All Saints: An Invitation to All

Every year on Holy Thursday hundreds and hundreds of priests gather with the Holy Father for the Chrism Mass at St. Peter’s. The sight of such a long line of white-robed priests streaming into the Basilica is nothing short of amazing.

But if you think the sight is amazing, imagine what it’s like to be in the procession!

In 2007 I was in Rome on Holy Thursday. I was one of those hundreds of priests processing into St. Peter’s. And I can tell you, being part of the action beats watching from the aisle.

The first reading for today’s great feast of All Saints describes a procession vastly more majestic than anything on earth. The white-robed multitude are not priests, but men and women who now stand before the very throne of the Lamb of God.

There’s no doubt: to join their number is incomparably more wonderful than even the vision given to St. John of their heavenly triumph and glorious worship.

The Solemnity of All Saints, certainly, honours the great heavenly company and gives thanks for the victory of so many of our brothers and sisters in Christ. But this annual festival is also an opportunity for us “to implore the Divine Mercy through this multitude of powerful intercessors” and to make up for any failure or lack in honouring God in His Saints throughout the year. If we’re honest, most of us will admit that we pay too little attention to the individual saints whose feast days occur throughout the year. And so we have this one solemn day, as “an image of that eternal great feast which God continually celebrates in heaven” with all his saints [Butler’s Lives of the Saints, Nov. 1st].

But amidst all these wondrous aspects of today’s feast, one stands out above all. Today we’re called and challenged by the example of the saints—especially those whom we have known and loved. Today we’re called to imitate their virtues so that we might share in their reward.

I’ve already said that it’s far more exciting to be in a procession than to watch it. And though our second reading is less dramatic than the first—instead of triumphant white-robed martyrs John calls us ‘children of God’—surely that’s even more exciting, even more worthy of our deepest longing and serious effort.

And so we come to the question: what do we have to do to join the great multitude in heaven? What do we have to do be called God’s children?

The Gospel today gives two simple answers. First of all, accept your sufferings in poverty of spirit—which is to say in a spirit of surrender, accepting life’s hardships as the pathway to peace.

Secondly, strive for righteousness, show mercy, live purely, make peace, and persevere through persecution.

Two simple answers, but are they all that simple? Two weeks ago I spoke about facing suffering, and a week ago about prayer, an essential ingredient in that process and in obtaining purity of heart. But what does it mean—really mean, in daily life—to strive for righteousness, show mercy, make peace, and persevere through persecution?

Well, it won’t be long before some of us learn how to persevere under persecution as the state increasingly turns its power against the vulnerable and those who defend the vulnerable, especially Christians. But that’s for another day. Let’s just look at righteousness, which is another name for justice, mercy, and peacemaking. How do these virtues help us join the ranks of the heavenly host? How do they form us as children of God?

Today is the second Sunday of the three our parish is devoting to the themes of stewardship as part of our Covenant of One, an extra hour of prayer, service and sacrificial giving offered to God.

Last week we spoke of prayer, a gift of time. This week we turn to talent, the gifts we have received ourselves. An inventory of our talents, and a willingness to share them generously, is the fastest shortcut to the practical answer “what can I give?”

None of us can devote ourselves equally to the battle for social justice, to merciful compassion to the poor or to the making of peace in a world of conflict. But all of us have God-given gifts we can put to work in one or another of the works of mercy that have traditionally defined the Christian’s service to God and neighbour.

What do I have that equips me to be the hands and feet of Christ? With an answer to that question and a generous spirit, I can make a covenant of one hour that will draw me straight into the mystery of the communion of the saints.

Of course, we need to know not only what we have to give, but also what needs to be given. What we have to offer we learn from self-knowledge; but what is needed we learn from reading the signs of times. In the last few weeks, many members of our parish community have responded to the most startling human crisis of recent times, the implosion of civilized life in Syria and other war-torn countries with the consequent exodus of refugees.

Our parishioners have offered time, talent, and treasure; but a significant number have placed their talents at the service of the refugee families we intend to sponsor. Accountants, language-tutors, pickup-truck drivers, dentists, retirees, lawyers, and many others saw the needs and responded to them. One elderly parishioner came to our refugee meeting and said “I’m going to pray!”

As a pastor of this generous community of Christians, it touches my heart to see this response to the refugee crisis; but as a Christian, it moves me even more because some of those we hope to support are precisely those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake. We will be peacemakers and comforters for these brothers and sisters, helping to fulfill the promises God makes to them in the words of Jesus we’ve just heard.

There are, of course, numerous other ways to share your talents for the good of others in a covenant of one extra hour each week, and we will suggest some next Sunday.

But this Sunday we focus on the best reason for making a gift of ourselves—because it is a sure path to holiness of life and an eternal inheritance with all the saints. Our generous service will hold us a place in the great line of saints streaming to the throne of God.

God Magnifies Minutes

I didn't use a text for my homily today, so can't post it.  But what I said was fairly simple: we shouldn't be overly concerned with how long we spend in prayer--regularity and frequency trump duration, since God can do wonders even in short periods of contact.Too much focus on the length of time we pray can lead us to forget that God is almighty and can achieve His purposes in His own time.

We find an excellent example of this in today's Gospel reading.  Bartimaeus prays "Son of David, have mercy on me," twice, then adds his petition "My teacher, let me see again."  Start to finish, I timed his prayer as taking fourteen seconds!  But look at the result: "Immediately the man regained his sight and followed Jesus on the way."

To show such prayer is practical, I offer some examples of ways to pray that are brief but powerful:

  Minutes God Will Magnify

Less than a minute

The Jesus Prayer:  “Lord, Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.” (Or “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.”)

Divine Mercy Invocation: “Jesus, I trust in you.”

Aspirations to the Sacred Heart: “Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on me.” (Or “on us.)  “Sacred Heart of Jesus, protect our families.”

A minute and a half

The Angelus (traditionally said morning, noon, and night):

V. The Angel of the Lord declared unto Mary.  R. And she conceived of the Holy Spirit.

    Hail Mary…

V. Behold the handmaid of the Lord.  R. Be it done unto me according to thy word.

    Hail Mary…

V. And the Word was made Flesh.  R. And dwelt among us.

    Hail Mary…

V. Pray for us, O holy Mother of God.

R. That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.

Let us pray:  Pour forth, we beseech Thee, O Lord, Thy grace into our hearts, that we to whom the Incarnation of Christ Thy Son was made known by the message of an angel, may by His Passion and Cross be brought to the glory of His Resurrection. Through the same Christ Our Lord. Amen.

Two Minutes

Many brief versions of the Examen Prayer of St. Ignatius of Loyola can be found on-line. At its simplest:

    Place yourself in the presence of God, and ask for his help in looking back on the day.

    Examine your day with three “words:”

Thank you: Thank the Lord for the blessings of the day.

          I'm sorry: Acknowledge your faults specifically and directly.

          Please help me more: Ask the Lord for help for tomorrow. Make specific resolutions.

Three Minutes

The Three-Minute Retreat: online at http://www.loyolapress.com/3-minute-retreats-daily-online-prayer.htm or download the app for Apple or Android at http://www.loyolapress.com/3minute-retreats-mobile-app.htm  

Five Minutes

Open your bible and read from the New Testament for five minutes, stopping twice to talk with God. Or Read one of the Mass readings from your misallette or on-line, “responding” to the text with the responsorial psalm.

Ten Minutes

Treasure in Heaven: A 40-day, ten minutes a day prayer guide.  You can print it out, order a booklet by mail from the Companions of the Cross or download to your smartphone, tablet or e-reader at http://www.companionscross.org/sites/default/files/TreasureinHeaven_PrayerGuide.pdf

       And let’s not forget traditional daily prayers like the Morning Offering, Grace before and after meals, and the simplest of all, an Our Father, Hail Mary and Glory be at bedtime…

Faith Supports Us When We Suffer (29.B)

A parishioner told me a story this week that’s so good I’m going to beg her to tell it to you herself the next chance we have for personal testimonies. But here’s the short version.

The story began with a scene almost every parent knows—a youngster who didn’t want to go to Mass. His family was on holiday with non-Catholic friends, and their children didn’t have to go to Mass so why did he?

But Mom prevailed, and they were getting ready for Mass when the non-Catholic friends announced “Well, since you have a bit of a drive to church, we’ll go to see a movie while you’re gone.”

What do you think the Catholic boy loved more than anything?  Right. Movies. Twenty years later, films are still his passion.

So the boy in the car was not a happy camper, and he let his Mom know it.  Her response—which I am only quoting in part—was as good as any homily I can preach about the readings this morning.

“Johnny,” she told her son, “we go to Mass because we have faith. And even if faith doesn’t matter to you now, some day it will.

“Because everyone has their suffering in life. I haven’t had mine yet and neither have you. But one day suffering will come, and faith will help us deal with it.”

What great wisdom there was in that simple conversation! Of course, faith is about much more than facing suffering, but it sure helps.

One of the things that struck me was that the wise mother never said faith helps us avoid suffering. In the years I’ve spent with suffering people, I’ve found about half of them felt let down by God, since they’d fallen into believing that an untroubled life is the reward that’s due to those who love God.

Even the Catechism of the Catholic Church admits that suffering is one of the experiences that seem to contradict the Good News and can shake our faith and become a temptation against it (CCC 164). I think we can all agree with that—it’s used as a standard argument against Christianity. When the one who suffers is a child, it’s even easier to see the problem.

But if suffering does contradict the Good News, then we’re in deep trouble. So this is really a question we can’t afford to ignore—because if we’re not suffering now, we’re going to, sooner or later.

So what’s the answer? It seems to me this is a problem only Christ can solve. You can make a pretty good case for the existence of God using your head alone—in other words, with the tools of reason or philosophy. Try to do that with the suffering of children or the torture of innocents, or the maddening experience of unanswered prayer for healing of a loved one. It won’t work. Only Jesus can answer the problem of pain.

I was quite surprised, to tell you the truth, to find how little the Catechism says about human suffering. Then I figured out why: it says little about suffering but lots about Jesus. And he is the answer.

Notice I say that “He is the answer,” not “He has the answer.” Jesus resolves the apparent contradiction between suffering and the Father’s love more by what he does than by what he says.

Who is the suffering servant crushed with pain in our first reading this morning? The Church has always identified him with Jesus. A few verses earlier in the same passage, Isaiah speaks of him as a man of suffering.

It sounds so dark. Yet “Out of his anguish he shall see light,” the prophet tells us, and “he shall see his offspring and prolong his days.”

This is not human reasoning. Anguish is anguish. Being crushed with pain is not a good thing. But this is the way God chose to ransom the world.

And although Jesus has redeemed the world, he has chosen to allow us to share in his work of redemption until the end of time. As St. Paul says, “In my flesh I am completing what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church” (Col. 1:24).

So the first answer Jesus gives to our heartfelt question about why he can allow human suffering is “because it permits us to drink the cup that he drank.” To suffer is to be invited to become a partner in the saving mission of Christ.

Suffering that is offered to God is a work of atonement—for our own sins, the sins of others, and sin in the Church.

Some years back, I asked myself this question: Can we know Jesus without knowing suffering?

I wasn’t entirely sure then and I’m not sure now—it’s a difficult question. But Jesus himself said the disciple is not greater than the master. I think, then, that the second answer to why God permits suffering is “so that we might know Jesus.”

And today’s reading from the Letter to the Hebrews assures us that Jesus cares. We do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has in every respect been tested as we are… Jesus was not like the Greek gods on Mount Olympus, unfeeling and immune; he wept, he bled, he grieved. To know his sacred humanity is essential to knowing his divinity.

In other words, Jesus stands beside all who suffer, in complete solidarity. Knowing this is a huge help to knowing him—and to facing the suffering in our lives.

I have used a lot of words to say much less than a crucifix does about Christ’s answer to our questions about suffering.

One final word about unanswered prayer—because that topic often comes up when we’re talking about suffering, especially the suffering of our loved ones.

The foot-in-mouth disease of James and John in today’s Gospel reminds us that we sometimes pray for things without knowing what we’re asking. The two brothers really didn’t have a clue. Perhaps they just wanted to be close to Jesus. They asked for crowns, he gave them the cross. They got what they really needed, not what they asked for.

I will never tell anyone not to pray for miracles, especially for others. But as the years go by, I’m more and more convinced that our first prayer in tough times should be for greater understanding of the mystery of suffering—and for the grace and courage to accept it, united prayerfully with Jesus himself.