A Priceless Christmas Gift

A Priceless Christmas Gift

Dec. 25, 2009, Christmas Day
Isaiah 52:7-10 Hebrews 1:1-6 John 1:1-5, 9-14

Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to John
Glory to you, Lord.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came to be through Him, and without Him nothing came to be. What came to be through Him was life, and this life was the light of the human race. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world came to be through Him, but the world did not know Him. He came to what was his own, but his own people did not accept Him. But to those who did accept Him He gave power to become children of God, to those who believe in his name, who were born not by natural generation nor by human choice nor by a man’s decision but of God. And the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us, and we saw his glory, the glory as of the Father’s only Son, full of grace and truth.

The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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Introduction
The three Masses of Christmas

Christmas is the only day which has three different Masses assigned it: Mass at Midnight, Mass at Dawn and Mass during the Day. Each has its own scripture readings. The Mass at midnight, which originated in the fifth century, was celebrated in the Basilica of St. Mary Major in Rome, where the relics of the crib were brought in the seventh century. The midnight tradition seems to be an interpretation of a passage from the Book of Wisdom: “While all things were in quiet silence and the night was in the midst of her course, thy Almighty Word, O Lord, came down from thy royal throne in heaven.” (Wisdom 18:14-15) Because the gospel for the midnight Mass has a heavenly multitude of angels praising God and singing “Glory to God in the highest,” it’s also called the Mass of the Angels. (Lk 2:1-14)

The Mass during the day is the oldest of the three. It originated in Rome in the early fourth century and was celebrated at St. Peter Basilica. It seems to mark the very origins of the celebration of the Feast of Christmas. Because the gospel for the Mass during the day is St. John’s prologue about the Word which was in the beginning and which became flesh, it’s also called the Mass of the Divine Word. (Jn 1:1-18)

The Mass at dawn was the last of the three to appear. It was celebrated first in the sixth century when a Byzantine governor of Rome requested that a Mass in honor of St. Anastasia (martyred on December 25) be celebrated on that day. That Mass was then 'fitted in' at dawn. When Rome ceased to be part of the Byzantine Empire, the tradition of Mass at dawn remained, but its text was altered into a second Mass of the Nativity.[1] Because the gospel for the Mass at dawn has an angel announcing the birth of the Savior to shepherds, it’s also called the Mass of the Shepherds. (Lk2:15-20)

The gospel readings for both the Mass of the Angels and the Mass of the Shepherds both tell simple but picturesque stories which delight the child in us. Not so with the gospel reading for the Mass of the Divine Word. That oldest of the three Masses of Christmas proclaims that “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. And the Word became flesh.” (Jn 1:1, 14) Those words mean little to a child but a lot to a theologian.

The heresy of `verbalism’

In the course of a good half-century as priest and preacher of the Word, I have unearthed a very personal nugget in John’s prologue. The nugget is this: because the Word has become flesh, the Word now is no longer a word (or a bunch of words)! The Word now is an Infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.

In my book that nugget lays an axe to `verbalism’[2] – that’s the tendency we have to place too much stock in words. Verbalism is living and dying by words. Worse yet, it is making others, as well, live and die by words. In the fifteenth century, verbalism did in poor St. Joan of Arc: the Inquisitors burned her at the stake for not having the right words to their theological questions.

In these past fifty-plus years, verbalism has often done me in, and that explains why I feel the way I do about words. For one example among very many others, I recall, the lady who played the organ and directed the choir in a parish where I was assisting. One Sunday after Mass, she issued an ultimatum to me: “If you do not recite the words of consecration over the bread and wine exactly as they are to be found in the altar missal I shall resign my job and quit the parish!” That, indeed, was not an empty threat, for the parish really appreciated her expertise as organist and music director. Her verbalism was subsequently reinforced by the pastor himself who firmly instructed me by phone that from now on I was to “say the words of consecration exactly as they’re found in the altar missal.”

Verbalism, I dare to say, is also filling Sunday liturgy with three scripture readings and with the recitation of a responsorial psalm, a Gloria, a Credo, an Agnus Dei and an Our Father, to the detriment of periodic silence so beloved by Quakers – a silence inviting us to hear God’s voice speaking within us. Worse of all, verbalism is rambling on in a sermon which either doesn’t say much at all or which pretends to have God down pat.

Verbalism is also the doctrinaire approach to the controversial issues of life, such as abortion, celibacy, divorce, priesthood, sexuality, homosexuality, etc. At the end of the day, the profound solutions to these critical issues lay not so much in the words of our mouth but more in the deep recesses of our hearts.

In my book, verbalism is as much a heresy as Nestorianism[3] or Monophysitism,[4] for it denies our bottom line: because the Word has become flesh, the Word now is no longer a word; the Word now is an Infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.

The urge to tell stories

Christmas isn’t the time to be `mouthing words,’ but it is, indeed, the season to be telling stories. In fact, there’s something about Christmas that doesn’t like words but does, indeed, love stories (which are really words made flesh). When there are a lot of shepherds and sheep, oxen and ass, stable and straw, kings and coffers, and whole choirs of angels hovering over a babe and singing Gloria in excelsis Deo, then there is a lot of flesh and blood, and then, indeed, there is a lot of story.

At this time of the rolling year especially, there's an irresistible urge to tell stories. Beginning with December 17 (when the Novena of Christmas begins) the gospel readings at Mass tell one story after the other, to delight the child in us. And not only the Mass readings but also the media has an irresistible urge to tell stories. TV and newspapers these days are on the alert for a heart-warming Christmas story to relieve the bad news of the fast-departing old year. When editors find such a story, they anoint the front page of their newspaper with it.

A Christmas story – Part 1

Exactly one-quarter of a century ago this year, one such heart-warming Christmas story graced the front page of the Milwaukee Journal for Saturday, December 8, 1984. It’s a story we tell and retell in order to keep inspiring and incentivizing ourselves especially at this time of the rolling year. The story happened on December 6, the feast of jolly old St. Nick, famous for his gift-giving. It begins as all good stories begin: Once upon a time there was a bus driver whom everyone likes and calls Kojac. He's going west on Wisconsin Ave. It's about 3:30 in the afternoon and it's only l0 degrees above zero. A woman enters, and she’s tattered and torn, and she’s pregnant! And what’s more -- she has no shoes on her feet! It’s 10 degrees above zero, and mind you, she has no shoes on her feet! School's out, and the bus is full of high-school kids, and they're all making fun of her.

When the bus pulls up to 124th and Bluemound Road, a kid steps up to the front and is ready to get off. He's about fourteen years old -- that typical age when kids supposedly have no brains in their heads and are utterly selfish. "And then I saw the darnest thing I had ever seen in my life,” said the bus driver. "The darnest thing! This kid had his shoes in his hands, and his feet were bare! And he says to this woman in front of all his peers who are laughing at her, `Here, M’am, you need them more than I do!' “I cried," said the big strapping bus driver. "I cried, and so did the woman!" Well, the barefoot boy steps off the bus into the winter cold, and Kojac wipes away the tears and off he drives his bus.

Part 2

The story doesn’t die there but comes to life again the next morning. The bus driver is on his route as usual and arrives at 124th and Bluemound Road where the lad (Francis Daly is his name) got off the day before. There, lo and behold, stands an angel of the Lord! There stands the boy again! Kojac dashes out, pulls him over to his bus and captures the story with his camera. For stories (flesh and blood that they are) are not only to be heard by the ear but also to be gazed upon by the eye. After the snapshot, big Kojac gets back into his bus, pulls out a long green handkerchief, blows his nose, wipes away the tears and says, "That's Francis. He got me again!"

The next day, Saturday, December 8, the snapshot and story of big Kojac and little Francis was splashed over the front page of the Milwaukee Journal. The following morning, Sunday, December 9, the story went forth by UPI to the entire nation to be read and seen by all. Even President Reagan read the story and sent the boy a letter of thanks. By Sunday thousands of others were joyfully weeping with Kojac over a cup of coffee and the Sunday newspaper.

A friend writes me,

I know the parents of that barefoot boy. He was a student at Marquette High School and his father was (is) a topnotch trial lawyer at Q&B. I called the father after reading the story in the Milwaukee Journal. I found out that it was his kid. I told the father that if his son ever ran for any office of any kind, I’d vote for him. When the then principal of Marquette High was asked to comment, he simply remarked that the boy’s parents had done a wonderful job of raising such a kid.

I also heard that the boy’s mother was really ticked off when the kid showed up shoeless that evening. The kid had pestered his parents for the sneakers, and they had cost a good $70 or so. Her immediate reaction was anger when he came home without the costly sneakers. But at the end of the day, both his mom and dad were so proud they nearly burst!

Francis was certainly a hero because of his compassion and unselfishness, but he was also a hero because of his courage. In a bus full of peers making fun of the barefoot woman and demanding blue-jean conformity from him, he, indeed, acted courageously as he took off his shoes and gave them to one in need. His courage was so remarkable that on the 8th anniversary of the story, the Milwaukee Journal in its Sunday edition for December 20, 1992, called attention to the fact that the story of `Big Kojac and Little Francis’ was included in a recently published book entitled Courageous Kids. The story continues to live on, as all good stories do.

Conclusion
A priceless Christmas gift

What do we want for our kids at Christmas? This: that, like little Francis, they would become `left-handed thinkers[5]’who have the courage to step out of blue-jean-conformity. What do we want for ourselves at Christmas? We want to raise sons and daughters like barefoot Francis of Milwaukee who would have thrilled the heart of barefoot Francis of Assisi. We want to raise sons and daughters who will make our hearts burst with pride. (That’s a big job these days.)

What should we be doing at Christmas? Like the news media (despite all its commercialization of the season) we should be shopping around for a good Christmas story and then anoint ourselves with it. Again, what should we be doing at Christmas? Besides giving gifts to each other, we should be telling each other heart-warming stories like that of `Big Kojak and Little Francis.’ On the feast of jolly old St. Nick, he turned his $70 tennis shoes into a priceless gift for a forlorn and barefoot lady, and his story, a quarter of a century later, now lives on to inspire and incentivize us and to help soften all the bad news of fast-departing 2009.

[1] Prayers commemorating St Anastasia remain a part of the Mass at Dawn even in the 1962 Missal.
[2] If the word is not in the dictionary, it should be!
[3] Nestorianism -- a heresy which affirms two persons in Jesus, one human and one divine.
[4] Monophysitism -- a heresy which denies there are two natures in Jesus – one human and one divine.
[5] `Blessed are the poor’, says Jesus; that’s left-handed thinking.

All Four Candles Burning Brightly

All Four Candles Burning Brightly

December 20, 2009: Third Sunday of Advent
Micah 5:1-4 Hebrews 10:5-10 Luke 1:39-45

First reading from the prophet Micah

The Lord says, “Bethlehem Ephrathah, you are one of the smallest town in Judah, but out of you I will bring a ruler for Israel, whose family line goes back to ancient times.” So the Lord will abandon his people to their enemies until the one who is to give birth has her son. Then his fellow countrymen who are in exile will be reunited with their own people. When He comes, He will rule His people with the strength that comes from the Lord and with the majesty of the Lord God Himself. His people will live in safety because people all over the earth will acknowledge His greatness, and He will bring peace.

The word of the Lord
Thanks be to God
Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke
Glory to you, Lord.

As soon as the angel Gabriel left, Mary dashed off into the hill country with utmost speed, to a town in Judah. There she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the infant leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth, filled with the Holy Spirit, cried out in a loud voice, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. I can hardly believe that the mother of my Lord should come to visit me. When you came in and greeted me, the instant I heard your voice my baby within me leaped for joy. You believed that God would do what He said, and that is why He has given you this wonderful blessing.”

The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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Introduction
All four candles burning brightly

Winter begins tomorrow, Monday, December 21st. The Old Farmers' Almanac shows the period between December 17th and December 25th as the darkest of the entire year; it has 15 long hours of darkness and only 9 short hours of light. On this fourth Sunday of Advent, December 20th, we light all four candles of the Advent wreath to dispel the physical and psychological darkness of these concluding days of 2009.

Early Advent: a wearisome litany of promises

In the liturgical books Advent is divided into Early and Late Advent. Early Advent begins with the 1st Sunday of Advent and continues till the 17th of December. The readings at Mass from the prophet Isaiah offer a wearisome litany of promises. The verbs in the Isaian readings are all in the future tense, because that’s the tense of promise. E.g.,

“In those days they will melt down their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. One nation will not raise the sword against another, and they will no longer train for war again." (Is 2:4-5) "In those days the wolf will be a guest of the lamb, and the leopard will lie down with the kid." (Is 11:6) "In those days the deaf will be able to hear a book being read out loud and the blind who have been living in darkness will open their eyes and see.“ (Is 29:18) “In those days the Lord God will turn the desert into pools of water and the dry land into flowing springs.” Etc. (Is 41: 18)

By the end of Early Advent, we have become wearied a bit by Isaiah’s litany of future-tense verbs foretelling good things to come, and we find ourselves exclaiming, “What about now!”

Late Advent: a delightful litany of stories

With the beginning of Late Advent on December 17th (called also the Novena of Christmas) everything dramatically changes. Suddenly all the verbs of the gospel readings at Mass are in the past tense. That’s the tense of story, for every good story begins with ”Once upon a time there was….” The readings no longer gaze into the future and offer a wearisome litany of promises. Instead they gaze back into the past and offer a litany of delightful stories – all of them circling around that great event of history when “Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea during the reign of Herod the king.” (Mt 2:1) Because Late Advent tells one story after another, the readings at Mass these days (unlike the Isaian readings) delight the child in us, and set the season doing what it does best: telling stories.

After Jesus’ genealogy is traced through forty-two generations in the gospel reading at Mass on the 17th (Mt. 1:1-17), there follows a litany of stories. On the 18th the story is told of Joseph who’s puzzled about his espoused wife being with child. (Mt 1:18-24) On the 19th the story is told of aged Zachariah, priest of God, to whom an angel of the Lord appears at the time of incense in the Temple and tells him his barren and aged wife Elizabeth will conceive a child. (Lk 1: 5-25) On the 20th the story is told of the angel Gabriel announcing to Mary that she would conceive and bear a Son whom she will name Jesus. (Lk 1: 26- 38) On the 21st the story is told of Mary hastening over hill country to visit and minister to her cousin Elizabeth who’s already six-months pregnant. (Lk 1: 39-45) On the 22nd the story is told of Mary singing her Magnificat magnifying God her Savior, in response to Elizabeth’s exalted greeting,. (Lk1:46-56) And on the 23rd the story is told of old Zechariah prophesying that his son John would go before the Lord to prepare straight paths for Him. (Lk 1:67-79)

Mary with a basketful of compassion

The story of Mary’s visitation is told also on this fourth Sunday of Advent. When the angel Gabriel announced to Mary that she was chosen to be the mother of the Messiah, she didn’t become immobilized with surprise and awe at her great dignity. Instead, she became highly incentivized; as soon as the angel Gabriel left, Mary grabbed her bonnet and basket filled with compassion. Then she flew out of the house and “dashed over hill country with utmost speed to a town in Judah” (Lk 1:39) to visit and minister to her cousin Elizabeth who is elderly and pregnant, and in great need of help. Gabriel’s annunciation and Mary’s visitation together deliver a simple message: in the age of the Messiah, people filled with compassion will dash with utmost speed to help another in need.

A Muslim with a basketful of compassion

In tune with the spirit of Late Advent which delights in telling stories, the media recently has been recounting over and over again the story of a wonderful Muslim named Mohammad Sohail. Like Mary filled with compassion he helped another in great need.

Sohail, who moved to the United States from Pakistan about 20 years ago, was getting ready to close his Long Island convenience store just after midnight on May 21, when a man in his 40s entered with a baseball bat in his hand and with no-good intentions in his head. Sohail tried to stall him off for a moment and then grabbed a rifle he keeps behind the counter and ordered the assailant to drop the bat.

To Sohail’s great surprise the would-be thief dropped to his knees. Crying like a baby, he begged Sohail, '”Don't call police, don't shoot me, I have no money, I have no food in my house.” "I felt bad for him,” Sohail later remarked. Then to the would-be thief’s surprise, Sohail moved with compassion gave the poor guy a loaf of bread and $40! Yes, he gave $40 to a man who almost robbed him, and then he sent him on his way.

The story would be astounding enough if it ended right there, but it doesn’t. Two weeks before Thanksgiving this year, the would-be robber surprised Sohail again: he sent him a typewritten letter postmarked November 11, 2009, with no return address and mailed on Long Island. In the letter the man apologized to his would-be victim. He wrote,

First of all I would like to say I am sorry. At the time I had no money, no food on the table, no job and nothing for my family. Now I have a new child and good job, make good money, staying out of trouble and taking care of my family. You gave me forty dollars, thank you for sparing my life. Because of that you changed my life.

Then to top things off, he enclosed a fifty dollar bill in the letter! Sohail joked, "When you do good things for somebody, it comes back to you. I gave him $40, and he sent me back $50. It was a good investment.”

“It was a good investment.”

As all good stories do, this story spread swiftly and repeatedly through the media, and Sohail has received several hundred-dollar checks in the mail. That money he now uses to offer free bagels, rolls and coffee in his store every night after 9 o'clock.

Conclusion
All four candles burning brightly

These are gloomy days with 10.2% unemployment, with constant bickering over healthcare reform, with a never-ending war in Afghanistan and with the recent massacre in Fort Hood, Texas. In that horrific event an extremist Muslim, Nidal Hasan, killed 13 and wounded 29 as he cried out “Allahu Akbar!” (Allah is great!). In the face of all that bad news, we are delighted to hear and tell the story of another Muslim - Mohammad Sohail. He, too, was an extremist -- not in his anger or hatred but in his compassion: to a man who tried to rob him he gave a loaf of bread and $40 cash.

The Sohail story quickly hit all the news media, for down deep within us all is the yen to tell or hear a good heart-warming and light-infusing story, especially during the Christmas season. The Sohail story sets all four candles on the Advent wreath burning brightly in the physical and psychological darkness of these days.

Oh Rosy Candle Burning Brightly!

December 13, 2009: Third Sunday of Advent
Zephaniah 3:14-18a Philippians 4:4-7 Luke 3:10-18

Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke
Glory to you, Lord.

The crowds asked John the Baptist, “What do you want us to do?” ”If you have two coats,” he replied, “give one to the poor. If you have extra food, give it to those who are hungry.” Even tax collectors—notorious for their corruption—came to be baptized and asked, “How shall we prove to you that we have mended our lives?” “By your honesty,” he replied. “Make sure you collect no more taxes than the Roman government requires you do.” “And what about us?” some soldiers asked. John replied, “Don’t extort money by threats and violence! Don’t accuse anyone of what you know he didn’t do! Be content with your pay!”

Now the people were filled with expectation, and all were asking in their hearts whether John might be the Christ. John answered them all, saying, “I am baptizing you with water, but One mightier than I is coming. I am not worthy to loosen the thongs of His sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fan is in His hand to clear His threshing floor and to gather the wheat into His barn, but the chaff He will burn with unquenchable fire.”Exhorting them in many other ways, John preached good news to the people.

The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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Introduction
Rose for Gaudete Sunday

The first reading for this third Sunday of Advent is from the prophet Zephaniah who exhorts the people saying, “Sing and shout for joy, people of Israel! Rejoice with all your heart, Jerusalem! The Lord, the King of Israel, is with you.” (Zeph. 3:14‑15) And the second reading contains the opening words of the old Latin Mass (the Introit): “Gaudete semper in Domino! Iterum dico, gaudete!” “Rejoice in the Lord always! Again I say rejoice!” (Phil. 4:4) In the course of time, the third Sunday of Advent came to be called Gaudete Sunday.

Before the liturgical revisions of Vatican II, Advent was a strictly penitential season; it forbad all feasting, partying and decorating before December 24. It was natural, therefore, to rejoice on the third Sunday of Advent: it meant we were more than halfway through the sober season of Advent, and soon we would be able to intoxicate ourselves with the sounds, scenes and scents of Christmas. The color of the priest’s vestments on Gaudete Sunday was changed from penitential purple to joyful rose. And one of the candles on the Advent wreath was colored rose to highlight the Sunday which commands us to rejoice.

A command to rejoice?

We tend to frown upon people who try to command our emotional states. If I want to bewail some deep loss or setback I’ve suffered, or some big mistake I’ve made, then bewail I shall, and don’t tell me to cheer up. If I want to go about feeling sorry for myself because of the cruel birth or unfortunate circumstances, then self-pity I shall feel, and don’t tell me to cheer up. If I want to go about grouching "Bah humbug" like old Scrooge because of something that went wrong in his early life, then grouch I will, and don’t tell me to cheer up.

You just don’t command people’s emotional states. Oh, but the prophet Zephaniah did just that! Speaking to a group of poor benighted refugees in a slum district of Jerusalem, he tells them to “Sing and shout for joy, people of Israel! Rejoice with all your heart, Jerusalem! The Lord, the King of Israel, is with you.” (3:14, 17) And St. Paul, too, commands the people and himself as well to rejoice. Sitting in prison and bound with chains, he tells the Philippians to “Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I say, rejoice! The Lord is near." (Phil 4:4)

Fr. Delp’s rejoicing

The German Jesuit, Father Alfred Delp (executed by Hitler on February 2, 1945), sitting in prison and bound with chains, wrote in his diary for Gaudete Sunday, 1944,

How is it possible to rejoice in a prison cell (a space of three paces in each direction)? How is it possible to rejoice when your hands are fettered, and your heart is overwhelmed with longings, and your head is filled with problems and worries? Yes, happiness can happen even under these circumstances. I tell you every now and then my heart can scarcely contain the delirious joy that's in it. Suddenly, not knowing why, my spirits soar and there is no doubt in my mind that all the promises[1] hold good. [He admits that that might just be an unconscious defense mechanism against depression.] But not always. Sometimes it is due to a wonderful premonition of wonderful things to come. (Prison Meditations of Fr. Alfred Delp)

Rejoice this Christmas 2009?

With Fr. Delp we ask how is it possible to rejoice -- especially this Christmas 2009, as a painful recession has just now peaked at 10.2 percent unemployment? How is it possible to rejoice this Christmas 2009, as a nasty national debate about healthcare (divided strictly along party lines in which one side does its best to misrepresent the other) now rages on? How is it possible to rejoice this Christmas 2009, as an unpopular war which began way back in October 2001 in Afghanistan, and which now numbers 4,682 casualties as of November 13, promises no end in sight and disheartens a war-weary nation? How is it possible to rejoice this Christmas 2009, as the memory of the horrific massacre in Fort Hood, Texas, November 5 (which killed 13 and wounded 29) still lingers vividly in our minds?

And to ask the question in deeply personal and immediate terms: how is it possible to rejoice this Christmas 2009, when we, or someone we love dearly, has received a chilling verdict from the doctor? How is it possible to rejoice, when we’ve just become one of the 10.2 percent unemployed? How is it possible to rejoice, when we’ve just lost a pet who loved us unconditionally? Yes, indeed, how is it possible to rejoice, when we’ve just recently lost a partner of 30, 40, 50, 60 years?

Joy is an inside job

It’s possible because joy is not just some capricious mood or willowy reed at the pure mercy of life’s benign and favorable winds. It’s possible because joy is an inside job! That is to say, it’s a decision we make to not get stuck in our losses, mistakes, diminutions or tragedies. To evoke the climate of December, joy is a decision not to be snowbound by self-pity or useless regret or unavailing grief or relentless anger. Joy is a decision not to be snowbound either by unlucky birth or by unlucky circumstances.

Joy was an inside job for a 92-year-old lady who made a decision not to get stuck in her diminutions. Though she was legally blind, she always managed to fashionably coif herself and perfectly apply her makeup. Recently she moved to a nursing home; the recent death of her 90-year-old husband made the move necessary. As she maneuvered her walker to the elevator, the nurse in charge gave her a kind of visual description and preview of her tiny room. “Oh, I love it,” she said with the enthusiasm of an eight year old having just received a new puppy as a Christmas gift. “Oh, but Mrs. Jones,” the nurse replied, “you haven’t seen your room yet. Just wait until you do! You’re going to be so happy.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with it,” she replied. “Happiness is something you decide upon ahead of time. Whether I like my room or not doesn’t depend on what kind of furniture is in it or how it is arranged. It’s what’s in my mind that counts. I have already decided to be happy with my room. I make the decision to be happy every morning when I wake up. I can choose to spend the day in bed and bemoan the difficulties I have with parts of my body that no longer work, or I can get out of bed and be thankful for the ones that do work.

Joy as a personal decision to rise above birth and circumstances is a mystery. Why does that little lady decide to get out of bed and be grateful for the parts of her body that work, while another decides to lie in bed and bemoan the parts that don’t? Or why does old Ebenezer Scrooge, who had all the money he needed, make a decision to grouch out “Bah Humbug” to his nephew, while his nephew who didn’t have a penny in his pocket, decides to sing out “Merry Christmas” to old Scrooge?

Joy is also an outside job.

Joy is an inside job -- a personal decision we make. But it’s also an outside job; that is to say, it also depends on circumstances out of the reach of personal decision. It depends on what might be called “fortunate birth” -- that is to say, birth into circumstances of good health, education, parenting, etc. Joy even at times seems to depend on pure genetics; some people seem simply born joyful, no matter what.

I am not one of those gifted with “fortunate birth,” and joy doesn’t come easily for me. That might sound self-piteous but it’s the truth, and here’s not the place to tell my story. At the end of the day, a sheer personal decision for joy on my part has never been enough for me. My joy has always needed help from outside. And along the highway of my life, perceptive and compassionate people have given my joy the help it needs.

Mystic joy!

Fr. Delp sitting in prison writes, “My heart can scarcely contain the delirious joy that's in it.” That’s mystic joy, indeed, and it’s pure gift. Old Ebenezer Scrooge, too, was eventually overcome with mystic joy and pure gift. As the curtain goes up on the Christmas Carol, old Scrooge is grouching “Bah, Humbug,” and he’s boiling people in their own pudding and piercing their hearts with stakes of holly. But as the curtain goes down, there is a new Scrooge. Visited by the three mystic Spirits of Christmas, he is now jumping up and down with joy in his heart and tears in his eyes. And he’s shouting out a promise to honor Christmas in his heart and keep it all year round.

Conclusion

Oh Rosy candle burning brightly
Oh rosy candle burning brightly before us today,
we hear you: “Joy is an inside job!”
That is to say, it is a personal decision not be snowbound
by self-pity or useless regret or unavailing grief or relentless anger.

Oh rosy candle burning brightly before us today,
we hear you: “Joy is also an outside job!”
That is to say, it is also outside the reach of personal decision,
and it needs help from others and a heart willing to receive it.

Oh rosy candle burning brightly before us today,
we hear you: “Joy every now and then is also a mystic job!”
That was the joy of Fr. Delp and old Scrooge;
both could scarcely contain the joy they felt.
That joy was pure gift, and it’s given to whom it’s given.

[1] One of those promises is ”Blessed are they who suffer persecution, they shall be comforted.”

Level off the Mountains and Fill in the Valleys

Level off the Mountains and Fill in the Valleys
Isaiah 40:4

December 6, 2009: Second Sunday of Advent
Baruch 5:5, 7 Philemon 1:4-6, 8-11 Luke 3:1-6

First reading from Baruch

Arise, Jerusalem, stand on the heights and turn your eyes to the east. For God has commanded that every lofty mountain be leveled and every valley be filled, so that Israel may walk in safety under the glory of God.

The word of the Lord
Thanks be to God

Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke
Glory to you, Lord.

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was tetrarch of Galilee, and his brother Philip tetrarch of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias was tetrarch of Abilene during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John, the son of Zechariah, while he was in the desert. He went into all the country around the Jordan River. “Turn away from your sins and be baptized,” he preached, ”and God will forgive your sins.” John was the one whom the prophet Isaiah was referring to when he wrote,Someone is shouting in the desert:

“Get ready a road for the Lord to travel on!
Widen the pathway before Him!
Level off the mountains!
Fill up the valleys!
Straighten out the winding roads before Him!
Smooth out the ruts!
And then all mankind shall see salvation from God! [1]”

The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

----------------
Introduction
Good imagery

Every year on the Second Sunday of Advent (whether the gospel reading is from Cycle A,B or C) John the Baptist is described as one sent to level off the mountains, fill up the valleys, straighten out the winding road and smooth off the ruts in order to make the Lord’s coming easy.

The imagery suggests the preparation made for an official visit from royalty in the ancient world. Preceding a visit from a Pharaoh of Egypt, teams of workers were sent out to put the roads in shape. They straightened out the sharp curves and leveled off the hills. They filled in the potholes and cleared away the litter, so that the litter carrying the Pharaoh might move with dispatch.

When the church council which gave us the Nicene Creed was held in 360 A.D. near Istanbul Turkey, bishops from Ireland attended. How did they get from Ireland to Turkey? They walked! It took them almost a year to arrive because there weren’t any trains or planes in those days, nor were there any bulldozers to level off the mountains and fill up the valleys to make the going easy. Naturally the bishops stayed for eight or nine months, once they got there, conversing with other bishops and theologians from across the continent. We who today travel in fine automobiles over perfectly paved super-highways appreciate the imagery.

So does a Capuchin missionary appreciate it. Today’s gospel, he tells us, reminds him of his tour of duty in Nicaragua. He writes, “The people who awaited us missionaries to arrive at their little chapel would always clean the path a mile before their chapel. Then they would send a mounted delegation to meet us. With firecrackers, they would make my mule or horse run that last block. By then my rear-end was really very sore from the five or six hour trip, and I found it very hard to keep a serious smile on my face as the people reached up to grab my hand.”

Hurry up and come!

On December 17 the Novena of Christmas begins, and the church chants the first of its great Latin O Antiphons. All the antiphons are filled with a strong feeling of Advent impatience; the one for the 19th is steeped in it: O Radix Jesse! Veni ad liberandum nos! Iam noli tardare!” In paraphrased translation the antiphon cries out, “Oh Sprout from Jesse, come to set us free! For God’s sake, stop your delaying! Hurry up and come! What in the world is keeping you?”

There is, indeed, something that’s keeping Him. Years ago, a Milwaukee rabbi (who no doubt had indelible and personal thoughts of the Holocaust haunting him) wrote me,
If more people in the world were filled with love, compassion and tolerance, we can hasten the day of the Messiah’s coming.. I often kid my synagogue that I visualize the Messiah about to be sent down to the world by G-d, but looking at all the violence, hatred, inhumanity (especially in the name of religion), He beseeches God not to send Him down to earth!
The rabbi makes a startling point: we either delay the day of the Lord’s coming, or we level off the mountains and hasten it.

A Samaritan who leveled off the mountains

One day a Jew was going from Jerusalem to Jericho and was waylaid by robbers who left him half-dead. Along came a Jewish priest and Levite who saw the poor man and passed him by. Finally along came a Samaritan, considered by Jews to be half-breeds and heretics. (Jn 4:20). He stopped to pour the oil of compassion into the man’s wounds. Then he hoisted him on his beast of burden and hurried him off to the nearest inn, where he provided for his care and cure. (Lk 10:25-37)

The Good Samaritan had leveled off the mountains and straightened out the winding roads, and had readied a smooth path for the Lord God to come to a poor wretch waylaid by robbers. When he was finally restored to health, the man immediately went to the temple to give thanks, for in the person of a despised Samaritan loving him (a wounded Jew) he had seen salvation from God.

What’s more, when the Milwaukee rabbi’s reluctant Messiah (holed up in heaven) heard about the great compassion of the Samaritan towards a hurting Jew, he changed his mind and beseeched God to swiftly send him down to the good earth.

A Jew who leveled off the mountains

Aaron Feuerstein, a devout Jew, is CEO and owner of Malden Mills, a fabric factory in Methuen, Massachusetts. On the night of December 11, 1995 a boiler exploded and a devastating fire demolished a good part of his factory. The next morning he announced to all his 2400 employees that, with God's help, they would all get through that tragedy together. Then he gave them their pay checks plus a $275 Christmas bonus and a $20 food coupon. Three days later on the night of December 14 in the gym of the Catholic High School he made a startling announcement: "For the next 30 days, and it might be more, all our employees will be paid their full salaries. I think you already have been advised that your health insurance has been paid for the next 90 days. But over and above the money, the most important thing Malden Mills can do for our workers is to get you all back to work. By January 2 of 1996, we will restart operations, and within 90 days, God willing, we will be 100 percent operational.” There was a moment of stunned disbelief, and then the workers rose to their feet cheering and hugging each other and also weeping.
Feuerstein had leveled off the mountains and straightened out the winding roads, and had readied a smooth path for the Lord God to come to 2400 disheartened factory workers. In their CEO they had seen salvation from God.

What’s more, when the Milwaukee rabbi’s reluctant Messiah (holed up in heaven because of man’s inhumanity to man) heard about Feuerstein’s great compassion towards his employees (a pleasant surprise in the corporate world) he changed his mind and beseeched God to swiftly send him down to the good earth.

A bartender who leveled off the mountains

Jerry Quinn owned a bar and restaurant in Boston. One day he read in the newspaper that Franklin Piedra, an Ecuadorian, 33 years old, was suffering from chronic kidney failure. His mother wanted to give him one of her kidneys, but the transplant would cost at least 100,000 dollars, and she had no health insurance. The Ecuadorian Consulate suggested that he go home and die. Quinn had a better idea. He had been saving his money for a major down-payment on a two-bedroom apartment in a suburban part of Boston with a river view and all. But now another thought kept popping up, and he couldn’t get rid of it.

He called the reporter at the New York Post who wrote the story. Quinn said he wanted to help. She asked, “How much do you want to donate?” He replied, “I’d like to do the whole thing.” “What,” she exclaimed, “the whole 100,000 dollars!” “I’m not a wealthy guy,” he replied, “but I am comfortably well-off. And I have this theory of life: you can use only one car, you can use only one kitchen, you can use only one bathroom, you can only eat so much. That’s my theory. So what more do we need?”

Piedra was restored to health by the donation of his mother’s kidney and the incredible gift of a bartender. Quinn had leveled off the mountains and straightened out the winding roads, and had readied a smooth path for the Lord God to come to Piedra waylaid by kidney failure. When the two finally met, Piedra hugged and kissed Quinn in whom he had seen salvation from God.
What’s more, when the Milwaukee rabbi’s reluctant Messiah (holed up in heaven because of man’s inhumanity to man) heard about Quinn’s great compassion towards Piedra beset with kidney failure, he changed his mind and beseeched God to swiftly send him down to the good earth.

Conclusion
Heroes of Advent

The command for the Second Sunday of Advent is “Level off the mountains and fill in the valleys” to facilitate the Lord God’s coming. That’s what the Good Samaritan and the Jewish CEO and Irish bartender did. Together with John the Baptist they are heroes of Advent, and they invite us to be Advent heroes with them.


[1] Isaiah 40:3-5

Lamp Lighting Time in Dark Days

A Jewish Menorah
Lamp-lighting Time in Dark Days

To the churched and unchurched[1]
gathered in a church not built by human hands[2]

November 29, 2009: First Sunday of Advent
Jeremiah 33:14-16 I Thessalonians 3:12-4:2 Luke 21:25-28, 34-36


First reading from the prophet Jeremiah

The days are coming, says the LORD, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the people of Israel and Judah. At that time, I will choose as king a righteous descendant of David. That king will do what is right and just in the land. The people of Judah and Jerusalem will be rescued and live in safety. The city will be called ‘The Lord Our Salvation.’”

The word of the Lord
Thanks be to God

Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke
Glory to you, Lord.

Lk 21, vs. 25-28: Jesus said to His disciples: “There will be signs in the sun, the moon and the stars. And on earth nations will be in dismay, perplexed by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will die of fright in anticipation of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. And then people will see `the Son of Man coming on the clouds of heaven[3]’ with power and great glory. When these signs begin to happen, stand erect and raise your heads because your redemption is at hand.”

Lk 21, vs. 34-36: Then Jesus said to His disciples: “Be watchful! Don’t let your spirits become bloated with indulgence and drunkenness and worldly cares. That great day will suddenly close in on you like trap. It will come upon all who dwell on the face of the earth. So be watchful at all times and pray that you have the strength to escape the tribulations that are imminent and to stand before the Son of Man.”

The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

-----------------------------
Introduction
Advent & Hanukkah 2009

Today November 29 is New Years Day in the church; today we exit Ordinary Time and enter into the Extraordinary Time of Advent in preparation for Christmas 2009. Today we also go from liturgical cycle B to cycle C for the scripture readings for 2009. The evangelist for cycle B was Mark; for cycle C it will be Luke (that great evangelist who records the very best of Jesus’ parables -- like the Good Samaritan, the Prodigal Son and the Rich Man and Lazarus. Those immortal parables are to be found only in evangelist Luke.

Today we also exchange the liturgical color green for penitential purple. That’s a leftover from pre-Vatican II days when Advent, like Lent, was considered a strictly penitential season which frowned on all partying, gift-giving and decorating before the 24th of December. Now Advent is considered to be more a season of joyful expectation instead of penance, and in some places the color purple has been exchanged for blue in honor of mother Mary and baby-boy Jesus.

This Sunday also we light the first of the four candles of the Advent wreath, as a kind of fourfold genuflection to Christmas - our feast of lights. And at this time of the year we remember also our Jewish brethren who at sundown on Friday, December 11 will light the first candle on their eight branch menorah (candelabra)[4], as they begin to celebrate Hanukkah 2009 – their feast of lights.

The apocalypse genre

The gospel reading today contains an apocalypse. That’s a literary genre foretelling supernatural cataclysmic events that will transpire at the end of time. The genre is a product of a Judeo-Christian tradition which appeared two centuries before and three centuries after Christ. An apocalypse is characterized by a narrative form with esoteric language, it expresses a deeply pessimistic view of the present and it foretells an imminent crisis and a universal judgment. But it also promises a supernatural resolution to a pessimistic and apparently insoluble state of affairs. The most famous and influential of the early Jewish apocalypses is to be found in the last part of the biblical Book of Daniel (chapters 7–12).

Contrary to popular belief, apocalypses were meant more to encourage people than to frighten them. They were written because the times were terribly tough, and the writer believed that only a cataclysmic intervention of God and His Messiah could fix matters. The apocalyptic strokes themselves were not to be taken literally, as some preachers like to do. It was the happy resolution to a pessimistic and insoluble situation that was the heart of the genre.
In today’s gospel Luke puts the apocalypse genre into the mouth of Jesus. [5] He has Him speaking about a cataclysmic event:

Then there will be signs in the sun, the moon and the stars. And on earth nations will be in dismay, perplexed by the roaring of the sea and the waves.
People will die of fright in anticipation of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.
And then there is a happy resolution to a humanly insoluble situation:
And then people will see “the Son of Man coming in a cloud” with power and great glory. When these signs begin to happen, stand erect and raise your heads because your redemption is at hand.

An apocalypse for Advent 2009

A painful recession has just now peaked at 10.2 percent unemployment. An endless and testy national debate about healthcare is now raging, and it is divided mostly along party lines; one side does its best to misrepresent the other. An unpopular war which began way back in October 2001 in Afghanistan rages on, with no end in sight. A war which numbers 4,682 casualties as of November 13, 2009 disheartens a war-weary nation. And if that were not enough, a horrific massacre in Fort Hood, Texas, killed 13 and wounded 29, as an Islamic extremist cried out “Allahu Akbar!” (“Allah is great!”) That has sent the nation into a state of collective grief and has many of us wondering what to do with angry Islam and political correctness.

The times are really tough this Advent of 2009; it seems that only some cataclysmic event at the end of time will put things right and do for us what we humans never seem able to do for ourselves.

He who came still comes

The apocalypse genre sees “the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory” only at the end of time. Christian theology joyfully claims that He, who came to us in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the King (Lk 2:1), still continues to come. “Be sure of this,” Jesus tells Hs disciples after His resurrection, “I am with you always, even to the end of time.” (Mt 28:20) He comes not just at the end of time, He comes now. He who came to us in Bethlehem of Judea continues today to come to us in “a great cloud of witnesses[6]” like Fr. Mychal Judge of New York City, Mother Theresa of Calcutta, Archbishop Hunthausen of Seattle, Bishop Untener of Saginaw, Auxiliary Bishop Gumbleton of Detroit, Sr. Joan Chittister and a whole host of smaller folk whom you and I know.

A Jew who saved Christmas

In that “great cloud of witnesses” is Aaron Feuerstein, a Jew who saved Christmas. Feuerstein was CEO and owner of Malden Mills, a fabric factory in Methuen, Massachusetts. He was also a devout Jew who read Shakespeare and the Talmud.[7] On the night of December 11, 1995 (six days before the beginning of Hanukah on the 17th that year, and also the very day Hanukkah begins this year of 2009), a surprise party was held for his seventieth birthday. During the party a boiler exploded and a devastating fire broke out which demolished a good part of his factory.

Feuerstein didn’t grab the insurance money and run as a sharp man of business would do. Instead the morning after the fire he assured all his 2400 employees that with God's help they would all get through that tragedy together. Then he gave them their pay-checks plus a $275 Christmas bonus and a $20 food coupon. Three days later on the night of Dec 14th in the gym of the Catholic High School where 1000 of his employees gathered to learn their fate, he made a startling announcement.

For the next 30 days, and it might be more, all our employees will be paid their full salaries. I think you already have been advised that your health insurance has been paid for the next 90 days. But over and above the money, the most important thing Malden Mills can do for our workers is to get you all back to work. By January 2, 1996, we will restart operations, and within 90 days, God willing, we will be 100 percent operational.

There was a moment of stunned disbelief, and then the workers rose to their feet cheering and hugging each other and also weeping. What a bright shining star is CEO Feuerstein in the darkness of corporate greed and a painful recession which is peaking at 10.2 percent unemployment as the curtain comes down on 2009! Time magazine[8] reported that Feuerstein was true to his word; he continued to pay his employees in full, at a cost of one and a half million dollars a week and at an average wage of twelve and a half dollars an hour. Later that same year, corporate America, stunned by such fiscal insanity and half-hearted capitalism, named him CEO of the Year!

Conclusion
Lamp-lighting time in dark days

Back in 1995 Hanukkah began at sundown on December 17 -- the day the Novena of Christmas began for Catholics. Three days after Aaron’s stunning announcement to his workers on December 14, he started to light the first of the eight candles on his menorah. After all were lit, Aaron’s menorah glowed luminously, particularly because it reflected the bright light that glowed from him. Today we start lighting the first of the four candles on our Advent wreath. And when they’re all lit, may our wreath also glow luminously, particularly because it reflects the bright light that glows from us.

[1]By the “the unchurched” is especially meant not those who have left the church but those whom the church has left!
[2] Acts of the Apostles 17:24
[3] Daniel 7:13
[4] The menorah has eight candles for the eight-day celebration of the feast of Hanukkah ,i.e., feast of Dedication (of the Temple). The center candle of the menorah is used for lighting one of the eight candles each of the eight days of Dedication.
[5] Confer the parallel passages in Mark 13:24-32 & Matthew 24:29-31.
[6] Hebrews 12:1: “tantam nubem testium”
[7] A rich treasury of rabbinical tradition
[8] January 8, 1996

King on the Hill

King-on-the-hill
according to Jesus and John

November 22, 2009, Feast of Christ the King
Daniel 7:13-14 Revelation 1; 5-8 John 18:33-37

To the churched and unchurched[1]
gathered in a temple not built by human hands[2]

First reading from Daniel

As the visions during the night continued, I saw one like a Son of man coming, on the clouds of heaven; when he reached the Ancient One and was presented before him, the one like a Son of man received dominion, glory, and kingship; all peoples, nations, and languages serve him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that shall not be taken away, his kingship shall not be destroyed.

Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to John
Glory to you, Lord.

Pilate said to Jesus, "Are you the King of the Jews?" Jesus answered, "Do you say this on your own or have others told you about Me?" Pilate answered, "I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests handed you over to Me. What have you done?" Jesus answered, "My kingdom does not belong to this world. If my kingdom did belong to this world, my attendants would be fighting to keep Me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not here." So Pilate said to Him, "Then you are a king?" Jesus answered, "You say I am a king. For this I was born and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice." Jn 18:33b-37

The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

Introduction
The end of the year

Today marks the end of the church’s liturgical year. After having celebrated all the feasts of Our Lord and His saints through 52 weeks, the church crowns her fast-departing old year with a feast in honor of Christ the King. Next Sunday is New Years Day in the church with the arrival of the first Sunday of Advent in preparation for Christmas 2009.

A recent feast

The feast of Christ the King was instituted as recently as 1925 by Pope Pius XI.[3] At that time, the pope was battling various kings of this world. He was fighting anticlericalism in Mexico and the Bolshevik Revolution in Russia. In his own backyard, he was fighting the Kingdom of Italy which had confiscated papal territories. With his newly instituted feast the Pope seemed to be saying, “We have a King who is greater than all you kings. He is Jesus of Nazareth -- the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords.” (Rev 19:26)

This late November feast is somewhat superfluous; already in early spring, we have a feast honoring Christ as king. On Palm Sunday, the church cries out, "Hosanna to the Son of David! O King of Israel, hosanna in the highest!" Holy Week is a better context for proclaiming the kingship of Christ. It sets Jesus upon an ass and not upon a throne. It places a palm branch in his hand and not a scepter. It plants a wreath of thorns upon his head and not a tiara. And the Passion read on Palm Sunday sets the records straight for anyone who might be tempted to build an earthly kingdom for Jesus. "My kingdom,” Jesus tells Pilate, “is not of this world." (Jn 18:36)

History’s long list of rogue kings

The human race has a long history of rogue kings. King Herod, leery about Jesus “the new-born king of the Jews,” slew all baby boys two years and younger. (Mt 2:2-16) In the second half of the twentieth century Saddam Hussein (who lived as a king in eight palaces before he ended up hiding in a hole in the ground) dotted the landscape of Iraq with kingly statues of himself, as he filled the dumps with the remains of people who did not want him as king.

However we might feel about kings, Scripture is clear: Jesus is a king. He is a king as He comes into the world, and as He leaves it. At his conception, the angel Gabriel announces to Mary that the Lord God would give her Son the throne of His ancestor David, and of his kingdom there would be no end. (Lk 1:32-33) At his trial, the Roman governor Pontius Pilate asks Jesus, “Are you a king?”He answers, “Yes, for this I was born, and for this I came into the world.” (Jn 18:37) Accordingly, a gang of Roman soldiers wove a crown of thorns and pressed it down on Jesus’ head. (Mt 27:29) Then they forced Him to climb the hill of Calvary and nailed Him to a cross upon which Pilate hung a notice written in Hebrew, Latin and Greek: Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews. (Jn 19:19)

No salvation outside the Church

Before the days when kids had a lot of money to buy hi-tech toys, we had to invent our own games. We invented `hop-scotch;’ that required only some chalk to write on the sidewalk. We invented `kick-the-can;’ that required only an empty tin can. We invented `king-on-the-hill;’ that required only some kind of a height (like a raft or roof or a mound) upon which to stand and drive off anyone trying to get to the top and unseat us. The one who managed to unseat the one on top proclaimed himself king.

Not only kids but adult, too, like to play king-on-the-hill. For ages theologians and churchmen quoted a dictum of St. Cyprian, a church father of the third century, that “outside the Church there is no salvation”( “extra Ecclesiam nulla salus“). Perhaps the dictum was not much more than a comment made off the top of Cyprian’s head, but it stuck. It eventually deteriorated into a mumbled and half-examined belief that only Christians (or worse yet, only Catholics) made it to the top of the hill in the kingdom of heaven. If there were others besides Christians on that lofty height, it was because they had snuck in through some kind of a “backdoor,” like a “baptism of desire.”

See what Jesus does every time Christian extremists play king-on-the-hill in His name and try to make Him king: after the multiplication of the loaves and fishes, the fervent crowds wanted to seize Him and make Him king. Scripture says, “Jesus fled from them and hid Himself up in the mountains.” (Jn 6: 15)

No salvation outside the Mosque

Not only extreme Christians but extreme Muslims also like to play king-on-the-hill. For them, too, there is no room on the top for any other way or culture than the Islamic way and culture: all men should wear beards, all women should hide their existence under berkas, and all believers should fall to their knees in prayer five times a day. If you don’t follow that way or culture, you’re an infidel -- damned and lost, for “outside the Mosque there is no salvation.”
On Thursday, November 5, 2009 Major Nidal Malik Hasan, a Muslim, opened fire at Fort Hood, Texas, killing 13 and wounding 29, as he cried out, “Allahu Akbar!” “God is great!” Months before, Hasan had contacts with Anwar al-Awlaki, an imam,[4] whose sermons were attended by three of the nineteen 9/11 hijackers, and whose personal website was used to encourage Muslims across the world to kill U.S. troops in Iraq. Al-Awlaki was quick to praise the actions of Hasan in the Fort Hood shooting. That connection with the imam and that praise coming from him strongly suggest that the massacre had a strong religious dimension to it. We remind ourselves that the apocalyptic event of 9/11, 2001 (in which two 747s brought down the Twin Towers in Lower Manhattan and three thousand innocent human beings) was more a religious than a political statement; at the end of the day it was a stout proclamation that “Outside the Mosque there is no salvation!”

See what Allah does when Islamic extremists play king-on-the-hill in His name: He flees from them and with Jesus hides Himself up in the mountains.

Salvation outside the Synagogue!

It is noteworthy that Judaism does not claim that outside the Synagogue there is no salvation. The Talmud, for example, says that all righteous people of any religion, who observe the basic laws of morality, are saved. That’s a relativist approach to religion; it says, “I have my faith, you have your faith, and others have their faith.” On the other hand, there is the triumphalist approach to religion. That’s the approach of Christianity claiming outside the Church there is no salvation. That’s also the approach of Islam claiming outside the Mosque there is no salvation. Bernard Lewis, British-American historian, Orientalist, and political commentator, in his book What Went Wrong? writes that the triumphalist approach has Christianity and Islam shouting at each other: “I’m right, you’re wrong, go to hell!” The triumphalist approach, however, is increasingly under attack in Christendom and is rejected now by many Christian clergymen. But there is very little sign that anything like that is happening in Islam.

The birthday of a great man

Next Tuesday, November 25, is the birthday of a great man who was born poor like Jesus, 128 years ago in 1881. Many of us very senior citizens were fortunate enough to be his contemporaries, and we remember him with deep affection. His name was Angelo Giuseppe Roncalli. He was born in a little Italian village called Bergamo Sotto il Monte (Bergamo at the Foot of the Mountain). Though born at the foot of the hill, he made it to the top. On October 28, 1958, Cardinal Roncalli was elected pope and took the name of John XXIII. On November 4, the day of his coronation, a crown was placed upon his head. In his homily that day the new pope said that he had in mind the example of the Good Shepherd who came not to be served as kings are served but to serve.

The day after his coronation, John sped off through elaborate Vatican gates to put his money where his mouth was. He visited aging brother priests in nursing homes. He visited inmates in the nearby Regina Coeli Prison along the Tiber. “I come to you,” he told them, “because you couldn’t come to me.” When he celebrated his first Holy Thursday as pope, he revived an ancient custom of the church; like Jesus John girded himself with a towel and bent down to wash the feet of 13 young priests. (That foot-washing rite had fallen into disuse for many centuries, and the disuse itself was symptomatic of a prevailing institutional attitude.)

Pope John’s example emanating from the lofty height of the Petrine throne drew the whole church and world. It drew Morris West, an Australian writer (1916-1999) famous especially for his books The Devil’s Advocate and The Shoes of the Fisherman. In A View from the Ridge he writes, “I believe I can say with certainty that I remained in communion with the Church even when the Church itself excluded me[5], and I remain there still, principally because of the presence of John XXIII, the Good Pastor, whom I never met, though I did meet his predecessor (Pius XII) and his successor (John Paul II). Goodness went out from this man to me. I acknowledged it then. I acknowledge it again.”

Conclusion
The game according to Jesus and John

When Angelo Giuseppe Roncalli, born in Bergamo at the Foot of the Mountain, made it to the top of the hill as John XXIII, he, like Jesus, played a completely new game of King-on-the-Hill. In the old game, when you got to the top, you drove everyone down. In the new game when Jesus got to the top -- when He was lifted up on the Hill of Calvary -- He drew everyone up to Himself. (Jn 12:32) Like Jesus, when John got to the top he, too, played the game in an entirely new way. From the lofty height of the Petrine throne he showed the church and all of us how much more blessed it is to draw people up than to drive them down.

[1] By the “the unchurched” is especially meant not those who have left the church but those whom the church has left!
[2] Acts of the Apostles 17:24
[3] In his encyclical Quas Primas (December 11, 1925)
[4] an Islamic clergyman
[5] Though West was and always remained a Catholic, his various writings contain a good deal of criticism about the church, and the church was not always pleased with him.

A Widow’s Mighty Mite

November 8, 2009, Thirty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time
Hebrews 9:24-28 1 Kings 17:10-16 Mark 12:38-44

To the churched and unchurched[1]
gathered in a church not built by human hands[2]

Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to Mark
Glory to you, Lord.

In the course of his teaching Jesus said to the crowds, "Beware of the scribes! They like to prance around in long robes and receive greetings in the marketplaces. They look for the front seats in the synagogue and the best places at dinner-parties! They grow fat on widows’ property, and then cover up their evil machinations with lengthy prayers in public. They will receive a very severe condemnation."

Jesus sat down opposite the temple treasury and observed the crowd dropping their donations into the collection-boxes. Many people, obviously well-off, put in large sums. A poor widow also came and dropped in two small coins worth but a few cents. Calling over to his disciples, Jesus said, "Come here and feast your eyes on this poor widow! I tell you she put more into the collection box than all the others put together. For they gave a little of their extra fat, but she gave all she had to live on."

The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

---------------------
Introduction
The temple’s collection boxes

The inner area of the temple in Jerusalem contained three courts. One was the Court of the Women, and it contained the temple treasury where people donated their money. Against the wall in the treasury were thirteen horn-shaped collection-boxes (called shofaroth --horns) made of metal. Into them worshipers could conveniently drop their offerings as they came and went. The boxes were carefully marked: nine were for the required temple tax, and the other four were for strictly voluntary gifts.

A gem of a story

The story of the widow’s tiny offering is not a parable; it is an account of an event in the life of Jesus. One day He seated Himself near the temple treasury where He had a good view of people coming and going. He saw some drop sizeable donations into the metal boxes. He could, in fact, “hear the size” of their donations, as they landed audibly into the boxes. But what really caught His eye was the sight of a poor widow who dropped in two small coins. Mites, they were, which made no sound at all, as they landed into the metal box. Jesus immediately called over to his disciples; they had their eyes focused on the wealthy tossing in big donations, and missed the widow’s mighty mite."Come here,” He said to them, “and feast your eyes on this poor widow. I tell you, she put more into the collection-box than all the others put together. For they gave a little of their extra fat, but she gave all she had to live on." (Mk 12: 41-44)

That story has gone down in history as the “Widow’s Mighty Mite.” Down through the ages, that story has sung the praises of the widow’s little donation given from a big heart. (Big donations need no touting; it’s the little ones that do.) The story is a little gem and a kind of mite in itself: with only four short biblical verses it quickly rises to a climax, and then comes to a rapid denouement.

The widow’s mite living on

I have a personal fondness for the story of the widow’s mite; it reminds me of another mite. Years ago, at the daily community meal at St. Benedict the Moor Church on State Street, Milwaukee (a meal free for anyone hungry), we always passed a tin cup to all the hungry guests (for there is no meal that’s really free; someone along the line has to pay for it). One day a hungry guest tossed a strange tiny coin into the tin cup. It bore the Greek inscription Tiberiou Kaisarou—Of Tiberius Caesar! The old coin department at the Boston Store identified it: “It is an ancient Roman coin called the `Widow’s Mite.’” Perhaps the coin was `lifted’ from somebody’s coin collection, and the widow’s mite was now living on and doing duty on State Street, Milwaukee.

A shortened reading of the gospel

Immediately before the story of the widow’s offering in the temple, we read Jesus’ vitriolic words against the widow’s religious leaders—the scribes: “Beware of the scribes! They like to prance around in long robes and receive greetings in the marketplaces. They look for the front seats in the synagogue and the best places at dinner-parties! They grow fat on widows’ property, and then cover up their evil machinations with lengthy prayers in public.”(Mk 12:38-40) That’s strong stuff!

The missalette for this Sunday allows for a shortened reading of today’s gospel by bracketing off the account of Jesus’ vitriolic attack on the scribes from the account of the widow and her modest offering. Why shorten a gospel which is already short – only six verses? More importantly the two accounts shouldn’t be separated; they belong together. As a unit they pronounce an indictment against religion used as a cover for selfishly taking instead as a stimulus for generously giving.

The keen eye of Jesus

Down through the ages, the widow has always been praised for her utterly generous offering of two small coins worth but a few pennies -- all that she had to live on. Perhaps the poor dear had been misguided by the scribes (her religious superiors) who duped her into thinking it was her religious duty to give to those fat cats even the very little she had to live on. In such case, we don’t praise the poor dear; we simply feel sorry for her, for not being savvy enough to keep at least one of the coins for herself. The hero, then, in this story is not the poor widow but Jesus whose keen eye and right heart saw that the widow “had given more than all the others put together," and who wanted to make sure his disciples got the message.(Mk 12:43)

The keen eye of a cabbie

A cabbie relates a remarkable story about an event in his life. Twenty years ago he drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy’s life for someone who didn’t want a boss. What he didn’t realize was that it was also a ministry -- a service to others. Because he drove the night-shift, his cab became a moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind him in total anonymity, and told him about their lives. He encountered people whose lives amazed him, ennobled him, made him laugh and weep. But none touched him more than a woman he picked up late one August night.

About 3:30 one morning, he was responding to a call. When he arrived the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But he had seen too many poor people who depended on a taxi as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, he always went to the door.

An old widowed lady answered. She had a small suitcase in hand. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensil on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

When she got into the cab, she gave the cabbie an address, then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?” “It’s not the shortest way,” He answered quickly. “Oh, I don’t mind,” she responded. “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.” The cabbie looked into the rear mirror. Her eyes were glistening. “I don’t have any family left,” she continued. “The doctor says I don’t have very long.” He quickly reached over and shut the meter off. For the next two hours, the two of them drove through the city visiting the spots that contained all her past memories.
As the first hint of sun was illuminating the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.” They drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as they pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. The cabbie opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

“How much do I owe you?” she asked. “Nothing,” he said. “Oh, you have to make a living,” she answered. “There are other passengers,” he responded. Almost without thinking, he bent down and gave her a big hug. She held on to him tightly. “You gave an old lady a little moment of joy.” She said, “Thank you.” He squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind him a door shut. It was the sound of a life that was closing. The cabbie didn’t pick up anymore passengers that shift. He drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, he could hardly talk. He could only ponder: What if the woman had gotten an angry driver? What if he had refused to take the run, or had honked just once, then driven away? “As I look back now,” he exclaimed, ”I don’t think I’ve I have done anything greater or more important in my entire life!”

The hero in the story

The hero in the story is not the dying widow headed for a hospice; she is simply a poor dear, and we feel for her. The hero is the cowboy cabbie who had the keen eye and the right heart to see that the moment before him required that he turn off his meter and give himself wholeheartedly to the little lady before him, travelling the last lap of her journey. The hero in the story is a cabbie who felt he had done “nothing greater or more important” in his entire life than what he had just now done.

Conclusion
The Lord God in a tiny whisper

One day the Lord God commanded the prophet Elijah to go outside and stand on the mountain, and there he would experience the Lord God passing by. A howling wind came up, but the Lord God was not in the wind. A thundering earthquake shattered the silence, but the Lord God was not in the earthquake. Then a roaring fire swept through the place, but the Lord God was not in the fire. Finally a tiny whisper could be heard, and the Lord God was in the whisper, and Elijah hid his face. (1 Kings 19:9,11-13)

That day in the temple near the treasury the Lord God was not in a howling wind, or thundering earthquake, or roaring fire (or in the loud clanging of money). He was in a tiny whisper, and the whisper was a little widow tossing in two noiseless coins. And the day the cabbie was responding to a call 3:30 in the morning, the Lord was not in anything loud or noisy or showy but in a tiny whisper, and the whisper was a little lady headed for a hospice.

Like the cabbie, know when it is time to turn off your meter and give yourself to the moment at hand, lest you rush right by what could be the most important and meaningful thing you’ve ever done in your entire life.

[1] By the “the unchurched” is especially meant not those who have left the church but those whom the church has left!

[2] Acts of the Apostles 17:24