s command in his dream (cf. Mt. 1:20-24). No reproach came from his lips when his wife was found with child through the Holy Spirit (Mt. 1:18). In fact, he was unwilling to expose her to shame (Mt. 1:19). Joseph could have blabbed up and down the neighborhood of Nazareth that Mary got pregnant by Someone else, but instead he decided to divorce her quietly (Mt. 1:19). When most men would have easily shared a piece of their mind, Joseph just kept his mouth shut.

Joseph didn’t do much talking because he was the kind of guy who let his actions speak for himself. And his deeds reveal to us the many virtues of this quiet man: the humility of a son of David to serve the God of David; the concern of a husband for the reputation of his wife (cf. Mt. 1:19); the faith of a dreamer who trusted in God’s plan of salvation, however crazy that plan might have sounded at that time (cf. Mt 1:20-24); the vigilance of a guardian for a Child hunted down by a homicidal king (cf. Mt. 2:13-14); the patience of a father who taught the Maker of the universe the carpenter’s trade.

It is true that Joseph did not have a lot to say in the Gospels. He let all that he did for the Son of God do all the talking. Perhaps, we can learn from him and do the same.

God Never Forgets His Own

Homily for Wednesday of the Fourth Week of Lent, the Commemoration of St. Patrick the Apostle of Ireland
Preached on March 17, 2010 at Holy Spirit Parish/The Newman Center at the University of Kentucky
Readings: Isaiah 49:8-15; Psalm 145:8-9, 13cd-14, 17-18; John 5:17-30

Six years have passed since he was sold off as a slave. By then, Patrick had forgotten the sweet taste of freedom. The youth who once was cherished was now forsaken in a foreign land. Home and family—the comforts of the past—were but memories from a distant shore. On the slopes of the mountain now called Slemish, the twenty-two year old stood alone and forgotten, surrounded only by his master’s herds. On that bare height, he remembered the God of his father the deacon and of his grandfather the priest, the God whom he had ignored in his youth. Just when he had thought that everyone had forgotten him, that all had forsaken him, he found peace praying to the God who had said once before: “I will never forget you” (Is. 49:15).

Some years after he had returned home to freedom, Patrick remembered the land of his exile. He sailed back to the Emerald Isle, to the people who once had enslaved him. He came back not to exact vengeance on his former masters but to preach to them the Good News that had comforted him in his captivity, the same Good News that we too are called to share with gladness: even when a mother forgets her infant or be without tenderness for the child of her womb, we still have a God who will never forget His own (cf. Is. 49:15).

Lesson Learned

Homily for the Memorial of Saint John Neumann, Bishop

Preached on January 5, 2009 at Mary, Queen of the Holy Rosary Church, Lexington KY

Readings: 1 John 3:22-4:6; Psalm 2:7bc-8, 10-12a; Matthew 4:12-17, 23-25

 

Jesus could have learned from what had happened to John the Baptist. He could have picked up that proclaiming the Gospel of the Kingdom would also land Him behind bars. He could have packed His things then and gone home to Nazareth. He could have been discouraged by the turn of events, and yet He wasn’t. Instead of trying to save His own skin, Jesus went on harm’s way to preach and say, “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand” (Mt. 4:17).  Instead of sticking to His comfort zone, He went to Galilee of the Gentiles, to the people who sit in darkness, to those dwelling in a land overshadowed by death (Mt. 4:15-16). Instead of being discouraged by John’s arrest, He was inspired to go forth and do the will of His Heavenly Father. Three years after He first preached the Gospel, He was arrested by the authorities and was nailed to a cross.

 

John Neumann could have learned from what had happened to Jesus. He could have picked up that proclaiming the Gospel of the Kingdom would also get him into a whole lot of trouble. But, instead of giving up on his vocation to the priesthood, he left his homeland, a country that was overstocked with priests, and went to America, a place he had not seen, a nation that even then was hardly Catholic. He could have been discouraged by the demands of missionary work in the United States and packed his things and gone home to Bohemia, and yet he persevered. Instead of giving up on ministering to new Irish immigrants, he learned Gaelic so that he could hear their confessions. Instead of giving up on the overwhelming task of teaching the Faith, Bishop Neumann increased the number of Catholic schools  in his diocese from two to 100. Instead of being discouraged by Christ’s cross, he was inspired to go forth and carry his own cross. Twenty four years after he was ordained in America, he suffered a stroke and died alone on a snow-covered sidewalk in Philadelphia.

 

We could learn from what had happened to John the Baptist, John Neumann, and our Lord Jesus Christ. We could pick up that proclaiming the Gospel of the Kingdom is a very dangerous and demanding activity, even in our own time. We could learn from what had happened to them how to fear some of the repercussions of preaching the Good News: getting arrested, dying on a city sidewalk, being crucified.  We could be discouraged by their stories, and yet we are not. Instead, John the Baptist, John Neumann, and our Lord Jesus inspire us because we learn more from them than from what had happened to them. We learn from John the Baptist how to have the courage to stand up for what is right. We learn from John Neumann how to have the zeal to share the Good News of our salvation to everyone, regardless of age, language, or nationality. We learn from our Lord Jesus how to love without ever holding anything back, how to love even our enemies.

 

We could learn from what had happened to Christ and His saints and then live in fear on this earth. But why would we do that? Instead, we can learn from them the conviction that, in spite of everything that this world has to offer, the Kingdom of Heaven is still worth it all.

Pro-Christ or Anti-Christ?

Homily for the Memorial of Saints Basil the Great and Gregory Nazianzen, Bishops and Doctors of the Church

Preached on January 2, 2009 at Mary, Queen of the Holy Rosary Church, Lexington KY

Readings: 1 John 2:22-28; Psalm 98:1, 2-3ab, 3cd-4; John 1:19-28

 

The three of them went to school together. They had met in Athens where they had gone to study rhetoric. Each one came from a distinguished and well-educated family: Basil belonged to a family that had three generations of saints. Gregory’s father was the bishop of his hometown. Julian was a member of the Imperial Family. Everyone in school could tell that they were destined for greatness, and it didn’t take that much time before each of them rose to prominence. Basil the lawyer eventually was ordained a bishop. Gregory the teacher was later raised to the dignity of the Patriarch of Constantinople. And Julian the scholar ascended to the purple and was crowned Emperor of Rome.

 

Here we have three men who have studied together yet today we venerate only two of them as saints: Basil who is called the Revealer of the Heavenly Mysteries, and Gregory who is known as the Theologian. The third man, Julian, who had risen to the throne of Caesar, had since been known as the Apostate, the one who had abandoned and rejected the Faith.

 

These three men went to school together, but it was Julian who allowed himself to be misled by the lies of pagan philosophies. Instead of remaining in the Faith that he had heard from the beginning, he denied that Jesus is the Christ (1 Jn. 2:22) and simply referred to Him as ‘the Galilean.’ He turned his back on the Church and worshipped false gods. He became an anti-Christ, a man set against Christ, a man who denied the Father and the Son (1 Jn. 2:22).

 

But, Basil and Gregory would not be misled by any anti-Christs; they firmly stood pro-Christ, as men who remained for Christ. They were faithful to the Church and professed the Nicene Creed. They believed in the truth of the Gospel and preached that Jesus is Lord and God.

 

Basil and Gregory put their faith in the words of the Lord: “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life” (Jn. 14:6). They believed that Jesus is the Way and followed Him. They believed that He is the Truth and trusted Him. They believed that He is the Life and served Him. In return they received the promise that the Lord made us: eternal life (1 Jn. 2:25).

 

Julian however had no faith in the words of the Lord. He denied that Jesus is the Way and found himself lost. He denied that Jesus is the Truth and was deceived by the lies of idols. He denied that Jesus is the Life and, in the end, found himself dying, defeated, and in despair, crying out one last time anti-Christ, against Christ, “You have won, O Galilean!”

 

Today, these three schoolmates bring to us this lesson: even an emperor is no match for the Galilean. Julian learned this lesson the hard way. But Basil and Gregory knew it all along. That is why they gave up their promising careers in law and rhetoric to serve Him whom Julian called ‘the Galilean.’ Yes, their family background and their education have destined them for greatness, but Basil and Gregory knew that only Jesus Christ can give them and us “a future full of hope” (Jer. 29:11).