A New Responsibility: Helping Train Deacons

A young priest was named pastor of his first church. He was delighted with his appointment to a fairly large parish, but quite overwhelmed by the amount of work there was waiting for him—in four weeks he did eight funerals and five weddings.

There was simply no time to write Sunday homilies. So he gave the same one all month.

The parish council went to the Archbishop complaining that the new pastor had used the same homily four times in a row. The Archbishop asked what it was about. The council members looked at one another; they scratched their heads, hemmed and hawed—but they really couldn't remember. The Archbishop said, "Let him use it one more time."

After the week I've had, I feel a bit like that young priest, but I'm not going to give last Sunday's homily again. Actually, I'm not going to give a homily at all, because I have some news to share with you instead.

You might say I have "good news and bad news."

The "bad news" is that Archbishop Miller has given me a new job. The good news—for me, very good news—is that he's let me keep my old job! I have a major new responsibility, but with Father Xavier's generous help I will be able to fulfill it while remaining pastor at Christ the Redeemer.

To explain, I'll start by reading a letter that the Archbishop has asked to be read at all Masses throughout the Archdiocese today.

My new appointment is Director of the Permanent Diaconate Program. In other words, I will be helping to train the men who will be ordained as permanent deacons. In addition to whatever teaching I do, and the inevitable meetings, I will be working in the Chancery Office all day every Thursday.

We are blessed to have a very capable and dedicated assistant pastor, whose full-time help will more than compensate for the time I will need to spend away from the parish.

You all know the very old joke about the priest who said "I think there's something wrong with this mike" and heard the congregation reply "And also with you." I don't want to take any chances that my message is in any way unclear, so let me head the rumour mill off at the pass: I am not leaving the parish—except on Thursday mornings—and will continue to serve as pastor.

I'll just be asking for an extra measure of the generous understanding of my other commitments that you have already shown.

I hope that the whole parish community will welcome this news as I do—joking aside, it is very good news, because making a sacrifice to help introduce permanent deacons to the Archdiocese is no small privilege.

And perhaps someday one of those ordained to this ministry will be serving here at Christ the Redeemer.

God’s Wisdom vs. the World’s (Sunday 6A)

Have you heard the story of the young man who'd just received his plumber's papers and was taken to see Niagara Falls by his parents? He took a long look at the Falls and said "I think I can fix this."

I'd be just as unrealistic if I said I could tap the wisdom that pours from our readings this Sunday. Last night at supper Father Xavier told me, "You won't have any problem finding something to say tomorrow. The hard part will be knowing when to stop."

But let's focus on the up-front message of the first reading from the Book of Sirach. Talk about plain speaking: "If you choose, you can keep the commandments, and they will save you… to act faithfully is a matter of your own choice."

Not a text that most of us would like to tattoo on our arms. Much easier to whine that our moral failures are the fault of someone or something else; that was the whole point of the article we ran on the front of last week's bulletin. The commandments promise us life, but they require us to be accountable and responsible for our own actions.

People in every generation failed at discipleship. Sin has been with us from the start. But as far as I know, we're the first group that's trying to redefine discipleship, trying to shift the burden. We can't admit we failed to meet the challenge Jesus offered. We can't just say, as people used to, "I messed up. I'm sorry."

Instead, we say Christ's teachings are unreasonable or old-fashioned; we shout that the Church is out of step, the Church is unfeeling, the Church is oppressive.

The wisdom of the world has stolen our attention. It's a new gospel that says we don't need to change; Christian teaching does.

St. Paul's words to the Corinthians could have been written yesterday. He's telling us two things: first, that the wisdom of this world is deceptive. In his homily at the 9 o'clock Mass last week, Deacon Bryan Duggan quoted Pope John Paul: the world's wisdom, the Pope said, offers "the illusion of finding life by excluding God, of finding freedom by excluding moral truths and personal responsibility."

The second thing is entirely positive: God's wisdom is a gift of truth that leads to blessings beyond our imagining.

God's wisdom isn't mere common sense: it's a secret and hidden and wholly marvelous wisdom, something no eye has seen, nor ear heard. It's wisdom that opens a path to life with God for those with the spiritual maturity to hear and respond to it.

Deacon Bryan also quoted the stirring challenge that Pope John Paul gave at World Youth Day in Toronto: Christ's message "is an urgent call to choose between life and death, between truth and falsehood… He tells us who we are as Christians, and what we must do to remain in His love."

So far the readings have taught us that the truth is something we are free to choose, that the commandments are something we are able to live, and the consequence of doing this is something greater than even the deepest longing of our hearts.

How do we apply this terrific promise to our lives? How do we set ourselves firmly on the path to life and turn away from the illusions of the world's wisdom?

Today's responsorial psalm contains a pretty good plan. It starts by summing up what we've already said: "They are happy whose life is blameless, who follow God's law." If you think you're going to be miserable taking the way of discipleship, if you think serious Christian living is a formula for unhappiness, you'll have a very hard time of it.

So the first thing is to become convinced. If you're not, it's time to learn more about the life-giving Good News of Jesus Christ. Some do this by deciding to read one of the Gospels cover to cover—which you can do in less than an hour and a half.

Others are learning about the promises of Christ by attending the Alpha Course, studying the Catechism through the Evangelium program, or participating in one of our Bible series.

And the second thing is to pray—even if you're not convinced. The psalm contains at least five very specific prayers. In various translations they are" "O that my ways may be steadfast in keeping your statutes," "Deal bountifully with your servant so that I may live and observe your word," "Open my eyes, so that I may see the wonders of your law," "Teach me the demands of your statutes," "Train me to observe your law."

Thus the psalmist prays for strength and constancy, for God's blessing on the journey, for open eyes to see God's commands as wonderful, not oppressive, for divine teaching, so he will know what God wants, and for training—insight and understanding make it easier to follow the commandments.

The whole emphasis is on God's action. Sometimes nothing can seem more impossible in our world than to step off the treadmill and choose the path of life. It's almost beyond our ability to tell our boss we won't work on Sunday, or to tell the coach we won't play on Good Friday, or to tell the kids they won't be seeing a particular movie.

But nothing is impossible for God, who will change our perspective, if we ask, give us courage, if we ask, and show us the beauty and simplicity of his plan for our happiness, if we ask.

God did not make it overly difficult for us to obey him and receive his blessings. What would be the point of that? The Book of Deuteronomy argues the point well. "Surely, this commandment that I am commanding you today is not too hard for you, nor is it too far away… No, the word is very near to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart for you to observe." (Dt 30:11, 14).

Light of the World (Sunday 5.A)

We had the pleasure of hearing Deacon Bryan Duggan preach in the parish this weekend. He is a seminarian for the Archdiocese of Vancouver, preparing for ordination to the priesthood in June. Deacon Bryan also spoke on Saturday evening at "Summit," an evening of prayer and adoration of the Blessed Sacrament organized by Catholic Christian Outreach. With his kind permission, I publish his homily below:

At the seminary we are encouraged to be involved in teaching catechism classes at local parishes, and one evening I was teaching about sin and the effects of confession. I was trying to be creative, and I was looking for a visual example for my lesson. A friend suggested using a bowl of water in which you put in a few drops of food colouring symbolizing sin, and then pour in some bleach to restore the water to clarity – symbolizing confession. It was a catastrophic failure: no matter how much bleach I poured in the water only turned progressively lighter shades of pink. Not exactly the message I was trying to get across about how our souls are totally purified in confession. The good news is that I think this failure can in fact help us understand today's Gospel.

Light of the world

Jesus is telling us we need to be a light to the world. This is a powerful message that is as often ignored as it is misunderstood. There are two aspects to this image:

The first that this is a light received. The lamp of our soul is ignited by Christ, ignited by the faith we receive and profess in baptism and nourished and sustained by the sacraments and by our life of prayer.

Christ sheds light on every aspect of our lives: He shows us what it means to be human, He answers the deepest questions of human existence, He lays bare to our eyes our own weakness and selfishness that we so often hide from others and from ourselves.

The consequence of this light is that we are presented with a choice. As John Paul II said at WYD '02: "This is an urgent call to choose between life and death, between truth and falsehood… [Christ] tells us who we are as Christians, and what we must do to remain in His love."

We must accept this light, and reject the darkness by which the world deceives so many:

JPII continues: "The greatest deception, and the deepest source of unhappiness, is the illusion of finding life by excluding God, of finding freedom by excluding moral truths and personal responsibility."

The light of Christ necessarily reveals to us our weak human nature and destroys our pride. But the real revelation given us by Christ is our great dignity and worth. Again quoting JPII: "We are not the sum of our weaknesses and failures; we are the sum of the Father's love for us and our real capacity to become the image of his Son."

Christ's light is not limited to showing us the sin tarnishing our soul. Most important, Christ shows us that we are abundantly loved by God. That we are precious to Him, and we are capable of and called to love God in response.

This new way of looking at the world and at people, which comes to us from him, leads us more deeply into the mystery of faith, which is not just a collection of theoretical assertions to be accepted and approved by the mind, but an experience to be had, a truth to be lived

The second aspect of this image is that this light is not meant only for us, to remain closed within our own lives. This light is meant to be given to others. The light we have received from Christ certainly transforms us, but we fall short if we keep it to ourselves. If we are satisfied looking after ourselves and our own relationship with Christ than a major aspect of the Christian vocation is missing.

This light is to be shared, like the lamp on a lampstand, or a city on a hill, the light given us by Christ cannot be hidden but should be lifted high so that the world may see.

What, concretely, is the world supposed to see in the Christian?

Certainly they should see virtue and good deeds. Today's Gospel passage follows on the heels of last weeks reading of the Beatitudes, the manifesto of the Christian. Jesus says in today's Gospel that in seeing our good deeds the world should be brought to give glory to God.

But this is no mere external activism of 'doing good.' If being seen to do good things were what it was all about than what would set Christians apart from social workers, nurses or political activists who try to make the world a better place?

Essential to the witness of the Christian is his peace of heart, and his joy. The Christian faces life's challenges with a smile, works hard to serve others, speaks out against injustice but always with kindness, and with love.

Imagine the world we would live in today if every one who called Himself Christian lived this to the full, and let the light of Christ shine in his heart and in the world? The entire continent of Europe is drowning under a tide of secularism, atheism and self-centeredness because current and previous generations of Christians failed to witness to authentic Christian life. Our own society is no different, we Christians bear certain responsibility for the collapse of family life, the culture of death and the idolatry of pleasure and selfishness that is so widespread today.

Perhaps we have not experienced the peace and joy of the light of Christ, or perhaps we have kept it to ourselves rather than face possible ridicule. All too often we have exchanged the light of Christ for the darkness of the world, being Christian in name only, in practice, we are no different from those who do not believe.

I told you at the beginning I found an application for my failed food colouring and bleach example. Imagine your soul as a bowl of pure, fresh water. We have let ourselves become tainted with the values of the world. Instead of rejecting outright the pursuit of money, pleasure and fame we have tried to keep both our Christian title and our attachment to the world. This attachment to the world is powerful enough to affect our whole being, like a drop of food colouring taints the whole bowl. Instead of a fresh bowl of clean water, we are trying to recover by doing goof deeds and dumping bleach to try and cover this over. The result? Our souls are neither filled with the light of Christ, nor completely given over to the world. We're in between, in a kind of light pink state. No body wants to be pink. Be courageous. We need to throw it all out and renew again our commitment to Christ.

Blessed Are We: Sunday 4A

Long ago in China there was an old farmer. One day his horse ran off. As news of this reached his neighbors, they visited the old man to express their sympathy: "What bad luck to lose your horse!"

The farmer thought for a moment and replied, 'Perhaps..."

The next morning the farmer awoke to find his horse had come back. What's more, several wild horses had followed his horse home. The neighbors rejoiced, and came by to tell the old farmer how happy they were for his sudden good fortune.

The old farmer paused and said "Perhaps..."

Shortly after, the farmer's son decided to ride one of the wild horses. Unaccustomed to a rider, the horse threw the boy off and the son broke his leg in the fall. Again, the neighbors arrived to offer their sympathies for the misfortune: "What a terrible run of bad luck you're having!"

The old farmer thought for a moment and said "Perhaps..."

The very next day, military officials came into the village with orders to draft young men for war. They went from house to house, rounding up all the young men. But when they got to the old farmer's house and saw his son with his broken leg they moved on, leaving the boy alone. Once again, neighbors came to share words of congratulations to the old farmer for the good fortune to have his son passed by.

Once again, the farmer paused and said… "Perhaps."

The story is an old Buddhist parable, but it could be used to illustrate one of the great verses of the Old Testament, "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord" (Isaiah 55:8, NAB). Natural human thinking isn't automatically right.

Equally, the parable can demonstrate a powerful New Testament teaching, St. Paul's hope-filled words "We know that all things work together for good for those who love God…" (Romans 8:28).

And perhaps it opens a window to understanding this Sunday's Gospel, which is anything but natural human thinking. You could go through the entire Bible line by line without finding a text more difficult to accept and understand. And yet the Catechism of the Catholic Church says "The Beatitudes are at the heart of Jesus' preaching" (CCC 1716).

How can this be? Which of us associates anything good with mourning, one of the most truly painful of all human experiences? Who doesn't resent persecution, especially for doing right? Not to mention libels and slanders and evil gossip, which send us running to a lawyer.

I think I could buy the notion that Jesus is talking to the apostles, or to future saints, or perhaps to the persecuted Christians of Iraq or the Sudan. But you sure can't square that interpretation with the catechism teaching that "The Beatitudes are at the heart of Jesus' preaching."

However, in the same place the catechism explains itself by saying that the Beatitudes show us the face of Jesus. Given his willingness to suffer and even die for us, that makes sense. It's easy enough to accept the Beatitudes as a picture of Jesus. But then the catechism hits us square in the face with what his words actually mean to each of us: it says the Beatitudes express our calling. It says "they shed light on the actions and attitudes characteristic of the Christian life" (CCC 1717)

In other words, the Beatitudes are meant to be lived. By how we act and how we think. Every day.

I try to be honest in my preaching, so I'll tell you frankly that scares the heck out of me. I was writing my homily before dinner and thinking hard about the Beatitudes as an actual vocation took away my appetite—which, as you know, doesn't happen very often.

I'm really not sure where this homily would have gone if the catechism hadn't come to the rescue. It was almost like one of those "Good news, bad news" jokes. After terrifying us with the challenge of living the Beatitudes, our magnificent Catechism of the Catholic Church calls them "the paradoxical promises that sustain hope in the midst of tribulations;" it says "they proclaim the blessings and rewards already secured, however dimly, for Christ's disciples" (CCC 1717)

Talk about reassurance! Far from being unbearable demands, the Beatitudes are promises that keep hope alive in the darkest circumstances. They contain blessings and rewards already guaranteed, even if postponed for a time.

I said a few minutes ago that the Beatitudes contain much that goes against natural human instinct. The catechism turns that thought around completely, saying that "The Beatitudes respond to the natural desire for happiness." But of course the Church also teaches us that this "natural" desire is of divine origin: God placed it in our hearts in order to draw us to himself, the only One who can fulfill it (CCC 1718).

The Beatitudes take over where God's promises to the chosen people left off: they fulfill the promises not in terms of the Promised Land but something much greater, the Kingdom of heaven (CCC 1716).

There's simply nothing that should frighten or dismay us in this teaching, because it tells us the ending of our story. There's no suspense about how things will turn out. God calls us to his own beatitude (CCC 1719). In the face of that, all else is relative.

The catechism says we can already see the Beatitudes lived out, and the blessings they bestow, in the lives of the Virgin Mary and all the saints. But I'll take that a step further: in our own parish community I see people sustained by the hope that springs from the "paradoxical promises" Jesus makes in the Beatitudes. I see them comforted as they mourn; I see them blessed as they accept disappointments and unfairness; I see them living here with eyes fixed on heaven.

With due respect to the wise old farmer, there's really no "perhaps" about it. Christ has promised and Christ is faithful.

Feast Full of Meaning: Baptism of the Lord

This week's big news story was that an Ontario Catholic school board was found guilty of discrimination when it cancelled a contract with Raelians, followers of a fellow whose website proclaims him to be a singer-songwriter, race-car driver, and—third on the list—the messenger to earth of its creators, a group of extraterrestrials.

I want to make it clear to any Raelians in the congregation this morning that I mean no disrespect to them. None at all. We've spent a fortune this week trying to repair the heating system and we cannot afford to be sued. I am sure Raelians are very nice people.

All the same, I am glad that I belong to a faith that started nearly two thousand years ago, and not to one that began in 1973, when its founder "had a dramatic encounter with a human being from another planet."

Not that there's anything wrong with belonging to a 37-year old religion! Again, I'm sure it's a very nice religion. But there are some splendid advantages to being part of an ancient faith, and one of them is simply that we benefit from centuries of accumulated wisdom .

Christian thinkers, many of them saints, have been pondering the truths of our faith from the days of the apostles. We call some of the earliest thinkers the Father of the Church, and we still gain profound insight from their writings.

This is particularly true of today's feast. If I had a year to prepare this morning's homily, and a double doctorate in liturgy and scripture, I couldn't come close to seeing the riches that ancient writers have found.

In fact, some of the connections they make are so startling that I'm sure they'd never occur to anyone without the help of the Holy Spirit. It's easy to see the connection in time between Christmas and the Epiphany, but not so easy to link Christmas, Epiphany and the Baptism of the Lord.

Yet the ancient writers treat them pretty much as one. In the fifth century, St. Maximus of Turin wrote "Reason demands that this feast of the Lord's baptism, which I think could be called the feast of his birthday, should follow soon after the Lord's birth… even though many years intervened between the two events."

Maximus becomes poetic as he continues:

"At Christmas, he was born a man; today he is reborn sacramentally. Then he was born from the virgin; today he is reborn in mystery. When he was born a man, his mother Mary held him close to her heart; when he is born in mystery, God the Father embraces him with his voice when he says: This is my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased: listen to him. The mother caresses the tender babe on her lap; the Father serves his Son by his loving testimony. The mother holds the child for the Magi to adore; the Father reveals that his Son is to be worshiped by all the nations."

St. Proclus of Constantinople, also writing in the fifth century, saw the Epiphany and the Baptism as one feast, even more wonder-filled than Christmas.

At Christmas, he wrote, "the earth rejoiced because it bore the Lord in a manger; but on the Epiphany it is the sea that is glad and leaps for joy; the sea is glad because it receives the blessing of the river Jordan.

"At Christmas we saw a weak baby, giving proof of our weakness. In today's feast [and he means the Epiphany!], we see a perfect man, hinting at the perfect Son who proceeds from the all-perfect Father. At Christmas the King puts on the royal robe of his body; at Epiphany the very source enfolds and, as it were, clothes the river."

Is your head spinning a bit? There's nothing wrong with that—every once in a while we need to be reminded that we are just taking little sips from the gushing fountain. When we talk about the "mysteries" of the Christmas season we don't mean that they are mysterious or impossible to understand, but we do mean that God has revealed himself in truly wondrous ways, making known his plan for salvation.

Today we recognize that God has made himself known not only in the historical events we celebrate. He has also revealed himself in the sacraments. Through baptism "the believer enters into the mystery of God's saving plan and begins a life journey in, with, and through Christ crucified and risen to the fullness of eternal life."*

*Thomas D. McGonigle, "Mystery," The New Dictionary of Catholic Spirituality, p. 677.

Epiphany: Rise Up!

My father was the best alarm clock I ever had. If I said "please wake me up at seven," he never forgot or got the time wrong, and unlike my battery-powered alarm, he never stopped ticking.

Of course there was a price to pay for such efficiency. He had an annoying tendency to knock on my bedroom door and say "rise and shine!" These are not words a teenager wants to hear. Rising's bad enough, but shining was out of the question.

But at the risk of annoying young and old, my message today is just that: rise and shine. Today we're challenged to respond to what we celebrated a week ago; the prophet Isaiah says it's now time to wake up and look at what's going on around us—something marvelous, something extraordinary.

Listen to those words of the prophet: they are an invitation to a deep and personal joy that he can barely describe. We will see and be radiant; our hearts will thrill and rejoice. We'll have wealth beyond measuring.

What does it all mean? I'd put it this way: If your Christmas was par for the course, it's time to change course. If you're not buzzing with the spiritual joy of this season, you need to arise—you need to look around and take stock. God's doing wonders all around us, and it would be a tragedy to miss out.

I'm saying this with some authority this Epiphany. I saw that star rising in the East, in Montreal to be exact! I was there with ten young adults from the parish attending "RiseUp," the annual Christmas conference of Catholic Christian Outreach, the university student movement. Without exaggerating, I can tell you that what I saw made me radiant, made my heart thrill, and my spirit rejoice.

Five hundred young people listened eagerly as powerful speakers proclaimed the Gospel without compromise. They lined up to be blessed. They lined up to go to confession. And they sang hymns of praise like a choir of thousands.

It was living proof, if any were needed, that the light truly has shone in the darkness. At a time of scandal, these students were spending their Christmas break praying and learning about Jesus; they filed past the tomb of the newly canonized St. André with the kind of devotion many think disappeared years ago; their faces, quite simply, shone.

I learned or re-learned three lessons during RiseUp. The first, of course, is that God never gets tired out! Throw a crisis of faith at Him, toss in a few wretched scandals, and He comes up with ever more abundant grace. Write off a generation, and then watch God renew and recharge them, raising up zealous leaders from the young themselves.

The second is that our faith cannot be—must not be—bland or routine. Our faith is glorious! Isaiah tells us that the glory of the Lord has risen upon us. He wasn't talking to wise men, or shepherds, or people of his own time. He was talking to people of all time. We're standing in a blaze of glory. How sad to think we might pull on sunglasses of boredom or convention and lower our expectations until they become modest at best.

We shouldn't let the historical side of Christmas obscure its timeless aspect. Certainly the star shone over the manger in Bethlehem, but it shines in our hearts today. So where do we get the idea that this great dawning has turned into a pale sunset?

The young look for what's exciting, not predictable. Many of the young people I saw kneeling before the Blessed Sacrament in Montreal were no less overwhelmed by the mystery than were the wise men at Bethlehem.

A third lesson is that God really does plan the Church to be a Church of all nations. CCO was started in Saskatoon by a couple named André and Angèle Regnier. But despite their names, neither Regnier is a francophone, and the movement was firmly English-speaking for 15 years. When CCO's board, of which I'm a member, began to discuss the idea of moving into Quebec, it seemed highly impractical—there is a difference in culture much greater than the language barrier. Yet the leaders of CCO couldn't ignore Quebec, and step by step—beginning by a brave move of the headquarters from Saskatoon to Ottawa—we have become a truly national movement.

An interesting footnote: for some years after Vatican II, Latin seemed to divide the Church. It was the focus of some who were very unhappy with modern liturgical changes. Now, it seems that Latin is again becoming a force for unity in the Church, judging by the way it allowed French and English students to sing the parts of the Mass in a common language.

CCO has one main purpose: to evangelize university students, and to teach them to evangelize others. Despite this focus, it has sent teams of students to China and Africa on mission trips. And missionary societies of priests, sisters, and laity were all represented at the conference, challenging the young to share their gifts even in distant lands.

You might be thinking that I didn't have time to reflect on the readings today and so decided to talk about "how I spent my Christmas holidays." Not true. My experience at RiseUp helped me live the mystery of the Epiphany, helped me pay homage, and allowed me to see the light that shines from the faces of those who behold the Lord.

But you don't need to have gone to Montreal to experience this, any more than you need to be in Bethlehem. Toss aside a narrow view of Christmas. Look around and be radiant—allow yourself to look deeply into what we're celebrating: true and lasting freedom from all that enslaves and oppresses, light that banishes the darkness of death and the fear of death, and a future full of hope.

And if you're a worried parent or grandparent, rejoice that the Church is always finding new ways to bring the light of Christ to your children, even in the toughest times. And rejoice that next year's RiseUp will be here in Vancouver!

Let's all take time today let our heartbeats quicken with the overwhelming truth of what Christ has brought to earth. And then kneel down and pay Him homage.

Mass at Dawn: Connecting to Christmas

Just give me a second here. I want to check my Facebook page.

Sorry for the interruption. Now as we gather on this Christmas morning… Oh sorry, someone just tweeted me.

Oh all right. Although at least one out of every fourteen people in the world has a Facebook account, I don't. And the only tweets I hear come from the birdbath in the rectory garden. I just wanted to get your attention!

Still, the movie "The Social Network," was definitely my favorite film of 2010. The picture is built around what one film critic calls "a melancholy paradox": a student named Mark Zuckerberg invented the social-networking internet site Facebook that now has more than 500 million members. But Zuckerberg himself "is so egotistical, work-obsessed, and withdrawn that he can't stay close to anyone."

Mark Zuckerberg is a peculiar fellow, if the film is to be believed, but he'll certainly go down in history for connecting people.

Facebook is just the most visible of the slew of modern ways of staying connected that started with e-mail, moved to instant messaging, texting, blogging, and then in the past eight years social networking sites like Friendster, MySpace, and of course Facebook.

Like much else in the modern world, these media are a mixed blessing. They allow families and friends to stay in touch despite great distances, and at little cost. But studies show that social networking has antisocial consequences for many.

One thing's for sure: social networking offers Christians both an opportunity and a challenge. The opportunity is obvious: used wisely, these media allow the Gospel message to be spread in a highly effective way. The Vatican offers a virtual library on its excellent website, while our own Archdiocese not only has a website but a Facebook page and a channel on YouTube for videos. You can even "follow" the Archdiocese on Twitter, the service that sends short updates to cell phones. The BC Catholic has its own website, and a blog called "the Busy Catholic."

And similar sites specifically for young people are hosted by the Office of Youth and Young Adult Ministry.

The Archbishop thinks these media are so important that he's asked us to hand out cards with the archdiocesan website on them as a way of welcoming both visitors and regular parishioners to the Church's on-line presence this Christmas.

Even our own parish got into the act: we put an ad in the North Shore News this week promoting the website findtheperfectgift.org, which features the Archbishop of Washington DC talking about Christmas.

But all of these electronic developments—exciting to some, scary to others—are nothing compared to the challenge that faces each one of us this morning. Are we here to "connect" to Christmas?

Are we like Mark Zuckerberg, whose Facebook friends are more virtual than real? Or are we like the shepherds who want a face-to-face encounter with the child Jesus?

And the biggest challenge of all: are we opening our hearts like Mary did, so that God himself can communicate with us?

The Gospel this morning shows us how to connect with Christmas. The shepherds lead us in the way of action: "Let's go!" they say. "Let us go to Bethlehem." It's the road we also must take to meet Jesus—not in a dream world, not in theory, but in the concrete circumstances of our lives. We need to ask ourselves right now "Where should I be heading? Where concretely is Jesus waiting for me?"

The opening prayer for this Mass reminds us that Christmas has consequences: "Father, we are filled with the new light by the coming of your Word among us. May the light of faith shine in our words and actions." For some this means meeting Jesus in what Mother Teresa called "the distressing disguise of the poor." For others it's an invitation to turn away from sin and self-centeredness.

For each of us, connecting with Jesus requires persevering in prayer, like Mary did. We need to ponder the message of this day in the depths of our heart. Can we find ten minutes behind a closed door to let ourselves treasure what we have heard and seen this day?

It's possible, of course, that there's no door you can close today in the middle of your hectic family celebration—there's no real chance at home today for contemplating the mystery of the birth of Christ. We have an answer to that problem: with the bulletin you'll receive a brochure that offers twelve ways of celebrating spiritually during the traditional twelve days of Christmas between now and the Epiphany.

They are delightful suggestions that would help almost anyone deepen and prolong the joy of Christmas. They are simple ideas that will, in the words of our Prayer After Communion, "increase our understanding and our love of the riches revealed" in Christ.

Thinking, serving, celebrating—these are all ways we "connect" to Christmas. Even websites and social media can connect us to the message of good news and salvation, and draw us closer to the kingdom where God reigns. Yet the ultimate connection is with Jesus Himself, and for that there is no substitute for the Mass. At every Mass the Lord fulfills the promise of salvation, pours out His Spirit on us, and communicates Himself to us. He becomes our Friend in a personal and intimate way that no social network can begin to touch.

So let us hasten to Bethlehem every Sunday, to glorify and praise God for all we have heard and seen today.

A blessed and happy Christmas to all, especially to Rob and Mary and family, since he inspired this blog in the first place!