Children's Mass (Christmas 2021)

 

We have a wonderful family in our parish who moved to Canada from Peru. They just gave me a lovely gift – a brightly painted Christmas ornament from South America.

 It’s made from a gourd, a hard-skinned fruit that’s been hollowed out and dried. Gourd carving has been associated with Peru and other countries in South America for hundreds of years.

You can see it’s quite pretty; there’s a cheerful little bird chirping at the bottom.

It would look nice enough on a Christmas tree, if I hung it as you see it now. But if you turn it around, you see that the ornament has a heart. Far from being hollow, like most of the decorations on my tree, it has tiny figures of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, shepherds, and animals. 

We have to decide every Christmas whether to look at one side or the other – to focus on the colourful decorations or to take a careful look at what Christmas is all about.

 Sometimes it’s easier just to see Christmas from the outside. Certainly, at least with my eyesight, it takes a bit more effort to look into the heart of this celebration.

But there’s so much to learn when we take the time to gaze at the miracle we are here to celebrate tonight.

 You can be sure that the shepherds couldn’t take their eyes off the angel. And when the angel left, they were changed, they were eager, and the result was that they received the priceless gift of seeing Mary and Joseph and a child lying in a manger.

We have a beautiful crib in our parish, and I hope that many of you will visit to say a prayer. But no matter how long you look at the statues, you will not find Mary and Joseph and their child. Because they are not statues!

But if you look into your heart, you will find Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. You will be able to speak with them. You can imagine how the shepherds felt, and you can feel that way too.

All you need to do is make up your mind and change the angle from which you view Christmas. Opposite the shiny and colourful side there is the real meaning of Christmas, which is the appearance of God our Saviour with goodness, loving kindness, and mercy.

We adults can lose our sense of wonder. We’ve had many Christmases and maybe we have begun to take the annual celebration for granted.

That’s why our parish wants to offer adults, young and old, a chance to look at Christmas with fresh eyes – an opportunity to get inside Christian faith. Alpha is an eleven-week video series that helps us understand why God became man and what that means for us. 

Please join us January 20, on line!

Overpowering Every Darkness (Christmas 2021)

The star of Bethlehem does not shine in the Christmas story we heard tonight. The story of that star is told in the Gospel of Matthew, and we have just listened to the Gospel of Luke.

But we can be sure that the chorus of angels lit up the night sky, bringing light to the darkness as they heralded the birth of Christ.

The angelic host was announcing the news that the prophetic word of Isaiah—what we just heard in our first reading—had been fulfilled!

In the darkness of the night, a great light shone. A light that the darkness cannot overpower, as St. John tells us in his Gospel.

A joyful light. A glorious light.

I do not want to dim the brightness of this holy night in any way. Like you, I rejoice that a child has been born for us. And yet, I want to invite you into a difficult experience that my family and I are facing this Christmas.

A month ago, my younger brother Stephen suffered a major stroke. From the moment we got the news the doctors did not downplay how severe it was.

However, they gave us hope. And we have held on to that hope during these anxious days.

But there was something the doctors did not give us: promises. The hope they offered came without promises for the future. And this, of course, is as it should be, since recovery from stroke is a long and uncertain process. Doctors do well to be encouraging, but would be wrong to make promises.

What a contrast with God’s word spoken to us at Christmas! 

Like the doctors, the scriptures give us hope. But unlike the doctors, God makes promises. Christian hope is backed by promises. God will accomplish His plan in us, unobstructed by illness, human weakness, and even sin.

Christian hope promises light in any darkness. No matter what we face, we are promised light and peace, hope and joy. And most of all, a Saviour.

In various forms, the word promise appears more than 100 times in the Bible. As for the number of God’s promises, you can have some fun trying to find that on the internet. Some say a thousand, others many more than that. It depends on your definition. A Canadian teacher, after reading the Bible twenty-seven times, came up with the figure 8,810, most of them made by God to mankind.

The exact number is much less important than God’s faithfulness. When King Solomon dedicated the temple of Jerusalem, he praised God by saying, “not one of the promises he made through the servant Moses has failed.” (1 Kings 8:56 REB)

If King Solomon could say that almost a thousand years before the first Christmas, think about what God has promised us in his Son.

Isaiah’s prophetic words, “the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light,” were fulfilled that first Christmas night, but the Bible continues to promise us the joy, the peace, and the liberation we heard about in the first reading.

Because today we are the people who live in a land of deep darkness, a land overshadowed by fear and worry. The pandemic threatens us all, and some of us live with illness, suffering, and sorrow.

But the light is shining through all of that if we will open our eyes to see.

The New Testament brings us God’s promises no less than the Old. The Letter to the Hebrews tells us that the new covenant has even better promises than the first.

In his second letter, Saint Peter speaks of God’s “precious and very great promises” that free us from corruption and allow us to share in the divine nature (2 Peter 1:4).  Saint Paul speaks of something very precious indeed when he writes “What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love Him” (1 Corinthians 2:9).

Beautiful phrases, but let’s bring them down to earth – or up to heaven, as you prefer. The apostle John makes it clear: “this is what he has promised us, eternal life” (1 John 2:25).

The problem is that the promise of eternal life is both far off and unimaginable. It’s hard to get excited about a promise that won’t be fulfilled in your lifetime!

Which is why it’s so important at Christmas to see the whole picture. Which is why our parish invites you to Alpha, so you can not only hear what God offers but experience it, right now.

When you come to Alpha, you will meet people, on the videos and in your small group, who have walked out of darkness and into light. You will see the joy of Christian faith and community.

And as Saint Paul tells Titus in our second reading, you may come to understand how God’s gifts are not rewards for good behaviour. You can have an actual experience of the Holy Spirit, one of the central promises Jesus makes to his disciples.

Alpha can help you live life with the wonder of the shepherds living in the fields of Bethlehem and can challenge you to imitate their eagerness to figure out just what God has done.

We can put our hope in modern science and medicine. We can hope for human progress. After all, there’s nothing wrong with positive thinking. But what happens when we hit a wall? Then natural hope, sometimes called optimism, can fail us.

But supernatural hope is a virtue, not an attitude. It’s something you can hold on to in good times and in bad – and especially in bad. It does not depend on our emotions or circumstances.

As the Letter to the Hebrews says, we can hold fast to our hope without wavering, “for he who has promised is faithful” (Hebrews 10:23).

God was faithful to the Chosen People in exile and exodus; he kept his promises. He rewarded Abraham, our father in faith who, when hope seemed hopeless, God made the “father of many nations.” Now He promises us, in Christ, even more.

The beatitudes proclaimed by Jesus – blessings promised to the poor in spirit, those who mourn, those who suffer – do not exempt his disciples from trials. But through all those trials, “God keeps us in the hope ‘that does not disappoint,’” a hope that is “a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul.” (Hebrews 6:19)

How does he do this?

In part by the gift of a peace the world cannot give (John 14:27). It was not optimism that has seen us through the difficult days after my brother’s stroke but God’s gift of peace, because he keeps His promises.

In part by spiritual gifts like fortitude and perseverance, which make it possible to follow the exhortation Saint Paul gives in a verse that’s easy to remember, Romans 12:12: “Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer.”

In part by the virtue of faith which makes it possible to trust my favourite verse from St. Paul, Romans 8:28: “We know that all things work together for good for those who love God.”

The same God whose infinite creativity conceived a plan to save the world through the birth of his only Son in poverty, in a manger, in an occupied territory, can bring light even to the deepest darkness.

This is the thirty-fifth time I have preached at Christmas Mass. It is perhaps the first time I have preached from such intense personal experience, an experience of God’s promise and power to fill this day—for me, my family, and for you—with the light that the darkness cannot overpower (cf. John 1: 5).

I want to share with you each of you this same hope-filled invitation, whether your Christmas dawns brightly or, like mine, has shadows. The discipleship path, to which our parish invites you through Alpha and other experiences of Christian community, is walked in both joy and sorrow.

It is a safe road through darkness—present, past, and future—leading ultimately to the brightest of all destinations, "the hope of eternal life" (Titus 1:2, 3:7). 

Finding Peace This Week (Advent 4C)

 

Is it just me or does it seem almost impossible that Christmas is less than a week away?

And do you also share my sense of being unprepared? If you don’t, please send me an email as soon as you get home and let me in on your secret!

I saw a video this week that really captures how I’m feeling. [Unfortunately, it’s one we purchased only for viewing in church – even if I did know how to post it here! Suffice to say it was frantic!]

What do you think? For all the joys of Advent, I think that short video does a good job of showing the challenges we face in the home stretch before Christmas.

What's the answer to the problem?

I found a list of five tips for staying calm at Christmas: 1) simplify, 2) be realistic, 3) have fun, 4) get fresh air, 5) savor. 

It took me a couple of seconds to realize that number five said savor not saviour. 

Our liturgy for this fourth Sunday corrects that colossal mistake. It points us to the fact that we have a Saviour. And that’s truly something to savor as we reflect on the readings today.

The Gospel asks us to think about what we actually believe about this feast that seems to have so much busyness attached to it. Look closely at Elizabeth: she’s not distracted by the excitement of the visit from her cousin Mary. She’s not heaving a sigh of relief at the arrival of someone to help out during her pregnancy.

No, Elizabeth knows what’s going on. Like her child filled with the Holy Spirit, she knows precisely what's happening and thus greets Mary with faith and hope. Nothing in this encounter is secondary; Elizabeth is focused entirely on the fulfillment of God’s ancient promises.

In the first reading, Micah has only a shadow of Elizabeth’s clear thinking; his astonishing prophecy “glimpses more of the future than the prophet could have possibly realized.”

[See Hans Urs von Balthasar, Light of the World, 263-264]

It’s wonderful to think that we are not just glimpsing God’s plan. Like Elizabeth, like Mary, we know that it is fulfilled in Christ.

Knowing that God has done for us what he promised is a great way to prepare for Christmas. Knowing that “we have been sanctified through the body of Jesus Christ once for all” makes us confident and focused like these two great women of the Bible.

But there’s more to being ready for Christmas than just understanding God’s plan. There’s more to being sanctified than knowing the saving work of Jesus Christ. We want to accept the gift of holiness; we need to live the salvation Christ has brought us.

We do that in many ways, of course. When we serve others in charity, as Mary did for her pregnant cousin, we make a place in our hearts ready to welcome Christ. Already much kindness has been shown during Advent by members of our parish to those in need.

When we take time to reflect on what we believe, perhaps by reading ahead of time the readings for Mass on Christmas, the Word of God dwells in our hearts and prepares us to celebrate the mystery of the Word made flesh.

When we call upon the Lord’s name and say, “we will never turn back from you,” as the psalm says, we recommit ourselves to the mystery we are celebrating at Christmas.

But before we can say “we will never turn back from you,” some of us need to turn back to the Lord—to restore a relationship that has been weakened or even lost in the stormy months since last Christmas.

What’s the point of running around madly buying Christmas presents if we won’t accept the one God wants to give us: the gift of his mercy, the forgiveness of our sins?

Christ-who-comes wants every one of us to come to him at this sacred moment in the year. He invites us to meet him in the Sacrament of Penance this week, to go to confession before we welcome his coming at Christmas.

Our parish and the other North Shore parishes are doing our best to make this as easy as possible for busy people. Fr. Lucio and I will be in the confessionals right after the 11 o’clock Mass tomorrow. Tuesday evening at 7 pm, Deacon Marty will lead us in an Advent penitential service, after which at least seven priests will be hearing confessions.

On Wednesday before the morning Mass, Fr. Lucio and I will again be in our confessionals.

I was going to say that there’s no earthly reason not to get to confession before Christmas. But then I realized that the only reasons are earthly—worldly falsehoods like thinking we don’t deserve God’s mercy or that we don’t need God’s mercy.

Such worldly thinking misses the whole purpose of the Word of God taking flesh—so that Christ can save us. He wants to save us, and He will, if we let Him.

The Church offers us an antidote to the pre-Christmas panic shown in the video. There are simple paths to peace this week. We can spend some time thinking and praying about the big picture, God’s plan. We can find some opportunity for an act of kindness or charity.

And we can open our hearts to the gifts of joy and peace the Saviour offers us in the Sacrament of Penance.

Put on the Garments God Gives (Advent 2.C)

 

Take off the garment of your sorrow and affliction, O Jerusalem, and put on forever the beauty of the glory from God.

At Mass last night, here at Christ the Redeemer, Father Richard Conlin celebrated his first anniversary of priesthood with our parish, to which his whole family belongs.

When Father Richard was ordained a priest, pandemic restrictions meant that there were ten people in the 900 or so seats of Holy Rosary Cathedral.

I can’t imagine how I would have felt in his shoes. But I know how I felt in mine—very proud to be the only priest invited, and to have the honour of putting his priestly vestments on him during the liturgy.

He recalled the moment when I placed the stole on his shoulders and put the chasuble over his head: “I made Msgr. Greg cry.”

And then he made last night’s congregation laugh by adding, “Of course, that’s not difficult.”

The back story began while he was on retreat preparing to be ordained. As he stood before God, he imagined himself as the prodigal son in the Gospel story. More than that, he saw himself dressed in the tattered rags that Rembrandt so brilliantly painted in his masterpiece “The Return of the Prodigal Son.”

When he told this to the priest directing him on the retreat, he gave him some unfamiliar scripture verses to read and pray with.

That prophetic passage, Fr. Richard told us, was fulfilled when I placed the priestly vestments on him at the ordination.

Which, of course, made me cry again.

Fast forward, if you will, to yesterday. Last night he told us the same story for a second time, since he had he preached here some months ago.

The same story—but with a twist.

An astonishing twist: the passage the future Father Conlin had been given to read on his retreat, the prophetic word he felt was fulfilled at his ordination, is the first reading we just heard.

When we fixed the date for the anniversary celebration months ago, no-one thought to look at the Sunday readings, so it’s by pure coincidence—or can we say pure providence—that things come full circle with this passage from the Book of the Prophet Baruch.

Small wonder that he told us the story again.

When Deacon Richard prayed with the text on his retreat, it was as if he’d never heard it before; when he told me the story, I didn’t recall the reading either.

But here it is, right in front of us on this second Sunday of Advent.

How did we both miss the importance of this reading, in my case for more years than Father Richard Conlin has been on this earth?

Pretty easy, I think. We read Baruch every three years, but it seems like just a prologue to today’s Gospel. All I ever noticed was that the first reading anticipates the words of John the Baptist: “every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low.”

Until last night, I had missed the heart of today’s first reading; in fact, only last night did the words go straight to my heart.

Let’s look for a moment at the Gospel. We are stirred by John’s words, intrigued by how they echo Baruch’s, both pointing to the coming of the Saviour. All good. But what does this Gospel passage tell us to do?

Nothing, really. Not that every Gospel must be a plan for action. But the fact is you can listen to this one without being invited to any particular action.

Now turn back to Baruch.

Again, we’re uplifted by the Advent message of hope, the promise of God’s coming. But Baruch tells us to do something!

Because when the prophet speaks to Jerusalem, he speaks to us. The words “Take off the garment of your sorrow and affliction,” which spoke so clearly to the future priest on his retreat, are spoken to you and to me.

A little over a week ago, I put on the garment of sorrow and affliction, devastated by my brother’s stroke. Today, I am invited—even commanded—to take off that garment.

Not just to take it off, but to replace it with the beautiful garments of faith and hope—to put on “the robe of righteousness” that comes directly from God. This I am trying to do, so that I can receive the gift of peace God promises.

Are you wearing tattered garments of pain, fear, sin, or despair? The prophetic word today says, “take them off.” Take them off and put on the robes of beauty and glory.

What would it look like, what would it feel like, to toss out the garments of sorrow and affliction? In case it all seems a bit abstract, we have today a beautiful Psalm to provide an answer.

“When the Lord delivered Zion from bondage, it seemed like a dream.” God’s people were filled with laughter and gladness. Weeping under heavy burdens when they set out to labour, they come back singing. Knowing the great things God had done for them replaced sorrow with joy.

We all have burdens, and many experience bondage of one sort or another. Advent is a time to pray for the knowledge and insight that allows us to seek something better, as St. Paul says in our second reading, and to allow God himself to bring to completion the good work he began in us.

I have seen Rembrandt’s painting with my own eyes when I was in St. Petersburg, and I admire it as much as Father Richard, who used it on his ordination holy cards.

But if I could have made one suggestion to the great Dutch master, it would be this: there’s a servant doing nothing in the painting—I wish he were holding “the best robe” that the father ordered in the parable. The painting shows what garments of sorrow and affliction look like, so I wish we had a glimpse of the robe of righteousness.

Of course, it’s much easier to paint rags of despair than robes of righteousness. Just as it can be easier to wear them.

But we can start our change of clothes right now by rejecting the hopeless lies we are told—or tell ourselves—and live in the hope of joy and glory so richly promised us today and throughout this Advent season of preparation and hope.

Looking Back and Ahead at Advent (

 

Talking about a pagan god is an unusual way to start a homily on the first Sunday of Advent, but at least his statue is in the Vatican Museum.

Janus was the Roman god of beginnings, gates, transitions, time, duality, doorways, passages, and endings.

He was obviously a busy guy. It’s no wonder that he’s usually shown having two faces, each looking in a different direction. Not right and left, but forwards and backwards.

As I thought about Advent this year, it struck me that looking in only one direction is not the way to prepare for Christmas. If we’re serious about this season, it must be much more than one of those billboards announcing how many shopping days left until Christmas.

Advent may have four weeks. But really it is beyond time. It is equally about what is, what has been, and what will be.

Moreover, it is just as connected to Easter as it is to Christmas.

I’ll get back to that, but let me point out something from this morning’s Gospel: if Advent is just a beautiful liturgical season preparing us for the joys of Christmas, why are we listening to Jesus tell his disciples about the end of the world?

Unless you’re a diehard pessimist, this Gospel doesn't help us get into the Christmas spirit.

But don’t worry: the next Advent Sundays offer us the more familiar prophecies and words of comfort. On this first Sunday, though, the Church is asking us to begin the journey in a circle, not a straight line.

Let me remind you of what I said at the blessing of the Easter candle just over seven months ago:

“Christ yesterday and today; the beginning and the end; the Alpha and the Omega; All time belongs to him and all the ages. To him be glory and power through every age and for ever.”

Do those words no longer echo? Has time narrowed to a four-week preparation for the Birth of Christ?

No, dear friends, Advent is not a straight line. It’s a circle. 

To quote a wonderfully wise Irish priest, Oliver Treanor,* the circle “draws to its inner self all mankind, all history, the very cosmos itself.”

Try doing that with a straight line!

“Because of  this,” Father Treanor says, “Advent is not only the celebration of God’s coming to us, but also of our coming to him.”

Our Gospel this Sunday does not talk about celebrating, but it has much to teach us about Advent. Even as Jesus looks to the end of time, he looks to the present moment and warns us to live good lives right now so we can greet his coming without shame or fear.

St. Paul does much the same in our second reading by encouraging us to live lives pleasing to God, as we’ve been taught.

The Church is wise to give us these readings, because they remind us that Advent, second only to Lent, is a penitential season.

Father Treanor again uses the circle to make this point: Advent “is a time to mend the broken circles of our lives by returning, as a circle does, to our point of origin.”

And what is that “point of origin” but our oneness with God, made possible not only in the stable but on the cross and at the Resurrection?

There’s no surer way to mend the circle than going to Confession.

When it comes to Confession, I am a bit like a man who loves sushi and can’t figure out why everyone doesn’t. I love the sacrament of penance—I truly welcome going to confession, even though I wish I felt the need a little less often.

And I love hearing confessions. But I am hearing fewer and fewer, and don’t know why. Maybe people working from home have less opportunity to sin, but with the kids making noise during Zoom calls I would have thought it would be the other way around.

It don't think it's fear of the pandemic. We wear masks in the confessionals, and installed new higher-volume exhaust fans.

Maybe we’re all just tired.

Several parishioners have suggested that it might help if we tried making it easier for you to get to confession. So, during Advent one or both priests will head to the confessional directly after the 11 am Mass and see what happens.

Let’s think of that busy god Janus as we begin our Advent preparation: looking back not only at our sins but at the saving death and Resurrection of Christ, and looking forward not only to Christmas Day but to the Last Day when God fulfills all his promises.

-------------

* Father Treanor's book is titled Seven Bells to Bethlehem, and it is an inspiring study of the marvelous O Antiphons from the Liturgy of the Hours, also used as the Gospel acclamation at weekday Masses leading up to Christmas. It is one of the finest liturgical/theological/devotional books I have ever owned, and copies are now available on Amazon. Highly recommended!  

Sharers in His Kingship (Christ the King.B.2021)

 

When I was young, a boy might read a Hardy Boys novel and decide to be a detective, and a girl might read the Nancy Drew series and get the same idea.

Although I did read the Hardy Boys—and the occasional Nancy Drew off my sister’s shelf if I was desperate—I never wanted to be a detective. My childhood career choice came from reading Mark Twain’s novel The Prince and the Pauper. I figured I would make a rather good English prince. (I didn’t think there was much future in becoming a pauper.)

Looking back, I didn’t make a good start on the virtue of humility!

St. Paul wanted to keep his converts humble. He asked the Corinthians “What do you have that you did not receive?”

That’s a good question for any of us to answer. Whatever we have—talents, titles, even faith itself, is a gift from God, not any accomplishment of ours.

But on this glorious parish feast day, the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe, I would like to ask a very different question. What does Christ have that you did not receive? What does the King of the Universe possess that he did not share with us?

There’s an easy answer: Christ was God, and he certainly didn’t share that with us. But the answer is wrong. What does the priest say at every Mass, as he prepares the chalice? It’s said quietly, so you might not know this prayer: “By the mystery of this water and wine may we come to share in the divinity of Christ who humbled himself to share in our humanity.”

So that takes care of divinity. Jesus shares his divinity with us. If this were my main point today, I could name a dozen Fathers of the Church who have taught this truth.

But let’s go back to the question. What did Jesus have that he didn’t share with us? Radically, we know he shared his body and his blood. We know he shared his inheritance since St. Paul says we are “heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ.” The Apostle also tells us that if we share in his sufferings we may also share in his glory (Romans 8:17).

And there’s something else. Something we often talk about in the parish: Christ’s mission. We know that Jesus shared his mission and ministry with the Church and with all the baptized.

So what’s left for us to share?

Today’s feast points us to one more thing. Even as we acclaim Christ as our King and Redeemer, we rejoice that Jesus even shared his Kingship with us. We have a share in his sovereignty.

Let’s look at today’s Scriptures. The first reading and the Gospel are all about Christ, who “was given dominion and glory and kingship,” and who came into the world “to testify to the truth.” But the second reading says something about us: Christ has made us “a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father.”

We’re not just priests, however. We are royal priests, sharing in the kingship of Christ. St. Peter states that clearly in his First Letter. Here’s what he says: “You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation…” (2:9a).

And let’s be careful not to think we’re talking about priests like me and Fr. Lucio. At baptism, the priest or deacon says, “As Christ was anointed Priest, Prophet, and King, so may you live always as a member of his body, sharing everlasting life.” Every Christian shares in the priestly, prophetic, and kingly mission of Christ according to his or her state in life.

Many of us share the Lord’s rule in our relationships with others. Priests who are terrified of exercising any pastoral authority are failing to share in the Shepherd-King’s office shared with them in baptism and ordination. Parents who avoid using God-given authority to guide their families, “lovingly, patiently and sacrificially” are missing a key aspect of the call received in baptism and in marriage.

All of us are rulers, if not of others, then at least of ourselves. We’re given the power to rule over our impulses and passions, for one thing.

Perhaps most importantly, our share in the kingship of Christ leads directly to a deeper understanding of human dignity. The deepest roots of our dignity aren’t found in what we do, but in who we are. Whatever you think of hereditary monarchy, it’s not mainly about what the royals do; it’s about who they’re related to.

So too with us. Knowing we’re all members of Christ’s royal family helps us respect ourselves as we must, avoiding all that defiles our conscience and erodes our self-respect.

On top of that, a lively awareness of the share in his kingship that Christ has given us reminds us to respect the dignity of others. We honour Jesus, the ruler of the kings of the earth, whenever we honour one another, even in what Mother Teresa called “the distressing disguise of the poor."

Knowing that the Lord “made us to be a kingdom” should give us a confidence to do what we can to make the world better, despite the fact it has turned away from his sovereign rule. Christians are largely ignored in the public square these days, but that does not mean we do not belong there.

As one author put it recently, “The laity’s kingly office is exercised by their leadership in temporal affairs, acting as Christ would. Jesus, the king of heaven, gave his life to conquer sin and death, to bring resurrection and new life. By bringing Christ’s leadership and governance in our own spheres, we offer renewal and new life where it is most needed.”

The laity help to rule society according to God’s plan for creation in whatever sphere they have influence, including the stewardship of creation. As Pope Francis says in his encyclical Laudato Si’,  “our ‘dominion’ over the universe should be understood more properly in the sense of responsible stewardship” (94).

The Catechism of the Catholic Church sums up everything I’ve said today in two sentences: “Jesus Christ is the one whom the Father anointed with the Holy Spirit and established as priest, prophet, and king. The whole People of God participates in these three offices of Christ and bears the responsibilities for mission and service that flow from them.” (CCC 783)

The way my life has unfolded, I never did get offered a job as a prince, although I’ve never been a pauper, either. But today, together with each one of you, I celebrate something greater still: our royal share in the mission of the King of Kings, to whom “be glory and dominion, forever and ever.”

The Widow's MIGHT (32.B)

The Gospel we just heard is known throughout the English-speaking world as the story of the widow’s mite. That’s how the King James Bible translates the word Jesus used.

A mite was a medieval Dutch or Flemish coin worth very little. The coin the woman donated to the Temple was a lepton, a word meaning small or thin. It was so tiny there was trouble stamping the face of it.

Our translation just says that the woman put in two small copper coins, worth about half a modern cent each. That’s all we need to know. By almost any measure, her gift was insignificant.

This famous story can teach us important lessons about almsgiving, about generosity, and about Christian stewardship. But not today.

Today, I think, the message is about faith and trust.

 In the words of one commentary, this story is not about “big money and small coins.”  [Days of the Lord, vol. 5, p. 294]

We can’t miss that if we look at the Gospel alongside our first reading. Of course, the widow who helps Elijah is generous. But it can’t just be generosity and hospitality that leads her to risk her life to feed the prophet. And generosity can’t explain the second widow giving all she had to live on to the Temple treasury.

What’s more, the two widows aren’t the only ones in today’s readings showing great faith and trust. Look at Elijah: the backstory here is that the prophet is in deep trouble. He’s made an enemy of the evil queen Jezebel; he’s the one who prophesied the drought of which he’s now a victim. And Jezebel is busily slaughtering all the prophets she can lay her hands on.

So what does the Lord do? He sends Elijah to Zarephath, in a region governed by Jezebel’s father, who hates him as much as she does. And God tells him to seek help from a widow, surely the poorest person in town.

What does Elijah do? Exactly what the Lord tells him. So this story begins and ends in faith and trust in God.

The widow of Zarephath shows even more faith than the prophet does. “Elijah, of course, believed in the Lord,” who had spoken to him and given proof of divine power. “But this woman was a pagan.” [Days of the Lord, vol. 5, p. 290]

Yet she puts her faith in a stranger, and in the God of Israel.

Again, I don’t want to minimize the widow’s generosity. But what is that compared to her belief in the word of hope that Elijah speaks to her?

The same is true of the widow in the Gospel. She entrusts herself completely to the Lord’s care, doing something that makes no sense humanly speaking.

I wonder what I would do if a parishioner wanted to donate every last dollar they had to the parish. Actually, I don’t wonder. I would call a social worker and tear up the cheque.

But that’s back to human thinking, when the Gospel is really asking us to think like Christ, as St. Paul urges the Philippians (2:5).

How can we have the kind of faith and trust in God that these two poor widows showed? We’ve had an answer at Mass for the last five weeks, as we read from the Letter to the Hebrews every Sunday.

At the start of October, Hebrews reminded us that the suffering Lord calls us his brothers and sisters. A week later we heard the magnificent passage that states that the word of God—the very Scriptures we hear at Mass—is living and active. It has power to shape our hearts.

On October 17, we were called to boldness, “so that we may receive mercy and grace to help in time of need.” Those two widows did not place their trust in God without his help.

The readings for the next two weeks emphasized Christ’s self-offering, his priestly office in which we are called to share.

Today, the Letter to the Hebrews proclaims that Christ will come again, bringing salvation. This is the hope that God placed in the hearts of two poor widows who did not even know the Lord directly.

One was a pagan, the other a Jew, yet they had faith that “the present form of this world is passing away” (1 Cor. 7:31)

How much more are we Christians called to trust God in every circumstance, to be mindful that our earthly concerns—financial, medical, educational—are secondary to our relationship of trust with the Lord who today’s psalm tells us “keeps faith forever, who executes justice for the oppressed, who gives food to the hungry.”

I just got back last night from a retreat at Mount Angel Abbey, where the bulletin board announced the title of today’s homily in the monastery. It was "the widow’s might." M-I-G-H-T. That wasn't a spelling mistake, but a reminder of where those brave women found their strength: only in God.

As we approach our parish feast day, the Solemnity of Christ the King, we might well ask God for that same strength in our lives, the gift of greater faith in the Lord, who “will reign forever.”

A Mission for the Church: Drying Tears (World Mission Sunday 2021)

After I was ordained, my first assignment was to St. Patrick’s Parish in Vancouver. I wasn’t there a week before I heard stories about a former pastor, Msgr. Louis Forget—even though he’d retired more than 25 years before I arrived.

One of the stories told how he would regularly cry in the pulpit. Imagine, I thought: a Monsignor crying during his homily!

We all know where that story goes…

There’s weeping in both our first reading and psalm, which got me thinking about the place of tears on the Christian journey. Tears were already on my mind, because last week I watched a short ESPN documentary that showed Canucks defenseman Travis Hamonic crying on camera.

The documentary, filmed five years ago when Hamonic was playing for the New York Islanders, tells of his father’s sudden death when the hockey player was only ten years old. It was clear that the loss was the defining moment in his life.

As an adult Catholic, Hamonic has written “My faith means everything to me, and God comes first in all aspects of my life.”

He said “I believe that my Dad is in Heaven right now. And thanks to my faith in Jesus, and Him dying on the cross for my sins, I’ll get to join my Dad someday.”

Yet this man of faith still sheds tears. Didn’t God promise to wipe away our tears?

How do we make sense of the sorrow and sadness that even the holiest of Christians must face? The only answer is a one-word answer: Jesus.

Jesus doesn’t stop our tears; he cries with us.

The closeness of Jesus is something we can rely on, because Jesus understands everything about us.

All this we learn from the second reading today. The Letter to the Hebrews states clearly that Jesus is the Son of God, interceding for us before the throne of the Father. That alone should inspire confidence.

But at the same time, it tells us he is fully human—one of us, who has been tempted like us, though without sin.

While the Gospels are the best place to look for a portrait of Jesus, Hebrews gives us some beautiful insights by comparing him to other high priests, who must be gentle with others because they know their own weakness.

Jesus does not share the weakness of other high priests, but as a man chosen among men, he understands our weakness—and responds gently to it.

Early in Travis Hamonic’s NHL career, he started to invite a child who had lost a parent to attend every home game—and to meet with him afterward. Because he had shared their experience, he understood it, and was able to connect, sometimes very powerfully.

And before each meeting, he prayed that God would help him to inspire the child.

The Letter to the Hebrews says that because Jesus understands us perfectly, we can be confident in approaching him for all the help we need in every circumstance. Someone who gets our suffering wants to dry our tears.

In a book titled The Tears of God: Persevering in the Face of Great Sorrow or Catastrophe, the late Father Benedict Groeschel reminds us that our Christian faith invites us to share our tears with one who himself endured great pain and sorrow, the son of God.

What a positive message for weary, wounded, and wondering folks!

Today is World Mission Sunday. It’s a day we might well ask ourselves how we understand that mission. Is it to build churches, and hospitals, and schools in foreign lands?

Well, yes. But more important, the Church’s mission is to dry tears, to help those in sorrow find a lasting peace amidst the unavoidable pains and losses of life on earth. Today is a day both to support that universal mission, and to personally rededicate ourselves to it.

The Church’s mission, and ours, is to share the good news of the Resurrection and eternal life, beautifully expressed in Psalm 30 “At night there are tears, but joy comes with dawn.” 

A footnote: Last week it was reported that Travis Hamonic was on unpaid leave from the Canucks while he deals with "personal matters." What these are has not been disclosed, but there's speculation that it has to do with his vaccination status. Whatever he is dealing with, a prayer for Travis would be in order...

All God's People as Prophets! (26.B)

Poor Joshua. He’s just doing his job as chief lieutenant to Moses by reporting that he’s seen two men prophesying without a permit.

But instead of thanking Joshua for the information, Moses exclaims “Would that all the Lord’s people were Prophets, and that the Lord would put his spirit on them!”

In today’s Gospel, St. John has “a bad case of Joshua-itis.” He’s “offended and shocked that a renegade exorcist is casting out demons” in the name of Jesus.

But “like Moses, Jesus is not upset that the Lord’s Spirit has landed on an outsider.” (Robert P. Waznak, Lift Up Your Hearts: Homilies and Reflections for the "B" Cycle, p. 280).

What Moses and Jesus said to Joshua and John is an urgent call to action for every single person in church today.

Let’s start with the first reading. “Would that all the Lord’s people were Prophets, and that the Lord would put his spirit on them!” Moses tells his worried assistant.

In plain language, “we need all the help we can get.”

“Would that all the Lord’s people were Prophets, and that the Lord would put his spirit on them!” That’s as good a prayer for the New Evangelization as any.

It’s an Old Testament version of what Pope Francis has said: “The new evangelization calls for personal involvement on the part of each of the baptized. Every Christian is challenged, here and now, to be actively engaged in evangelization.”

The Holy Father adds “anyone who has truly experienced God’s saving love does not need much time or lengthy training to go out and proclaim that love.” (Evangelii Gaudium, n. 120).

As Archbishop Miller told those gathered for Upper Room last Saturday, “The mission is not a ministry reserved to a few. Each and every believer, in his or her own way, is called to bear witness to Jesus Christ and the rich and full life that is given in him.”

Moses and Jesus are teaching us something vital. On the surface, they seem to be saying “calm down!” But what they’re really saying is “get excited.”

Get excited because the mission is a lot bigger than our small ideas. A lot bigger than our traditional structures and institutions.

In his Upper Room talk, Archbishop Miller warns against outmoded strategies “devised for a religious culture that is no longer present.”

“This way of seeing the Church’s mission, makes us ineffective in evangelizing the current culture.”

What he’s saying is that we can’t preach the Gospel in our new cultural and social environment the same way we did in very different times—and expect it to work.

Because it doesn’t.

Look around you. You know who is not beside you in the pews. Brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, even parents.

Who will bring them back?

In the past, missionaries had to learn the language and culture of those they sought to evangelize. When they didn’t, their efforts often failed.

We know this was true right here in Canada. The apology issued to the Indigenous Peoples yesterday by the assembly of Canadian bishops says that the Residential School system failed “to respect the rich history, traditions and wisdom of Indigenous Peoples.”

Missionaries trying to evangelize from outside the culture run into a wall.

But you are called from within the culture, even in ways that priests are not. It’s you who “have the relationships, the influence, the keys to the doors of those who do not yet know Christ,” as Archbishop Miller says.

So, who will gather our lost? You are their missionaries. As Pope Francis says, “Every Christian is a missionary to the extent that he or she has encountered the love of God in Christ Jesus.”

Maybe I could even use a simple slogan: If it is to be, it is up to me.

But how? How do we confront the modern crisis, adapt to modern conditions, and proclaim the Gospel with power?

First, we shift our rusty Catholic gears and accept that evangelization is our personal responsibility, not something for priests and Sisters, not even just for lay missionaries with CCO.

And then we figure out the best approach, depending on where we are and with whom we are speaking.

There is terrific help available to anyone ready to tackle this challenge. Hundreds of people in our Archdiocese have found the Proclaim Movement helped awaken their call to be missionary disciples and given them practical training.

Proclaim can help you prepare yourself for a new way of looking at your faith and teach you practical ways to share it, right at your computer. It’s all laid out on a splendid website: weareproclaim.com.  Take a look.

And, of course, Alpha. Ed Zadeiks spoke about Alpha at all Masses last weekend. He got more passionate each time. His message was simple: there are people in your life who will never know the joy of the Gospel if you don’t share it with them. Brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, even parents.

And despite his passion, Ed did not make our job seem scary. Just invite. As my boss told me when I first worked in sales, “Ask. All they can say is ‘no.’”

Alpha launches here at CTR on Tuesday evening. There’s also a morning Alpha on Tuesday geared to parents dropping off their kids to St. Anthony’s School. All the details are in the Weekly Update on our website, there’s a signup sheet at the back, or you can phone the office on Monday.

I don’t like it when people put guilt trips on me, so I try not to put them on you. If you came to Alpha and didn’t like it, no problem.  But if you’ve never come, you’re missing a simple and reliable way to share the Gospel with those you love or care about. Or maybe your own heart might need Alpha’s message.

If Alpha didn’t click for you, or if taking part right now is just not practical, how about something else? Our parish’s Weekly Update looks a bit like the menu at Earl’s—there’s something for everyone starting in the next few weeks.

But we’re like Earl’s in another way—the pandemic’s caused a shortage of servers and cooks! And since Alpha is mostly virtual, I don’t mean that literally. We need more help as parish life resumes: ministers at Mass—to read, to welcome, and to distribute Holy Communion—not to mention Alpha volunteers…

Please call or email the office, or speak to me, if you would like to consider a new responsibility, big or small. We do things in teams, so you won’t get stuck on your own, whatever you’re called to do.

Finally, the parish phase of our annual campaign, Project Advance, is now underway. Maybe your situation at work or home really does prevent you from taking part in Alpha or volunteering at church. But everyone can be a part of everything we do by supporting Project Advance with a sacrificial gift.

As we look ahead to happier times, the parish council has chosen a powerful theme for Project Advance: Gather Together. We’ll tell you more about the campaign projects in the coming week, but you can already see one of them underway: we’re getting the meeting rooms ready for our return to normal. When that times comes, comfortable and bright spaces for conversation, community, and faith studies will be waiting.

All these things—inviting others to Alpha, volunteering in the parish, and your financial generosity—are ways to “seize the adventure of working with the Holy Spirit to live and share the saving message given to us by Jesus Christ,” to borrow the Archbishop’s words from the Upper Room.

I already said “finally,” but I want to close with something that’s close to many of our hearts, the restoration of relationships with the Indigenous peoples wounded by the Residential Schools. This Thursday is the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation, and I will offer a special Mass at 8:15 a.m. During that Mass we will pray for this intention and read together the Canadian bishops’ statement of apology.

There’s much to do. So, let’s remind ourselves: If it is to be, it is up to me. And let’s pray hard that all the Lord’s people become Prophets and evangelizers, and that the Lord sends his Spirit upon them.

Stepping Out of the Upper Room (25.B)

 

Preaching at the end of the Upper Room conference was a bit like following a combination of the Sermon on the Mount and the Gettysburg Address.  Archbishop Miller’s address was particularly profound and groundbreaking.

I figured, therefore, that for the sake of the folks who’d watched the conference all day I should lighten up my homily with joke. But that wasn’t easy—it’s been a year and a half since I tried a joke in church. During the livestream months it was pretty risk to try to get a laugh from a congregation of four!

I decided to try a few “good news/bad news jokes,” since many of them come from parish life.

They fell flat except for this one:

Good News: Church attendance rose dramatically the last three weeks. Bad News: You were on vacation.

So, let’s get a bit serious. As you know, the word gospel comes from old English words meaning good news. And evangelize comes from a Greek word meaning the same.

In his exhortation “The Joy of the Gospel,” Pope Francis says that the Gospel “will always remain good news until it has been proclaimed to all people, until it has healed and strengthened every aspect of humanity, until it has brought all men and women together at table in God’s kingdom.”

The Pope reminds us that our faith is not just a bunch of rules and doctrines but a life-giving proclamation full of hope and promise. Someone calculated that in that document, Pope Francis uses the word “love” 154 times, “joy” 109 times, and “peace” 58 times.

But how are we to handle the bad news about the Good News? Because today’s readings, at first glance, don’t sound like good news.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus foretells his suffering and his death. Another discouraging note appears when ambition rears its ugly head among his disciples.

And our reading from the Letter of James makes it clear that ambition was just one of the vices that messed up life in the earliest Christian community.

The first reading, from the Book of Wisdom, is a graphic prophecy of the death of Jesus. And it casts a shadow on every Christian, since the hatred of the godless for the righteous did not end with the Crucifixion but remains a fact of life today.

Can we doubt that, when every day 13 Christians worldwide are killed because of their faith, 12 churches or Christian buildings are attacked. And when every day, 12 Christians are unjustly arrested or imprisoned, and another 5 are abducted.

That’s the 2021 report from the World Watch List of the top 50 countries where Christians are persecuted for following Jesus. The watch list, compiled by Open Doors, a respected charitable organization, found 309 million Christians living in places with very high or extreme levels of persecution, up from 260 million in last year’s list.

Bad news for sure.  Or not?  David Curry, the president of Open Doors has said “You might think the [list] is all about oppression. … But the [list] is really all about resilience.

“The numbers of God’s people who are suffering should mean the Church is dying—that Christians are keeping quiet, losing their faith, and turning away from one another,” he stated. “But that’s not what’s happening. Instead, in living color, we see the words of God recorded in the prophet Isaiah: ‘I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert’.”

One of the greatest challenges a disciple faces is understanding that bad news can never overpower or contradict the good news of Jesus Christ, who overcame sin and death and all that oppresses us.

Yet Pope Francis writes “The Gospel, radiant with the glory of Christ’s cross, constantly invites us to rejoice.” [n. 5]

The cross is a radiant symbol of glory. And it’s not only about Christ’s glory but ours. As St. Paul writes in words I quote so often, “we know that all things work together for good for those who love God,” or, in another translation, “God makes all things work together for good” (Romans 8:28). 

All things—even suffering.

Calling our archdiocesan evangelization conference “Upper Room” was brilliant—because the upper room or Cenacle in Jerusalem is the traditional location of the Last Supper, the place where the apostles huddled in fear after the Crucifixion, the place where the risen Lord appeared to them, where the gathered in prayer with Mary awaiting the Holy Spirit, and where that Spirit was given.

What a tapestry of bad news and good news: dejection and fear, redeemed by joy and empowering.

The joy of the Gospel is meant to overcome not only our big fears but even the smaller ones. Pope Francis writes that “many lay people fear that they may be asked to undertake some apostolic work and they seek to avoid any responsibility that may take away from their free time.”

He even gives an example we experience right here at CTR: “it has become very difficult today to find trained parish catechists willing to persevere in this work.”

And he doesn’t spare the clergy, saying that “Something similar is also happening with priests who are obsessed with protecting their free time.”

Whether it’s priests or laity, the Pope says, “people feel an overbearing need to guard their personal freedom, as though the task of evangelization was a dangerous poison rather than a joyful response to God’s love which summons us to mission and makes us fulfilled and productive.”

What’s the “bad news” of  losing some free time against the “good news” of sharing the Gospel with others?

Dear friends, the first gathering in the Upper Room was the first Eucharist. The last of which we are aware was the sending forth of the first missionaries empowered by the Holy Spirit.

As we gather today for the Eucharist, let’s make the connection between our worship and our work: between our coming to church, and our going out to the world.

The good news is that everyone of us has been called and commissioned to share the joy of the Gospel with others. The bad news is… Well, there really isn’t any bad news.

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*Lasky, Mike Jordan:“Pope Francis’ Evangelii Gaudium: Work for justice at the heart of discipleship.” Millennial Journal. See Wikipedia, “The Joy of the Gospel.”

Deacons and All the Baptized Called to Suffering

 

Yesterday was a big day for three of our parishioners. It was a big day for Steve Whan and Marty Cayer, who received diplomas in pastoral ministry from St. Mark’s College, having completed their academic studies for the permanent diaconate.

It was a big day for our longtime parishioner Angus Reid, who was presented with an honorary doctorate in sacred letters at St. Mark’s convocation, where he was acknowledged for his many contributions to Catholic education and the wider community.

And it was a big day for me as well. Seven other men preparing for ordination as deacons next month were also awarded their diplomas at the graduation ceremony and one his master's degree; as director of the archdiocese’s permanent diaconate program, I have been involved with all nine since they began their formation.

Not to mention the fact that I taught them all their favourite subject canon law!

I was like a proud father during the convocation, although I was on the edge of my seat until they announced Steve’s name.  The program had misspelled his name, and I was wondering if what would happen if they called Steve Wham to the stage.

Happily, they got it right.

This morning Angus Reid is already in Toronto, but all nine of the diaconate candidates are in church with us, and I welcome them warmly on behalf of all of us at Christ the Redeemer. We need to keep them in our prayers as they prepare spiritually for the Sacrament of Holy Orders on October 7.

And, of course, our deacons and future deacons owe a prayer or two to this parish community, which has supported the permanent diaconate program in many ways since Archbishop Miller asked me to start it ten years ago.

With less than a month to go before their ordination, I thought I would preach a happy, lighthearted homily today that would encourage the ordinands and help the congregation look forward to the ministry of deacons soon to be a part of parish life.

But today’s readings didn’t give me the chance. There’s simply nothing lighthearted about them. Whether from the perspective of ordained ministry or the vocation of all the baptized, the messages of Sacred Scripture this morning are entirely serious.

Jason Costa, whom many parishioners remember from his time in the parish office, now runs the Permanent Diaconate Office with me, in a most efficient fashion. On Thursday he came to me with a powerful article on the diaconate and suggested we might give the Archbishop a copy to help him with his ordination homily next month.

I took one look at the title and told Jason to forget it—the last thing the candidates would want to hear about at the ordination Mass was a reflection on “The Diaconal Call to Spiritual Martyrdom: Suffering as the Foundation of the Servant Mysteries.” (Deacon Robert T. Yerhot, Josephinum Diaconal Review Spring 2021 51-57)

But what have we just heard in today’s Gospel? “Whoever wants to become my follower, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.”

And notice something very important. The first part of today’s Gospel is a conversation with the inner circle of disciples. But Jesus calls the crowd to him before he delivers the key message. It’s not “whoever wants to be my apostle, or my deacon, or my priest” but “whoever wants to become my follower.”

As Mary Healy writes, “the conditions that Jesus is about to outline apply not only to some of his followers but to all without exception.”

Jesus doesn’t want us to be in any doubt about the cost of discipleship. As Dr. Healy says, “to be a Christian is not something that happens by default or cultural heritage: it is a personal decision that must be made with the utmost sincerity and resolve—and with at least a partial grasp of the implications.” (The Gospel of Mark, 168)

Inviting others to that personal decision, or making it ourselves, is Christ’s imperative call. And it’s not easy.

We try to make it as easy as possible, by providing parishioners with a straightforward way to invite people by bringing them to Alpha. The Upper Room conference taking place here at CTR next Saturday helps us become proclaimers of the Gospel in as effective and non-threatening ways as possible.

But nothing we do can eliminate the suffering that disciples will always face.

In some ways, you might think that our permanent deacons have it easier. Since they’ll be known as ordained ministers—professionals, if you will—their coworkers and family members and fellow parishioners won’t be annoyed by their efforts to share the Gospel; they won’t be written off as quickly.

Or are we sure about that? St. John Paul said that deacons “are called to participate in the mystery of the cross, to share in the Church’s sufferings, to endure the hostility she encounters in union with Christ the Redeemer.”

He goes even further: “It is this painful aspect of the deacon’s service that makes it most fruitful.”

The article on the diaconate that Jason handed to me says that “the central question for the deacon is always ‘Will I embrace this suffering to which I am called by the Father as martyr, as witness? Will I, in obedience, be sent in his name, as his envoy, to herald that Gospel that is entrusted to me, or will I avoid it by withdrawing and with using distracting activity?’” (Yerhot, p. 54)

In light of this morning’s Gospel, can we not say that this is the central question for every follower of Jesus? Isn’t it just another way of asking whether we are willing to take up our cross? Whether we are willing to put this life in second place for the sake of the Good News and all it promises?

Dear future deacons, and dear diaconal wives and family members, the Church is entering into a new era of suffering. Through ordination, the deacon enters in a special way not only the suffering of the Church, but of that of Jesus himself.

It’s enough to make you think twice about showing up at the Cathedral on October 7.

The fact is, while the deacon’s call has a special intensity and special challenges, the Sacrament he receives in Holy Orders provides him with special strength and graces.

And that’s not all. In the final analysis, it’s not just ordination that demands suffering: it’s baptism. All the baptized are called to a redemptive suffering. 

Pope Emeritus Benedict has said that “the task of proclamation and the call to suffering for Christ are inseparably together.”

Dear deacons-to-be, we’ve worked hard to prepare you for the task of effective proclamation. Dear parishioners, a key focus at Christ the Redeemer has been preparing each of you for effective sharing of the faith.

Only Christ can prepare you for suffering for the sake of the Gospel. Let us ask him now for that grace, and for the grace to think not as humans do, but as God does.