God died for us *and* is ever-present to us – Jn 14:15-21

Sixth Sunday of Easter; variations on this homily were preached at Holy Cross-St. Stan's and St. Joe parish (South Bend).  Baptisms all over the place today!

“And is better.”  Familiar words, I’m guessing: if you ever watch tv, you’ve probably caught ads for Ford which proudly proclaim just that to us.  To stir you up with excitement at how amazing it would be to buy a Ford (which, so the messaging would have it, has great mileage and impressive functionality), they present a bunch of situations in which ‘or’ would be thoroughly trumped by ‘and.’  Who would order sweet or sour chicken, practice black or white photography or stay at a bed or breakfast?  Yes, “and is better.”

God leads us along the Way – Jn 14:1-12

Fifth Sunday of Easter; Holy Cross - St. Stan's.

The disciples had much reason for their hearts to be troubled.  They were at table with their Teacher.  He had just taken off his garments, knelt down and washed their feet.  He had taken a morsel of bread, dipped it, and handed it to Judas Iscariot, declared that Judas would betray him, and told him to go quickly and do what he needed to do.  And then follows this speech.  “Do not let your hearts be troubled!”  How exactly?  They didn’t know exactly what was coming but they must have at least sensed that all was not well.  Their teacher would declare himself the Way, and then walk the Way of the Cross.  He’d declare himself the Truth, and then be questioned by Pilate as to what Truth is, and answer not with words but with the act of letting himself pierced.  He’d declare himself the Life, and then lay his down.

God calls us by name – Jn 10:1-10, Ps 23

Good Shepherd Sunday; Holy Cross Parish.

Many of you know that before I entered seminary I worked as a teacher in a prison.  When I first started working there, a lot of the other helping professionals in the prison recognized that there was something about the culture of that place, the marbled unity of grotesque beauty and darkness in search of light, that I needed to understand to be fruitful there, and the only way they could explain it was through stories.  This one was from a prison chaplain.  I never knew the inmate the story’s about, but it’s a pithy way of getting across in one short graced conversation what I saw so many times, on a much slower scale.  He was young, but a hulk of a man, apparently, intimidating.  By which, I learnt, the chaplain meant both that he looked intimidating, and that he often went out of his way to intimidate people.  He’d stand at the back of the chapel throughout Mass, defiant.  After several weeks of this, the chaplain approached him and asked: “What’s your name?”  “Striker,” came back the answer.  “That’s not a name, that’s a front, a claim, a committal offense.  What’s your name?”  “González.”  “That’s what the COs call you, I know.  But what’s your name?  What does your momma call you?”  The next answer, I won’t repeat in church.  That’s what his mother called him, something I won’t repeat in church.  “She’s mad with you a lot, huh?”  “Yeah.  I’m bad.”  It wasn’t a confession, it wasn’t a boast; it was just a flat statement of fact.  “But, I bet that wasn’t what she called you when you were a baby, huh?  What does your momma call you when she’s not mad with you?”  “The first name on my birth certificate is Napoleón.”  “Nice name.  But that’s not what I asked.  What does your momma call you when she’s not mad with you?”  Out of a face, I came to know so well, that could erupt either in tears or violence, but you knew was about to erupt, came: “Well, sometimes… she’d call me Napito.”  “Napito.  Can I call you that?”  “Sure, padre.  That would be firme.” 

Jesus unites us by breaking – Luke 24:13-35

Third Sunday of Easter; Our Lady of the Road Catholic Worker Community.  (A similar homily also preached at Holy Cross parish)

When I realized what Gospel reading we’d be breaking open together today, my first thought was: “God makes it so easy on me sometimes.  I get to go into a Catholic Worker Community and preach about how Christ is encountered in the stranger, and in the sharing of food.”  Then, I thought and prayed a little more, and had a second, more anxious, realization: “God makes it pretty tough for me sometimes.  I have to go into a Catholic Worker Community and try to tell them something about how Christ is encountered in the stranger, and in the sharing of food!” 

Jesus breaks for us – John 20:19-31, Acts 2:42-47

Sunday within the octave of Easter; Holy Cross Parish.  Homily preached at my first Mass presiding as a priest.

One of the most exciting things to happen in our parish while I’ve been here is our dream sessions.  I was encouraged and moved by the number of parishioners that gathered together to help us articulate what our dream is for this parish.  I wonder what might have happened if St. Luke had wandered in to one of those meetings?  Would he have read out the selection from Acts that Tim proclaimed?  Because here we have a description of an idyllic church, right after Pentecost has sprung itself on the small band of nascent Christ-followers.  This is an image of Church that draws on all kinds of dreams Luke’s contemporaries in different philosophical circles had expressed for the ideal society, and he paints a picture of this community restored by Christ through the Spirit and says: here it is, it’s possible and Christ did it.  Strife, dissension, marginalization and persecution would all come, and he won’t whitewash those away, but for a brilliant brief while Christ made us truly live as Church.

Guest post: Getting ready for ordination

I have a guest post over at the Holy Cross Vocations blog.

Basic guide to an ordination ceremony

I wrote this up for my family, and thought it might be worth sharing here.

Purpose:  For Pat and I to be made into priests by the bishop. 

Main Players:  Bishop Kevin Rhoades will preside and preach.  He is the bishop of Fort Wayne – South Bend (the diocese in which Notre Dame and South Bend are located).    Seminarians will serve.

One Key Moment:  The bishop laying his hands on mine and Pat’s heads.  This, together with a prayer he says after the priests repeat his gesture, is the moment we become priests.  We read about this rite in the part of the Bible about the first generation of the Church after Jesus’ time on earth (book of Acts).

Formality: Think wedding.