(I John 2)
Perhaps you have heard this story before. Once a rabbi asked his disciples how one knows when the night ends and the day begins. “Is it when you can tell the difference between a coyote and a cow on the horizon?” one disciple responded. “No,” the rabbi said, “not then.” “I know,” another disciple answered. “It’s when you can look over the meadow and distinguish the oak tree from the apple tree.” “No, that’s not it either,” the Rabbi said. “Then when is it?” all the disciples demanded. The rabbi spoke very deliberately: “The day begins when you can look into the eyes of a stranger and see your brother or sister. If you cannot do that, you are still in the night.”
St. John in the section of his first letter which we read today says very nearly the same thing. He admonishes his readers: “Whoever says he is in the light and hates his brother, is still in darkness. Whoever loves his brother remains in the light, and there is nothing in him to cause a fall.” Of course, the same applies to women: whoever says she is in the light and hates her brother or sister, is still in darkness.” For different sociological reasons men may have a larger share of the night. But darkness is no one gender’s exclusive domain. Plenty of women as well as men need to open their eyes to the day.
Homilette for the Feast of the Holy Innocents, December 28
(Matthew 2)
In Europe you might find your car’s tires without any air today. Or perhaps there will be three unordered pizzas delivered to your door. The Feast of the Holy Innocents in Europe is equivalent to our April Fools Day. It is a time to play practical jokes on good-natured people.
We may be shocked by the European frivolity on a day that remembers the slaughter of children. But perhaps Holy Innocents Day jokesters just take to heart the belief that the infants have gone to God. “So why not rejoice?” they might ask. Somehow, however, that is just too casual an attitude. It does not recoil at the grotesque injustice of the blood of children. It also begs the question: why live at all?
We should be able to recite the answer to that question. We live to know, love, and serve God in this world and to be happy with him in the next. If this is so, the tragedy of children dying is the irreversible condition of their minds being wasted. Dead children cannot come to know God very well. Yes, they should receive the beatific vision in heaven. And there might be something marvelous about seeing God through children’s eyes. But just as the art connoisseur will appreciate aspects of a Rubens painting that completely escape the uncultured so growing in wisdom should make us more enthralled at God’s glory. It is good to grow old then if we accordingly grow in wisdom. Reciprocally, it is a tragedy when one dies young.
In Europe you might find your car’s tires without any air today. Or perhaps there will be three unordered pizzas delivered to your door. The Feast of the Holy Innocents in Europe is equivalent to our April Fools Day. It is a time to play practical jokes on good-natured people.
We may be shocked by the European frivolity on a day that remembers the slaughter of children. But perhaps Holy Innocents Day jokesters just take to heart the belief that the infants have gone to God. “So why not rejoice?” they might ask. Somehow, however, that is just too casual an attitude. It does not recoil at the grotesque injustice of the blood of children. It also begs the question: why live at all?
We should be able to recite the answer to that question. We live to know, love, and serve God in this world and to be happy with him in the next. If this is so, the tragedy of children dying is the irreversible condition of their minds being wasted. Dead children cannot come to know God very well. Yes, they should receive the beatific vision in heaven. And there might be something marvelous about seeing God through children’s eyes. But just as the art connoisseur will appreciate aspects of a Rubens painting that completely escape the uncultured so growing in wisdom should make us more enthralled at God’s glory. It is good to grow old then if we accordingly grow in wisdom. Reciprocally, it is a tragedy when one dies young.
Reflections on Christmas Eve at the Home of a Mexican-American Family
After mass on Christmas Eve in St. Helena, California, I accepted the invitation of a Mexican-American family to come to their house for tamales, the traditional fare for Navidad (Christmas). Since I had to celebrate another mass in the morning, I told myself to stay only for a half hour. It was already almost 10 p.m.
When I arrived at the home a block from church, about thirty people of the extended family had already gathered. A few family members were at the table eating, a number in the parlor about to watch “A Christmas Story” on television, and some just visiting with one another. I said “hello” to a few people, and sat down by the television until I was called to the table for tamales and hot Christmas punch. There a few men were making themselves comfortable – a couple eating and a couple drinking.
The talk at the table was friendly but hardly personal. Although I only recently started to serve in the parish, no one inquired about my background. One fellow asked me if I had ever seen such a family gathering before. Understanding him to mean an extended family coming together on Christmas Eve at the house of a patriarch, I said “yes,” it was not a new experience. He probably had in mind, however, the rich and inspiring ritual that was about to take place. These festivities were something unique, for me at least – a celebration of faith that transcends personal satisfaction to keep a family united in the Lord no matter the circumstances.
About 11 p.m., the cancioneros (songbooks) were passed around and the television turned off. I left the table telling myself that I would sing few villancicos (carols) and perhaps say the rosary that I had been told was coming up before going home. I still wanted to get my seven hours sleep in preparation for Christmas Day.
Most everyone took a turn leading part of the rosary in the following way. After the matriarch made the introduction and said the first Our Father, a lit candle was passed about the room. The person who held the candle would recite the first part of the Hail Mary and everyone else the response. This was generally done in Spanish which the children were evidently learning. One or two adults as well as a couple of children would say the prayer in English, however. A few people remained at the table, choosing not to participate in the rosary. Perhaps they had joined an Evangelical Church and had come to think of the Hail Mary as a specifically Catholic prayer. Or maybe they just did not care to pray in public. Of course, we said the Joyful Mysteries, beginning with the angel’s announcement to Mary that she would be the mother of God and ending with Mary and Joseph finding Jesus in the Temple discussing the Scriptures with scholars. It was a family event with focus on the Holy Family.
Once the rosary was completed, I was enticed to stay for the chanting of the traditional posada (inn) verses. It’s a lovely ballad that brings tears to my eyes as I contemplate how the innkeeper allows the blessed couple to enter as soon as he realizes that the woman is Mary, the queen of heaven. People are good-hearted, I am forced to admit, if they could only see the true value of things.
The family performed the ritual with dramatic flair. A number of the children put on costumes – Mary, Joseph, an angel and shepherds. Also, more than half of the whole group, now numbering close to fifty, went outside the house to sing the parts of Mary and Joseph seeking a place at the inn. We didn’t hurry through the seven verses. Rather, before the first verse and after every other verse we walked with our lit candles in a brief procession around the driveway and front of the house. There was a chill in outside as we could see our breath vaporize in the air. As we marched in procession, I noticed the opened doors of the Presbyterian Church across the street. There was probably a service of some kind going on inside, perhaps of considerable profundity and its own beauty. But I felt fortunate to be where I was, recalling the birth of Christ in a drama in the midst of a family who had been doing it in the same way for generations.
When we finished the posada, I was saying “buenas noches” (good night) to my hosts but they asked if I wouldn’t want to stay around for the acostada del niño (putting the child to rest). By this time it was close to midnight. I had given up on an early rest myself and willingly assented to the idea. Certainly, the sacrifice of a little sleep produced a handsome dividend in terms of spiritual refreshment. After singing more villancicos, the Christ-child doll was taken by two of the children to every person in the house. All venerated Christ by kissing his image. No one thought it was an odd thing to do. Then the “Christ-child” was placed in the manger with the other figures of the nacimiento (crèche).
But the ritual was still not over. Now it was just about midnight, and we ended the spiritual part of the celebration by exchanging embraces and wishing each other a Feliz Navidad (Merry Christmas). It was a universal “kiss of peace.” I was reminded of my time in Malaysia as a Peace Corps volunteers. On Hari Besar (big day) which in Arabic is called “Eid ul-Fitr” (festival of breaking the fast) the people would greet one another with a hug, asking “ma’af” (forgiveness) for the ways that he or she may have offended the other during the year. The Christian embrace has the same intention of reconciliation even if we do not use the words.
At this point I finally left the celebration. I believe the family in the house was ready to enjoy more tamales, bañuelos (fried dough coated with honey) and cakes. They had been solidified in love by recalling in various ways the coming of the Savior among them. Certainly, there was no need to say “grace.” Their prayer and thankfulness had been more than amply demonstrated for the whole hour before. I waltzed back to the rectory as I had just witnessed the loveliest demonstration in my life of living faith celebrated at home.
When I arrived at the home a block from church, about thirty people of the extended family had already gathered. A few family members were at the table eating, a number in the parlor about to watch “A Christmas Story” on television, and some just visiting with one another. I said “hello” to a few people, and sat down by the television until I was called to the table for tamales and hot Christmas punch. There a few men were making themselves comfortable – a couple eating and a couple drinking.
The talk at the table was friendly but hardly personal. Although I only recently started to serve in the parish, no one inquired about my background. One fellow asked me if I had ever seen such a family gathering before. Understanding him to mean an extended family coming together on Christmas Eve at the house of a patriarch, I said “yes,” it was not a new experience. He probably had in mind, however, the rich and inspiring ritual that was about to take place. These festivities were something unique, for me at least – a celebration of faith that transcends personal satisfaction to keep a family united in the Lord no matter the circumstances.
About 11 p.m., the cancioneros (songbooks) were passed around and the television turned off. I left the table telling myself that I would sing few villancicos (carols) and perhaps say the rosary that I had been told was coming up before going home. I still wanted to get my seven hours sleep in preparation for Christmas Day.
Most everyone took a turn leading part of the rosary in the following way. After the matriarch made the introduction and said the first Our Father, a lit candle was passed about the room. The person who held the candle would recite the first part of the Hail Mary and everyone else the response. This was generally done in Spanish which the children were evidently learning. One or two adults as well as a couple of children would say the prayer in English, however. A few people remained at the table, choosing not to participate in the rosary. Perhaps they had joined an Evangelical Church and had come to think of the Hail Mary as a specifically Catholic prayer. Or maybe they just did not care to pray in public. Of course, we said the Joyful Mysteries, beginning with the angel’s announcement to Mary that she would be the mother of God and ending with Mary and Joseph finding Jesus in the Temple discussing the Scriptures with scholars. It was a family event with focus on the Holy Family.
Once the rosary was completed, I was enticed to stay for the chanting of the traditional posada (inn) verses. It’s a lovely ballad that brings tears to my eyes as I contemplate how the innkeeper allows the blessed couple to enter as soon as he realizes that the woman is Mary, the queen of heaven. People are good-hearted, I am forced to admit, if they could only see the true value of things.
The family performed the ritual with dramatic flair. A number of the children put on costumes – Mary, Joseph, an angel and shepherds. Also, more than half of the whole group, now numbering close to fifty, went outside the house to sing the parts of Mary and Joseph seeking a place at the inn. We didn’t hurry through the seven verses. Rather, before the first verse and after every other verse we walked with our lit candles in a brief procession around the driveway and front of the house. There was a chill in outside as we could see our breath vaporize in the air. As we marched in procession, I noticed the opened doors of the Presbyterian Church across the street. There was probably a service of some kind going on inside, perhaps of considerable profundity and its own beauty. But I felt fortunate to be where I was, recalling the birth of Christ in a drama in the midst of a family who had been doing it in the same way for generations.
When we finished the posada, I was saying “buenas noches” (good night) to my hosts but they asked if I wouldn’t want to stay around for the acostada del niño (putting the child to rest). By this time it was close to midnight. I had given up on an early rest myself and willingly assented to the idea. Certainly, the sacrifice of a little sleep produced a handsome dividend in terms of spiritual refreshment. After singing more villancicos, the Christ-child doll was taken by two of the children to every person in the house. All venerated Christ by kissing his image. No one thought it was an odd thing to do. Then the “Christ-child” was placed in the manger with the other figures of the nacimiento (crèche).
But the ritual was still not over. Now it was just about midnight, and we ended the spiritual part of the celebration by exchanging embraces and wishing each other a Feliz Navidad (Merry Christmas). It was a universal “kiss of peace.” I was reminded of my time in Malaysia as a Peace Corps volunteers. On Hari Besar (big day) which in Arabic is called “Eid ul-Fitr” (festival of breaking the fast) the people would greet one another with a hug, asking “ma’af” (forgiveness) for the ways that he or she may have offended the other during the year. The Christian embrace has the same intention of reconciliation even if we do not use the words.
At this point I finally left the celebration. I believe the family in the house was ready to enjoy more tamales, bañuelos (fried dough coated with honey) and cakes. They had been solidified in love by recalling in various ways the coming of the Savior among them. Certainly, there was no need to say “grace.” Their prayer and thankfulness had been more than amply demonstrated for the whole hour before. I waltzed back to the rectory as I had just witnessed the loveliest demonstration in my life of living faith celebrated at home.
Homilette for Monday, December 26
The Feast of St. Stephen
The play Murder in the Cathedral tells the story of the martyrdom of St. Thomas Becket, the Archbishop of Canterbury in 1170. Half-way through the play, the archbishop delivers his Christmas sermon. He tells the congregation that at Christmas mass not only the birth of Jesus but also his passion and death are remembered. This dual remembrance indicates that the Christian life is neither pure joy nor pure sorrow. We live both at every minute. Thomas goes on to ask, “Is it an accident … that the day of the first martyr follows immediately the day of the Birth of Christ?” No, the Church deliberately places the martyrdom of Stephen on the day after Christmas to temper our celebration. We must keep in mind the dual sentiment of Christian life.
Unless people think that the dual sentiment is solely the invention of the Medieval Church, we can point to the same duality in both Luke’s and Matthew’s Nativity accounts. In Luke after Jesus is born his parents take him to the Temple where the holy man Simeon makes the foreboding prophecy that Jesus will be a sign to be contradicted. In other words, Jesus’ enemies will do him in. In Matthew the horror is more obvious. Jesus’ birth occasions the jealousy of King Herod. To eliminate his rival Herod has all male infants of the area two years or under murdered.
We must take to heart the cross sentiments of Christian life. Our happiest celebrations like a dear friend’s birthday should not ignore the fact that fellow humans are suffering often dire circumstances. Similarly, our most intolerable burdens like the loss of a loved one should not go without faith in Christ’s victory over sin and death. Christians are neither rosy-eyed optimists nor unrelenting pessimists. No, we live both the death and the resurrection of the Lord deep in our hearts everyday.
The play Murder in the Cathedral tells the story of the martyrdom of St. Thomas Becket, the Archbishop of Canterbury in 1170. Half-way through the play, the archbishop delivers his Christmas sermon. He tells the congregation that at Christmas mass not only the birth of Jesus but also his passion and death are remembered. This dual remembrance indicates that the Christian life is neither pure joy nor pure sorrow. We live both at every minute. Thomas goes on to ask, “Is it an accident … that the day of the first martyr follows immediately the day of the Birth of Christ?” No, the Church deliberately places the martyrdom of Stephen on the day after Christmas to temper our celebration. We must keep in mind the dual sentiment of Christian life.
Unless people think that the dual sentiment is solely the invention of the Medieval Church, we can point to the same duality in both Luke’s and Matthew’s Nativity accounts. In Luke after Jesus is born his parents take him to the Temple where the holy man Simeon makes the foreboding prophecy that Jesus will be a sign to be contradicted. In other words, Jesus’ enemies will do him in. In Matthew the horror is more obvious. Jesus’ birth occasions the jealousy of King Herod. To eliminate his rival Herod has all male infants of the area two years or under murdered.
We must take to heart the cross sentiments of Christian life. Our happiest celebrations like a dear friend’s birthday should not ignore the fact that fellow humans are suffering often dire circumstances. Similarly, our most intolerable burdens like the loss of a loved one should not go without faith in Christ’s victory over sin and death. Christians are neither rosy-eyed optimists nor unrelenting pessimists. No, we live both the death and the resurrection of the Lord deep in our hearts everyday.
Homily for Christmas Midnight Mass (in Spanish)
LA NAVIDAD – 25 de diciembre de 2006
En cualquiera noche clara, mira al cielo. Vas a ver un mil millón estrellas. Dicen los astrónomos que no vemos las estrellas como existen ahora. No, las vemos como eran tal vez hace diez o veinte años. Es así porque tarda tanto tiempo para la luz de las estrellas a llegar a nuestros ojos llevando sus imagines.
Según la teoría del “Big Bang” (inglés para gran estallido), el universo empezó hace millones y millones años de una partícula de materia con energía enorme. Desde entonces las estrellas han estado lanzándose a través del espacio. Hagamos un experimento mental. Imaginémonos viendo atrás en el espacio hacia el momento antes del gran estallido. Allí vemos la partícula de materia con tremendísima energía. Está irradiando toda la luz y calor que va a llenar el universo. Aquí tenemos algo parecido de lo que ven María, José, y (pronto) las pastores de Belén. Pues, Jesucristo, el Dios-hombre, el que creó los cielos y la tierra, ha nacido. Lo han puesto en un pesebre de lo cual emite sus rayos divinos. Por él recibimos la luz de la sabiduría para iluminar nuestros caminos a la vida eterna. Por él recibimos el calor del amor para cumplir su voluntad.
Sobre este año pasado una gran cuestión en este país ha sido la nueva legislación migratoria. El gobierno norteamericana tiene que formar nuevas leyes para controlar el flujo de gentes desde otras partes. Algunos de ustedes han participado en manifestaciones para implorar el reconocimiento de su presencia en el país. Quieren ustedes que las leyes tomen en cuenta sus aportes a la sociedad norteamericana. Podemos rogar a Jesús -- la fuente de toda sabiduría -- para su ayuda en la búsqueda de la justicia para los inmigrantes.
Por supuesto, Jesús no nos instruye como bebé sino como adulto. Tenemos en los evangelios su consejo que atendamos las cosas de César. Por eso, todo inmigrante tiene que obedecer las leyes – aún las leyes del tránsito -- para llevarse bien en la sociedad. También, Jesús nos dirá que amemos a nuestros prójimos, comenzando con nuestras propias familiares. No se debe encontrar nada de abuso de la mujer o de descuido de los niños. Al contrario, nuestras familias deben hacerse escuelas de amor donde se aprende el respeto para todos. Además, Jesús nos implorará que quedemos cerca de él en la comunidad religiosa. Aquí se conservan tanto la fe como la esperanza para apoyarnos cuando el camino se ponga cuesta arriba.
Durante estos días navideños en el noreste de este país se pueden ver velitas en cada ventana de casas cristianas. Las velas están para llamar la atención de Cristo cuando regrese. Son signos del amor de la gente para el salvador. También, las velas representan a Cristo mismo, la luz del mundo. Reconocen a él como la sabiduría para dirigirnos a través de este mundo de muchas tinieblas. Así, queremos encender una luz en nuestros corazones. Por nuestra atención a Jesús tanto adulto como bebé, queremos mostrar lo que él es para nosotros. Nos da el calor de la vida y la luz de la sabiduría. Cristo es nuestra vida y nuestra sabiduría.
En cualquiera noche clara, mira al cielo. Vas a ver un mil millón estrellas. Dicen los astrónomos que no vemos las estrellas como existen ahora. No, las vemos como eran tal vez hace diez o veinte años. Es así porque tarda tanto tiempo para la luz de las estrellas a llegar a nuestros ojos llevando sus imagines.
Según la teoría del “Big Bang” (inglés para gran estallido), el universo empezó hace millones y millones años de una partícula de materia con energía enorme. Desde entonces las estrellas han estado lanzándose a través del espacio. Hagamos un experimento mental. Imaginémonos viendo atrás en el espacio hacia el momento antes del gran estallido. Allí vemos la partícula de materia con tremendísima energía. Está irradiando toda la luz y calor que va a llenar el universo. Aquí tenemos algo parecido de lo que ven María, José, y (pronto) las pastores de Belén. Pues, Jesucristo, el Dios-hombre, el que creó los cielos y la tierra, ha nacido. Lo han puesto en un pesebre de lo cual emite sus rayos divinos. Por él recibimos la luz de la sabiduría para iluminar nuestros caminos a la vida eterna. Por él recibimos el calor del amor para cumplir su voluntad.
Sobre este año pasado una gran cuestión en este país ha sido la nueva legislación migratoria. El gobierno norteamericana tiene que formar nuevas leyes para controlar el flujo de gentes desde otras partes. Algunos de ustedes han participado en manifestaciones para implorar el reconocimiento de su presencia en el país. Quieren ustedes que las leyes tomen en cuenta sus aportes a la sociedad norteamericana. Podemos rogar a Jesús -- la fuente de toda sabiduría -- para su ayuda en la búsqueda de la justicia para los inmigrantes.
Por supuesto, Jesús no nos instruye como bebé sino como adulto. Tenemos en los evangelios su consejo que atendamos las cosas de César. Por eso, todo inmigrante tiene que obedecer las leyes – aún las leyes del tránsito -- para llevarse bien en la sociedad. También, Jesús nos dirá que amemos a nuestros prójimos, comenzando con nuestras propias familiares. No se debe encontrar nada de abuso de la mujer o de descuido de los niños. Al contrario, nuestras familias deben hacerse escuelas de amor donde se aprende el respeto para todos. Además, Jesús nos implorará que quedemos cerca de él en la comunidad religiosa. Aquí se conservan tanto la fe como la esperanza para apoyarnos cuando el camino se ponga cuesta arriba.
Durante estos días navideños en el noreste de este país se pueden ver velitas en cada ventana de casas cristianas. Las velas están para llamar la atención de Cristo cuando regrese. Son signos del amor de la gente para el salvador. También, las velas representan a Cristo mismo, la luz del mundo. Reconocen a él como la sabiduría para dirigirnos a través de este mundo de muchas tinieblas. Así, queremos encender una luz en nuestros corazones. Por nuestra atención a Jesús tanto adulto como bebé, queremos mostrar lo que él es para nosotros. Nos da el calor de la vida y la luz de la sabiduría. Cristo es nuestra vida y nuestra sabiduría.
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