A Baptism on Trinity Sunday

In the seminary we were taught to describe the various rites when we baptized babies. But we weren’t warned about what might happen if older siblings were attending. Not long after ordination, I did as I was told, and carefully explained that I was going to pour water on the baby, then anoint her, and then give her a candle.

The baby’s big sister looked up at me anxiously.

“Why do you have to annoy her—it’s going to make her cry.”

Just about an hour from now, I am going to baptize Avila Marie Ufford. I will do my best not to annoy her!

Three years ago I married her parents, Natalie and Chris. A year and a half ago I baptized their first child Noah. And I have known both sets of grandparents for many years.

So it’s fair to say that Avila might boast of her Catholic roots, if she were old enough.

Yet an hour from now, even such a great family tree will be of secondary importance to this little one.

Something else will matter still more: by water and the Holy Spirit she will receive the gift of new life from God, who is love. She will be welcomed into God’s holy people, called to live as a member of his body. Reborn in baptism, she will be called a child of God.

Pope Benedict XVI speaks about this in a lovely way: “Through baptism each child is inserted into a gathering of friends who never abandon him in life or in death. … This group of friends, this family of God, into which the child is now admitted, will always accompany him, even on days of suffering and in life’s dark nights; it will give him consolation, comfort and light.” (YouCat, p. 116)

YouCat, the Youth Catechism of the Catholic Church spells out the key effects of baptism by saying that it unites us with Christ, incorporates us into his saving death, frees us from the power of Original Sin, and causes us to rise with Christ to a life without end.” (ibid.)

But it adds something that’s crucial: “Since baptism is a covenant with God, the individual must say Yes to it.” YouCat even capitalizes the word Yes.

This means that Chris and Natalie, as they present Avila for baptism, must profess the faith on behalf of their child. But it also means that faith must grow for all of us who are baptized. (CCC 1254)

Baptism is the beginning, not the end; it is a seed of faith from which the entire Christian life springs forth. (ibid.)

And today’s celebration of the Most Holy Trinity gives every one of us a good chance to move forward in faith. This feast celebrates a foundation of faith, what the Catechism calls “the central mystery of Christian faith and life… the mystery of God himself.” (CCC 234)

When was the last time we thought seriously about this mystery—when was the last time we paused in wonder as we made the Sign of the Cross?

Today’s a great day to stop and think about our belief in God as Trinity—one God in three Persons.

First of all, we give thanks that God has revealed himself to us as Father, Son and Holy Spirit. This is not a truth we could have figured out for ourselves. Today’s liturgy shows that God revealed himself over time. In the first reading, God gives Moses the Law, revealing himself as merciful, kind and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in love and faithfulness. But not as Trinity.

In the second reading, however, St. Paul closes his letter with what Jesus had revealed to his disciples: the truth of the Holy Trinity. It wasn’t Paul who figured out that the love of God was to be lived in the communion of the Holy Spirit and in the grace of Christ. Jesus had revealed the inner life of God during his earthly ministry, and at his Ascension had commanded his disciples to baptize “in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

The Gospel today reminds us that this isn’t just highbrow theology. If we’re celebrating the truth about God today, we’re celebrating the fact that God is love. And one of the ways we see this is through the doctrine of the Blessed Trinity.

God isn’t solitary: he is the union in love of three Persons. The inner life of the Father, Son and Spirit is a life of love, love so great that it overflows and embraces each of us.

This love is so great that it moved God to send his only Son to save sinners, to save those who would otherwise perish and be lost.

Today’s Gospel puts the redeeming quality of the love of the Holy Trinity front and center. If we flip ahead to next year, the Gospel for Trinity Sunday recounts Christ’s commission to baptize “in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” We heard that Gospel two weeks ago on the Ascension, so I’d like to end with a brief look at that command.

Why did Jesus choose this particular formula for baptism? The great theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar says it’s because “the baptized person ought to know to whom he belongs and whose life and example he has to follow. The divine Trinity is not merely an opaque mystery (as it is often portrayed to us), it is the way God wishes to make himself known to the world an especially to us Christians.” (Light of the World, 201)

If you want to know to whom you belong, ponder the Trinity. In this great revelation, we recognize God as our loving Father. In Jesus we recognize God as mercy see God as our merciful Lord. In the Holy Spirit, we welcome God’s own life into our hearts and know God as comforter and guide.

These things are not dry or abstract theology. They are truths that make a difference to daily life. They help us to grow in faith, hope and love through the Spirit who has been poured out upon us and who, marvelously, dwells in our hearts together with the Father and the Son.

Pentecost in the Parish: Responding with Stewardship

The Holy Spirit didn't descend on our parish like tongues of flame, but His fire was sure burning here on Pentecost.  At the 9 a.m. Mass we celebrated the First Holy Communion of two youngsters who had followed our Rite of Christian Initiation of Children program, and I confirmed two of their parents by mandate of the Archbishop.

At 11, we celebrated Christian stewardship as a way of life that makes good use of the gifts of the Holy Spirit. I was quick to agree with a parishioner who had reminded me that the secret to getting volunteers was to ask people personally--but I pointed out that, really, we've already been asked personally in Baptism and Confirmation.

After Mass we honoured the three parishioners--Tim Lack, Shaun Wylde, and Tim Lack--who have been stalwarts of our annual Project Advance fundraising campaign, presenting each of them with a volume of the St. John's Bible inscribed by Archbishop Miller.

Our celebration of Pentecost--and Stewardship Sunday--included a lively Stewardship Fair that showcased the many parish ministries and groups, ranging from our parish school to a colourful demonstration of Tai Chi! The gym was filled with displays, and representatives of each activity were on hand with explanations (and invitations!).

Each of the three Sunday Masses had a different homily, delivered without notes, so instead of posting one as usual, I thought I would share the text from Pope John Paul II quoted at the 11 Mass. I used the new saint's words, delivered right here in Vancouver during the papal visit of 1984,  as a reminder that stewardship is not only about activity; it is also about prayer and simple witness.

I hope that elderly and infirm parishioners recognize themselves in the forefront of stewardship in our parish, contributing their very precious gifts without concern for whatever physical limitations they face.



"The passing of the years brings its frailties. You may be forced to give up activities that you once enjoyed. Your limbs may not seem so pliable as they used to be. Your memory and your eyesight may refuse to give service. And so the world may cease to be familiar – the world of your family, the world around you, the world you once knew. Even the Church, which you have loved for so long, may seem strange to many of you as she goes forward in this period of renewal.

"Yet, despite changes and any weaknesses you may feel, you are of great value to all. Society needs you and so does the Church. You may not be able to do as much as before. But what counts above all is what you are. Old age is the crowning point of earthly life, a time to gather in the harvest you have sown. It is a time to give of yourselves to others as never before.

"Yes, you are needed, and never let anyone tell you are not. The Masses you have attended throughout your life, the devout Communions you have made, the prayers you have offered enable you to bestow rich gifts upon us. We need your experience and your insights. We need the faith which has sustained you and continues to be your light. We need your example of patient waiting and trust. 

"We need to see in you that mature love which is yours, that love which is the fruit of your lives lived in both joys and sorrow. And yes, we need your wisdom for you can offer assurance in times of uncertainty. You can be an incentive to live according to the higher values of the spirit. These values link us with people of all time and they never grow old."

 St.  John Paul  – Address to young, elderly and handicapped people.
Vancouver Stadium, 18 September, 1984

Going and Coming (Ascension A)

We have a  seminarian working in the parish for the summer.  Although he's older than I am, he has much more energy, so I wasn't surprised that he wasn't home when I headed to bed on Friday night.

But I sure was surprised when I went downstairs at six on Saturday morning to get the paper, and found Larry coming in the door! Doing my best to look stern and fatherly, I said "Young man, you have some explaining to do!"

Larry--rather flustered--said "Oh no!  I'm not coming in, I'm going out."  It seems he was heading downtown for an early errand and had popped back to the house for something he'd forgotten.

The moral of the story isn't just "don't jump to conclusions." It's also that sometimes coming in and going out look much the same. 

And that's a key point as we celebrate the Ascension of the Lord.  It looks like he's going, but it's all about his coming back.

The disciples are staring up in the sky thinking about the Lord's departure. But angelic messengers tell them to shift their gaze--and their thinking--from the past (what they've just seen) to the future (what is still to come).

What they've watched seems to be a loss: Christ is taken from their sight. But what they await is the greatest gain of all: a new intimacy with him that outdoes even the joy of his physical presence and proximity.

I wonder if at the time of the Ascension the Apostles recalled what Jesus said to them at the Last Supper. "It is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away the Advocate"--the Holy Spirit--"will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you." (Jn 16:7)

These words change the Lord's departure from something deeply sorrowful into a moment of the greatest hope and joy.  His going is all about his coming again, first through the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, and then at the end of the ages.

Let's stop and think what this means. Imagine what it was like to walk and talk with Jesus--"like breathing pure mountain air," one of my seminary professors used to say.  His company had to be better than the best of best friends; his words must have sparkled; his understanding would have made your heart pound with sheer joy.

And after three years of that companionship, he's gone. Left you alone. Can you imagine a greater loss?

And yet, he tells us, it's all gain.  Losing him physically means a whole new life together in his Spirit. Jesus will no longer live beside his friends, but within them, dwelling in their very souls.

The Apostles seemed to have got this message fairly quickly, even if "some doubted." They don't argue with the angels, and they get to work immediately, making disciples and spreading the good news.

But what about us? Does the gift of the Spirit seem a match for the privilege of walking and talking with Christ himself?  I suspect that most of us would trade in our Confirmation for an hour-long conversation with the Lord.

We would, of course, have struck a bad bargain!  And we're only tempted because we haven't fully understood how completely Christ has kept his promise to be with us always.

He has kept his promise in the Eucharist, where the whole Christ--body, blood, soul and divinity--is received in Holy Communion.  This is where he keeps his promise to those who keep his word: "my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them." (Jn 14:23)

He has kept his promise, of course, by sending the Holy Spirit upon the Church at Pentecost, which we will recall next Sunday, but also by the continuous outpouring of that Spirit--an example of which we read about last Sunday, when Peter and John lay their hands on new converts that they too might receive the Holy Spirit.

Jesus has done his part; although he has passed from our sight, he has kept his promise "I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you." (Jn. 18) If we are living like orphans, lacking comfort and consolation, it is our responsibility, not his.

How do we do our part? At our beautiful First Communion celebration yesterday, I offered the children a one-word homily (although, naturally, I talked longer than that).  The word was "listen."

It's probably a good summary of today's homily as well.  What might change in our lives if we listened more--if we return to our pews after receiving Communion and ask the Lord if he has anything to say?

How much better life could be if we developed a greater awareness of Christ dwelling in us through the Spirit, with us always whether we're joyful, afraid, calm or confused?

Christ has kept his promises. All we need to do is come to know him better by allowing his great power to work in us. 

If we are less dynamic or joyful than those Christians who walked and talked with Jesus, it's time to readjust our sights--to stop staring into the sky and start looking into our hearts, where the Lord dwells, where he will speak with us, strengthen us, and encourage us with "the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe."

A tangible hope! (Easter 6A)

I am a stronger and more confident Christian today than I was last Sunday.

Would you like to know what happened? A retreat maybe?  No: my annual retreat doesn’t start until tomorrow.

Perhaps a minor miracle? No such luck—I wasn’t healed of anything and my cold is worse than it was.

One breakfast and one dinner was all it took to refresh my faith and lift my spirits.

At breakfast on Friday, one of the members of our early morning men’s prayer group told the story of his faith journey. I felt like those Samaritans in our first reading listening eagerly to Philip describe the great works of God.

Friday dinner was less dramatic, but no less moving. I met a young scientist for the first time and found myself asking about his faith. With his wife and two children beside him at the table, he shared the ways in which God had shaped him and called him to be a fervent and joyful Catholic.

When I mentioned how encouraged and uplifted I was by his simple story, and how I’d felt the same thing just that morning, the man paused for a moment, then said “I think you’re experiencing a tangible hope.”

A tangible hope. A hope you can touch. Something near, not far off.

Don’t we all need that from time to time?  When raising your children in the faith seems an uphill battle?  When your own spiritual life is dry, when ministry doesn’t seem fruitful—all of a sudden there’s hope that warms the heart and keeps us going.

Hope springs up in many ways and in many places, but let’s look at my day on Friday. What did it take to lift up my drooping spirit? Two people, one a parishioner, and one someone I’d never met, telling their stories.

In our second reading today, St. Peter calls each one of to do the same. “Always be ready to make your defence to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you.”

Always be ready to explain your hope—it might be more realistic to say “get ready,” because witnessing to our faith can seem a very big challenge. Some of us might even feel it’s beyond us.

Yet St. Peter “is describing nothing less here than the task of evangelization that belongs to every Christian.”  [Daniel Keating, First and Second Peter, Jude, 85] He’s not talking to priests or good public speakers or to extroverts—sharing our hope is everyone’s duty—and everyone’s privilege.

It is a privilege because ultimately witnessing is a joy that strengthens our own hearts. Consider the e-mail I got this week from another parishioner: 

“Outnumbered six to one at a lunch-time discussion group where the subject was “Why modern society no longer needs religion.” Present: a professor from UBC, two retired captains of industry, one retired specialist physician, two retired self-made entrepreneurs; two Oxford Ph. D.s among them, all atheists.

“I am now really exhausted.....and happy.”

How could someone be happy after facing such a trial?  St. Peter gives us the answer: “Do it with gentleness and reverence.”

It’s clear from the rest of the reading that the people of St. Peter’s time were just as tough on Christians as atheists are today—maybe tougher. But he tells us not to respond to harshness with harshness.  Instead, we share our faith gently, and reverently.

We give reasons for our faith. We don’t impose; we propose. We don’t argue—we speak gently and with deep respect for the other person, as Peter tells us to do.

“The medium is the message,” concluded the Canadian intellectual Marshall McLuhan. When we answer our critics not like cutthroat debaters but with gentleness and reverence “we reflect the spirit of Christ himself.”  What’s more: it works. St. Peter’s approach is the effective one, since the goal is not “to win an argument, but to win others to the faith.” [Keating, 85]

Let’s look again at McLuhan’s famous saying. Certainly the way we witness can be called the medium. But the one who witnesses is also the medium, the means that transmits the message. And in this regard St. Peter makes two key points.

The first is that we need to have Christ in our hearts before we can share Christ with our lips. The men I’ve been telling you about today all have a living relationship with the Lord; that’s why they can tell others about him.

To sanctify the Lord in your heart means to put Christ first, to make my relationship to Him my life’s greatest value. "Aha!", you think. I can wait to evangelize until I’m the world’s best Christian.

Nice try. We can’t wait until we’re perfect before we start to preach. What’s more, we’ll find our relationship with the Lord grows stronger the more we share it.

On the other hand, St. Peter tells us to keep our conscience clear.  If the friend or acquaintance to whom we’re speaking knows we have serious unrepented sin in our lives, they’ll tune us out.  Getting our own house in order is certainly the first step of evangelization.

Let’s not forget that the most compelling argument we’ll ever offer is the argument of our own life.  We can preach wordlessly by our good example. And we can just as effectively contradict our words by bad example. Nothing is easier than dismissing the hypocrite—he says one thing, he does another. Or as the atheistic philosopher Nietzsche said “For me to believe in the Redeemer, his followers would need to look a lot more redeemed.”

Many of us feel a bit timid about evangelization. There are still plenty of Catholics who hear that word and want to duck under the pew. They think of earnest young Mormons knocking on doors, or Jehovah’s witnesses standing in the cold with their newspapers.

But that’s not the way we’re usually called to evangelize.  We do it at White Spot, at Starbucks, at dinner parties, at backyard barbecues with the neighbours. We do it even in the parish, when opportunities arise to share our journey.

But we do it.

And we don’t always wait for the invitation. When someone at work defends abortion in front of us, they’re opening the door for us to defend the unborn.  When someone who’s joined you on the golf course to make a foursome is critical of the Church, they’re giving us the chance to defend our faith.

In other words, this is everyday stuff.  The fortitude we need to put St. Peter’s words into action isn’t the courage of martyrs: it’s the “stuff” of every Christian.

I think my own experiences this week demonstrate how important it is for Christians to share their faith. My spirits soared because three people gave me tangible hope for the present and future Church. Imagine the results if this became the experience of the people who challenge us at home, school and work about what we believe and why.

Let’s offer our world “a tangible hope”!