Another Message from Bishop Barron

Hours after my last post, which included a link to a video from Bishop Robert Barron, another one arrived. Again, I haven't had

time to watch it, but I feel I should add this resource to the one I mentioned earlier. Bishop Barron speaks to the painful but very current question Why Remain Catholic? (With So Much Scandal) that I also addressed less directly in my homily last Sunday.

To Whom Can We Go in Time of Scandal?

If you ask when I became a Christian, my answer would be early in May, 1955, when I was baptized.

But ask the same question to any of our Protestant Evangelical brothers and sisters, and their answer will be very different. They probably won’t mention baptism at all. They might say “I made a decision for Christ on my eighteenth birthday” or “I accepted Jesus as my Lord and Saviour ten years ago.

Today’s Gospel, in light of the deepening scandal in the Church, asks us Catholics to consider giving their personal answer to the question “when did you become a Christian?”

But let’s begin with the first reading. It also contains a question.  Joshua is nearing his death, having lead the people into the Promised Land. He knows the temptations they will face, now that they have left behind the foreign gods of their exile.

And so he first asks the leaders and the people of Israel to think about all that God has done for them. In a part of his speech we don’t read today, he reminds them how God delivered them from their slavery in Egypt, and protected them on their long journey.

And then Joshua offers a free choice. Decide today whether you want to serve the gods you worshipped in your exile, or the Lord God.

The people answer without hesitation. Their memory of God’s deeds is still very fresh, and they choose the Lord.

Jesus gives an equally free choice to his disciples in today’s timely Gospel. He knows that some of the crowd following him haven’t believed all along. But now he realizes that some others have found it impossible to believe what he said about himself.  Bread of Life? His flesh real food? Blood real drink?

His words are too much for these disciples. They walk away.

The word “scandal” means obstacle comes from a Greek word meaning a snare or a stumbling block. It was something to trip over. Jesus’ teaching about the Eucharist was something those former followers couldn’t get past.

As they walked away, Jesus turned to the apostles, to the inner circle of his followers.  He didn’t say “oh don’t you go!”  Rather, in all gentleness, he asks them “Do you also wish to go away?”

A dear friend of mine told me that he and his wife talked this week about whether or not they would go to Mass today; indeed, whether or not they could stay Catholic in the face of the snare that has been set by the recent scandals in the Church.

Their answer to each other, at this point anyway, is the answer St. Peter gave to Jesus. “To whom can we go?”

In some ways, God’s mercy has prepared us all for the question “Do you also wish to go away?” For five weeks, Jesus has told us that he is the Bread of Life, that his flesh and blood are real food and real drink.

Sunday after Sunday, the Lord has revealed to us the life-giving power of the Eucharist—food and drink to sustain us on earth, and the Bread of Heaven that endures to eternity.

We have heard everything that the disciples and apostles heard about the great Sacrament we are about to celebrate and receive. Now, or in the days ahead, we will need to listen to Christ ask “Do you also wish to go away?”

Explanations and apologies for the current crisis will not keep anyone—priest or layman—coming to Church. Some will turn back, and no longer walk with us.

But those who remain will, I believe, be those who pray “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”

It may be that there will be people who, when asked “when did you become a Christian?” may even answer, “when scandals in the Church required me to make a decision for Christ.”

I would like to end with one personal comment. To have a seminarian living in the house during these difficult times has been painful for me.  What do you say to an idealistic young man as he prepares for the priesthood?

As things turned out, what Felix said in his short talk after Mass on Friday were words for us to hear. Referring to the smoke from forest fires that clouded the sky last week, Felix pointed out though it obscured the sun, the sun continued to shine.

Evil in the Church has obscured our vision, but God is still with us, and loving us at this time of pain and sorrow.

There have been countless statements trying to help people come to terms with the present crisis; I haven’t had time to keep up with them, but it’s likely that Bishop Robert Barron has some helpful things to say, so you may want to watch this. (I have not had time to watch it myself, so this is not a blanket endorsement of what he has to say.)

God too is angry...

I began my sermon by reading Archbishop Miller's bold and fatherly letter to us. You can see it here. 

Dear brothers and sisters,

I really have no idea what to say to you this morning. Each of you will have your own reaction to last week’s horrifying news about the extent of abuse and cover-up in parts of our beloved Catholic Church.

For some, that adjective “beloved” may not even fit any more.

So all I can really do today—I will speak about this tragedy again next week—is tell you about my experience.

The Pennsylvania grand jury report came out while I was in the U.S.  But I was in a monastery, shielded from TV and newspapers, and even from much conversation. As a result, it was the Word of God that shaped my thoughts about these awful revelations.

And what I thought about wasn’t so much my reaction as God’s reaction.

Last week, the monks were already reading each morning from the Prophet Zechariah. He spoke God’s prophetic word to Israel 2500 years ago - but what we heard on Thursday morning could have been written yesterday.

The passage (Zech. 11:4 - 12:8) is God’s judgement on bad shepherds, on those who do not feel for their flock. (Let’s remember that our English word pastor, applied to both bishops and priests, is the Latin word for shepherd.)

Zechariah’s prophecy even contains words we later hear in the Gospel of Matthew “So I took thirty pieces of silver and threw them into the treasure in the house of the Lord.”  Could there be a more damning judgment than to associate the unfeeling and uncaring shepherd with the traitor Judas?

The reading was long and painful. It culminates with these words:

 “Woe betide the worthless shepherd who abandons the sheep!

May a sword fall on his arm and on his right eye!
May his arm be all shrivelled,

and his right eye be totally blind.  

Are we angry? Not so angry as God is.

No one listening to Zechariah could possibly have missed the point, but the monastic liturgy carried on relentlessly; a homily from St. Gregory the Great followed the scripture reading.

The homily begins by pointing to the Good Shepherd, who is Christ himself, who lays down his life for his sheep and who feeds them with his body and blood, as we heard in today’s Gospel. But then St. Gregory, who was Pope in times as turbulent as our own, turns to bad shepherds—whom he calls hirelings, the mercenaries who abandon the flock when the wolf approaches.

It was stunning to hear this line: “He flees because he has seen danger and wants to keep silence – because in fact he has hidden himself under a veil of it.”

A veil of silence! More than fourteen centuries ago.

The indictment continues: “… his concern is with mere outward appearance and creature comfort; not for him to fret about his flock, their discomfort and their inward suffering.”

Are we deeply wounded? No more than the good shepherds, the good bishops who, like St. Gregory, who stood their ground against evil regardless of the cost.

Using ancient words to address these revelations may seem out of touch to some. Yet I believe that the Word of God—and especially the Old Testament stories of repeated infidelity—is the best lens through which to view this crisis in the life of the Church and in our lives.

And St. Gregory reminds us that bad shepherds are only part of the story. He says “there is another wolf which every day, without ceasing, tears, not at our bodies, but at our minds. It is the evil spirit. All unbeknownst, he stalks the tail end of the faithful, seeking out dead souls. So likewise the wolf scatters the flock when the devil harries with his temptations the ranks of the faithful.”

We can’t allow the evil one to use scandal to destroy our relationship with Christ, the Good Shepherd.

I was moved by the reaction of one woman after the Protestant superstar pastor Bill Hybels was accused of abusing a woman. After attending church with her 8-year-old son, she said “I never had a personal relationship with any of those pastors, but I have a personal relationship with God.”

Angry and wounded though we are, we must look to our own personal relationship with Jesus, asking right here at Mass for spiritual food, the living bread, that will sustain us in a difficult journey of Church reform and personal renewal.

Let me end on a personal note. Although I was away all week, I’ve already heard from some of you. One phone message touched me deeply, and I’d like to share it with you:

“I’m away on holidays, and I just want to tell you—especially in light of everything that happened in Pennsylvania and everything—that I’m worried about the Church.   I’m going to be coming to you when I get back about how I can help more to get our youth involved.  I’m not disillusioned at all but I’m disappointed in a lot of stuff that happened and I want to be part of the solution. If you could help guide me on how to be a better steward, I really want to be that positive influence.”

God is not finished with us, or with his Church. 

Creation too is a multiplication (17.B)

Do some of you remember the first day back to school in September, when you had to stand in front of the class and give a little speech called “How I Spent My Summer Vacation”? Well, today’s homily is one of those little speeches—and in light of the heat, the emphasis is on “little.”

I just got back from a week in majestic Haida Gwaii, the archipelago formerly known as the Queen Charlotte Islands. Whether on the water or in the woods, I spent a lot of time thinking about what Pope Francis calls “the Gospel of Creation” in his encyclical Laudato Si', “On Care for Our Common Home.”

Today’s Gospel, the multiplication of the loaves and fish, usually leads me to preach on the Eucharist, which is prefigured by this miracle. But it also brings to mind the broader subject of the abundance of all God’s generous gifts.

In his plan for creation, God did not give humanity just what it needed to survive; he gave us what we needed, many times over, if only we would exercise wise stewardship.

St. John Paul said that God has written a precious book, using for characters “the multitude of created things present in the universe”. And the Canadian bishops have reminded us that nature continuously reveals the divine. In 2003, they wrote “From panoramic vistas to the tiniest living form, nature is a constant source of wonder and awe.”

This is hardly new theology. The Scriptures tells us many times that creation shows forth God’s glory, and St. Thomas Aquinas teaches that all the diversity and variety of nature show his goodness, since it could not be represented fittingly by any one creature. (cf. Laudato Si', 85 and 86)

And the Catechism teaches: “God wills the interdependence of creatures. The sun and the moon, the cedar and the little flower, the eagle and the sparrow: the spectacle of their countless diversities and inequalities tells us that no creature is self-sufficient. Creatures exist only in dependence on each other, to complete each other, in the service of each other.” (n. 340)

My holiday made all this easier to understand. 

But is also made me realize what Pope Francis means when he writes about the kind of environmental exploitation that exhausts the resources local communities have relied on and “undo the social structures which, for a long time, shaped cultural identity and their sense of the meaning of life and community.”

The Pope says that the disappearance of a culture can be just as serious, or even more serious, than the disappearance of a species of plant or animal. 

He calls us to show special care for indigenous communities and their cultural traditions, which happily seems to be what is happening in Haida Gwaii, where archaeological evidence suggests the Haida people have lived for some 13,000 years.

The abundance of these islands—in timber, fish, wildlife—is truly a Gospel of Creation, a story of God’s abundant provision for his children. But much of its history is also a history of what Pope Francis calls “the sin of indifference.”

And that is a sin we can commit in many ways, whether by the thoughtless exploitation of the gifts of creation, by a lack of gratitude for their abundance, or by taking for granted the Bread of Life, the most generous gift of all.

Another Rescue, A Different Cave (15.B)

For two weeks the world held its breath.

For two weeks we tried to picture twelve boys and a young soccer coach entombed in darkness.

And for two days we marveled at the courage of their rescuers, especially the diver Saman Gunan, who died in the rescue attempt, just 38 years old.

The BBC called this “a remarkable story of friendship, human endurance—and the lengths some people will go to save someone else's child.”

But as we gather for Mass this morning, we recognize that it’s something more. The rescue effort, and the sacrifice of Saman Gunan, should bring to mind another rescue and another sacrifice. We hear about it in our second reading today.

“In Christ,” St. Paul writes, “we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace that he lavished upon us.”

We’ve heard the word “redemption” so many times that perhaps we forget the drama behind it. We have been freed from the darkness of our sins by someone who came to find us and to lead us into the light.

And just as the Thai diver died in the darkness of the cave, so Jesus died in the course of our rescue—and stayed in a cave until our salvation was completed by his Resurrection.

Those twelve boys had families, with whom they will soon be reunited. Their rescuers didn’t take them home with them. But our rescuer, St. Paul says, has adopted us as his own. We emerged into the light as members of God’s own family.

And In his first letter, St. Peter calls us to proclaim the great work of our Saviour, who called us out of darkness into his marvellous light.

I’ve read some on-line comments about the possible negative effects that their ordeal may have on the boys’ psychology. The best antidote to that is gratitude; I hope they will spend the rest of their lives giving thanks for their rescue and their rescuers.

And we are called to do the same. Jesus sends us out to the world, just as he sent the Twelve, to share gratefully with others the Good News of our rescue and our Rescuer.

 Illustration from BBC News.

Grace is Enough for Timid Preachers or Rebellious Hearers (14.B)

At the Masses last week, day after day we heard the prophet Amos denouncing Israel for her sins. Those Old Testament readings prompted me to give a slightly tongue-in-cheek homily on Thursday.

I told the congregation that I knew just how to get moved if I ever got tired of being pastor at Christ the Redeemer (not that it could ever happen!).  I said if I wanted a change, I could make it happen in just three weeks.

The first Sunday I would preach a very tough homily on contraception. On the second I would preach an uncompromising homily on same-sex marriage and the homosexual lifestyle. By the second week I’d probably be run off the property—either by angry Catholics or the human rights police— but if not, I’d preach a third homily about a collection of other Church teachings on private morality or social justice.

That homily made one sincere parishioner ask me “well, why aren’t you preaching those bold homilies?”

I explained that I was exaggerating a bit, and that I do actually speak about tough topics from time to time. But I added that the main reason I don’t give fire and brimstone homilies is simply that I preach in front of a congregation that includes many children. Sometimes I wish we had a Liturgy of the Word for all those under 16, giving priests the freedom to speak plainly and boldly about certain topics.

The first reading today presents the prophetic call of Ezekiel, who doesn’t have the luxury of making any excuses. He isn’t given any choice in the matter. God doesn’t seem concerned about the results of Ezekiel’s preaching. All God wants is for Israel to hear His word. The rest is up to the people, not the prophet.

You and I are in the same boat in the modern world. We’re pretty sure how our friends and neighbours—and even our children—are going to react when God sends us to speak His word to them. But it’s not really our problem: the end result, the free response of others to the Christian message, is God’s concern.

The same thing comes across in today’s Gospel. Jesus is also a prophet, and like many of the Old Testament prophets, he will be rejected and killed. Even the residents of Nazareth, who know him and his family, take offense at him.

The message of these two readings is simple enough. Don’t think you can be an authentic witness to Christ without causing offense. It’s neither possible nor required.

In last week’s I mentioned the Canadian bishops’ statement lamenting the legalization of marijuana.  During the homily a young man whom I know and like gave me a look that could kill straight across the church. And, to his credit, after Mass he told me what he thought.

Now I hasten to add that the interaction hardly made me feel like Ezekiel or Amos or Jesus.  But I still have to say I preferred hearing “great homily Monsignor” to the conversation I had with the young man.

The point is, it doesn’t matter. Watering down or avoiding the truth in order to avoid negative reactions is not what God wants us to do—whether we are pastors, called by ordination to preach, or lay Christians, anointed to the prophetic office through baptism and strengthened for it by confirmation.

When I explained to the parishioner last week that my preaching is restrained by the presence of youngsters, I added a second reason—that Catholics expect the Sunday homily never runs longer than ten minutes. You can’t even warm up in ten minutes if you want to preach a convincing sermon on contraception or other complex moral topics.

But if I’m really honest with myself, a lack of courage does have something to do with it. I’m afraid of the reaction from some, or unwilling to face the rejection that goes with a prophet’s job.

So perhaps we could both work towards more prophetic homilies in the parish. I could learn to be more like St. Paul, content with weaknesses, insults and persecution. And we could all pray for open hearts ready to hear without offense the prophetic message of Jesus.

Whether we’re fearful speakers or rebellious listeners, God’s power and grace are sufficient to overcome our weakness.

No Upbeat Homily for Canada Day

Canada Day only falls on Sunday once every seven years. That’s an opportunity for an upbeat homily about our beautiful country and our many blessings. But not this year—because we need to take a look at some things that are happening in Canada and what they mean for Christians.

I know you’d rather hear a homily celebrating Canada than criticizing it; so would I. But a friend sent me a quotation this week attributed to Archbishop Fulton Sheen, who was not only America’s best preacher but a 20th century prophet. When I read it, I knew I couldn’t deliver a feel-good sermon today.

Long quotations don’t make good homilies, but I’m asking you to listen carefully to these prophetic words:

Humanity in a crisis is generally insensitive to the gravity of the times in which it lives.

Men do not want to believe their own times are wicked, partly because they have no standard outside of themselves by which to measure their times. If there is no fixed concept of justice, how shall men know it is violated?

Only those who live by faith really know what is happening in the world; the great masses without faith are unconscious of the destructive processes going on because they have lost the vision of the heights from which they have fallen.

I don’t think one Canadian in ten thinks we have a problem in this country. And I do think that most of those who recognize the destructive processes at work are people of faith.

But even men and women of faith often fail to understand the heights from which Canadian society has tumbled, because our fall from Christian morality has happened in slow motion—not from one cause but from many.

We could analyze numerous social shifts that are opposed to Gospel values—for that matter, opposed to the values shared by most major religions—but I want to point out three of the most recent.

The first, of course, is euthanasia. Disguised by the Orwellian name “Medical Assistance in Dying,” the legalization of assisted suicide threatens the vulnerable, draws health care workers in to a moral snare, and creates an entirely false idea of compassion. It should not be necessary to remind people at Sunday Mass that assisted suicide can never be the right choice, but our first reading puts it simply: “God does not delight in the death of the living.”

Life is a good in and of itself— God “created all things so that they might exist.” All life is precious; its value is not measured by the so-called “quality of life” or anything of that sort.

We were created for eternity, and it is in eternity that the quality of life will more than compensate for the struggles some people encounter at the end of their life on earth.

Before turning to the second social shift—I should really call these legal shifts—I want to give you another reason for this somber homily on what should be a joyful day. The reason is simply this: law-abiding people, people like us, tend to think that if something’s legal is must be right. Law not only reflects social values, it creates them.

Archbishop Carney once told me that chicken wasn’t subject to meat rationing during the Second World War. As a result, Catholics—who were not allowed to eat meat on Friday—started to eat chicken, since if the government said it wasn’t meat, it must be true.

The second shift is the redefinition of tolerance. Canadians pride themselves on tolerance. American comedians on the late-night shows make jokes about how nice we are. But my dictionary says that to tolerate means “to allow the existence or occurrence of  something, without interference.”

The courts have redefined tolerance in numerous decisions interfering with the freedom of people of faith. The most recent may be the most serious: the Supreme Court of Canada has effectively allowed the legal profession to be closed to graduates of a law school where students must commit to live according to the moral norms that were once universally held by all Christians. In the words of the two dissenting judges, the Court has turned the protective shield of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms into a sword.

And there’s not much doubt which group of Canadians that sword will slash.

The third source of sadness on this Canada Day may surprise you, since it’s hardly as grave as the euthanasia or Trinity Western decisions. But as I told you, I'm focusing on the most recent social shifts, and this one’s also current—the court-ordered legalization of marijuana, now enshrined in law.

Just last week, the Canadian bishops issued a statement reminding Catholics of the harm that will flow from increased marijuana use. They cite the Canadian Medical Association, the Canadian Psychiatric Association, and the Canadian Paediatric Society as pointing out how “the use of cannabis is linked to addictions, depression, anxiety, psychosis, damage to brain development, and lung problems such as asthma and emphysema.”

Although I didn’t use marijuana, I grew up hearing that it was not addictive. That was a lie or at least a huge mistake in terms of what we know now. The bishops rely on modern science and the modern understanding of addictions when they say marijuana “is an addictive substance that will have disastrous effects” for many people.

There was a time when a Canadian who didn’t break the law would be following God’s law in most matters. Sadly, tragically, that time has passed. Only the Creator’s law can guide us now to the good life, and to the righteousness that leads to life eternal.

It is truer than ever that “Only those who live by faith really know what is happening in the world; the great masses without faith are unconscious of the destructive processes going on because they have lost the vision of the heights from which they have fallen.”

So on this Canada Day, let’s not only pray for the nation, but lift up our eyes to the lofty vision of creation and the human person that is our heritage as Canadians and Christians.