Primacy of Peter Does Matter to Us (21.A)

I've mentioned before that I thought the pandemic was going to give me some time to read, at long last. Well, we all know what a crazy idea that was. I'm busier than ever.

But somehow I found the time to get into two books this week. One is the first volume of Pope Benedict's Jesus of Nazareth, which is so rich that I will probably be quoting it in every second homily from now to Christmas. And by Christmas I hope I've finished the third volume of the Pope Emeritus's work, which is about Christmas.

(Note to reader: Of course I am ashamed that I never read it before now, despite several false starts!]

I won't be quoting from Jesus of Nazareth this week though, because the other amazing book I started really helped me prepare a homily on this Sunday's readings.

The book's called To Believe in Jesus. It's by a Carmelite nun called Ruth Burrows. For me, at least, it was just the right book at just the right time. For one thing, it really confirmed my decision to plough ahead with Pope Benedict's books. The author reminds us that although only the Holy Spirit can reveal Jesus to us, we have a duty to use our intellect to search for God.

(By the way, Ruth Burrows is a pen name. She is actually called Sister Rachel. She manages not even to have an entry on Wikipedia, no small accomplishment for someone who's written at least a dozen books over the years and is now in her nineties.)

Sister Rachel entered the convent at eighteen, so I figure she's been living a cloistered life for more than seventy years. But like most cloistered nuns, she knows what's going on in the world. So it was no surprise that she compared our religious thinking to a skyscraper.

We build this structure from our thoughts and beliefs, room by room, until it towers "majestically to the sky." Floor by floor it soars to heaven, built of the doctrines and dogmas that we Catholics believe.

It's an impressive high-rise that gives us a sense of security and even pride--we like to show it to others.

 But, Ruth Burrows writes, we ourselves are living on the ground floor. Most of those doctrines and dogmas "might just as well not exist for all it means to our daily life."

That's a pretty strong statement, but it's hard to argue with an elderly nun. I know, because I've tried once or twice!

Instead of arguing. let's see where this remarkable author goes with her statement: straight to us, to you and me. She points out that "everything God has revealed is for living, is for use."

Therefore, we have to think out for ourselves what the various formulations of faith really mean to us." We can't just be "content with rattling off the answer given us by others" but need to see how religious truths are relevant to our lives.

Today's Gospel presents us with one of those religious truths that we may find on one of the upper floors of our skyscraper--the primacy of Peter, the authority of his successor, the Pope.

It's easy to leave this Gospel upstairs and unconnected to our daily life, or even to our life, period. The Pope's in Rome thousands of miles away; he's far from important to my walk as a disciple.

Yet the Catechism says that the "pastoral office of Peter and the other apostles belongs to the Church's very foundation and is continued by the bishops under the primacy of the Pope" (CCC 881).

Can something belong to the foundation of the Church and live at the top of our building of beliefs, way up in the clouds?

Again, we can listen to Ruth Burrows: "everything God has revealed is for living... If we seriously want God then we have to think out what the various formulations of faith really mean to us."

So how do we do that? She has an answer ready: we must study the word of God ourselves, with the ability God has given us.

Certainly, you can look at the dogma of papal infallibility from Vatican I, or teaching about papal primacy from Vatican II, the Catechism, or St. John Paul II. But today we have before us the word of God.

Jesus is not setting up an efficient organizational structure in today's Gospel. He is revealing a plan for his Church that exists to help us grow closer to him. It must mean something for Christians today or it really makes no sense.

Nothing he taught, no truth the Church believes, has no use or purpose.

It's taken me a while to present this argument for the value and purpose of all dogmas and doctrines, so I haven't left myself a lot of time to unpack the truths Jesus reveals to us today. But I can do it quickly.

A key and a rock. With those images in our minds, we can begin to think about why what we believe about how the Pope leads the Church matters to each of us.

The key is a symbol of trust.  In the first reading, the king's new steward or minister receives a key and a mission. With the key, he can unlock the treasury in service of the king and people.

 A key in those days was not small.  And the holder did not share it with anyone. Which reminds me of the English abbot who invited us into a parlour in the monastery where we were guests. He pulled out a very large key from under the front of his religious habit. As he turned to a carved cupboard set in the wall, I expected to see a cabinet of relics or something of the sort.

Instead, the door swung open to reveal a liquor cabinet! You can be sure that that key didn't get passed around.

The keys to the kingdom given to Peter are, in one sense, his alone, and handed down to the Pope alone. But in another sense, as the Catechism says, the bishops together continue Peter's ministry under the primacy of the Pope.

What's that mean to us? At its simplest level, we know who has authority and who does not. When some trouble or other arises at church, people come straight to me and say "Father, have you got the keys to the kitchen, or the washroom, or the storeroom."

Now no-one's come to me yet and asked if I have the keys to the kingdom of heaven.  But I do... and so do you. Hans Urs von Balthasar puts it boldly: "Instead of the pastor being built on the rock of the congregation, it is the congregation, a part of the Church, that is built on the rock of Peter in which all priestly offices have a share."  (Light of the World, p. 121).

Which takes us to that other image, the rock. It's even more powerful a symbol than a key. In the Psalms God is called a rock. And speaking of the rock Moses struck to give water in the desert, St. Paul says "the rock was Christ."

Peter is called a rock because Christ is a rock. We don't put our faith in the Pope; we put it in Christ.

Let me conclude with another quotation from von Balthasar: "Faith in God and in Christ can only become rockhard faith in a rocky fortress through God and Christ himself. Such faith is a foundation upon which Christ, not man, builds his Church" (p. 120).

We've just skimmed the surface today, so let's continue reflecting at home on this question: How does what the Gospel teaches and the Church believes about the primacy of Peter and the Pope help me to be a more confident and faith-filled disciple of Christ?

Everyone is Welcome in God's House (20.A)

 

I took the ferry to Victoria at the start of my short vacation last month. The car ahead of mine in the ferry lineup had US license plates. It also had a message written in big letters on the rear window.

“We’re Canadians! Honest, eh! Moving home from the U.S.”

I complimented the driver on his good idea. He said it was more than a good idea—it was necessary.  He had been getting some pretty nasty looks from people who spied his U.S. plates.

As you all know, Canadians aren’t rolling out the welcome mat for Americans during the pandemic. At the moment, we like our friends from the States to stay right where they are—below the 49^th parallel.

Throughout the history of salvation, God’s people have also had some interesting feelings about foreigners. Some of those feelings were very negative and hostile.

In the Old Testament, “Gentile” is no compliment. The Jewish people had been oppressed by foreign powers, breeding hatred and resentment.[1] They considered the Gentiles, the foreigners, to be worshipers of false gods and judged them harshly.

This attitude found its way into the earliest Christian community. We find unflattering references to the Gentiles right in the Gospels. “Do not even the Gentiles do the same?” Jesus asks in one place, where in another he warns against praying with empty phrases “as the Gentiles do” (cf. Matt. 5:47, 10:5).

Worse still, Jesus say the renegade Christian is to be treated like “a Gentile and a tax collector” (Matt. 18:17). We heard those words at daily Mass on Wednesday.

So, there’s the background to the challenging conversation between the Lord and the Canaanite woman that we’ve just heard. She’s not only a Gentile, but a follower of a religion particularly repulsive to the Chosen People.

What Jesus said about Israel being his priority wouldn’t have surprised the disciples. The Book of Exodus calls Israel God’s “firstborn son,” while Deuteronomy says, “it is you the Lord has chosen out of all the peoples of the earth to be his people, his treasured possession.” [2]

So Jesus certainly didn’t shock anybody, or the woman herself, with his strong language.

What’s truly shocking is how the story ends. Despite the seeming harshness of the exchange, Jesus recognizes the faith of the Canaanite woman, and grants her prayer—"instantly,” as the Gospel says.

A new era has begun!

Before we talk about the meaning of this miracle for us, let’s backtrack to the first reading. I’ve described the hostile history of Jew for Gentile, but here we see something else. Foreigners can come to the Lord and worship him in the temple!

Today’s Psalm celebrates this, calling on “the nations” to join in Israel’s praise of God and to receive his blessings.

Following the law and loving the Lord are, for Isaiah, more important than being born an Israelite.

This was not the universal belief—later, the prophet Ezekiel rejected Isaiah’s view. But the seed sown in today’s first reading was destined to sprout in the Church.

The story of how that happened is too long to tell today, but the second reading shows the fruit. St. Paul received a direct call from the Lord to bring the Gospel beyond the Jewish community. He calls himself the Apostle to the Gentiles—the missionary to the nations—and his tireless journeys began the spread of the good news far beyond the people to whom it was first preached.

What does this all mean for us?

Let me answer this with a story. Before the pandemic, a quiet elderly man with limited English spoke with me after Mass. He said, quite simply, that he loved God’s house. That he wanted to be one of God’s people.

Last Sunday he appeared again. He told me that he had to return to his country, one where Christians are persecuted, and the Church is outlawed. Then he added, “I will come back.”

I hope the Lord might say to him what he said to the Canaanite woman, “great is your faith. Let it be done to you as you wish.”

God continues to call all nations to himself, and to make people joyful in this house of prayer. Our parish does not exist only for that tribe we like to call “us.”

The nine people who were baptized in this parish at Easter came from at least three countries. A majority came from the Middle East, from cultures we could certainly call foreign.

And let’s not think of modern Gentiles entirely in terms of geography. There are many people “out there” for whom the Christian message is truly foreign. We are called to welcome them with warmth and understanding—whether it’s in person or through this live stream.

No less than in Isaiah's time, these cultural “foreigners” should feel welcome to place their prayers and offerings on our altar. Today, and every Sunday, let’s pray with them and for them—so the joyful news of Jesus Christ will reach every nation and people on earth. 

 

 [1] Dictionary of the Bible, v. Gentile, p. 303

[2] Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture, “The Gospel of Matthew,”

Listening in a Noisy World (19.A)

We live in a noisy world. In fact, many people have noticed that life got quieter when the pandemic shut down the planes and reduced the traffic. But it didn’t last long.  

And the noise isn’t only the kind that hits your eardrums. This is a time of noisy ideas.

Lately in the U.S. it seems like a contest to see who can shout the loudest. And Canada has the same problem on a smaller scale.

Sometimes, we wish God would just straighten everything out. A few booming words from Heaven would help us know what’s right and what’s wrong, where we need to go in these confusing times.

Maybe it would help if we could see Jesus walking on the water. But if we read today’s Gospel carefully, it wasn’t exactly an easy experience for poor St. Peter. Even the sight of Jesus and his calming words “it is I, do not be afraid” wasn’t enough for him.

So how do we get away from the noise and find the peace that we need in our frantic world? The story of Elijah in our first reading has an answer: it shows how the Lord works with most of us, most of the time. We’re looking for fireworks, but what we get is “a sound of sheer silence.”

The sound of silence is one translation, but there are others. Another version of the Bible says Elijah heard “a still, small, voice”, another “a tiny whispering sound”, and still another “the sound of a gentle breeze”.

Have you ever heard those sounds? Only if you were listening carefully. And in our noisy world, we’re more likely to expect God to speak at the top of his voice.

To appreciate what a great this story is, and how much it can teach us, we need to understand that Elijah is not in the cave making a spiritual retreat. He’s not taking a day off to rest up from his work as a prophet. An evil king is pursuing him, to kill him. He’s running for his life.

And he was afraid.

The story makes it clear he was really afraid. He wished he were dead – he had lost hope.

But strengthened by an Angel, he kept moving and ended up in the cave. And then…  the Lord came to him.

I would love to meet the prophet Elijah and ask him how he felt standing at the mouth of that cave. He’d just had a frustrating and probably terrifying experience. He expected the Lord to pass by—to be present to him in his distress. But he wasn’t there.

A powerful hurricane was a logical place to look for the all-powerful God. Christians know that on Pentecost the apostles heard the sound of a mighty wind. But Elijah didn’t find God in the storm.

And then an earthquake. Another reasonable place to encounter God, who threatens to shake the earth in a prophecy of Isaiah and another of Ezekiel. But the Lord was not in the earthquake.

Neither did he appear in the form of fire, though we know that’s just what he did when he appeared to Moses in the burning bush.

Instead, the sound of silence. Or a still smile voice, or a gentle murmuring sound—take your pick.

To hear the voice of God, to receive God’s direction in his desperate situation, Elijah had to listen. And not just listen—he had to listen carefully.

And so do we.

God’s guidance and compassion may sometimes come when we attend a big conference or hear a famous preacher on YouTube. Spiritual earthquakes or spiritual fireworks aren’t unheard-of. But most of the time we will hear God speaking when we’re quiet enough to listen in the silence of our hearts.

How do we do that? I can think of three things right away.

First, turn off your phone. Trying to pray with my iPhone in my pocket is one the dumbest things I do—and I do it pretty often.

Second, find a cave. Not literally a cave, in case you disturb a hibernating bear. But a place to hide out—which can be this church, which is open seven days a week, or a room in your house with a door that locks. Or your own living room, if you make sure you’re the first one up in the morning.

Finally, listen with the ear of your heart.  We find those words at the very beginning of the Rule of St. Benedict. We need to tune in on God’s frequency, which we don’t only do in times of prayer.

God speaks through what happens in our daily lives. At the start of each day the Church prays Psalm 95 in the Liturgy of the Hours, the Divine Office. That psalm says “Today, listen to the voice of the Lord.”

We can miss his message if we’re no listening for it. A simple example: I was writing this homily after a very demanding week and looking ahead to another just as tough. A parishioner dropped a handmade card with one of my favourite scriptures through the mail slot. And inside was a second card, as gorgeous of the first, celebrating Dr. Bonnie Henry.

I could take that as a random act of kindness. Or, if I’m listening, I might be like Elijah and recognize the Lord speaking a word of encouragement and blessing.

I chose the second option. It answered the prayer in today’s Psalm: “Let me hear what God the Lord will speak, for he will speak peace to his people.”

Expect to be fed! (18.A)

I began my brief acting career in 1968 by appearing in a production of the musical “Oliver!” I auditioned for the starring role of Oliver Twist, but the director said, as kindly as he could, that I didn’t look undernourished enough.

Still, as a chubbier kid, at least I could sing the show’s opening song with real conviction. The title was “Food, Glorious Food.”

I’m afraid to say I’ve been singing that number ever since. My doctor says it’s really not the best theme song for a middle-aged man piling on the pounds in a pandemic.

But there are good reasons why people have been eating more these days, and baking bread especially. Food bring us comfort, and cooking and baking for others expresses our love and concern.

Is there any wonder that Jesus chose to give himself to the world in the form of bread and wine? As Psalm 104 says, God brings forth food from the earth—wine to gladden the human heart and bread to strengthen it.

The miraculous multiplication of the loaves and fish is also called the feeding of the five thousand. But even if the Lord gave me the power to work miracles, it would be against the law to feed more than fifty!

However, I am very happy to tell you that we have started to celebrate our First Communion Masses, feeding youngsters for the first time with the Bread of Life. And although they’re in much smaller groups, these children have a couple of things in common with those gathered with Jesus in today’s Gospel.

First, they waited a long time. Like the crowd that waited until evening, these young people received their First Communion late in the day. And second, they were hungry. Like the crowd that had not been fed all day, they were more than ready for the breaking of the bread.

First Communion Masses are always a joy. The faith and devotion of many of the young people is heartwarming. This year, though, these celebrations—there are four or five of them to accommodate the numbers—remind us that Jesus continues the miracle of multiplication today, in a far more wonderful way.

And he wants to feed tired and hungry people today and every Sunday. While the live streamed Mass answers some of our needs, it’s failing if it doesn’t make us hunger for the full meal deal.

Earlier in the pandemic, I talked to some parishioners who simply ached to receive Communion, and I watched as others wept when finally they could.

That hasn’t been everyone’s experience. Some people I’ve talked with just love the live stream and haven’t missed going to Mass very much. That doesn’t automatically mean they’re second-class disciples; it might just mean you’re not inclined to reflection, to thinking much about spiritual things. People are different, and some are more introspective than others.

 But it does mean it’s time to do some thinking now.

Whether you’ve been able to return to Mass, or whether health concerns are still keeping you home, the miracle of two thousand years ago—the overflowing and loving care Jesus shows in today’s Gospel—can move us to think long and hard as we near the six-month mark of the pandemic.

The Church had to hit the “pause” button for public Masses; now that we are able to gather again, even in a limited way, each one of us needs to spend some time thinking about a gift we might have taken for granted. Feeding five thousand or five million people with loaves and fish isn’t even close to being as wonderful as the Mass.

God no longer feeds us with miraculous bread and fish, but with the Bread of Angels which is the Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity of Christ his Son. And that bread not only promises eternal life but gives us strength for our journey on earth.

Today’s Psalm says the hand of Lord feeds us. He satisfies our needs and desires. So let’s sit down today with the crowd in that deserted place, in the quiet of our hearts. Is the Lord feeding us? Is he answering all our needs?

If that’s not what we’re experiencing, let’s start to expect more. Because the Eucharist is real food—glorious food—for our hungry souls.